Collateral Damage (16 page)

Finally a sharp wheel kick caused Isaac's knee to buckle and he fell against the wall and sank into a crouch. Hannibal raised his fist to drive a right cross down into Isaac's face and finish it. The big man's eyes never closed or turned away and that was what made Hannibal pause.

Isaac's injured blue eyes looked up into Hannibal's face and he moaned, “where is she?” in the voice of a child on the verge of tears. Try as he might, Hannibal could not see a vicious wife-beater. He was looking at a lost boy who needed his mother. He saw a brief flash of Dean huddled on a bed and recognized his facial expression mirrored here. With a sigh he dropped his fists, suddenly ashamed of the blood on his gloves.

“Come into my office. And I swear to God if you give me any more trouble I'll kick your big ass.”

Isaac meekly followed and dropped into the seat he was directed to. Hannibal turned on the cold water in the kitchen, soaked a towel, wrung it out, and gave it to Isaac to clean himself up with. Then he sat behind his desk.

“Why did you come here?”

Isaac looked up into his own head before answering, and Hannibal got the feeling this was a man who just did not express himself well in words. “To get your help. To find my Anna. You could make her come back to me.”

“She's not your Anna, Isaac,” Hannibal said. “She's a grown woman, her own woman. I can't make her do anything and neither can you. And she's just decided she doesn't have to accept being beaten up, understand?”

Isaac nodded, and at that minute he did appear to understand that much. His eyes cast around as if he was searching for the solution to that problem. It occurred to Hannibal that the man could only express himself one way.

“Do you love her?” he asked before he knew he would.

“I love her,” Isaac answered, “as much as I know how. I need her. I can't live without her. What can I do? What do I have to do?”

The telephone's bell jangled Hannibal's nerves from the base of his skull downward. Without thinking he snatched it up to stop the noise. His eyes widened in surprise, mostly because he did not believe in coincidences.

“Some news for you Hannibal,” Anna said. “And not all good. There are more than nine hundred current license plates
in Nevada that start with 902. But I was able to narrow it down some.”

Hannibal considered how badly he wanted to hear what Anna had to say, but only for a second. “Anna, would you hold on a second? There's someone here who wants to talk to you.”

Anna hesitated for just a beat before climbing into Hannibal's car. He pulled away from the DMV building and headed toward nearby Springfield Mall. Before he passed the first traffic light he asked the question he'd been sitting on since he handed the phone to her husband.

“Do you love him?”

“What the hell kind of a question is that?” Anna asked. In just a few days she had come completely out of her thin shell and was showing the self-confidence of a successful professional woman.

“The kind of question I need answered before we get there,” Hannibal said. “The kind of question that will tell me what it is I should be trying to do.”

He kept his eyes on the road, but he felt or sensed Anna's face going through a range of expressions. The question took in a wide variety of concepts, emotions and ideas. It always does. People don't usually notice that, but Anna appeared very aware of it right then. Ultimately the answer came. “Yes.”

“He answered faster,” Hannibal said. “He needs you, Anna, and I think maybe you need that too.”

“I'm afraid for my son.”

“Your husband needs help,” Hannibal said. “He says he's willing to get it, if you'll stick by him. I just want you to talk face to face.”

“I've already said okay to that,” Anna said. “Now, do you want to hear about the license plate?”

“We're here. Hold it for when we're inside.”

Hannibal had not chosen Mozzarella's because of its cuisine, although he was partial to its version of commercialized Italian food. Nor was its reasonable price range a factor. What mattered was its proximity to Anna's job, and the fact that it would be pretty full at lunchtime. Some people were a lot less likely to misbehave in a crowded place and Hannibal had judged Isaac to be one of them.

Lighting was dim for a lunch place, perhaps to mitigate the bright reds and yellows accenting the cuisine. Garlic butter and oregano were the dominant aromas. Conversation was low but constant, creating a pleasing background hum of white noise. Anna hesitated once more when they came within sight of the booth. Isaac stood as she approached. While Hannibal wore his black work suit and Anna a neat charcoal skirt suit, Isaac was dressed in jeans and a knit shirt. Still, Hannibal noticed that at one time or another, every woman in the room stole a glance at the big, well-muscled blonde.

Hannibal eased Anna into one side of the booth, then subtly shoved Isaac into the other side and sat beside him. They ordered quickly and tried to settle into being comfortable in what was by definition an uncomfortable situation.

“So,” Hannibal said before any other conversation could start, “more than nine hundred plates that could belong to our murderer. But you said you were able to narrow it down? How?”

“Well, I actually went down the entire list checking make and model.” Anna's smile returned as she spoke. She so wanted to be useful. Maybe she needed to be needed as much as Isaac needed her. “First I eliminated all the cars I know to be compacts. You said it was a bigger vehicle. Well that got us to six hundred twenty-five cars.”

“Pretty smart,” Hannibal said. He had wanted Isaac to see her in a professional capacity before they talked. Maybe he'd gain a little more respect for her.

“Then I had another thought and went through again, striking all the trucks and vans,” Anna said. “That brought the
number down to three hundred twelve. Still a lot of people to check but then I got daring.”

Now Hannibal was grinning. “You are quite the detective. Now what do you mean by daring?”

“Well, you said it was a man driving, right?” Anna didn't stop when the waiter arrived and placed their food in front of them. “So I figured the car probably wasn't registered to a woman. Scratching those cut it down to two hundred nine. Nevada has a lot of unmarried women you know.”

“That will make a big difference if this comes down to a real search,” Hannibal said. “I sure appreciate your effort.” He gestured for Anna and Isaac to eat, then dug into his own food. The smoked sausage stuffing his ravioli was bursting with that flavor that can only come from charcoal, and it blended perfectly with the sweet marinara sauce. He watched his two booth mates eyeing each other cautiously while he ate. Isaac was first to speak.

“So how have you been Anna? And how is my Nicky?”

“We are both fine, thank you,” Anna said, not looking up. “I can take care of myself. And my son.”

Little more was said until Hannibal finished his lunch. Isaac looked toward him several times, as if waiting for him to make something happen. Anna's eyes wandered that way a few times as well. When Hannibal did put his fork down he turned so he could see them both easily.

“All right, you two, I've got to get going,” he said, which drew startled looks from both Isaac and Anna. “Before I go, Anna, Isaac and I discussed some ground rules and I wanted to get your agreement to them. First, he accepts the separation and will never try to make you go home with him. Right Isaac?” Isaac nodded, and Hannibal continued. “In exchange you agree not to refuse to see him any day he wants to spend some time with you, like today. You pick the place, you say how long, but you agree to see him and talk to him. Okay?”

Anna took a deep breath and bit her lower lip, but nodded her head as well. “Fine. Now I discussed with Isaac the idea that he needs some counseling for his problem of hitting people he loves. He can do that and I think maybe get his
problem fixed if you give him some support. What do you say? I mean, is there anything else that makes it unacceptable to live with him as man and wife?”

Anna's eyes widened like a doe startled by a flashlight at night. “Well, yes, that's basically it.”

“Well good. You two sit here and work out a plan to do what has to be done. I got the check. Here's cab fare back to work. Like I said, I have to run. But I'm sure you'll call me tonight to tell me how it went.”

“Yes, you can bet on that,” Anna said, her face sending overlapping messages of hate and thanks. “But wouldn't it be better if you stuck around to hear for yourself?”

Hannibal had an answer prepared, but his phone saved him the trouble. Smiling, he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. The smile dropped from his face instantly and his mind shut out everything but the voice in his ear.

“Calm down Bea. Where are you?”

“The garage apartment,” Bea said through tears Hannibal could almost see through the telephone. “I came to pick up some of Dean's things and, and, Hannibal they've found the murder weapon.”

Hannibal's tires squealed when he reached the driveway. Only pure luck had allowed him to avoid a ticket on his way to the Kitteridge house. He ran through the door and took the steps three at a time until he stood face to face with Stan Thompson in the modest living room. Bea sat on the sofa, alone, still crying.

“Would you mind showing me what you got?” Hannibal said, fists on hips.

Thompson looked down at him and grimaced. “You know, for someone who has no official standing in this case, you sure do turn up with a lot of questions.”

“Just trying to keep you from embarrassing yourself, chief,” Hannibal said. “Just thought it would be nice to see the supposed murder weapon. I know I have no rights here, just asking.”

“What the hell, over there,” Thompson said with the arrogance of the man who thinks he has all the answers. The weapon lay on the coffee table where anyone in the room could examine it, in a simple ziplock bag. Hannibal squatted beside the table for a closer look.

It was the right tool for the job. A genuine Marine Corps issue Ka-bar fighting knife. Marines started getting them in nineteen forty-two and their popularity never flagged because they were tough knives made for combat. This one was the regulation size, a little less than a foot long, with about six and a half inches of that being the parkerized blade. It retained most of its black coating, except of course for its glittering razor edge. The dark brown stains up under the hand guard were certainly dried blood, and he could guess
whose. The handle's compacted leather discs were stained unevenly dark, assumably from absorbing the sweat from the hand of its owner.

“That thing couldn't be his,” Bea whined, and Hannibal suddenly remembered she was there. He moved to the couch and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I swear I've never seen that knife before,” Bea went on.

“Just try to relax,” Hannibal told her. “This is all circumstantial.”

“Give it up, lady. Your boyfriend's cooked.” Thompson had moved unnoticed to stand over them, staring down like a judge. Hannibal released Bea and stood slowly, so that he was nose to nose with Thompson. The bigger man took a small step back. Hannibal advanced, keeping his voice low.

“That woman's suffering right now. Part of the collateral damage that surrounds every murder. There's no good reason for you to be rough with her. Unless you think she had something to do with Oscar's death?”

Thompson took Hannibal's arm and guided him into the bedroom. Hannibal thought for a moment he would get the chance to get physical with the detective but once out of Bea's sight Thompson dropped his arm and spread his hands wide.

“You're right,” Thompson said softly. “You're right and for what it's worth, I apologize. I know what you're talking about. I saw what Grant Edwards' death did to my good friend Ursula Voss.” Something in Thompson's eyes said they were more than friends.

“She seems, on the surface, to be a pretty tough woman,” Hannibal said. “Wouldn't think her grief would show.”

“You don't know,” Thompson said, dropping on to the bedsprings. The mattress stood on edge against the wall, one result of the search, Hannibal assumed. “Cancer took her husband, not three years after the wedding, and she never married again. She had a big hand in raising her little brother and always felt protective toward him.”

Hannibal sat beside Thompson. “Look chief, it'll kill her if her nephew gets dragged into a murder trial.”

“Don't you think I know that?” Thompson asked. “But what can I do? This is certainly enough to warrant my demanding Dean be taken into custody. I mean, this isn't just some forensic indication here, it's almost certainly the murder weapon, hidden in his home.”

“Okay,” Hannibal said, standing. “Where'd you find it?” Thompson pointed at the mattress. A slit had been cut into the middle of it, just about a foot long.