“Hey, babe. How is your morning looking?”
“Hannibal?” He could hear Cindy’s voice shift into a sweeter mode. “I can’t remember the last time you called me before I left the house for work. What’s up?”
“Well I’m nearing a turning point in this case and I realized that I miss you. Do you realize that we haven’t gotten together in a week?”
“Wow, it has been a week,” she said, sounding surprised. “The caseload has been fairly heavy, and you know I’m still scoping on the perfect house. But there’s always room in my schedule for my honey.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said, lowering his voice to make her press the phone closer to her ear. “What are you doing for lunch today?”
He endured a brief pause while, he assumed, she checked her calendar. “Today? Nothing I couldn’t move.”
“Great,” Hannibal said. “How about I pick you up around noon and we step down to your favorite little Thai place?”
“In the mood for something hot, eh?”
“Yeah,” Hannibal said, “but I’ll settle for lunch with you. Maybe after dinner I can get something hot.”
They spent several minutes teasing their way toward good-bye. As Hannibal finally cut the connection, he saw a familiar silver Honda slide into its parking space. He raised his windows and went to meet Orson Rissik.
“This is a surprise,” Hannibal said, checking his watch. “I always imagined you as an in-by-seven-a.m. kind of guy.”
“No, I’m the in-by-eight-a.m.-but-usually-stuck-there-until-eight-p.m. kind of guy. How are you doing?”
“Not bad, all things considered,” Hannibal said, holding the door open for Rissik and following him inside. “Now, you said you had some new evidence on the two murders?”
“Geez, can’t I even get into my office?” Rissik asked. “Besides, I want to hear what you got yesterday first.”
Both men said good morning to Gert as they passed her desk. Inside Rissik’s office they found a pot of fresh coffee. Rissik poured for both of them, and then sat at his desk.
“Fair enough,” Hannibal said after tasting his coffee. It wasn’t gourmet in any way, just good, solid coffee. “Here’s what I think I know. Chameleon Boy, otherwise known as Dani Gana, was Boris Tolstaya’s courier. Tolstaya was coleader of an investment firm either run by or at the very least doing business with the Russian Mafiya. The firm might have been skimming from the clients, which is a bad idea if they were laundering mob money. Tolstaya was skimming from the firm, an even worse idea. Dani was skimming from Tolstaya, which, as it turns out, was even stupider. I think Tolstaya killed Dani for stealing.”
“That all makes sense, and gives us enough motive for us to get serious looking for Boris Tolstaya,” Rissik said. “And if he can be convinced to turn state’s evidence, we might even get to poke a hole in the Russian mob.”
“I’m glad I could make you so happy, Chief,” Hannibal said. “And nobody in uniform could have gotten that stuff. Now, about your news…”
“Oh yeah,” Rissik said, leaning back with his hands on the back of his head. “The murder weapons.”
“What about them?” Hannibal asked, annoyed that Rissik felt the need to be dramatic.
“Oh. You remember that the bullet that went through Mrs. Petrova was an unusual, small caliber? Well, the bullet that took Dani Gana out was the same. They found it in the vehicle. I had asked the Maryland boys for the report and when I read that, I got on the horn with them to let them know about Raisa’s case.”
“Got to be the same gun,” Hannibal said. “And I can see how Boris might have taken out Mrs. Petrova if she wouldn’t give up her daughter’s lover. But why the tiny gun?”
“I can see it if he’s really a gambler and businessman,” Rissik said. “Easy to conceal, right? And real quiet.”
Hannibal’s nod was more vigorous than usual because his cell phone was vibrating in his jacket pocket. He excused himself and pulled it out.
“Mr. Jones? It is Yakov Sidorov.”
“Yakov?” Hannibal looked up at Rissik. “What’s going on? Is Viktoriya OK?”
“Fine, fine,” Yakov said, “but I need to talk to you.”
Hannibal again looked at Rissik, who said, “Go ahead. We’re done here and I’ve got lots to do now, thanks to you.”
Hannibal smiled, nodded, and headed for his car.
“Yakov, what’s the problem?”
“Do you know a man named Krada? Jamal Krada?”
“Yeah, but how do you know him?” Hannibal asked as he walked across the parking lot.
“He called my cell phone, asking all sorts of questions about Dani Gana. He said he knew you.”
That brought Hannibal up short and he stopped beside his car. “What? How’d he get your number?”
“He said he got it from Gana, who was one of his students. He said he had lost contact with his student and wanted to know if I could put him in touch with him.”
“What did you tell him?” Hannibal asked, getting into his car and yanking the door shut.
“Nothing,” Yakov said. “I just said I did not know what he was talking about. This man I did not know and who was I to tell him his student had been killed?”
“You did the right thing,” Hannibal said, checking his watch. “I have to be in the District for lunch anyway. I think I’ll swing by Krada’s house and tell him in person.”
* * * * *
Krada didn’t look happy when he opened the door, but he also didn’t look as arrogant as he had before. Hannibal judged him to be a private man. He would not like too many people knowing his business, especially if one of them was a private investigator. He looked up at Hannibal like a boy who had been caught peeping in the girls’ dormitory window.
“So this Sidorov person felt the need to drag you into this,” Krada said.
“Actually, he said you mentioned my name to try to get him to talk to you,” Hannibal said. “So the truth is, you dragged me into this. And I’d like to know why you were so concerned.”
Krada offered a noncommittal grunt and walked back into the house. Hannibal followed him to the same seat he had occupied on his first visit. The house carried the faint lemon scent of furniture polish. Had the woman been up cleaning the house this early?
As he sat, Mrs. Krada floated into view wearing a caftan in muted colors and carrying a carafe of coffee. As she poured for the two men, Hannibal rose from his seat and said good morning. She did not respond verbally, but he saw color come to her cheeks as he sat back down. How did a woman come to be so unaccustomed to simple courtesy in twenty-first century America?
“So why were you so concerned?” Hannibal asked Krada as his wife faded into the background.
“Well, Gartee was always taking chances,” Krada said. “I have worried that he would attract too much attention and they’d find him.”
“That would explain his changing his name to Dani Gana,” Hannibal said, not asking whose attention Gana would not want to attract.
“Exactly,” Krada said, sipping his coffee. “He never understood how determined those feds could be.”
Hannibal nodded. “FBI,” he said, sipping and staring out the back door.
“Immigration,” Krada said, correcting him, and then raising his eyes in surprise. “Wait. You didn’t know, did you?”
“So he was in country illegally,” Hannibal said. “And he shared that knowledge with you, along with the phone number of one of the first friends he made in this country.”
“Yes, as have many of my students,” Krada said. His eyes seemed to soften somewhat, and he stared down into his cup. “Sometimes they have no one else to turn to, and they need a fatherly figure. I stay in touch with a few, as I did with Gartee.”
“Yes, I should have seen that right away,” Hannibal said. “It explains how he was able to toss off the answers to all of your quiz questions. You gave them to him before I got there. That was clever.”
“Was I wrong to t
ry to help him keep his secrets?” Krada asked. “If so, I was not alone. Sidorov would tell me nothing. But you said you had some news to share.” He ended the sentence on an up note, like a question. His expectant expression made Hannibal’s next words more difficult to say.
“I’m afraid I don’t have good news. I’m sorry to tell you that Dani Gana, Gartee Roberts, is dead.”
“Dead?” Krada almost spilled his coffee putting the cup down. “How?”
“He appears to have made some enemies far worse than the INS,” Hannibal said. “I’m afraid he was murdered.”
Krada’s gaze returned to the inside of his cup. He seemed to need a few seconds to take the news in. Not knowing what to say next, Hannibal finished his coffee and waited.
“When I spoke to him last, Gartee was about to get married,” Krada said.
“Yes, they did marry,” Hannibal said. “In fact, I think you knew the girl. A Russian girl, Viktoriya Petrova.”
Krada’s eyes went up as if he was searching his memory. “Viktoriya? Yes, I think I may have met the girl back when Dani was still attending classes. This must be terribly hard on her. Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Hannibal said, “and safe and sound under Dr. Sidorov’s care.”
“Well I hope he can protect her,” Krada said, “in case whoever went after Gartee goes after her. Perhaps I can offer a safe haven.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Hannibal said, standing, “but I think I have a better idea of how to make sure she’s safe. And if I move right now, I’ll just about have time to take care of that chore before my lunch date.”
Hannibal shook Krada’s hand at the door and called good-bye to his wife just to see the annoyed look on his face. He was still smiling at his ability to get under Krada’s skin when he started the car and his phone rang at the same second.
“All right, Rissik, are you lonely or something? You can’t have learned anything about old Boris in the time since I left your office.”
“Nope, but one of yesterday’s pigeons has come home to roost.”
“News about Dani Gana?” Hannibal asked as he backed out of the driveway.
“Gana’s a dead end. As a matter of fact, so is Gartee Roberts. Thank goodness you tracked the boy back to Hamed Barek. That appears to be a real person. And you’re not going to believe who he really is.”
-29-
Hannibal pulled up in front of his building long enough for Ivanovich to run out and hop into the passenger seat. As they pulled away, Ivanovich again straightened his suit coat. A bad habit, Hannibal thought, for a man who is always concealing a firearm. Others will know that he is armed.
“Note this gesture of trust,” Ivanovich said. “You call. I come, with no idea of where we may be going.”
“I’m taking you to Viktoriya,” Hannibal said, never taking his eyes off the traffic. “You can stay there until I straighten this whole thing out.”
“Thank you,” Ivanovich said. Then, after a beat, “Why?”
Hannibal smiled, and turned up the stereo. Steely Dan boomed out, Donald Fagan calling their attention to the glory of the royal scam. “Don’t worry, you’ll be chaperoned. But I think her late husband’s enemies may be even bigger and more varied than I thought before, and I want her protected right while I’m out tying off the loose ends.”
“You have news?” Ivanovich asked, taking out a handkerchief and laying it on his lap.
“Well, I found out this morning that Dani Gana, AKA Gartee Roberts, was in the country illegally.”
“INS is no trouble,” Ivanovich said, drawing his weapon. “They rarely find anyone unless there is heavy political pressure.”
“I also now know that Hamed Barek is his real name. And Rissik just called to tell me that Barek is a Moroccan ambassador.”
“I see.” Ivanovich watched the road while he disassembled the pistol in his lap. “Possible international intrigue in relation to the mob money. Yes, there may be more professional people involved.”
Hannibal rolled up onto the beltway pointed north as he went through it all. “So this Barek, a diplomat from Morocco, steals money from the Russian mob. He vanishes, by which we can assume he goes home with his fortune, which can neither be traced nor claimed by the previous owners. But then he returns to the U.S. Why?”
“Is it not obvious?” Ivanovich asked, pushing the slide back onto his gun’s receiver. “He came back for her. She shines in a world full of ugliness.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Hannibal said. But as he pulled into New York Avenue, he wondered if Ivanovich might be right. After their first meeting Hannibal suspected Dani Gana of planning to con a helpless young girl out of her virtue and her father’s fortune. Could Gana have been, in reality, no more than a lovesick hustler risking it all for the woman he fell for in college?
Hannibal pulled off of I-495 and into Capital Heights, just outside of the District, as Steely Dan declared that they had found their home at last. He didn’t think so. Technically, they were in Maryland but as is so often the case, there was no clear line between the little town and Washington. Watching his mirrors closely he pulled into the parking lot of a pink, two-story building with a Motel 6 sign over the entrance. Ivanovich got out of the car at the same second he did. Both men scanned the area carefully, verifying that they had not been followed.
“You brought my Viktoriya here?”
“Inconspicuous, out of the way, and the last place anyone would expect to find her,” Hannibal said, deciding to let the “my Viktoriya” pass for the moment. He led the way up the exposed stairs to the landing surrounding the building. They walked around to the back of the building. Hannibal knocked on a door and called out his own first name. He heard two locks turned and the door opened a crack with the security bar still in place.
“Yakov, if it wasn’t me, that security device wouldn’t stop anyone from shooting you,” Hannibal said. “Just let us in, all right?”
To call the room modest would have been a kindness. The carpet was new but cheap, the wallpaper was intact but dull, and the curtains were sun-faded. But the room was clean and the flowered bedspreads lent a bit of brightness.
Viktoriya lay on the second of the two full beds. Her hair was splayed out like a black silk fan across the pillow as she dozed. She lay atop the covers in a white peasant dress that was definitely not what Hannibal had seen her in before.
“Tell me you didn’t let her go shopping.”
“I went out long enough to buy her some clothes and other necessities,” Sidorov said. “I was careful.”
“I hope so,” Hannibal said. “The people looking for her now could be very, very good.”
Sidorov snorted. “I grew up in the shadow of the KGB. I know how to be careful.”
“Who knows you are here?” Ivanovich asked, watching Viktoriya’s chest rise and fall.
“No one,” Sidorov said, waving at Ivanovich to keep his voice down. “Not even my wife. I would never endanger my Viktoriya.”
“She looks awfully quiet,” Hannibal said, sitting on the unoccupied bed.
“I’ve given her a mild sedative,” Sidorov said. “She became upset.”
As if to contradict him, Viktoriya opened her eyes and looked around the room with unfocused eyes. When her gaze did settle on something, it was Hannibal or perhaps her own reflection in his glasses.
“Uncle Yakov?”
“I am here, child,” Yakov said.
“Everything is fine,” Hannibal said. “You’re safe and sound.”
Her eyes clouded up. “But my Dani. Dani is gone. I waited. He came back. But now he’s gone.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Ivanovich said, stepping into her view. She visibly started.
“Aleksandr?”
“He’s just here for extra protection,” Hannibal said.
“I know,” Viktoriya said through a soft smile. “Everyone always wants to protect me. Daddy. Aleksandr. Even Uncle Yakov back when I worked for him.”<
br />
Hannibal and Ivanovich both turned to stare at the older man.
“During college, she was my receptionist for a short time,” Sidorov said. Then his cell phone interrupted him and he snatched it out of his jacket.
“Yes, this is he,” Sidorov said in a professional tone. He kept talking as he pulled out a notepad. “Yes. Yes, of course. And the patient?” The conversation continued and Sidorov scribbled at a furious pace on his tiny pad, ripping off pages and writing again. Hannibal lost interest and turned to the big windows. He had placed his bet on obscurity but right then, inside that little room, he felt trapped and cornered. An enemy who located them would have no trouble disposing of them all.
Sidorov closed his phone and put it away. Then he sat at the little table under the gaudy hanging lamp and nodded to himself for a few seconds before he spoke.
“Do you believe in divine providence, Mr. Jones?”
“Is this a trick question?” Hannibal asked.
“That was my service,” Sidorov said as a smile blossomed on his face. “I told you that Boris Tolstaya had health issues, although I have kept his confidentiality as to the type or severity of his problem.”
“So?” Ivanovich asked.
“Boris is under the care of another physician,” Sidorov said. “This new doctor called my office for Boris’s medical records. The girl called for my permission to release the records. Of course, while she was speaking with the other physician, she updated our patient records. And that included Boris Tolstaya’s current address.”
-30-
Hannibal felt a surge of electricity shoot up his spine as he took in this news. It sucked the air out of his lungs but then drove him to his feet. Tolstaya—killer, threat to Viktoriya, holder of the missing fortune—was the finish line and Hannibal was driven to dash toward it. Ivanovich, ahead of him by a small margin, already had a hand on the doorknob.
“No,” Hannibal said, grabbing Ivanovich’s sleeve. The Russian turned blazing eyes on him and for the first time Hannibal saw the killer inside the man.
“Because of him, Viktoriya is in danger,” Ivanovich said. “But not for long.”
Russian Roulette (Hannibal Jones Mysteries) Page 17
