Pyramid Deception

by Austin S. Camacho

  “Hard to believe this could even happen,” Hannibal said. “I know the house had a sprinkler system. The construction on places like these is amazing. And these days, firefighter response times are so impressive.”

  “Yeah, but before they can scramble somebody has to notice the fire and then call it in. Look around you. Imagine how big the blaze would have had to be before any of the neighbors could even see it. The firemen fought this one hard but as I understand it, the house was fully engulfed by the time they got the word.”

  Cindy continued to stare straight ahead. “You can’t think this was an accident.”

  “Despite what you may have heard, Miss Santiago,” Rissik said, “Becoming a police detective doesn’t make you stupid. Still, an objective eye or a defense attorney could make a credible case for suicide. Expensive booze aside, there is no evidence of an accelerant. The condition of the body will make it impossible for anyone to know just how drunk he was when the fire started.”

  Cindy swallowed. “Point taken. You mentioned the body. He’s not still in there, is he?”

  Rissik smiled. “Taken away hours before the local cops thought to let me know about the fire, ma’am. But I understand there wasn’t much to examine.”

  “Thanks for your patience. And please call me Cindy. Once we’ve taken a meal together…”

  Hannibal interrupted. “Got a cause of death?”

  “They’re thinking smoke inhalation,” Rissik said. “But the medical examiner isn’t completely sure he can tie all of the damage to the body to the falling debris. For example, there is the matter of the seventh vertebrae.”

  Hannibal tried to picture Monroe, drunk in his bed and surrounded by partially empty bottles. He passes out late in the night. Alcohol spills onto the covers. A lit cigar drops from his mouth. Flames spread quickly through the room. Death from smoke inhalation. Minutes later, before the fire department arrives, a heavy timber drops from above crashing into his head and breaking his neck.

  Possible. Plausible. But the human hands of a trained killer seemed somehow easier for him to believe. If someone could get into the house. But the alarm was set. Who would Wash have invited in? He was lost in thought until he felt his hand being squeezed.

  “Hannibal? Is there a reason we need to keep standing here?”

  The breeze shifted, forcing the smoke from the smoldering mass to follow them as they walked down the driveway toward the street. The smoke wasn’t thick, or even visible, but it filled Hannibal’s lungs like a thick cloud of guilt.

  “Right out from under me,” he muttered. “Again.”

  “Don’t you even start that shit,” Rissik said. “He didn’t get the message in that bar, did he? How many times can you save a man’s life in 24 hours?”

  “It’s the same guy, isn’t it?” Cindy asked. “I mean, it has to be, right?”

  “Sure seems that way,” Rissik said. “Which I guess takes Monroe out of the suspect pool for his wife’s death.” A green Jaguar slowed to a crawl as it passed in front of the house. Rissik held up his badge and waved the car on. “Damn rubberneckers. So what do you think of Leotta? You talk to him?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t like him for this,” Hannibal said. “First of all, he just doesn’t feel like a guy who would kill for money. Besides, he has a solid alibi for the time Wash was attacked, and for that matter so does his bodyguard, Cramer. Alibis we could easily check if we wanted to.”

  “So we’re still in the same place,” Rissik said. “Who had a motive to kill both Monroe and his wife?”

  “And Jason,” Cindy added.

  “No motive there,” Rissik said. “They killed him just cause it was convenient. We are dealing with a cold blooded son of a bitch.”

  Cindy nodded, crossed her arms and leaned back against the brick column at the end of the driveway. “How about just a cold blooded bitch? Did he have another woman in his life? She had a man. He might have been playing the same game. A jealous woman might kill the wife to hurt him, and then if she was scorned she might kill him.”

  “If he had a girlfriend, he’d let her in,” Rissik said, nodding. “That gets us around the whole alarm thing.”

  “Irene told me he had a woman on the side,” Hannibal said, staring in the direction of the shopping center. “And when he was drunk Wash said something about being pretty wild in his younger days, even hinted there might be kids out there somewhere.”

  “All that’s real pretty theory,” Rissik said. “But I haven’t found even a hint of anybody Monroe felt close enough to, to tell stuff like that. And if there was any evidence in his house there sure ain’t now. How could we even confirm he had a girl, let alone find out who it was?”

  Out of nowhere, Cindy said, “Hamilton Burger.”

  “What?”

  She grinned and pointed at Rissik. “I kept thinking you reminded me of somebody but I couldn’t pin it down. In the old Perry Mason TV show. The District Attorney he was always in court with was Hamilton Burger. That’s who you remind me of.”

  “I was just starting to like you,” Rissik said with a straight face, “and now you’re going to start insulting me?”

  Hannibal was shaking his head. “It can’t be this hard. Once I got Wash to open up, his mouth never stopped running. He talked constantly, mostly about himself. There must be somebody he confided in.”

  “Say, didn’t you tell me he had a personal assistant?” Cindy asked.

  “Sure. Kevin Larson. I talked to him. He didn’t have much to offer.”

  “But that was when Monroe was alive,” Cindy said. “He might have been thought he needed to protect his old boss. I’m just saying, if you’ve got no friends and you’re going to confide in anybody…”

  Hannibal nodded. “You might just have a point, babe. I might not have asked all the right questions.”

  “You realize you’ll have to be the one breaking this ugly news, right?” Rissik said, waving at the remains of the house. Hannibal sighed and gave a slow nod. Cindy took his hand.

  “Don’t worry, honey. We can do this together.”

  Kevin’s expression was wary when he opened the door. He wore a dark gray conservative suit and tie. Hannibal realized he must have just returned from an early church service.

  “Mr. Jones. What brings you back around here?”

  “Well, honestly Kevin I need your help,” Hannibal said. “And I’m afraid I have some rather bad news.”

  At the same moment the two men looked past each other. Hannibal felt Kevin’s eyes slip past him, noticing for the first time that his visitor was not alone. For his part, Hannibal spotted Vera at the other end of the living room. Her navy blue dress and three inch heels made her look older than he knew she was.

  “Don’t just stand there, Kevin,” she called. “Invite them in.” After quick introductions the four settled at the kitchen table with glasses of iced tea.

  “You said something about bad news?” Vera asked. “Does that mean you’ve found Irene? I had a bad feeling about this from the start.”

  Hannibal pulled his glasses off. Vera stared into his eyes. Hannibal caught her Sunday scent, a timeless musk. Kevin’s eyes were low and hooded. Hannibal took a deep breath. Under the table, Cindy squeezed his hand.

  “Three’s no news about Mrs. Monroe I’m afraid. But Wash… Mr. Monroe… I’m afraid there was a fire. His house completely destroyed.”

  “And Mr. Monroe?” Vera asked.

  “I’m afraid he was inside.”

  “Oh Lord Jesus,” Vera said, her hand sliding over her husband’s.

  After a sip of tea Kevin said, “We appreciate you coming to tell us in person. Not the kind of thing you want to find out about in the newspaper, you know?”

  “You were close,” Cindy said.

  “No better people to work for,” Kevin said, sliding one of his strong hands back over his head.

  “We’re trying to find out who might have wanted to hurt them,” Hannibal said. “I know this is tough, but I t
hought Wash might have spoken to you in confidence. We haven’t found any friends…”

  Kevin spread his hands on the cool pressed wood of the table top. “Mr. Monroe didn’t really have any friends. And he didn’t talk to me like that either. Don’t get me wrong, he was good to me but he was still the boss and I was the worker, you know.”

  Hannibal did know. People like Wash kept the hired help in their place, even when they didn’t mean to. It had been a shot in the gloomy dark of this case. The room fell into silence and he was starting to figure out how they would gracefully leave when Cindy turned to Vera.

  “Girls aren’t like that,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “And you look to me like your relationship with Irene was different. Maybe Mr. Monroe confided in her and she in you.”

  Vera sucked in a breath. “We talked about a lot, but I don’t remember anything about anybody that might have wanted to hurt them. If anybody was after them he would only…”

  Vera’s eyes snapped to her husband. Kevin stared back and Hannibal sensed that telepathy that some married couples develop over time. They seemed to nod to each other in veiled understanding.

  “I might know one person Wash would have confided in,” Vera said, still looking at Kevin.

  “You’re thinking of Manny Hernandez,” Kevin said. Then to Hannibal, “Did you know that Mr. Monroe used to have a business partner back in the day?”

  “In fact, Wash introduced me to him,” Hannibal said. Of course, at the time Hannibal viewed him as a suspect, not a source of good intel. Now it occurred to him that Manny might be a resource he had not put to best use.

  “I think Vera’s right, Mr. Jones,” Kevin said. “If you’re looking to learn about Wash’s past that’s the boy who could fill you in.”

  “Well, thank you both so much for the help.” Hannibal stood up and everyone else followed suit. Kevin gave him a strong, firm handshake. He hesitated when he turned to Vera but Cindy stepped in, giving the other woman a warm hug.

  Once out the door Hannibal speed walked toward his car, anxious to get back into action. Cindy had to run to catch him at his car door.

  “So what’s next?” she asked. “Going to get the police to pick up this Hernandez for questioning?”

  “He won’t tell them a thing,” Hannibal said. “But he’ll talk to me.” Then he gave Cindy a one armed hug. “Hey, you were really good in there. Thanks.”

  But pulling the passenger door open, he looked into her fawn brown eyes and let his gaze wander down her body, reminding himself that she was not a policeman or a detective, but a lawyer.

  “I’ll drop you back at the hotel, then head into the city.”

  “Nuh-uh. In for a penny, in for a pound.” She looked up at him with her jaw set. “Honey, I need to see this through with you. Unless you think it will be too dangerous. Is this guy a thug? Are you expecting a shootout?”

  “No,” Hannibal said. “But then, I never expect a shootout.”

  Columbia Heights was a quieter neighborhood on Sunday, and Hannibal found a parking space on the same block as the restaurant. Cindy slipped her arm through his as they walked toward Hernandez’s legal business. Not only was Hannibal surprised at how few people he saw on the street, but by the apparent shift in their ethnicity.

  “Where do you suppose everybody is?” He asked. “All I see is white folks.”

  “You kill me, honey,” Cindy said, allowing a giggle to bubble up out of her. “You’re the most observant man I’ve ever met, but sometimes you can’t see anything. It’s barely two o’clock. The Hispanic community is at Mass, and most of the black community is still in church, having a lot more fun than their Latin brothers and sisters.”

  The aroma of peppers and garlic wafted out at them as they approached the restaurant’s bright red and green door. Cindy’s unexpected smile told Hannibal that his mission might not be as grim as he expected.

  “Taberna Pacifico? Is this where you’re bringing me?”

  “This is Manny Hernandez’s club. You know the place?”

  “Good food and great salsa music,” she said. “Always a good time. I came here a couple of times with…”

  Her mouth opened but no name came forth. Hannibal guessed the missing name. He would never go clubbing with her again.

  “Come on,” he said. “You’re not a stranger to this place. Maybe that connection will help us get some answers.” He pulled the door open and stepped into the dismal dining area first. He wondered how this hollow space could ever be a place of joy, song and dance. After a quick look around he moved toward the back room until the same grim bouncer stepped out in front of him.

  “I’m not looking for trouble,” Hannibal said, his hands open and in plain sight. “Please just tell Manny that I’ve got some news that he’ll want to get in person.”

  Hannibal heard a few words in Spanish from behind the bouncer, and then Hernandez appeared. He stood to the other man’s side, but five or six feet behind him. He wore a well-cut suit with narrow lapels and cuffs. His arms crossed in the universal sign of annoyance, of being closed to whomever or whatever was coming.

  “What is this news that is so important?”

  Cindy took a step forward and bowed her head slightly. She fired off a rush of Spanish. Hannibal didn’t catch anything beyond, “Buenos dias, Senor Hernandez” and the name Fernando Lamas. Hernandez’s expression showed surprise but only for an instant. Then his hard expression softened and he offered a subtle half-smile. After considering with lips pursed for another second, he snapped his head toward his office, signaling for them to follow. The bouncer swung to the side like an iron gate, allowing them to pass. As they passed him Hannibal looked at Cindy with both hands raised palm up and his shoulders up. Cindy winked and answered his unspoken question.

  “I told him that he would want to receive this important news privately, and that you didn’t tell me he looked so much like Fernando Lamas.”

  In the small office Hannibal made the formal introductions. Hernandez took Cindy’s hand and kissed it. The desk was cleaned off, and Hernandez pulled the chair out and waited. Cindy smiled at him and turned herself to settle gently on to it as he pushed it in. Then he pulled a wine bottle out of a small refrigerator on the other side of the room.

  “Now, Mr. Jones, what is this news that is so bad that you must bring this charming young lady to my restaurant to cushion the blow when you break it to me?”

  Hannibal cleared his throat. “You remember that Wash and I originally came here for your help to find out who killed Irene. Well I’m afraid whoever it was doubled back and finished the job. Wash’s house burned down last night with him trapped inside.”

  Hernandez turned the corkscrew until it was fully seated. Staring ahead at the wall he pulled the cork upward with slow, steady pressure until it surrendered with a subtle pop and released a surprising fragrance into the air. It reminded Hannibal of toast, or maybe smoked ham.

  “I couldn’t trust that little bastard any farther than I could throw the Washington Monument,” he said. “He’d have sold me into slavery for a hundred dollars and a good cigar. But I sure loved that gimpy hustler.”

  “You seem to be as close to a friend as Wash ever had,” Hannibal said, leaning back against the desk. “If he confided in anyone it was you.”

  “If he did, it was because I know how to hold onto information.”

  “We’re not asking you to break any confidences,” Hannibal said. “We’re hoping you can tell us who would have wanted them both dead.”

  Hernandez drew three wine glasses from a cabinet with surprising solemnity and filled them half way with the dense purple liquid. He handed glasses to his guests and waited for Cindy to sip before he did. Hannibal tasted it too, and found it dry but impressive. He was no expert but the glow on Cindy’s face told him it must be good.

  “This is a cabernet, Senor Hernandez?” she asked more than stated. Still it brought a smile to Hernandez’ face.

  “Cabernet Sauvignon
,” he replied. “A Vega Sicilia Reserva Especial. And please, my friends call me Manny.”

  “Thank you, Manny. And my friends call me Cindy.” She glanced toward Hannibal, but he nodded to her to continue. It seemed clear that Hernandez would rather speak with her, which Hannibal found quite understandable.

  “Manny, we wondered if perhaps a jealous woman might be behind the deaths of your friend and his wife. We understand that Mr. Monroe was…”

  “A player?” Hernandez supplied. “Yeah, Wash was a bit of a dog but, hey, that’s what men do, you know?”

  “So there was a girlfriend,” Cindy said.

  “What? No.” Hernandez pointed at the second chair, waiting for Hannibal to refuse with a shake of his head before dropping into it. “His wife, now she had another man in her life, a boyfriend on the side. Bitch. No, Wash never saw the same girl twice. Just catting around, you know? Nothing like a relationship.”

  Cindy’s lips pressed together, Hannibal assumed to keep her annoyance in. She would not see that this was better or more noble, and for that matter neither did Hannibal. But he had heard it before and was trained not to react emotionally when questioning a witness. Support them, encourage them, and let them talk. That was his style. He took a big swallow of his wine, despite the fact that red wine never appealed to him.

  “Are you saying that Wash never once got close to any girl except Irene? A guy like him?”

  “Well, years ago,” Hernandez said. Then he seemed to focus on the opposite wall, as if an invisible screen there was playing the past in high definition. He stared and drank and smiled. “Yeah, there was this one girl. Damn, I’ve known that little hustler for a long time. Yeah, before there was Irene there was Sarah. And she turned my boy inside out.”

  “And where was that?” Hannibal asked.

  “Oh, hell, this is down in Charlottesville,” Hernandez said. “We was kids back then. But he sure had it bad for that girl. They were together for years.”

  “You make it sound serious,” Cindy said, winking at Hannibal, “but I guess this girl couldn’t quite set the hook.”