“Better be life and death!” Hannibal wiped his mouth on a napkin and went out into the hall. His living room door was near the back of the building, so he walked past the basement door under the wide staircase to the other side before he could see who was standing at the front of the building, worrying his office door with their knuckles.
“I can’t believe he’s gone this early,” Kate Andrews muttered, staring at the door as if she could open it with the power of her stare.
“How the hell did you find me?” Hannibal asked from the other end of the building. She jumped but made a quick recovery and stalked toward him, her heels clicking like gunshots in the hallway.
“You gave me your card, remember? Reporters have to be resourceful, or didn’t they tell you? And once I saw the address, I figured it must be your residence as well.”
“Actually, I live across the hall,” Hannibal said. “Why don’t you come in and tell me what’s so important you came all the way into The District…”
“You broke your word, Jones,” she said, moving past him toward his front door. One foot inside, her eyes met Cindy’s. Kate stopped in her tracks, taking in the food on the table and Hannibal’s half finished meal. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize.”
Cindy’s recovery was a quick as Kate’s, standing and offering her hand for Kate’s reluctant shake. “No bother, come on in. I’m Cindy Santiago, and I didn’t realize Hannibal’s acquaintances included famous TV news reporters. Won’t you join us?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t. I mean…”
“What do you mean by that?” Hannibal asked, closing the door after getting back inside. “I keep my word with everybody, even pushy reporters.”
The three of them stood there for a moment, Kate’s eyes bouncing from Cindy to Hannibal and back. Then Cindy turned to the cabinet over the sink.
“I’m getting another plate. You can speak plainly to Hannibal, Ms. Andrews. I promise not to get involved.”
“Well, that does smell delicious, and I love Mexican food,” Kate said, pulling a chair out but still standing. “But I hate to intrude. I just wanted to ask Mister Jones about a story. A story that he assured me he’d call me about if anything came of it.”
Hannibal returned to his chair and under Cindy’s stare Kate joined them at the table. “I haven’t eaten, as a matter of fact,” Kate said, pushing her fork into the rice mixture.
“Actually, this is Cuban,” Hannibal said. Then to Cindy, “Kate helped me with that video of Dean Edwards, Cindy. I told her if it looked like news I’d give her a call. But so far it looks pretty tame.”
Kate was about to launch an outburst, but her taste buds short-circuited that. “Oh my, this is delicious! Now, Mister Jones, do you expect me to believe you didn’t know that family’s tragic history?”
“History?” Hannibal asked. “I know almost nothing about this guy. Enlighten me.”
Kate looked to Cindy who responded with a smile. “Aside from his cook, I’m also Hannibal’s lawyer. I understand confidentiality, if that’s a concern for you, Ms. Andrews.”
“Please call me Kate,” the reporter said. “And I don’t think there’s a legal problem here, I just wouldn’t want to get scooped if the story got out, you know?”
“I can assure you Cindy won’t talk to any competing reporters,” Hannibal said. “Now how do you come to know Edwards’ background?”
“Well after the interest you showed, I just had a feeling there might be a story there. So I took a look for Dean Edwards in the station’s story database. What I found was his mother, who was convicted of murdering his father a little more than ten years ago.” Kate’s eyes became intense as her story evolved, and Hannibal could see her excitement at digging into the facts and finding a story. She was one of those people who got real joy from her job. “I searched out the video archives so I could hear the entire story, and got a look at his mother. The same woman who came looking for his picture before you.”
Hannibal sat back from the table. “His mother. Maybe she just now found him.”
“Sure,” Cindy put in. “And he didn’t want to have to tell Bea about his mom killing his own dad, so he ran. Poor boy. I hope he comes clean to her. She can certainly handle it.”
Kate looked lost so Hannibal filled her in. “There’s no crime involved with my job as far as I know, Kate. The person who hired me to find Dean Edwards is his fiancee. But seems to me she deserves to know what you found out. Maybe I can even bring mother and prospective daughter-in-law together.”
“Unlikely,” Kate said. “She’s gone.” Now it was Hannibal’s turn to look lost. Kate chewed a bit longer than she needed to, as if she was reluctant to continue. Hannibal’s eyes prodded her, and they caught her attention.
“They’re hazel, aren’t they?” she asked. “Not blue as I first thought, or even green, but hazel.” He nodded. “Black people don’t have hazel eyes. Beautiful, though.”
“So glad you approve,” Hannibal said through a flat expression. “What do you mean she’s gone?”
“Look I had the address, it looked like a story, you know, long lost son reunited with jailbird mother. So I went to that motel. Geez, what a dive. But the new husband, this Irons guy, tells me she ran off last night some time.”
“Damn.” Hannibal stood and paced into the next room, the living room. “I scared the woman off. I didn’t know who she was. Never considered why she might be keeping such a low profile. I assume you questioned the poor Irons guy.”
“Well I asked him a couple questions,” Kate said, following Hannibal into the living room. Kate’s face reflected a degree of excitement that brought a bad taste into Hannibal’s mouth. “He confirmed her conviction, but of course he says she was framed. And he did say she saw a boy a few days ago who might be her son.”
Cindy set a cup of coffee on an end table. With her hands she directed Hannibal to sit beside it, but her eyes were on Kate. “Clearly she didn’t want a lot of attention. Maybe she and Dean have run off together. Coffee?”
All eyes turned to the telephone when it rang. To Hannibal, it was one more unwelcome intruder barging in at a bad time. He picked it up, but the tone of his hello was not very inviting.
“You need to come right away,” the panicked voice said. “I don’t know what to do. It’s, it’s horrible.”
“Bea?” Hannibal asked.
“I’m in that horrible little place over the garage,” Bea said through her sobs. “Please. It’s horrible. Dean he, he’s in more trouble than I ever…please, please come right away.”
Hannibal was not a happy man mounting the dark narrow staircase to the apartment above the Kitteridge three-car garage. First because he didn’t know what he was heading into, but mostly because of the company.
As he pushed the door open he could hear Cindy and Kate behind him jostling for position. He was always pleased to have Cindy along on a case, but his skin jumped at the thought of being shadowed by a reporter. He wished now he had told her no, but he really didn’t know how. And now she’d have her story.
The lights were on beyond the door Hannibal opened. The room’s contents were modest, a few pieces of mobile home type furniture, and it smelled as if the air had not been disturbed in a century. His attention was first drawn to the soft sobbing coming from beyond the almost square living room. From that door, he traced the trail across the thin carpet back to his own feet. With his arms Hannibal directed the women around him to either side to prevent them from stepping on the series of red footprints pointing into the bedroom beyond. It was a man’s spoor, in the pattern of an unusual shoe sole, a running shoe in fact, the unique Brooks Radius SC running shoes Dean wore at work that day.
Hannibal had to pull back on the tails of Kate’s jacket to enter the bedroom first. The twin size bed projected from the wall to the right. Dean lay on his side curled into a fetal position. His shoes lay at the foot of the bed. Bea knelt beside the bed clutching his hands. Her face had been pressed against his but when Hannib
al stepped into the room she looked up. A small smile broke through the dampness covering her face.
“Praise the Lord you’re here,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I didn’t know what in the world to do.”
Kate only got as far as, “Who is” before Hannibal’s finger in her face froze the question in her throat.
“Don’t you say a single word,” Hannibal said. “In fact, I think you’d better be out of here right now.”
Kate took a deep breath and leaned her determination right up against Hannibal’s. “If I leave now I go straight to the station with the story, as much as I know.”
Cindy pulled Kate aside. “Let’s negotiate.”
Hannibal ignored Cindy and Kate. “Okay Dean, this does not look good. Please tell me that isn’t blood all over your shoes.”
When Dean raised his head Hannibal hardly recognized him. The nervous kid Hannibal met at Kitteridge Computer Systems had been replaced by a dull-eyed man who fixed him with an empty stare. He had run from a manic state to what looked like clinical depression. He nodded slowly and managed to say, “It is.”
“Whose?”
Dean’s face collapsed on itself. “Oscar’s. It’s Oscar’s. Oscar Peters is dead. Mama’s done it again.”
Hannibal turned from Dean to follow the red trail out the door. Not the end of the journey after all, but the first step.
9
The blood on Dean’s shoes was fresh enough to retain its copper smell. The single bedside lamp shed just enough light for Hannibal to see there was no sign of struggle on Dean’s face or hands. And the boy was hardly coherent enough to fill in much more. But Hannibal was overwhelmed by the implications of this new development, and his ordered mind wanted to close out one job before starting another. He stepped close to the bed, looking down at the fragile creature curled up on top of it.
“Dean, is Mary Irons your mother?”
“Irons?” Words ambled out, as if Dean was talking through a fog. “Oh, yes, she said she was using Mary Irons. Mary is her middle name. She’s really Francis. Did she really marry again?”
Hannibal settled a hand on Bea’s shoulder. He only had one comforting fact and he figured she needed it. “The woman who went to your apartment Saturday to see Dean wasn’t a rival. It was his mother, Francis.”
At the other end of the room, Cindy stood inches from Kate’s face, speaking in low but intense tones. “What will it take for you to hold everything you know about this situation in strictest confidence?”
“Ah, someone I can deal with,” Kate said, smiling in the subtle conspiracy all successful businesswomen have to be part of. “Look, all I want is the story. If I can stay, I won’t reveal anything to anyone until and unless the principals give me permission. Unless of course a crime has been committed.”
Cindy returned Kate’s smile. “If a crime has been committed in connection with this case, you will still maintain that confidence. You will not reveal any facts until the police already have them.” Cindy held out her hand. Kate took it. Cindy whispered, “If you go back on this deal, I swear to God I’ll terminate your career.”
“As I will yours if you contradict anything I know to be the truth when you’re in court.” The women nodded their agreement and shook again as a sign of professional respect. Then Cindy turned back to her man.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Hannibal, but has anyone called the police yet?”
“Police?” Bea’s eyes were wide with fear. “No. They’ll put my poor Dean in jail. He’s in no condition. Look at him. Mister Jones, now that you’ve found him won’t you protect him? Please?”
Hannibal rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m on board as long as you want me,” he said, but his eyes were on Cindy. He was always grateful for her ability to maintain the practical and legal views. “How much trouble are we in if we don’t call the cops?”
“Probably none, until we confirm that a crime’s been committed,” Cindy said. “Mister Edwards, it looks as if you’ll need legal representation very soon. Do you have a lawyer?”
Dean shook his head.
“Can you represent him?” Bea asked. “Can I retain you on his behalf?”
“Yes, unless he objects,” Cindy replied. “Right now I want time to hear his story without pressure. And to keep him out of jail. Is he hurt in any way? Is any of this blood his?”
“He’s not hurt,” Bea said, unconsciously rubbing Dean’s head as she spoke. “When he called me he could barely speak, I think. When I got here I found the… the mess. I took off his shoes and checked him over pretty well. He’s okay.”
Cindy dropped to her knees to be on eye level with Bea. “He doesn’t look well, Bea. He looks like he’s in shock, or maybe it’s more than that. Do you know if Mister Edwards has been in therapy?”
“Therapy?” Bea said, her voice ripe with irony. “I didn’t even know his mother was alive. How would I know? I know so little about him. I mean, he told me all his family was dead.”
“Back home,” Dean said, staring right through Cindy. “After Mama killed Daddy.”
Hannibal leaned over Cindy. “Back home? Where’s home, son?”
Dean seemed to find that a hard question. His brow knit in concentration. “Oh it’s right there. The other side. Silver Spring.”
“Mister Edwards,” Cindy said, “Can you tell us the name of your doctor back home?”
“Oh, that was years ago,” Dean said. “Years and years. Auntie, she took me to see Doctor Roberts after I saw it. That scared me.”
“What did you see, sweetheart?” Bea asked, too late for Hannibal to stop her.
“You know. Daddy. What Mama did to Daddy with that knife.”
Behind them, Kate whispered, “Oh my God.”
“And… and Oscar,” Dean went on. “He looked just like Daddy did. The same. The same. Blood everywhere.”
Bea hugged Dean and he lapsed into silence. Cindy stood and turned toward the living room.
“I’m going to see if I can find this Doctor Roberts in Silver Spring. If I can, he’s our best hope for protecting Edwards. He might be willing to help us keep his former patient out of the hands of the police. He’d have no trouble convincing a judge his condition is shaky.”
Cindy moved quickly across the room but stopped when she came face to face with another woman on her way in. Joan Kitteridge stared past her until Cindy finally stepped aside. Joan didn’t stop again until she was in the middle of the room. Her glittering brown eyes settled on Kate, then Bea, then Dean, and finally Hannibal.
“All right Jones, I can see this is your show. What the hell’s going on here?”
At that moment Hannibal had the oddest thought: That there were just too many women involved with this case. “What makes you think something’s going on?” he asked. “And do you make it a habit to walk in here unannounced?”
“Don’t be flip with me,” Joan said, her auburn locks flipping as her head snapped around so she could glare from the corner of her eye. “I went to get in my ‘Vette and there’s a trail of what looks like bloody footprints coming out of it, leading up here. Well Dean’s been driving my car, and I want to know where he’s been.”
“I’m sorry,” Dean said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. I just went over to Oscar’s. To talk.”
“Oscar Peters?” Joan continued to speak only to Hannibal.
“Dean says Oscar’s dead,” Hannibal said. “I was just getting ready to call the police.”
“Wait a minute,” Joan said, hands raised. “Police. Shouldn’t we know for sure what happened first? I mean, we don’t even know if anyone’s dead. Why don’t we go around there and see what Dean saw? Oscar could be lying there in need of first aid or something.”
“You’re right,” Bea said, clearly considering for the first time that Dean’s report might not be accurate. “He could just look dead. Maybe we should send an ambulance.”
“I need some sanity here, Jones,” Joan said i
n a sarcastic tone. “He was driving my car and it’s covered with blood. Don’t you think we ought to check out the situation?”
10
The man running out of Oscar Peters’ house was much too tall to be its owner. But half a block away from the nearest street lamp, that was all Hannibal could tell about him.
Joan had ridden with him because Cindy cautioned that no one should touch Joan’s car. In a worst-case scenario, the police might accuse them all of an attempt to obstruct justice by tampering with evidence. They had barely left Hannibal’s car when the house’s front door opened. Joan called out Oscar’s name and rushed ahead. Hannibal purposely hung back a bit, to see what interaction there might be between them. But then Joan stopped dead in her tracks, the man on the porch stared at her for a split second, looked at Hannibal beyond her, and sprinted down the street. Only then could Hannibal judge his height. He was much too tall to be Oscar, with long, black, stringy hair. He wore a black silk shirt and black jeans.
Hannibal charged down the street behind the running man. His breath came in short puffs while his body adjusted to the chase, but in seconds he was in his distance runner groove, arms pumping, lungs expanding to accept all the oxygen they could drag out of the air.
The stranger was a suspect, possibly a murderer. With him in hand, no mystery would face Hannibal. Dean Edwards would be in no danger, his mother would be in the clear, and Bea could perhaps convince him to return to a normal life. All of that was motivation driving Hannibal down the street behind the rapid-fire clop clop of his quarry’s footfalls.
But the other man appeared to be driven by fear. That perhaps gave him an adrenal edge. In thirty seconds of running he had opened his lead to almost a block and then he turned the corner to the left. Hannibal cursed his suit coat and dress shoes as he watched the man disappear around the house on the corner. Hannibal still followed, nearly falling as he rounded the corner himself. Then he coasted to a stop.
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