Pyramid Deception

by Austin S. Camacho

  The night before their lovemaking had been fast and hard. Hannibal made their morning love agonizingly slow, but no less intense. Cindy strung her releases together like pearls on a necklace, each a tiny bit bigger than the last until he couldn’t stand the pressure any longer and added his voice to hers.

  Later, when Hannibal was propped up on two pillows sipping room service coffee, Cindy was still wearing her mischievous grin. “You really like that don’t you Poppy?”

  “What?”

  “You know,” she said, lightly punching him in the ribs. “That part when you give me a temporary case of Tourette’s syndrome.”

  “Well, yeah. You never use that kind of language any other time, do you? And I love it when you start throwing Spanish at me, even though I don’t understand a word of it.”

  “Maybe not, honey, but you always seem to get the right message.”

  They decided to take advantage of it being Sunday and enjoy a leisurely brunch. They lazed in the room until after ten o’clock, watching music television and cuddling without much conversation. When they finally got up Cindy took Hannibal’s hand and led him to the bathroom. There they shared a hot shower, lathering each other and scrubbing each other’s back. Playful teasing pushed business further and further from their minds.

  Back in the bedroom Cindy pulled on a casual blouse and a skirt that was a couple of inches shorter than her usual business wear. Swayed by the view of her perfect legs Hannibal grudgingly agreed to leave his gloves and tie in the room, and to park his sunglasses in an inside suit jacket pocket.

  The dining room glowed with the golden sunlight and the couple enjoyed the muted atmosphere. Hannibal ordered steak and eggs, while Cindy went for something more exotic.

  “Fish for breakfast?” Hannibal asked when their orders arrived. The aroma might have been pleasant if it didn’t clash so hard with the steak.

  “You are a heathen,” Cindy said, picking up her fork. “First of all, this is brunch, not breakfast. And this lovely orange sesame glazed smoked salmon is insulted to be referred to simply as fish.”

  “Right. Fish with an attitude.” Hannibal sliced into his own food, noting the perfect pink inside the steak and swirling it in an egg yolk.

  “Well you certainly made good on your commitment last night, kind sir,” Cindy said with a wink.

  “One does what one can. And I had some excellent inspiration.”

  Cindy looked down and focused on her plate. “So, what about your other promise last night? Are you going to find Jason’s killer?”

  Hannibal sighed around a mouthful of meat. The steak was perfectly crunchy on the outside and moist on the inside. Why was she in such a hurry to spoil their meal with business?

  “Yes, dear, I will find him.”

  “And will you take him out?”

  Hannibal eyes went to the ceiling before finding Cindy again and he pushed back from the table a bit, hands spread wide. “What, you want me to put a bullet in his dome? I’ve got one suspect who might have enough of a motive and I’m going to try to get a read on him when I leave here. But even if it turns out to be him I don’t think I’m ready to carry out any frontier justice. What I will do is make sure he faces justice. With two premeditated murders and another failed attempt, there’s no doubt a Virginia jury will give him the death penalty.”

  “Good,” she said in a calm voice that Hannibal found a bit unsettling. “And what about George Monroe?”

  “Wash? What about him?” Hannibal began the efficient process of policing up all of the egg yolk with a piece of toast.

  “Is he the man who swindled Jason and me out of our savings?”

  The question was too direct to dodge. “I don’t have any hard evidence but yes, I believe he is. He’s also the man who lost his wife a few days ago. And I’ll be getting together with him later today to try to follow the trail to the killer, or killers.”

  “Really?” Cindy took small, ladylike bites of the salmon. “What do you think he can tell you?”

  “He’s my best shot at pinning down everybody who might have motive,” Hannibal said.

  Cindy started a sentence with, “Well, I’m…” changed it to, “I want to,” and finally settled on, “May I come with you?” Her head was still down but she looked up from under her brows at him.

  Hannibal smiled and nodded, again thinking to himself, “Welcome back, babe.”

  They took a short, quiet drive to meet Hannibal’s next suspect. Cindy’s hand settled onto his thigh but she stared out the windshield. Hannibal knew she had something on her mind, but it would be up to her to open the conversation. When they pulled up to the security gate He gave his name to the elderly uniformed guard and had his ID ready, but it was unnecessary.

  “No problem, sir,” said the guard, staring through thick reading glasses. “You’re right here on Mr. Leotta’s guest list. Couldn’t miss a name like yours. Go straight up and then right to the clubhouse parking.”

  “So how did you know to bring us here?” Cindy asked as Hannibal pulled into the parking lot.

  “A couple of phone calls was all it took,” he said, slipping into a space between a Lexus and Jaguar. “And no surprise. Where else would you find a real estate mover and shaker on a Sunday morning? Talking business during church is still frowned upon.”

  On his way to opening Cindy’s door, Hannibal let his eyes wander across the grounds of the River Bend Golf and Country Club. As a non-player all such clubs looked the same to him. The gently rolling countryside yielded such an open view in all directions it gave the impression of being miles from any civilization. The well treed and carefully manicured grounds were primed for promotional photos. The air was crisp and sweet. Even the birds contributed to the pastoral scene, warbling as if auditioning for a Disney cartoon.

  “Don’t you play?” Cindy asked as they walked under the brick arch in front of the clubhouse. “I’ve never seen you but I always assumed…”

  “Never not once,” Hannibal replied. “Just can’t see spoiling a long walk through the woods by batting a tiny white ball around.” As close as they were, it was funny what they didn’t know about each other. Inside the clubhouse was all leather and hardwood, the atmosphere jovial but subdued. Cindy wore her cocktail hour smile but Hannibal’s senses went on alert. He had scanned the room and noted only one other person of color. That man moved toward Hannibal as soon as they made eye contact. He was much darker than Hannibal and had him by two inches of height and a good forty pounds. And while Hannibal kept his expression neutral the other man’s face was hard. Not street thug hard but rather Marine Corps or Ranger hard.

  Hannibal moved his right foot back and his hands just below his waist. This subtle ready stance would mean nothing to a casual observer but the man moving toward him nodded and stopped outside of arm’s reach.

  “Mr. Leotta will meet you in the upstairs lounge.”

  The other man turned and walked toward a flight of stairs. Hannibal took Cindy’s hand and followed. Halfway up the stairs he spoke to the back of the other man’s head.

  “You know who I am, right? Hannibal Jones. Private investigator.”

  “Cramer,” the other man replied without turning around.

  Hannibal had not seen recognition in Cramer’s eyes but did consider that he was big enough to be the man in the bar with the broken bottle. If it came to a conflict, he would be a hard man to put down.

  Cramer held the door for Hannibal and Cindy to enter, then followed them in and stood by the door. The lounge was paneled in the kind of dark wood that makes you imagine you smell cigar smoke. Four overstuffed leather chairs stood at the corners of a large oak table. Two of the chairs were occupied by athletic blonds wearing white golf shirts and brown loafers. The woman wore a knee length shirt and sat back in her chair with her ankles crossed. The man, in khakis, sat forward on the balls of his feet. As Cramer closed the door he stood and stretched a hand toward Hannibal.

  “John Leotta. This is my wife Joan.�
��

  After freeing himself from Leotta’s fierce handshake Hannibal shook Joan’s hand more gently and introduced Cindy. She and Hannibal settled into their chairs. John Leotta returned to his perch at the edge of his leather cushion.

  “You said you had questions about investing with Weston-Wellesley?” Straight to the point. This guy just bled nervous energy. He was like a puppy having trouble sitting still, and his biceps told Hannibal that he burned off a lot of that energy in the gym. His wife, on the other hand, was a portrait of calm confidence. They would be a good team.

  “Yes, and I hope I didn’t give you cause for concern,” Hannibal said. “I’m only here to talk today.”

  Leotta turned his head to the side the way a dog does, with a look of confusion. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  Hannibal cast an eye toward the door. “Cramer here is not your personal assistant.”

  “No, Cramer is security. He’s not here because of you, he’s here to watch over Joan.”

  “You’re concerned for her safety?” Cindy asked.

  “Yes. That’s in connection with Weston-Wellesley investments too.”

  Hannibal leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Mr. Leotta I really need to discuss some financial details with you. Perhaps we should excuse ourselves and leave the ladies to…”

  “Nono,” Leotta said, waving the notion away. “We discuss this together. I have no secrets from my wife.”

  Hannibal had heard that from any number of husbands, and wondered if it was ever true. In this case, he would proceed as if it was the truth.

  “John, you should know that I’m here because of George Washington Monroe. He told me that you and he have done business.”

  “Did he?” Leotta asked. “Did he? I see. You and your lawyer here, you’re trying to tie me in to Wash’s crooked business, is that it?”

  Cindy spoke up. “Mr. Leotta I don’t think we’re…”

  “That son of a bitch,” Leotta said. “Did he tell you how he came in here, to this club, cozying up to the most successful guys? Did he tell you that after I sold him that house he offered me a special opportunity? Did he tell you how I eventually sank more than 800,000 dollars into Weston-Wellesley investments? Yeah, that’s how much of my money vanished when the company went under. What else did you want to know?”

  Cindy started to speak again, but Hannibal waved her to silence. “That sounds like a pretty good reason to be angry.”

  “You bet I’m pissed. I’m not in with that crook.”

  “Angry enough to want to hurt him, I think,” Hannibal said, glancing back at Cramer. “Mr. Monroe was attacked recently.”

  “What? So I’m a suspect now?” Leotta bounced to his feet. Hannibal matched his action so they stood face to face. He felt Cramer step closer behind him.

  From deep in her chair, Joan Leotta said, “If you think that, you don’t know my husband at all. That’s not his style. He’s suing Monroe of course. But nothing primitive. Besides, Monroe has more important things on his mind.”

  “You are referring to the rumor that his wife has run off with a younger man?” Cindy asked.

  “Boy, you guys are out of it,” Leotta said. He sat, Hannibal followed suit, and Cramer returned to his post at the door. “I know that’s the official story. But…” Leotta slid forward to the edge of his chair and leaned in as if some outsider might be listening. In a low tone he said, “My insider with the Fairfax County police tells me the truth is, she was abducted and murdered. I figure whoever had it in for Wash went after his wife instead.”

  Hannibal and Cindy exchanged a glance. With a serious expression, Cindy said, “You think Mrs. Monroe met with foul play?”

  “Why do you think we have Cramer here? I figured if Wash had that kind of enemies it had to have something to do with his investment firm. Whoever he pissed off could just as soon go after anybody he was in business with. And even though I lost a bundle, all anybody really knows is that I sank a boatload of dollars into Wash’s enterprises. That’s kind of public knowledge around here.”

  “So to be safe you hired a bodyguard,” Hannibal said.

  “Yep. Called him in yesterday morning first thing when I got the word about Wash’s wife.”

  “You mean he watched you, and Joan, all day?” Hannibal asked.

  “Look at my wife, Mr. Jones. You think I want to risk losing this?” He turned a puppy-dog smile on her, then turned back to Hannibal. “Home and away, until I’m sure the threat is over. Last night he kept an eye on us at Morton’s when we went to dinner. We met friends at the bar in the Hyatt and stayed out pretty late actually, but I felt safe as long as I could put eyes on Cramer, and he could see us.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he provides a feeling of security.”

  Leotta leaned back with arms folded, looking smug the way some people do when they’re sure they know something you don’t. “So, Mr. Jones, what else did you want to ask me? Or accuse me of?”

  “I think that will do it for now,” Hannibal said, standing. “I appreciate your openness, and I’ll contact you if we need anything else.”

  Hannibal took Cindy’s hand to help her to her feet. The Leottas also stood, and Joan asked, “The police will find the people who did this, won’t they?”

  “They will, or I will,” Hannibal said.

  “It is terrible whatever happened to Mrs. Monroe of course but, well, do you think these people will hurt anyone else?”

  Cindy clenched her eyes tight and looked down and away. Only Hannibal saw the pain on her face. He saw no point in sharing any more detail with the Leottas, so he kept his answer to, “We’ll do everything we can to get to the bottom of this.”

  On the way to the car Hannibal wondered if walking through eighteen holes of well-tended woods would relax the kind of tensions he deals with on a daily basis. When he had the engine purring he told Cindy, “We’ve got one more stop.”

  “You don’t think Leotta has anything to do with what happened to Irene Monroe and Jason, do you?”

  “Doesn’t seem likely,” Hannibal said. “I can see why Wash might have picked him out of the crowd here. Leotta may as well have ‘mark’ written on his forehead. No grafter could resist taking advantage of him. But I’m thinking Wash is starting to regret taking advantage of so many people to climb to the top of his personal mountain. He was kind of weird when I dropped him off.”

  Once they were on the road they lapsed into silence. Even through Hannibal’s Oakleys, the sun gave the world around him a surreal brightness. He flipped the CD player to the energetic jazz of the Crusaders and pushed his car to just a few miles per hour over the speed limit. Cindy leaned against the passenger door and turned so that her left knee pressed against Hannibal’s thigh.

  “So tell me about him. Who is George Washington Monroe?”

  “Wash?” Hannibal mulled the question for a moment. “Well, he’s black. He’s handsome. He’s as smooth as any con man I’ve ever met, but downright charming, even when he isn’t running a game.”

  “Or at least, when you don’t think he’s running a game.” Cindy said with a wink.

  “Okay, counselor, fair enough. If he’s as good as I think he is, I wouldn’t know when he was scamming me. But I’m absolutely convinced of one thing. The man loved his wife.”

  When the car phone buzzed it startled them both. Cindy had never heard it before. Hannibal had only given the number to a few people and she was the most frequent user. He didn’t figure it could be good news, but it was probably news he wanted. He tapped the button on his steering wheel to answer the call and turn on the speakers.

  “This is Hannibal.”

  “Hey, Jones, it’s Orson.” The voice filled the car. “I see I caught you in the car so you’re headed somewhere, but I think you’ll want to postpone that appointment.”

  “No emergency,” Hannibal said. “Where are you? And what are you doing calling me on a Sunday? Don’t you ever take a day off?”

  “Crime don’t
take the weekends off,” Rissik said. “I’m at Monroe’s place, and I think you ought to get out here too.”

  “You’re in luck, buddy,” Hannibal said. “I’m five minutes away.”

  The remainder of the drive was a blur for Hannibal. With almost no traffic resistance he was able to push the Volvo to its limits on mostly straight, well-paved roads. Even in Northern Virginia, they were far enough south that autumn looked a lot like spring. Most of the trees never fully shed their leaves and the evergreens filled in the spaces. Snow almost never covered the ground and grass just turned from a bright green to a duller shade of the same color. But the world did smell different, and as he approached Monroe’s home the odor took a definite sharp turn. The comforting scent he associated with fireplaces proved grating that day.

  Hannibal pulled into the circular driveway and stepped out of his car without a word. He stared over the vehicle’s roof at the broad swath of smoking timbers and ash where the palatial colonial home was the day before. The pile of rubble hardly seemed big enough to represent the house it had replaced, and shrubs and bushes that stood too close to the house had paid the price.

  -14-

  “Last night, or rather this morning, apparently just before dawn.” Rissik kept his voice low, as if they were already at the funeral. He seemed dressed for one too, in a navy blue suit, starched dress shirt and tie. He stood just behind Hannibal and to one side with his hands in his pockets. Cindy walked around the car to stand beside Hannibal. She slid her hand into his and followed his gaze to the smoking rubble.

  He watched two investigators picking through the debris. The sun warmed his exposed skin and he imagined that it was from the fire that had raged through the house just hours before. “Wash was inside?” he asked in the same muted tone Rissik had used.

  “In bed,” Rissik said. “Smoking a cigar, according to the examiners. And with the remains of three bottles on the bed, one could assume that two were empty.”