Collateral Damage (25 page)

“Joan's friend,” Dean corrected reflexively. The room lapsed into silence and even Dean's face showed surprise. Bea squeezed his hand staring at Dean as if his just speaking was a miracle.

“Old friends?” Hannibal asked after a moment.

Dean turned to him, squinting into the sun behind him. “Actually, Fancy worked for Joan, at the very beginning of the company.”

“Did Joan tell you that?”

“Well, I guess they both did,” Dean said. “It just kind of came up in conversation one night.”

Hannibal leaned back in his chair. “What an odd thing to lie about.”

The soft purr of Hannibal's telephone was like an electric current arcing around the room, jolting everyone there. Hannibal recovered first and pulled the device out of his suit coat's inside pocket. When he heard Ray's voice, he stepped back toward the windows. Cindy followed, as if to give Bea some privacy. Bea had leaned forward to wrap her arms around Dean, and he was more responsive than he had been since Oscar's death. Hannibal watched his clients while he asked Ray what prompted his call.

“Just earning my pay, Hannibal,” Ray said. “Got the kid with me, and we watching Emma Peters.”

“Wait a minute. Monty's not in school?”

“He said you cleared it with his grandmother,” Ray said. “Didn't you?”

Hannibal snorted. “We can talk about it later.”

“Well, anyway, Emma just had a nice long breakfast in the hotel restaurant and now she's leaving. There was a man with her, but they're splitting up now.”

“A man?” Hannibal could hear traffic sounds from Ray's end of the telephone connection. He would be in his cab, ready to move. Which meant Hannibal needed to think quickly. He pulled his mind away from the puzzle of Joan's past and centered it on the grieving widow.

“Describe the man, Ray. Maybe her husband came over after all.”

“I rather doubt that,” Cindy whispered. “Bet it's her new friend.”

Hannibal held up a hand to quiet Cindy, then began to repeat Ray's words. “Okay. Around her age. Yeah? Medium height. Blue eyes, droopy jowls, double chin. Bald on top, gray around the sides…. “ Hannibal flipped through available photos in his mind, and his jaw literally dropped open. “That's Gil Donner. It's got to be!”

“That's him,” Cindy called, “That's the guy from the funeral.”

Hannibal again waved to shush Cindy, and spoke into the phone. “Yes, I understand. No. Yeah, stay with him. And
since he's there, put Monty on Emma. I don't think she'll be real mobile. But I got to know where Donner goes.”

When Hannibal hung up, Cindy asked, “You think there's something going on between those two?”

“I don't think he'd have traveled this distance for romance, and now I've got two people who've told me they didn't act like lovers a thousand miles away from prying eyes.”

“Who cares?” It was Bea, still caressing Dean but with her tear-stained face pointed at Hannibal. “My heart goes out to Oscar's mother, but what has either of these people from Germany to do with freeing Dean from these awful accusations?”

Hannibal approached the bed, but spoke to Dean who, for the moment, seemed the most rational person in the room. “The fact that Gil Donner came to the U.S. makes me think I'm not the only one who sees a connection between Oscar's murder and Donner's wife's death. I'm not convinced she was a suicide. In any case, if Donner does see a connection, he must not think you're the killer or he'd be here. I need to see what trail he's following, because one thing's for sure. He knows more than I do.”

Roberts pulled his thick glasses from his face and began to clean them on his tie, directing eyes down and away from Hannibal. “You have an interesting theory, Mister Jones,” he said, “but I fear a court of law would require a good deal more than that to see a connection between murders clearly separated by both time and distance. And the third murder, Dean's father, doesn't seem to figure into any of this at all.”

That remark seemed particularly callous to Hannibal with Dean sitting there, but before he could respond his phone rang again. He flipped it open, but didn't get the chance to speak first.

“Dispatch? This is Santiago.”

“Ray?” Hannibal said into the little phone.

“Listen, the radio's out so I'm calling in on my phone,” Ray said. “Just picked up a fare in Crystal City, headed to a
Doctor Walter Young's office up in Silver Spring. You copy?”

“Yes I do,” Hannibal said, a smile growing on his face as he hung up. “So what do you think, Doctor Roberts? Donner hailed a cab and my partner picked him up. He's making a beeline for Walt Young's office.”

“Walter Young?” Dean leaned forward so quickly he broke free of Bea's embrace. “That was my mother's lawyer's name. Never forget that name.”

“You're right on target there Dean,” Hannibal said. “And I can't think of any reason for Donner to know Young exists unless we assume there is a connection between the three apparently separate murders.”

Even with his windows rolled down, the sunlight was turning Hannibal's car into a white leather oven. An occasional bead of sweat appeared on his forehead, but he wiped it away with a handkerchief before it could roll down into his eyes. His shirt chafed his neck just a bit, and the noise from cars and passersby on the busy street was helping a small headache to start up at the base of his skull.

Beside him, Cindy was not so relaxed. In fact, she fidgeted constantly, shifting in her seat as if she was afraid her nylons might permanently weld themselves to the car seat if she sat still for any length of time. She occasionally stared at Hannibal but said nothing. He guessed she had no idea how he could stand this waiting.

But Hannibal learned about surveillance in the New York City police department, years before he ever applied to the Treasury Department. He remembered hot days and cold nights when he waited for several hours for something to happen. So he settled into his car seat twenty yards from the entrance to the target office building.

This time he stared through his dark lenses for less than an hour before Gil Donner pushed through the door and stalked down the street, doubtless looking for a taxi. Hannibal watched him move off in the direction of the District until he vanished from sight beyond the fast flowing cross traffic. Then Hannibal left his Volvo and led Cindy quickly through the door Donner had come out of.

As Hannibal reached for the doorknob to enter the third floor office he realized he could not remember the last time he had seen a door quite like this one. Its stencil read simply,
“Walter Young, Attorney” in plain block letters. A single lawyer's name on the glass top half of the door, in this day of corporate thinking and legal teams. The mark of a man holding with very specific moral beliefs about how law should be practiced. Or, just as likely, the mark of a failure who refused to give up.

The door swung in as Hannibal reached for it, and he found himself face to face with a beefy man whose hair was cut long on top but short at the back, allowing a few strands to hang across his face in his haste. His tweed suit was cut loose on his stocky frame and his florid Irish face made Hannibal think of Spencer Tracy in those old movies his mother had loved so much. “Walt Young, I assume?”

The man nodded as he shook Hannibal's offered hand. “Yes, sorry, but I was just on my way out for a late lunch. Why not arrange an appointment with my receptionist?”

“Sir, it is quite urgent that we speak with you right away,” Cindy said from behind Hannibal. “A man's life is at stake.”

“Well yes, isn't it always?” Young said, yielding no ground despite being no more than a hand's span from Hannibal's face. “Doubtless he will survive until after I've had lunch.”

“When I talked to Francis Edwards she gave me the impression that you were more the concerned type,” Hannibal said. “You couldn't save her, but we hoped you'd help us keep her son from the same fate.

“You spoke to Francis?” Young asked, taking a step back.

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “A week ago yesterday. Actually she goes by Mary Irons now, but it was her all right. Miss Santiago here represents her son Dean. He's accused of a murder very similar to his father's death.”

Cindy stepped forward, more fully blocking the door. “Mister Young, we've been able to keep Dean out of police hands because he's emotionally fragile right now, but time is running out. I don't believe Dean killed anyone, but because of the M.O. the next most likely suspect is his mother. We need your help to sort out the connections between the two murders.”

Young stared at the two intruders for five silent seconds. Then his shoulders dropped and he turned, waving them into his office. As he passed his receptionist's desk he muttered, “Alice would you please order in for us all?”

Young's inner office was tastefully appointed in dark wood. A traditional coat rack stood beside the door. Hannibal noticed the only full-size wooden filing cabinets he could remember seeing. Those, and the absence of a computer in the room, gave him the feeling of falling back to another time. He imagined this was the way Young's office looked the first time Francis Edwards walked into it.

“Have a seat,” Young said. He dropped into his own chair and Hannibal and Cindy settled into a pair of ladder-back chairs facing Young's heavy wooden desk. Young smiled approvingly, but at what, Hannibal wasn't sure. Perhaps he simply approved of their posture.

“So which is it?” Young asked. “You want to talk with me about this murder Dean Edwards is accused of, or ask me about the murder his mother was convicted of?”

“Both actually,” Hannibal said. The room smelled of smoke and Hannibal wondered how long it would be before Young needed to light up. “I'm convinced there's a connection between the two, and also between them and the death of Gil Donner's wife.”

Young's eyes never reacted. He simply repeated the name, “Gil Donner?”

“The fellow who just left here?” Hannibal said.

“Yes. Tell me, were you tailing him, or am I under surveillance?” Young asked, just the hint of an edge in his voice. “And just who are you? I understand the young lady's interest here but…”

“My role is simple,” Hannibal said, handing over his card. “Dean's in trouble. I'm trying to get him out.”

Young stared long and hard at Hannibal's card, as if trying to draw some extra meaning from it. Hannibal and Cindy
allowed him the time to think. When he looked up he was nodding his head, his lips curled. “Yes, I've heard a little something of you. Some from another old lawyer type, Dan Balor. Told me you helped him out a bit too. And you, Miss Santiago is it? You are one of Dan's young lions, eh? Or lioness I suppose.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Cindy said. “I think my client is innocent of the murder he's accused of. I think. I think the guilty party may be responsible for the other two deaths, or perhaps Oscar Peters died because he knew something about the others. And, sir, unless he's a client, I would really like to know what Gil Donner wanted to talk to you about this morning.”

Alice entered without knocking and dropped two big paper bags on Young's desk. She had clearly been with him for several years, a thin woman with a lead from one ear piece of her glasses to the other so they would hang around her neck when she wasn't wearing them. As she emptied the bags she spoke, not to anyone really but just to the room.

“Hot pastrami on rye. Roast beef on wheat. Turkey on white. Mustard, mayo, ketchup. And three sweetened iced teas.”

Like that, she was gone. Young leaned back and said, “Call it, Miss Santiago.”

Cindy appeared stunned, not sure what she should do, so Hannibal pulled his chair closer to the desk, unwrapped a straw and shoved it through a plastic lid. “Come on Cindy. Turkey, roast beef or pastrami?”

“Um… turkey I guess.”

Hannibal shoved one of the wax paper bundles her way and pulled off his gloves. He opened the roast beef sandwich, shoving one of the small paper plates included under it. The sandwich was fat, but the roast beef was lean. His kind of lunch. He noticed Young was much more relaxed at this human level.

“Well, Donner came here to ask me about Mrs. Edwards' murder case,” Young said. He opened the pastrami sandwich and crunched on half of the dill pickle before continuing. “He
never mentioned his wife's death, but he did ask a lot about the circumstances of Mr. Edwards' murder. I think he was looking for similarities between it and the more recent murder of Oscar Peters.”

“Well the two murders do have a lot in common, and my client was shown to be present soon after both.” Cindy said. She finally spread a paper napkin on her lap and nibbled at her sandwich.

“Well your client was too short to run a knife over his father's throat at the time,” Young said between bites. “And his mother didn't kill his father anyway.”