Hannibal Jones - 02 - Collateral Damage

by Austin S. Camacho

  At this, Langford threw his head back and laughed, his white hair shaking behind him. “Oh my, you have been sold a bill of goods. Joan wasn’t even in the country most of the summer. She went down under for a computer conference and made a long vacation out of it.”

  “Really?” Hannibal tried to suppress his reaction. But now he knew for sure that Joan was up to something she did not want her uncle to know. “Was she in touch with you during that time?”

  Langford smiled even wider. “Come downstairs with me, young fellow, and let me show you something.”

  Langford ducked his head and led the way. A long flight of stairs led them to a broad family room complete with big screen television and yet another bar. Off to the right was a smaller, more intimate den lined with maple bookcases, all filled with hardcover volumes. A small fireplace stood on the left. A computer console dominated the right side. Langford dropped into the well-cushioned chair and began tapping at the keys faster than Hannibal could follow. He saw an e-mail account come up, and Langford opened a letter from the received file.

  “There, take a look at that. ‘Greatly enjoyed Sydney. Started my journey across the country today on the Great South Pacific Express. It’s like the Orient Express down here, and it runs from Sydney’s harbor up to Cairns and Port Douglas in North Queensland. It’s pretty luxurious...’ and so forth.”

  “How considerate,” Hannibal said in an even tone. “Notes from her laptop I assume. How often did she write?”

  “Darn near every day,” Langford said with a chuckle. “And every few days I got one of these from where she was.” Langford drew a picture postcard from a cubbyhole in the computer desk. Hannibal accepted the card, which featured the Sydney Opera House. It was dated August 12th and could have been bought in any souvenir shop on the Australian continent. Of course, it would not be found anyplace else. The message, in a sharp but still feminine hand, read, “Didn’t stay for an opera today, but it was well worth stopping just to see this place. Love you always, your Joanie.”

  And now Hannibal had to wonder how Joan Kitteridge managed to be in two places at once.

  -24-

  The thick pane of glass was not all that separated Sarge from Fancy. Sarge wore a knit shirt he had chosen, while Fancy wore the coveralls issued by the state of Nevada. Sarge’s face reflected a relaxed confidence, while Fancy’s betrayed the fear of a man who finally realized just how grim his life could become. Most importantly, when their conversation ended, Sarge could stand up and walk back out into the bright Southwestern sunshine. Fancy ached to do the same.

  “Could I really go up for murder?” Fancy asked, as if Sarge’s answer could somehow make a difference to his fate.

  “Could be,” Sarge said. “People have been sent to the chair on lots less.”

  Fancy leaned forward on his elbows. “But you know damn well I didn’t kill Oscar. If I go up, the real killer gets away.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. And my man Hannibal, he might be able to find the real killer too, which would get you cut loose.”

  Fancy was good at cutting through the red tape straight to the point. “Okay, I get it. What do you want? I don’t know anything useful.”

  Sarge scratched his chin and looked up at the dim florescent tubes in the ceiling. “Well, now, Hannibal don’t agree with that. He called and told me he’s got a few too many mysteries going. Wants me to help clear them up. If you can solve one of those mysteries, he’ll be one step closer to finding the real killer.”

  Fancy pressed his palms against the glass. Sarge could smell his desperation right through the dense pane. “But I told you I don’t know anything.”

  Sarge just smiled and nodded his head. “We found out you didn’t meet Joan Kitteridge in Vegas, Fancy. In fact, turns out you worked for her for a while.”

  “Joan tell you that?”

  “She’s been pretty cooperative with Hannibal,” Sarge said. He watched the confusion race across Fancy’s face for a few seconds before continuing. “She says you two didn’t get off to a very good start. Didn’t she fire you for getting into some confidential information?”

  “We had a disagreement,” Fancy said, waving the issue away with a hand. “I left her company’s employ. What else did she tell you?”

  “She told us what she knew,” Sarge said, leaning forward a little. “Of course, she doesn’t know everything. And what you know could help get you off the hook.”

  Fancy dropped his face into his hands. “Aww, man! You think I’m a blackmailer or something. Man I don’t know anything. I didn’t pay any attention to any of that stuff I stole.”

  “That’s no surprise.” Fancy looked up, and Sarge could see in his eyes that it was time.

  “You’re not smart enough to be a blackmailer, Fancy man. So just who were you funneling information to?”

  “That won’t help you any, you moron,” Fancy snapped. “You’re looking for a lead to who might have killed Oscar? Idiot, Oscar was who I was finding out stuff for. Think that will help you? Huh?”

  Sarge rolled his big shoulders. “I look like a detective to you? I’ll just pass that on to the man who might be able to figure this all out.”

  * * *

  “Without it, I won’t be able to figure this all out,” Hannibal said. Quincy Roberts looked from Hannibal’s reflective lenses to Cindy’s guarded smile and scratched at his thick gray beard. “I’m just not sure this is in Dean’s best interest.”

  “Do you think Dean murdered someone, Doctor?” Cindy asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then it seems to me the truth is in his best interest,” she said.

  “But hypnosis,” Quincy said, shaking his head. “This sort of thing can be dangerous.”

  Hannibal looked around the silver and white office, focusing on the series of framed diplomas hanging in perfect straight lines behind Quincy’s desk. “Are you saying you’re not qualified to perform this technique, doctor?”

  Quincy huffed. “More to the point, his current problem is more pressing than his father’s murder.”

  “I don’t think we can separate them,” Hannibal said as if talking to a confused child. “If Dean remembers enough to clear his mother of the murder we can pretty much clear him of Oscar’s murder as well. Also, I have information that seems to indicate that Oscar was involved in some sort of blackmail. What if he found out who really killed Dean’s father, wouldn’t that be a motive for murder?”

  Quincy pushed his glasses up on his nose. “You’re shooting in the dark.”

  “Maybe,” Hannibal said. “But I might be closer to the target than anyone thinks. All I’m asking is a chance.”

  “I don’t want him badgered,” Quincy said in a warning tone.

  “I’ll ask the questions,” Cindy said. “I’ve spent enough time with distraught clients to know how to shake the truth loose gently.”

  * * *

  The big orange ball hanging on the horizon to his right reminded Hannibal just how full a day it had been. It sometimes seemed that the only time he had to relax was in between stops, like this leisurely drive southward down the tree-lined Beltway. He knew there would be more to it, but he hoped that what he now knew from Sarge, plus what he would learn from Dean would allow him to piece the puzzle together. When Cindy’s hand moved across his knee, he realized he did not know for sure where he was going.

  “So, when do you think you want to try questioning Dean?” Hannibal asked her.

  Cindy faced Hannibal, partially to turn away from the sun. “Actually, I was thinking tonight, right after I make you a nice home-cooked dinner at your place.”

  “Now that’s the nicest invitation I’ve gotten today. Maybe we can delay the questioning long enough to have some nice dessert...” Hannibal was interrupted by the burr of his phone. Pressing a button on his sun visor allowed him to speak without his hands leaving the wheel.

  “Hannibal? You there? This is Monty.”

  “Yes, I did recognize your voice,
Monty,” Hannibal said. “What’s the latest?”

  “Well I’m here with Mister Santiago and he thought I should report in.”

  “You’re with Ray?” Hannibal’s brow knit above his dark glasses. “I thought you were watching Mrs. Peters. Did something happen?”

  “Hey man, you know me,” Monty’s young voice came through the speaker. “I been on the lady like white on rice. But she just made the job a little easier by coming over here and Ray wanted to know if maybe you wanted one of us to come in.”

  Cindy gave Hannibal a quizzical stare. He shrugged his shoulders in response. “Over where, Monty? Where is here?”

  “Here is the Courtyard Marriot in Crystal City,” Monty said. “Mrs. Peters came over here and I don’t think she’s going back. She brought her luggage.”

  Hannibal smiled in understanding. “Can I assume this is Gil Donner’s hotel?”

  “That’s why Ray’s here,” Monty said, and Hannibal could feel his head shaking at the other end of the line. “Ray was watching this one and spotted me following the lady. So Ray, he figures you don’t need two of us on this one stakeout and wonders if one of us should go home.”

  Hannibal thought for a moment before answering. “Well, you know, I’m not real happy about you skipping school today. But at this late point in the day, I guess it doesn’t matter much. And I do think I’d like you to continue the double coverage. They might separate in a hurry and I’ve got a feeling it’s kind of important to keep close tabs on both our travelers. Cool?”

  “Cool with me,” Monty said. “Grandma can use the money.”

  “Okay, buddy,” Hannibal said as he pulled into his own block. “Make sure you check in with her, too. She needs to know where you are. And work it out so you and Ray can get something to eat. I’ve got to get going now. More surprises coming at me. Later.”

  “Surprises?” Cindy asked, as Hannibal parked in his traditional space. “What’s going on?”

  Hannibal was all business as he stepped out of the car. “I recognize the guy in the green Ford across the street. He might be trouble, but he also might be carrying a lot of answers I need.”

  The Ford’s driver sat with his elbow sticking out of the window. Hannibal walked over to the car, half expecting Harry Irons to step out to meet him. When that didn’t happen, Hannibal just stared curiously into Harry’s swarthy Mediterranean face.

  “You looking for me, Harry?” he asked. “You could have waited inside.”

  “Yeah, they told me, I just felt like waiting in the car.”

  “Well, unless you’ve got a beef with me, why don’t we go in now?”

  “I ain’t looking for trouble,” Harry said, dragging on his cigarette, “but we don’t need to go in. I’m just here for Francis.” He handed Hannibal a piece of paper that must have been folded over four times.

  “This is.....?”

  “An address,” Harry said, dragging on his cigarette. “Francis, she’s kind of laying low right now, but she wants to talk to you. Says she’s got things to tell you.”

  “I take it she told you we were wrong about the young man she was looking for?”

  “Her son,” Harry nodded. “Yeah, she told me. I should have known she wasn’t looking for another man. I was just being...”

  “Yeah, I know,” Hannibal smiled. “We all get like that when we find a lady who’s good to us. Maybe I can help get her out of trouble.”

  * * *

  The building at the northern edge of Silver Spring was well maintained, but not new. The grounds were spotless and flowers were nicely placed to offer the feel of a country cottage, despite the fact that this structure was just one of a collection of five-story buildings standing in a semicircle. Parking lines indicated that cars should face the curb, rather than stand beside it. Most of the empty slots were labeled with address numbers but he found one marked “guest” and drove his Volvo into it. The tall maples and pines hugged each other in the center island.

  Residents relaxing on their porches seemed less cordial, and Hannibal saw no children in the area. Knocking on the door of the top floor entrance, Hannibal wondered why Francis stayed in the low rent motel she used if this place was an option. He received a partial answer when Francis Edwards opened the door and waved him in without a word. They stood in the center of the wide living room for a moment, just looking at one another. He would expect a woman to move toward the sofa, or the balcony with its view of private woods, or perhaps the kitchen area, which was separated by just an island.

  “You’re not at home here,” Hannibal said. “Whose place is this?”

  “Well, I needed a place to go where I could stay out of view of the police for a while,” she said. “When I called Walt this morning he didn’t want to know where I was. When I told him I wanted to talk to you he suggested I meet you here so you wouldn’t know where I was staying either. That way you wouldn’t have to lie to the police. When I got here I just found the door unlocked.”

  Hannibal walked to the kitchen, pulled off his glasses and gloves, and began exploring cabinets. “Walt Young invited you to his condominium? That’s certainly different.” He wondered what kind of a lawyer was stupid enough to keep a woman who may soon be a murder suspect in his own home, even for a brief time.

  “He’s done everything he can to help me, Mister Jones,” Francis said, still standing and looking lost in the big room. “He knows I haven’t killed anyone.”

  Hannibal’s cabinet search was fruitless, but he found a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator and poured two glasses half full. “Tell me, Francis, did you know Walt before you left your husband?”

  Francis eased onto one of the stools on the other side of the island and accepted her glass with a nod. “Never saw him until just before the trial. And that’s one of the things I wanted to correct, Mister Jones. I never left Grant. He left me.”

  Hannibal tasted his own wine in order to encourage her to drink hers because he thought she needed something to relax her. “I see. But that’s not the reason you wanted to talk to me.”

  Francis looked down into her glass, drank it nearly dry, and returned to her downward staring posture. “Mister Jones, I want you to know that I haven’t killed anyone. Not ten years ago. Not last week. But I know what it’s like inside and I won’t let my son go there. I told Walt that if Dean is in danger of conviction I would confess to last week’s murder.” She looked up, moisture hanging in her eyes. “He said I should talk to you first.”

  Hannibal realized now that Young had left his own condominium empty on a Sunday afternoon because he thought only Hannibal could prevent her from making a terrible mistake. He hoped Young was right.

  “Ma’am I think offering yourself up like that would help no one. Please just give me a little time to track down the real killers. I know some people might think Dean is a killer. More people think you are.”

  “I didn’t know this boy who died last week,” Francis said. “And I could never have hurt Grant.”

  Hannibal refilled her glass. Up close, her eyes were so clear and blue he didn’t think she could hide the truth there. “Even if he was untrue to you?”

  To her credit Francis stared right back into his hazel eyes. “I know Grant was... I know he had another woman, Mister Jones. It wasn’t hard to figure out from what Dean told me in bits and pieces after Grant and I separated. It hurt, certainly, but not enough to turn my love into hate.”

  Hannibal’s breath stopped in his throat and he held her eyes with his own. It had never occurred to him that she might know. “Francis, did you ever get an idea who that other woman might have been?”

  “Of course,” Francis said with a smile that he would have called wistful in other circumstances. “I’m not the idiot Grant’s family would have me be. It was the young woman who used to baby-sit for us. She was beautiful of course, and probably no more than nineteen or twenty so, I mean who could blame him?”

  Hannibal was bursting to fill in the rest, but he didn�
��t want to risk planting it in Francis’s mind. He closed his eyes and hoped. “Any chance you remember her name?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure it was Joan. Yes, Joan something or other.”

  “Yes!” Hannibal realized that his smile must have startled Francis. He upended his wineglass and paced around the kitchen island. “I think I might just have it. Oscar, the victim Dean’s accused of murdering, worked for a woman named Joan. I think she might well be the link. If she was the same girl who baby sat for you...”

  “You think Grant’s girlfriend killed him?”

  “Probably not,” Hannibal said, pulling his gloves back on. “But I do think she was married at the time. And based on what you just told me, her husband would have had a good, solid motive for killing yours. And if Oscar found out about it somehow, there’s a motive for the second killing.”

  Hannibal’s excitement faded in the face of Francis’ quiet demeanor. He waited for her to tell him what he was missing. When she spoke, it was with well-practiced helplessness.

  “No one will believe you. My son testified in court that it was me he saw.”

  “Well, did he?” Hannibal asked.

  “Of course not,” Francis said, her fists curling at her sides. “It was that horrid Ursula. She must have badgered him until he thought he saw what she told him to see. But no one will believe him now if he changes his story.”

  “I think we can change that,” Hannibal said, stopping to stand beside her. “We intend to probe Dean’s memory tonight. I think what we get will hold up in court and...” Hannibal was interrupted by three sharp knocks.

  “That must be Walt,” Francis said, moving toward the door. “We can find out right away what will stand up in court.”

  Hannibal pushed his glasses back into place, prepared to have some words with the lawyer about having his client at his home. He never got to say them. Francis pulled the door open and found herself staring up at the imposing figure of Stan Thompson.

  “Good evening Mrs. Edwards,” Thompson said. “You’re under arrest for murder.”