Collateral Damage (24 page)

At his elbow, Virgil murmured, “Just like the French Quarter,” in his trembling base. Hannibal wasn't sure about the architecture, but he did recognize the magnolia trees, looking so out of place, standing in front of the urban desert inn.

“I think I better do this one alone.” Hannibal said. “Cover the exits best you can while I go inside and try to find out which of these eight hundred rooms our girl is vacationing in.”

Actually, there were eight hundred and forty rooms, as Hannibal learned from a brochure while he waited for a desk clerk to notice him. He would need help to locate his quarry. The flowers were just camouflage.

“I just got to town, and I want to surprise a certain little lady,” Hannibal said. “I know she's staying here, but I'm not sure of the room.” He leaned forward and smiled like a drunk, hoping that the twenty-dollar bill under his hand on the desk
was the appropriate tip for such a favor. The desk clerk's nod reassured him that it was.

Dixieland jazz pulsed in the lobby, lifting his spirits momentarily before a rocket-powered elevator thrust him onto the seventh floor. Then he was tapping on a gilt-edged door before he realized how late it was. If Joan was a typical Vegas visitor, she would not be behind that door, but rather downstairs enjoying the casino, or perhaps at a table in the showroom where he had read that Al Martino was performing tonight.

Hannibal heard the rustle of what might have been a silk robe, but could just as easily be silk sheets, he supposed. Cat-like footsteps followed, and whoever had padded to the door hesitated a moment before pulling it open a crack. Joan's face peeked through the space and Hannibal saw it was indeed a silk robe. He found her face lovelier as it was, fresh scrubbed and makeup free, than any of his past views of her. Joan's hair was tossed a bit, as if she had just been roused from a nap.

“Are you decent?” Hannibal smiled like a schoolyard conspirator. “I'd like to chat for a minute if you don't mind.”

Joan's eyes flashed at the flowers, then roamed the hallway, looking for an acceptable way out of this situation. Finally they settled on his lens-shielded eyes, her face showing new respect for him. “Is there any point in my asking how you found me here?”

“You may want to know,” Hannibal said. “And I would gladly tell you. But not out here in the hall.”

Joan drew in a deep breath, released a heavy sigh and pushed a handful of perfectly manicured fingers through her wavy auburn tresses. Then her face regained its customary degree of intimidating confidence and she pulled the door open, almost sucking Hannibal into the room.

Actually, it was a suite Hannibal stepped into, beautifully appointed and fully fitting his notion of luxury. Light coming through the windows he faced cast a sensual yellow highlight on everything in the room. Joan had chosen the view of the strip. He moved quickly to follow her into the sitting area.
His eyes lingered long enough to note that he had heard both silk robe and silk sheets, and that Mark Norton was sitting beneath those sheets looking like a kid caught during a game of hide and seek.

“Do you like rum?” Joan asked as Hannibal entered the sitting room. “It's Bacardi light.”

Hannibal nodded and Joan filled two glasses on the little table. Then she carried her own drink across the room and took command of the love seat. She drew a gold lighter from a pocket of her robe, and a cigarette from the other. She lit the cigarette with all of Lauren Bacall's body language. Hannibal stood beside the table and poured a few drops of the liquid fire down his throat. Less than two hours ago Fancy had threatened him with a knife, but this was the first time he had felt in danger since he landed in Las Vegas. While he considered how this conversation should go his eyes cut briefly toward the other room.

“Something on your mind Mister Jones?” Joan asked, her long legs crossed under the white silk.

“Actually, I was just thinking what they told me on my first job, you know, about what you don't do where you eat.”

Joan smiled, and he had to admit to himself that she was alluring. What man could say no to this woman? She was not just a lovely package, she was a force of nature. She filled her lungs with smoke, then sipped from her glass and almost shivered as the liquor slid down into her.

“Why Mister Jones, I believe you are a prude.” Smoke carried her words out into the room. “How sweet. But you needn't worry. Mark is my husband.”

One reason Hannibal wore his sunglasses almost all the time was that no one could see his eyes widen in surprise. “I see. And the reason you haven't made this public knowledge is…”

“Is really none of your business,” she said, leaning to one side and stretching her legs out farther. “But in fact I do have a good reason, and I would really appreciate it if you would keep my confidence.”

Hannibal thought he had some small advantage in this game and with such an opponent he needed to push that edge as far as he could. He swallowed half his drink before speaking. “Speaking of secrets, how long have you known Fancy?”

Joan slowly sat up straight, and Hannibal could almost see her conniving mind working. He watched her consider lying about knowing Fancy, then reject the idea. She must know he would not make such a statement unless he was sure. She ordered her thoughts without losing eye contact with him, something most men could not do in a poker game. But this businesswoman was a master game player.

“I see,” she said, then licked her lips. “Fancy is a close friend of Oscar's, Mister Jones. Or was, I guess. I met him when I was out here in August. You can check that I was here easily enough.”

“And when you saw him leaving Oscar's house?”

Joan leaned forward earnestly. “Well I wasn't going to give him away to the police if that's what you're thinking. I knew they were friends. I didn't think he was the killer for God's sake.”

“So you hurried out here to ask him about it,” Hannibal said. Her eyes never wavered.

“Actually this trip has been on my calendar for months,” Joan said. “But yes, I did want to know what he was doing there that night. He satisfied me that he was innocent and hadn't seen anything important.”

Hannibal saw no point in quizzing Joan extensively. If she and Fancy were involved in a conspiracy together they would have their stories lined up very carefully. Besides he had a lever, the marital secret, to apply whenever he needed more from her.

“Is that it?” Joan asked. “You just wanted to know my connection to this Fancy?”

“Just like to have all the details straight,” Hannibal said. “Thank you for your time.”

As he turned to leave, Joan called, “And just how did you find me here?”

He turned to watch her breathe out a gray stream, adding to the translucent cloud now hanging above her head. “I'm a detective.”

Outside, a hot dusty wind was blowing in out of the desert from the south. Hannibal's three friends met him across the street from The Orleans. They stood between a juggler entertaining for fun and a folk singer working the street for handouts.

“I take it you confirmed when her last visit to this burg was?” Sarge asked. “We ready to head for the airport?”

“I think I found out what I went up there for,” Hannibal said. “But I think I want to change the plan. Just me and Virgil fly out tonight, if it's okay with you and Quaker.”

“I'm game,” Quaker said. “But for what?”

“Well now that I know when she was here, I'd like you two to stick around long enough to find out exactly why.”

Hannibal breathed easily, taking in the scent left behind on Cindy's pillow, his eyes closed against the morning sunlight bursting in through his bedroom window. The silence was broken only by the sound of her flesh moving against his own. She was naked, straddling his body, their skin tones almost a perfect match. Her knees felt hard pressed into Hannibal's waist, and her fingers pressed hard into his back as she kneaded the muscles on either side of his neck. He had to admit, the girl gave great back rub, but he was most aware of the heat coming down from her body on his behind as she straddled him. Or was he just imagining that?

Hannibal had dragged himself home just before dawn, bringing with him the deep confusion he often felt in the middle of a case he saw no end to. But after a short nap he had awakened with an unfamiliar intuition. An odd excitement he could hardly describe to himself, let alone explain. The sense that it would all come down today, one way or another. A peculiar thrill that had nothing to do with the wonders of joy Cindy had shown him earlier in the morning.

“I got a funny feeling baby,” he mumbled into his pillow. “Like everything is going to come to a head today.”

“God I hope not,” Cindy said, kneeling up straight. “You haven't had enough sleep to face any real trouble.”

“Slept on the plane.” Hannibal turned over and pulled his woman down into a hug. “Did I seem under rested when I woke you up when I got home?”

Cindy moaned softly through a smile. “No, you seemed to have had enough energy at the time. Made me wish I was with you in Vegas instead of stuck here. And all for no good reason.”

Hannibal ran a hand through Cindy's hair and kissed her face at random, enjoying her weight on him. “You mean Mrs. Peters didn't appreciate your being there?”

“Well, not like she was alone or anything. She had a gentleman there to comfort her.” Cindy squeezed Hannibal tight, then slowly forced herself to stand up. “We really need to get out to the hospital, lover. Bea's going to be waiting for us.”

Hannibal sat up and filled his lungs with life. “A man? Not her husband I assume. Well, maybe she had a lover here in the states, a man from her past?”

“Sure didn't look like it,” Cindy said over her shoulder on her way to the shower. “I mean I didn't see any signs of intimacy. And this far from home, why would she hide it?”

Dean Edwards' quarters at Charter looked more like a motel room than a hospital room. There was none of the usual antiseptic smell Hannibal always expected. If it was ever there the vase full of fresh flowers on the round table drowned it out. Bea sat in a chair on Dean's left, holding his hand. Doctor Roberts, standing beside her, occasionally jotted a cryptic note on a clipboard. Cindy stood with her hands braced on the foot of the bed. Hannibal chose a chair on Dean's right so he could watch Bea's face and Roberts. The windows at Hannibal's back flooded the room with brightness, but his Oakleys cast a slightly blue light on the scene.

“He has largely withdrawn into himself,” Roberts said, scratching at his thick gray beard. He turned to face Hannibal, his thick glasses magnifying his eyes into huge brown marbles. “I think perhaps his mind is working overtime trying to process all these sordid events.”

“Yeah?” Hannibal's face twisted into a bitter scowl. “Well I think it's from people talking about him like he's not in the room.” Hannibal leaned forward to tug on Dean's cotton pajama sleeve. “Hey Dean! I talked to your mom a few days ago. I could probably find her again if you wanted to talk to her.”

Dean answered Hannibal with a stony silence, but did not speak.

“Look, my friend,” Hannibal continued, “if you won't tell us what happened when you went to Oscar Peters' house, some very bad people are likely to come in here and take you to prison.”

“This is unacceptable!” Roberts said. “I want you out of here immediately.”

Those words, coming from Roberts' round teddy bear form brought a smile to Hannibal's lips, but he stayed focused on Dean. “The doctor can't protect you forever. The police are just not going to believe all the strange connections in this case are coincidences.” Then the weight of those coincidences pushed one of the puzzle pieces into an unfamiliar slot in Hannibal's mind and he spoke almost before he realized it.

“When you were in Las Vegas last year, I'll bet you hung out with Oscar's friend Fancy.”