“Louis stayed with you because he was Slo’s friend,” Hannibal said.
“Right. And Wally’s gone now because of his stupid brother. They’re on the run together. They’re on the run and I’m…” she hesitated to state such a simple truth, “I’m here.”
“Are you all right here?” Hannibal asked before he realized he was talking.
“Oh, sure,” Ginger said, smashing her cigarette into an ashtray as if it was someone’s face. “I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll just go back to what I was doing before I met him. After all, I’ve stayed in shape. Any man would be happy to…” Tears washed her last few words away. Wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand, Ginger smeared her pancake, lipstick and eye makeup together into a collage on the side of her face. Then she stood in the middle of the floor, fists clenched, racked by silent sobs until Cindy went to her, put her arms around this stranger and held her while she cried.
An hour later, Hannibal eased his Volvo up the gentle grade into Harlan Mortimer’s driveway. The day had become bright and sunny somewhere in Pennsylvania, and stayed that way into the afternoon. As he opened the car door he heard distant laughter from the deep porch on the left side of the stately, two story house. Standing beside his car, he relaxed for a moment, watching the Potomac River roll past behind Mortimer’s house. Cindy stretched when she stood up, filling her lungs with the sweet smelling air surrounding the house. Hannibal wished the roses and hyacinths could lift his spirits as easily as they clearly buoyed hers.
“Smile, you old grump,” she told him as they headed for the door. “It’s almost over.”
“Not until I hear from your father.”
Hannibal had not imagined Mortimer a party animal, but there was quite a gala going on. Soft jazz sounds embraced the house, dodging in and out between the laughter. As they approached the house the scent of flowers gave way to the aroma of burning barbecue sauce. Then one form broke from the group on the porch. A figure which even ran with perfect posture. Camille Mortimer was careening toward Hannibal, arms outstretched. On impact, her arms wrapped around Hannibal and squeezed him hard. From the corner of his eye he saw Cindy’s face harden.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Camille said. “Thank you for finding her. Now at least my Kyle has a fighting chance.”
“Slow down,” Hannibal said, gently prying her arms loose. “I can’t take credit for this. I ran into this girl who claims to be your husband’s daughter, but I can’t guarantee…”
“I know nothing’s certain,” Camille said, “But at least now my Kyle’s got a fighting chance. Doctor Lippincott says the test results could take more than a week after they get a blood sample from her, but even today she’s had an effect. Kyle has more hope than ever.” Then her voice dropped, and she changed gears into a less comfortable subject. “And thank you also for doing the job Daddy H hired you for. Jake’s remains have been positively identified. I can’t tell you what it means to bring that story to closure. After all the years of wondering where he was, what he was doing.” One second later life flowed back into her voice and she took Hannibal’s arm. “Daddy H is cooking out on the deck. Come on out so he can thank you personally.”
But Hannibal and Cindy did not reach the deck at the back of the house. Kyle, Angela and Malcolm Lippincott were inside the French doors leading to it. At sight of Hannibal, Kyle turned his chair and wheeled toward the newcomers. Within inches of Hannibal, Kyle locked his brakes. His smile was as broad as ever, but emotion clogged his throat.
“I won’t forget this,” Kyle said. “I may not have a dad, but thanks to you I’ve got a sister. And she’s terrific. Doctor Lippincott’s not as optimistic as I am, but even he admits she might turn out to be the perfect donor for me.”
Hannibal knelt and looked into Kyle’s innocent eyes. His face was gaunt from weight loss, and as pale and dry as desert sand. His skeletal arms, bared by the tee shirt he wore, displayed bruises which were signs of the disease eating his body up. Did it make sense to impair his optimism?
“Son, things aren’t always the way they look,” he said, “but a lot of people are working to make sure it all comes out right for you.”
“You’re too modest.” Malcolm Lippincott moved in, slapped Hannibal on the back and held out a hand. “I owe you an apology and I’m glad you came back to get it. When you first came here, I thought you were just going to stir up a lot of trouble.”
“It’s not too late,” Hannibal said, accepting the shorter man’s hand but returning only half his smile.
“I guess I have to thank you too,” Angela said, taking Hannibal’s hand. After Malcolm’s grip, her hand felt cold, bloodless. “If not for you, I might never have found my family.”
“Yes,” Hannibal said, his mouth now a tense line, “I’ll have to take responsibility for that, won’t I?” Despite Hannibal’s Oakleys, something passed between their eyes and even he was not sure what. But he was sure more than gratitude lurked behind the girl’s smile. She smoothed her wavy, shoulder length hair and backed away a step. Then Malcolm put an arm around Angela, and Camille guided Hannibal through the doors to the deck. Hannibal looked around to make sure Cindy was with him. She looked at him the way women do when they are trying to send a message to their man, but he did not know what she was trying to point out to him.
Bright sunshine bathed him, and Hannibal was suddenly part of a milling throng. He did not know decks came this big, or held this many. At one end, two big electric grills poured thick smoke into the sky, smoke carrying the mouth watering smell of mesquite. The other end of the deck held two kegs, which guests were emptying as quickly as they could. He spotted Gabriel Nieswand nursing a beer in one corner and started toward him, but Camille used his elbow to turn him.
“All right,” Harlan Mortimer bellowed from in front of one of the grills. “I was wondering if you’d get by here today.” He wore a chef’s hat, and a “kiss the cook” apron was wrapped around his barrel of a body. Pulling thick pot holders off his hands, Harlan headed toward Hannibal. Guests parted like the Red Sea before his oncoming bulk. Hannibal smiled and held out a hand, but Harlan brushed it aside and wrapped an arm around Hannibal’s shoulders.
“You’re a remarkable young man behind those cheaters,” Harlan said, his rumbling voice vibrating Hannibal’s body. “I want you to know you’ve lightened an old man’s soul. I’ve thought all these years my son was out there somewhere avoiding us.”
“Yeah, well, you never really looked for him, did you?”
“And this treasure you’ve brought us,” Harlan went on, as if Hannibal had not spoken at all. “She’s beautiful, and the spitting image of my boy Jacob. After we get the tests run, I’m betting she can save Kyle’s life with a bone marrow transplant. I know that’s not a guarantee but, even if it fails, I’ve still got a granddaughter I never knew about. One last remnant of Jacob. And I owe it all to you for being so good at your job.”
Harlan’s crinkled eyes and broad smile should have made Hannibal happy and proud, but instead he was chilled. “Look, Mister Mortimer, about finding this girl,”
“Yes,” Harlan said, shaking Hannibal’s frame, “I haven’t forgotten the business end of this deal. Here comes Gabe now. He’ll take care of you.” Then the French doors opened out and Angela stepped onto the deck. The crowd of well wishers swarmed around as if she were the victim saved from some rare disease. Hannibal and Cindy were pushed out to the perimeter of the action. She smiled helplessly at him. While they stared, amazed at the family’s reaction, Nieswand managed to reach them. He pressed something into Hannibal’s hand while shaking it.
“Mister Mortimer is very happy with your results,” Nieswand said. “This will enhance your reputation at our office, I assure you.” He turned to Cindy with a fatherly smile. “Yours too, my dear. Your star is definitely rising at Nieswand and Balor. I think it’s time to talk partnership.”
Hannibal looked at the piece of paper in his hand and blinked in surprise. “Ho
ld up. This is almost twice what it should be,” Hannibal said. “And don’t you want a report of my actions and expenses?”
“Sure, when you get around to it,” Nieswand said. “Meantime, enjoy. This little cookout’s as much for you as anyone. And as for the payment, Harlan decided the amount. That’s what he thinks you’re worth, and I for one agree with him.”
Hannibal nodded his thanks and pulled away to a bench near the steps leading down to well-kept gardens. Cindy snuggled close to him, holding his arm. Her smile was so pure, so open, it almost made him forget the crosscut currents of meaning and intentions he suspected of everyone he had spoken to since arriving at Mortimer’s place.
“So it’s over,” she said. “You’re unemployed again.”
“Not really,” Hannibal said. “I do have another job in progress, remember? Even though Sarge and Quaker seem to be handling that one fine. But this check says I’m off Harlan Mortimer’s payroll. Problem is, I don’t feel like I’m finished, if you know what I mean.”
“So, how do you feel?”
“Babe, I’m sore, I’m tired, and right now I’m a little confused. What I really want to do is just go home, have a nice quiet evening and go to bed.” Hannibal stared down at the redwood planks beneath his feet. They reminded him that nothing in nature is a straight line. Including human nature.
“Mind if I join you?” Doctor Lippincott’s Harvard accent asked. Hannibal shrugged, and Lippincott settled onto the bench beside him. Sipping a tall drink, he did not look as impressed as many others. He spoke to Hannibal, but his gaze seldom strayed from his son’s back.
“So now you’re off Harlan’s payroll,” Lippincott said.
“Afraid so,” Hannibal answered.
“In that case, perhaps you could do me a favor.”
Hannibal looked at Lippincott with renewed interest. He seemed to have been pushed to the perimeter of the case. Which might explain why he did not share his friends’ festival mood. Or he might have unrelated troubles of his own. Hannibal was no psychic, but he had developed the ability to recognize people with problems. Despite so much going through his mind, all he said was, “Perhaps.”
“Good.” Lippincott leaned toward him the way amateurs do when they want to share something confidential. “I’ll be working down at the clinic tomorrow. I know it’s the weekend and all, but do you suppose you could stop in and have lunch with me? I’ll gladly pay for your time. I need your professional opinion about something.”
“I can do that,” Hannibal said, standing. Lippincott had unintentionally reminded him he was not really part of this party. With his job done, he felt he did not belong here. “Right now, I’ve got to be going. I’ll meet you at the clinic at noon.”
“That will be fine,” Lippincott said as Hannibal worked toward the door back into the house. “Please come alone.”
“Guess he doesn’t trust me,” Cindy said as they climbed into Hannibal’s car.
Hannibal gunned the engine and punched on the CD player. Foreplay filled the car and he instantly felt better. “Don’t take it personally. People often talk to me about things that are real private.”
“Bet it’s his son,” she said as they eased out of the cul-de-sac and into traffic.
“What makes you say that?”
“Surely you noticed,” she said in her teasing tone. “The way he was looking at Angela. The whole dynamic has changed.”
“What are you talking about?” Hannibal asked. “Everybody’s treating Angela like the second coming. She’s got them all conned.”
Cindy let a beat of silence pass. “Don’t like her do you? Well, Malcolm Lippincott sure does. When we first met him, he only had eyes for Camille, Jacob’s widow. But his puppy dog infatuation has switched over to the new kid in town.”
“You could tell that the two minutes we saw them,” he said, his lip curled sarcastically.
“You’d have to be blind not to see it. So, my place? I’ll make pasta.”
“No,” Hannibal said, raising Cindy’s eyebrows. “I’ll drop you if you want, but I want to be home.”
He worked at not looking at her, but it did not work. From the corner of his eye he saw Cindy stare out the window, heard her take a deep breath and let it out as quietly as she could. Then she straightened her smile and turned to him. “Okay. Your place. And I’ll make pasta.”
He held his smile to a reasonable level. “Jewel’s still there you know.”
“I know. She’s a client. I’ll be good, as long as she doesn’t get too close.”
-21-
SATURDAY
Hannibal shoved his face into the hot water and let the tensions of the week flow down the drain. He loved a hot shower, but hated washing Cindy’s scent off himself. They had shared a perfect evening. Candlelight and soft jazz, wine and cheese, back rubs and foot massages. And Cindy used her body to prove he was irrefutably, exclusively hers, at the same time demonstrating why he should want it that way.
He could still feel the warmth of the night while drying himself. He planned a do nothing, robe and slippers morning. Maybe they would sit around and watch cartoons. Or maybe, they would stage an encore of last evening. Wrapped in his navy blue terry cloth robe, Hannibal stepped out into his living room. The pleasing aroma of frying bacon started his mouth watering.
“Cindy?”
“In the kitchen,” she answered, and he reached the kitchen doorway before he heard “and we have company.” Cindy was at the stove, flipping silver dollar pancakes in a large skillet. Bacon crackled in a second pan. Over by the door to the backyard Jewel stood with her hands behind her. She wore a too small tee shirt and jeans which must have interfered with her circulation from the waist down. She offered him a tentative smile, but she looked for all the world like a child sent to the corner by her teacher.
“She came to the door and offered to help with breakfast,” Cindy said, focused exclusively on her pancakes. “Honey, you want to get the juice and the syrup out?”
Jewel moved as if her mother, or a drill sergeant, had snapped out an order. Without a word she got orange juice and syrup out of the refrigerator, and without being told went back for the butter. The small table was already set for three. Hannibal dropped into a chair at one end and waved Jewel to another, but she did not move. Cindy, wearing nightgown and sheer robe, her fuzzy slippers and her Stepford Wives smile, delivered the food to the table on two platters. After she sat, Jewel sat.
“Papa called while you were in the shower,” Cindy told Hannibal. “He said he’ll be at National Airport at two o’clock.”
“Good, I’ll pick him up,” Hannibal said, picking up his fork and knife.
“Oh dear,” Cindy said in mock surprise, “I’ve forgotten the coffee.” Jewel was up before Hannibal could brace to stand. She retrieved the pot, poured three cups, and replaced it. When she returned to her place, Cindy said “Thank you, dear.”
Hannibal buttered a stack of pancakes and gathered bacon onto his plate. “So. You two seem to be getting along.”
“Well, once I got a chance to talk to Jewel,” Cindy said over her coffee mug, “she turns out to be a nice young lady who’s just made some bad choices in life.”
“Miss Santiago says she’ll help me find my family back in Jersey,” Jewel said, flashing her bright teeth. “She says I can stay here, I mean across the hall, until then.”
“Does she?” Hannibal asked, smiling through a mouthful of food. Cindy knew how to handle pancakes. And competition.
“I tried to call home before,” Jewel said, “but no luck. I guess Mama moved and had the phone turned off. I’m scared to go back, but I got nowhere else to go, you know? Besides, I miss my Mama.”
“Did you know Jewel’s the same age as the girl you introduced to the Mortimers?” Cindy asked. “Another child trying to survive on the streets.”
Hannibal hoped his eyebrows did not go up too high. If Cindy was right, he had misjudged Jewel’s age by a decade. Now he looked at her again, raci
ng through her breakfast, and thought about her actions since he had known her. Yes, beneath the signs of abuse was a girl not quite out of her teens, but with a lifetime of experience and wear. It made her hiring him and breaking with the street life an even greater act of courage than he originally thought.
“Miss Santiago told me a little about that girl from the other case you were on,” Jewel said. “Her father ran away, just like mine did. But I guess you found out her dad’s dead. I know you’re off the case now, but any idea who killed him?”
Hannibal leaned back, sipped his orange juice. “Jewel, it could be almost anybody I’ve met in the last week. But there’s this mob boss named Zack King. From the sound of things, he found out the victim was sitting on some rare and valuable coins he stole from his old man. He might have sent his man Slo Lerner to kill him.”
“Didn’t Daisy Sonneville say Pat Louis knew about the coins?” Cindy asked. “Instead of involving King, he might have done it himself and kept the coins.”
“Or told his buddy Killer Nilson,” Hannibal added. “Baltimore cops say he was a known murderer at the time and we know he and Pat Louis were pals.”
Cindy turned to Hannibal, a twinkle in her eye. “If this was a mystery movie, I’d finger Malcolm Lippincott. When we met him, I could see he was mad in love with Camille.”
“Who?” Jewel asked.
“The dead man’s widow,” Cindy said. “He’s been around the family all his life. He might have bumped Jacob off to clear the field, so to speak. How could he know she’d be loyal to her dead husband?”
“Loyal, or keeping a deep secret of her own?” Hannibal asked, playing into her game. “He ran out on her, remember? And she was pregnant. What if she found him up in Baltimore? Suppose she walked in on him with the Barbie doll? Don’t you think she’s got the stuff to stab a man?” Hannibal ended his question with an evil chuckle.
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