Blood and Bone (5 page)

“Thanks,” the driver said. Then he drove his left elbow into Hannibal's stomach. Half inside, Hannibal bent forward over the driver. The man's palm slammed up into Hannibal's chin, driving his head into the edge of the car roof. Hannibal slid in the mud and dropped, dazed, onto his back. Rain poured into his face, but it could not wash the blue dots away from in front of him. He rolled onto his right side, fighting to catch his breath. He considered reaching for his gun, but he saw that the man he tried to rescue also had one. It was already pointed at him. He lay still, trying to clear his head.

“Appreciate the kind thoughts, pal,” the driver said, shouting over the crashing rain, “but I think I'll just
take the car. That way if I need an ambulance, I can call them myself.”

Hannibal managed to struggle to his feet but had to lean against the Ford to watch the other man back his way up the embankment. He could not let Cindy face the gunman alone. He managed five steps toward his own car before the world started spinning and he dropped to his knees. How hard had his head hit the car roof? Self-hatred mixed with his feeling of helplessness forced him back to his feet. Dizziness and nausea drove him back to his hands and knees.

He vomited, then watched the rain wash the evidence away. Water streamed down into his eyes. He thought about his ruined suit and his car being driven by a madman and his woman in mortal jeopardy and decided if he could just have a minute to get his mind back on track he could climb that hill and kill the man responsible for all that. All he needed was a minute.

“Oh God, Hannibal, are you all right.”

Hannibal looked up to see Cindy, her hair hanging around her face, her nylon covered knees pressed into the grassy mud in front of him.

“Took a knock on the head,” he muttered. “You okay?”

“Sure,” she said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “That man, he waved a gun at me and told me to get out. He took off in your car and I came looking for you. Your eyes look funny.”

“Yeah, I think a mild concussion makes your pupils dilate. Help me up.”

Together they stood, and Hannibal instantly felt better. He held his face skyward to fill his mouth with rain water, then spit out the taste of his own vomit. His head seemed clearer now. And he thought he heard a
car up on the road, but with the rain he could not be sure. Then he turned to Cindy again.

“Look at you. You're beautiful. But you're soaked. Get in the car, I'll go up to the road and get us a ride out of here.”

The grade was slight, but the ground was slippery and it took Hannibal a minute to reach the shoulder of the road. He did see a vehicle pulled to the side about thirty yards on and headed for it. Before he was halfway to the car he was met by two men, both wearing rubber rain coats with caps on under their hoods. Hannibal was about to ask them for help when one man reached inside his slicker, pulled out a revolver and pointed it at him. Hannibal was considering diving back into the woods off the road when the first man spoke.

“Freeze right there. You're under arrest for murder.”

Hannibal's hands went up slowly as he turned to face the gunman. His mouth was suddenly bone dry, the only part of him that was. While he tried to decide what to say, the shorter man, the one not holding the gun, moved in close. He smelled of chewing tobacco, never a good sign from Hannibal's point of view. He started to pat Hannibal down but got only as far as his shoulder holster. With an “ah hah!” expression on his face, he pulled the weapon from its sheath.

“This what you capped him with?”

Behind him, Hannibal heard “Do they teach you clowns about Miranda in this state?” He turned to see Cindy stalking forward along the road. Despite the seriousness of the situation he had to smile. She looked like a drowned rat, her hair pasted to her forehead and cheeks. Her white blouse, turned transparent by the water, clung to her body, highlighting her chilled, erect nipples. She was barefoot and her stockings were shredded from the knees down. Rage flashed from her dark eyes and right then Hannibal was glad he was the wronged party.

“Who the hell are you?” the taller man asked.

“My name is Cynthia Santiago. I'm this man's attorney.”

“Well I hope you're a good one,” the tall man said, pulling a badge from inside his raincoat with his free hand. “Fairfax police. Believe your boy here just drove away from shooting a man. Looks like the weather stopped him.”

“You've got no evidence, no probable cause, and I can easily prove we just came from the other direction,” Cindy said, pushing her face into the trooper's. “I ought to sue your ass for false arrest. Now put that damn gun away.”

The officer hesitated, but could not quite let go. “Nope, this man's under arrest and we're taking him back to the chief. Rory, better read him his rights, and then cuff him.”

“What you better do,” Cindy growled through small clenched teeth, “is drive us to Gabriel Nieswand's house. It's not far from here. Back in Oakton at…”

“I know where it is,” the tall policeman said. “You're in luck, lawyer lady. That's just where we're headed. Scene of the crime.”

Cindy swallowed hard. “Nieswand's? Are you sure? Is Mister Nieswand all right?”

By the time the police car pulled into Nieswand's driveway, the rain had stopped. Hannibal and Cindy climbed out of the car, squishing as they walked. Their captors removed their raincoats, leaving themselves annoyingly crisp and neat. Hannibal was about to ask them to remove the handcuffs when Nieswand came jogging toward them from the house, followed by a strict looking man in a tan suit. He had a severe hair cut and dangerous blue eyes.

“What are you doing?” Nieswand blurted as soon as he was within hearing range. “Have you lost your minds? Miss Santiago, are you all right? Get those handcuffs off that man immediately.”

“Sir, are you okay?” Cindy asked at the same time. “They said there was a murder. Your wife?”

“She's fine, just a little shaken up.”

The other man stopped in front of Hannibal and looked him up and down. He was not in uniform, but Hannibal instinctively knew he was a police detective. He may have been born with a badge.

“You know these people?”

“The woman is in my firm,” Nieswand said, almost hysterical. “The man is working on a private investigation right now for one of my clients, a Mister Harlan Mortimer. In fact, they were both at Mister Mortimer's home up in Great Falls when the crime took place.”

The menacing blue eyes turned on the two troopers, who wilted under their gaze. A key was quickly produced and Hannibal's hands were freed. The troopers got back into their car, but the man they were avoiding held his hand out to Hannibal.

“Orson Rissik,” he said. “Chief of detectives, Fairfax Police. City, not county. I apologize for those two knuckleheads. They may have screwed up, but their hearts are in the right place.”

“No harm done,” Hannibal said, shaking the detective's hand. “They just got a little overzealous.”

“Overzealous?” Cindy said. “Ought to sue them. You've got a legitimate false arrest charge here.”

“They got carried away, but they were just trying to do their job,” Hannibal said, to Rissik rather than Cindy. “Probably weren't far off. The guy they're looking for is almost certainly the man who stole my car at gunpoint.”

“You give the knuckleheads a description?”

“They weren't in a listening mood,” Hannibal admitted. “Figured they already had their man.”

One icy stare got the tall man out of the car without a word being said. Then Rissik turned back to Hannibal and the ice in his eyes turned to friendly sunshine. “Would you be kind enough to give these men a description of the man and your car? We'll try to return it to you as soon as possible.”

“Sure.” But as Hannibal turned toward the car, his eyes passed over the entrance to the garage. Under the police tape he saw the body, still there, face down. He recognized the man by his size.

“That Paton, the driver?”

“Yes, sir,” Rissik said. “Right where we found him.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Well that would be highly unusual, but,” Rissik's eyes flashed to Cindy. “Under the circumstances, and your being so cooperative and all, I suppose it might be okay.”

While Cindy went into the house to clean up, Hannibal gave the troopers a detailed description of his assailant and his car. Then he and Rissik walked up the driveway toward the garage. Hannibal noticed how similar their walk was. He figured Rissik must have noticed it too.

“Nieswand said you were working an investigation. You were a cop?”

“Three years on a beat in New York,” Hannibal said. “Three more as a detective. Then they accepted my application at the treasury department.”

“Secret Service?” Rissik asked. Hannibal nodded. “Well then, maybe you'll see something I missed. You know the deceased?”

“We'd exchanged some words,” Hannibal said. Looking down on the still form gave him an eerie feeling. Was it only a couple of hours ago this guy had tried to knock his head off? Now he lay still, all the life
drained out of him through a tiny hole at the base of his skull. Without thinking, Hannibal peeled off his sodden suit coat and knelt down for a closer look. Rissik followed.

“Mrs. Nieswand found him out here and freaked. I questioned them both. They were no help with the guy's personal life, even though he lived right here for a year.”

“He lived in their house?” Hannibal asked.

“In the guest apartment. Servant's quarters actually. You can see by that pale patch on his wrist that his watch was taken. His wallet's empty too, but I'm not sure I like robbery as a motive. Did you know him well enough to have any other ideas?”

“No,” Hannibal said, then “Well, maybe.” He pointed to Paton's right hand. “See that scar, shaped like a horseshoe? Fifteen, twenty years ago that was a symbol for a small gang used to run around the East Coast. Omega, I think they called themselves.”

“So you think it might be a gang thing?”

“Could be,” Hannibal said. “That looks like a twenty-two wound. Neat, precise, very professional if you ask me. Any other signs of injury?”

“Medical examiner hasn't been out yet,” Rissik said, standing, “but I did a quick examination. All I see is the lump on his head where he hit the floor in here. His jaw and his nose are a little bruised, but that could be from the landing too. And his knuckles are a little scratched up.”

Hannibal smiled a small smile. “I think that happened earlier today. So, no real sign of a struggle. Yeah, I'd say it looks kind of like a mob hit.”

“Well, that's one more idea than I had,” Rissik said.

Hannibal stepped back out into the new sunshine. He wanted to be in dry clothes. He wanted to get a
pair of sunglasses on. He wanted his gun back. Hell, he wanted his car back. He turned to Rissik, smiling at himself.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his room?”

Hannibal was on Paton's bed reading a letter when Cindy walked in. Her hair was clean and brushed out, her face glowing from a fresh scrubbing. The plain blue ankle-length frock she wore was a little too big for her, as were the deck shoes around her feet. She smelled of Jasmine, probably the scent of her shampoo.

“You look a lot better, babe.”

“A shower can do wonders,” Cindy said, kneeling in front of him. “And it turns out Abby, Mrs. Nieswand, is close to my size.”

“You talked to her?”

“Not really,” she said, pushing her hair back behind one ear. “Doctor Lippincott's got her under sedation. What brought you up here? I figured you'd want to get home and change the second you could.”

“I guess I couldn't resist the puzzle of Paton's death,” Hannibal said. “His room says a lot about him.” The flowered wall paper was certainly there before him, but the rest of the room was very masculine. Cigars on the chest of drawers. Playing cards and dice on the dresser. No spread on the bed to cover the plain wool blanket. And on the headboard, a clock radio and several racing forms.

“I think this guy made some kind of connection with you,” Cindy said, stroking his nearly dry leg.

“Yeah, on my jaw,” Hannibal said. “Truth is, I want his killer. Aside from wanting my car back, I owe that guy something and I'd love the chance to pay him back.”

“And what you got there?” Cindy asked, tapping the pages in his hands.

“Found this letter under the bed,” Hannibal said. “It tells me old Ike wasn't everything he led his boss to believe.”

“Really?” Cindy slid up on the bed to look over his shoulder. The cheap box spring groaned under their weight. “What's it say? He a drug dealer? Victim of a mob hit man? Who was he?”

Hannibal leaned back so Cindy could snuggle under his arm. “Well Daisy, that's who this is from, thinks his name was Pat. Looks like she's his ex-wife, but he's still interested.”

“Oh yes,” Cindy said, trailing her finger along the page. “Look at this paragraph. I've found a good life, a real life, and you're not going to ruin it. Leave me alone or I'll have to tell Phil about the old days, and about what happened on the Westside. Hm.”

“Sounds like a threat,” Hannibal said, “but down here she said she still cares about him and says there's no reason for there to be any hard feelings between them. In her words, she just wants him to keep his distance.”

“She sounds nice. Wonder if he was still bothering her.”

“Wouldn't be hard,” Hannibal said, standing and folding the letter back into its envelope. “The return address is Catonsville, Maryland.”

“So here you are.” At the sound of Nieswand's voice Cindy sprang to her feet. Hannibal dropped the letter on Paton's headboard and turned to pick up his jacket.