“I’ve been asked to check a guy out before he marries into a certain family. You know, make sure he’s legit and who he says he is, and so forth.”
“Anything a lawyer could help with?” Cindy asked.
“I don’t know. He claims to be Algerian. Know any way I could prove that?”
Hannibal thought she might have insight into the customs process or some similar legal check, but she surprised him. “Well, I do know this professor at Howard. Krada ’s his name, Jamal Krada. I think he teaches history. Anyhow, he’s from Algeria. I bet he could tell you if this other guy’s really from there.”
“Hey that is a really good lead, babe. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, lover. But listen, I need to get into court now. Talk to you later?”
They said their hurried good-byes and Hannibal used operator assistance to find his way through the Howard University telephone tree to Jamal Krada’s office. As it turned out, Krada had no morning classes. When Hannibal dropped Cindy’s name, Krada invited him to lunch at his home. He was just completing the arrangements as he pulled into a parking space in front of Gana’s house. Black Beauty was now in the space the brown Saturn had occupied earlier. As he looked up the driveway to the front door, he hoped his visit would have a happier ending than Ben Cochran’s had. He walked up the winding asphalt path and rang the bell. He was startled at how quickly it swung open, as if the resident had been waiting for someone.
Gana stood in a sky blue suit and wingtips polished until they glistened. He scanned Hannibal up and down, staring into his sunglasses for a second before saying, “You must be Hannibal Jones, the private detective that Mrs. Petrova told me about. It is an honor to be investigated.”
5
Dani Gana turned his back to Hannibal and led him into the house without looking back. It was an unexpected expression of trust. Hannibal followed Gana through the house, which looked bigger on the inside than it had from outside. Gana paused in the living room and stared into the fireplace as if trying to decide something. This gave Hannibal a chance to look around. He was admiring the shoji screens in the dining room when he noticed what looked like a packing box beside a large oak desk. One side of the desk was covered with papers, but the pigeonholes on one side were all empty.
“Yes,” Gana declared, indicating that he had made a decision. He moved quickly into the kitchen and returned with a large coffee mug. Then he led Hannibal through the living room to the patio beyond.
The patio overlooked a modest swimming pool. Beyond that, a long terraced garden separated them from the back of the Petrova house. Gana opened the insulated carafe on the table and filled a mug for Hannibal, then filled his own that was already there.
“Yes, this is better than being cooped up in the house,” Gana said. “Now have a seat and tell me how I can help you.”
“Actually, I thought I might be able to help you,” Hannibal said. “I was in the area this morning to speak to Mrs. Petrova. When I was walking past this house it looked like you were having a bit of trouble with somebody.”
“That was minor,” Gana said, flashing a broad smile. Up close, his smile dazzled and his eyes twinkled with energy. “A little fender bender, actually. I did have to take my car in for repair after the incident.” He sipped his coffee, watching Hannibal over the edge of his cup.
“That I might be able to help you with,” Hannibal said. He pulled a card from his pocket and slid it across the table. “Here’s a very good limousine service I often use when my car is in the shop. So, you don’t mind talking to me? I’d just like to know a little about your background.”
“I have nothing to hide from Hannibal Jones, the famous Washington troubleshooter. Ask me anything.”
“All right,” Hannibal said. “I’d like to know how you met the Petrovas but I’d also like to know how you know me.”
“I’ve known Viktoriya Petrova for years. She knows that I will give her love and a good life. And you are a professional, I know that much. So someone must have hired you. Who would want to investigate me?”
Hannibal sipped his coffee, then sipped again and smiled. “Very nice.”
“Isn’t that good?” Gana asked, crossing his legs. “I have it imported from Algeria. Did you know the Sufis made this drink so popular? Members of the Shadhiliyya order spread coffee drinking throughout the Islamic world back in the thirteenth century. A Shadhiliyya shaikh was introduced to coffee drinking in Ethiopia. To this day the shaikh is regarded as the patron saint of coffee-growers back home. In fact, in Algeria coffee is sometimes called shadhiliyye in his honor. ”
“I am familiar with the coffee of the region,” Hannibal said. “How do you know me?”
Gana watched the sun glint off the surface of the pool for a second before answering. “I will admit that when Mother Petrova told me that you planned to visit me I went to the computer and Googled you. Does this trouble you?”
“It’s all public knowledge,” Hannibal said, although it did make him a little uneasy. Had this man read the web log Cindy talked him into starting? He couldn’t say why that bothered him a bit, but now that he thought about it, it seemed odd that no one had done it before.
“And now to my question,” Gana said. “Who has hired you to check up on me? It is Ivanovich, isn’t it? Mother Petrova believes it is. You know, he is simply a jealous suitor who is a poor loser.”
The coffee was dark and rich. As he drank, Hannibal could see all that everyone else saw in Dani Gana. He saw the hypnotic lover who must have swept Viktoriya off her feet. He saw the suave gentleman who would impress any mother with a daughter of marrying age. And he could also see the dangerous risk taker and potential killer Ivanovich knew. The man was smooth as polished marble, but Hannibal would bet he could be just as hard. He returned Gana’s smile, still not sure which of them was the mongoose and which the snake.
“Sorry, I really can’t go around revealing the names of my clients. But surely this Ivanovich guy can’t be the only person on earth interested in you. Who else would want you investigated?”
Gana returned one loud, harsh laugh. “Very good, Mister Jones. But no, I don’t think it is in my best interests to offer you a list of my enemies.” Gana emptied his mug and set it down with a decisive thump. “In fact, I’m not so sure I should help you at all.”
Gana had uncrossed his legs and crossed them the opposite way, and was shaking one foot as he talked. Hannibal reflected that he had the makings of a charismatic leader and might well be a master of the boardroom and wonder in the financial business. He also considered that only a very thin line separated the charismatic leader from the expert confidence man.
“Surely, you’ll give me a chance to relieve any doubt Mrs. Petrova may have before you leave town, which I’ve noticed is likely to be soon.”
Gana rested his palms on the patio table and stood. “Mrs. Petrova has no doubts about me. She has already accepted me as her future son-in-law. And Viktoriya has no doubt of my love and dedication. I owe you and your mysterious client nothing. Yes, it is almost time for me and my Viktoriya to start our new life. I have some business in this city to clean up, but I can take care of it in a couple of days. That means that you have forty-eight hours to learn whatever you can learn, Mr. Jones. Perhaps you should get started now.”
6
Jamal Krada lived fifteen miles almost due north of Dani Gana’s house. Late morning traffic was surprisingly light for Hannibal. Driving up Wisconsin Avenue got him into Maryland. A short jog over to Connecticut Avenue let him cruise on up to Rockville, one of the District’s bedroom communities. Where else, Hannibal wondered, could a city be the county seat and third largest city in its state and still be considered a suburb?
After making great time up Connecticut, Hannibal lost it all wandering around Thistlebridge Road, Thistlebridge Drive, and Thistlebridge Way until he found the right address. Rolling into the driveway in front of the two-car garage on a quiet suburban street, Hannibal found himself reev
aluating the worth of a degree in education. He wasn’t sure what kind of home he thought a college professor could afford, but he certainly didn’t think this two-story brick colonial would be on the list. Hannibal knew that the student body at Howard University was only about ten thousand strong. Almost all of them were African American and not at the top of the economic ladder. If this was typical of a Howard University professor’s home, he figured the faculty at Yale must drive Bentleys.
Hannibal pressed the button. Thirty seconds after he heard the chimes the door swept open and a hand thrust at him.
“You must be Hannibal Jones. Ms. Santiago has mentioned you from time to time. Jamal Krada. Very pleased to meet you, sir. Do come in.”
Krada drew Hannibal in and launched across the two-story foyer, past the center staircase and gourmet kitchen where a young woman busied herself gathering food. They settled in a separate breakfast room at a small table.
Krada was the kind of professor who could have held Hannibal’s attention. Energetic and enthusiastic, he seemed excited to have someone to talk to. His coloring matched Gana’s, although his eyes were softer and he wore a fan of wrinkles at their corners. His full head of hair was proudly white and cut in a conservative Western style.
“Professor Krada, thank you for talking to me,” Hannibal said. “I just wanted to ask you…”
Krada help up both index fingers like tiny stop signs. “Please. Food first. Nina!”
The woman in the kitchen moved forward, carrying a tray. She was average height but the kind of thin that made Hannibal think that if she had not been wearing that simple, natural colored shift, he could have counted her ribs. Her skin almost matched the natural cotton garment, and her hair was a darker shade of the same neutral color. She was pretty, but not in a way that jumped out at you. Her eyes were like those in some paintings that seem to follow you as you move around the room.
“Mr. Jones, this is my wife, Nina,” Krada said as she settled the tray on the table. Without a word she placed a bowl of soup, and a plate holding a sandwich in front of each of them.
“This looks great,” Hannibal said, pulling off his black driving gloves. “But you really didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”
“Nonsense,” Krada said, patting his woman on the backside. “You are a guest in my home. Still, it is nice to be appreciated, eh, Nina?”
“Yes. It is.” She locked eyes with Hannibal, just for a moment, and he thought her few words carried far more meaning than her husband noticed. Then she tipped her head toward him and moved away. Krada picked up his spoon and sipped.
“Nina has learned to make the best lentil soup. Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Jones?”
“Hannibal, please. And Cindy thought that you could help me with a case I’m working on. I’m doing a background check on a man who claims to be a native of Algeria, and I need to establish if he really is. Any ideas?” Hannibal sipped from his spoon and smiled. It really was good. He thought there was as much beef as lentils in the tomato-based soup. In fact, it was more like a stew, with potato, carrots, celery, garlic, onion, and lots of spices.
“You know, I do have an idea or two,” Krada said, shaking his spoon at Hannibal. “As a professor of history I am always amused at what is or isn’t common knowledge in different locations. Is this man educated?”
“I believe so,” Hannibal said, picking up half of his ham sandwich.
“People in other countries know a lot more about America than Americans know about them. They understand your political system, they know why Nixon was impeached and how you became involved in the Vietnamese civil war. However, few of them know that George Washington told the truth about chopping down a cherry tree or that Columbus sailed the ocean blue in fourteen hundred ninety-two.”
“The useless stuff we learn in grade school,” Hannibal said.
“Just so,” Krada said, warming to his subject. “These are things that only American school children are taught. There are similar things taught to schoolchildren all over the world. I believe I could come up with a list of questions that only an Algerian child, or someone who had been one, might know.”
“That sounds great,” Hannibal said, this apparent solution warming his heart the way the spicy soup warmed his belly. “If you could put together a few questions this afternoon, maybe after your classes, it would really help me.”
Krada wiped his hands on his napkin before extending one to Hannibal. “I will do my best. Please thank Miss Santiago for sending you my way. And now, I really must prepare for my classes.”
Hannibal rose and walked with Krada to the threshold. Nina appeared just as her husband was opening the door. On an impulse, Hannibal stepped around his host to shake her hand as well.
“I just wanted to say it was a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, and to thank you for a very nice lunch.”
“My pleasure,” she said, but only offered a half smile. As Hannibal was saying good-bye to Krada, she looked over his shoulder and the look she gave Hannibal seemed to have meaning.
On his way to his car, Hannibal’s mind returned to the wonderful stew Krada’s wife had made. It must have required a great deal of time and effort. A woman who would do that deserved more respect in his estimation. He would not question how things were done in another man’s house, but he regretted that Mrs. Krada didn’t join them for lunch.
It was the kind of minor detail he would sometimes dwell on, but once behind the wheel of the Volvo, Hannibal pushed the Kradas to the back of his mind. Time was very short and he wanted Ivanovich out of his life as quickly as possible. He began assembling what would be his report, just as he would for any client. He had to be able to account for his time and explain why he thought he was closer to knowing what the client wanted to know. As long as he thought of Invanovich in those terms, as the client, he figured he could keep his rage under control.
Still, by the time he parked across the street from his home he had a hard time pulling his black leather driving gloves away from the black-leather-covered steering wheel. He stood and leaned against his closed car door, centering himself by watching the recently planted tree on the sidewalk just up the block.
The poor little guy was just beginning to lose its first set of leaves. If Hannibal had a least favorite season it was this one, autumn. Winter and summer were sure of their identity, and spring was the time of renewal. Fall was not the time of death. That was winter. Fall was the time of dying, which Hannibal found much more tragic. Fall was watching the life seep out of living things that were fighting and struggling to hold on to it. And even though Hannibal knew that the tree would be back in full bloom by March, he was sure the tree didn’t know it. All it knew was that the life it gained in the last eight months was being stolen and it was sinking into a deep sleep.
Filling his lungs with the crisp air, he pushed off of Black Beauty’s lacquered hide and crossed the street. When he opened the building door he intended to steer left into his apartment for fresh coffee and a small, quiet dinner. The sound of his office doorknob being rattled snapped his head around to the right. The man at the door, Cindy’s father, was short and bulky, and his hair was gathered on the sides and back of his head. Ray Santiago turned from the door, smiling at his downstairs neighbor.
“Hannibal, where you been? I’m not used to finding your office locked in the middle of the afternoon unless you’re on a hot case. Open her up, Paco. From the look of you, we could both use a beer.”
7
Hannibal returned his friend’s smile but kept his feet rooted in place. “Ray. What’s up, buddy? Bad day? I’m not used to seeing you around this early.”
“Yeah, running the limo company been taking up way too much of my life,” Ray said, pulling the stub of a cigar from his mouth. “Figured I’d just visit with you for a while before I went to have dinner with Cintia. Now come on, open this door that’s standing between me and my beer.”
“You deserve a break,” Hannibal said, wondering if his visitor
was on the other side of that door aiming a pistol at it. “Unfortunately, the fridge on that side is tapped out. But I got a beer or two in the apartment. Come on.”
Hannibal turned and headed for his apartment door, fighting the urge to scream a warning at Ray. He anticipated the sound of gunfire any second but instead he heard a brief pause, then Ray’s footsteps behind him.
“Yeah, I guess you’ve had enough of the office for one day,” Ray said, following Hannibal into his kitchen and right to the refrigerator. He kept an assortment of beer for visitors, but he knew that Ray’s tastes mirrored his so he pulled out a pair of Sam Adams black lagers. They carried the bottles into the living room before twisting off the caps. Hannibal dropped into his recliner while Ray settled into the center of the sofa.
“So, rough day, eh?” Hannibal asked, chasing the question down with a long swallow from his bottle. The thick, smooth liquid rolled down his throat, relaxing him on its way down.
“Yeah, man, it’s a lot easier to deal with people you’re driving than to deal with drivers who work for you. It’s harder than hell to keep them all busy but if you don’t have enough you can’t grow, you know. Life was easier when I was just a cabby.”
“You wanted to own your own business,” Hannibal said. Then a memory floated to the surface. He pulled a pad from his jacket pocket and quickly wrote down a name and address.
“What’s this?” Ray asked. “You need help on your case?”
“Yeah, but it’s also me throwing some business your way.” Hannibal handed the note to Ray. “I gave this guy your card today. His car got crunched and he’ll need a ride for a couple of days. I gave him a recommendation but it wouldn’t hurt for you to make contact and let him know how much you want the work.”
Russian Roulette hj-5 Page 4
