Collateral Damage (28 page)

“I didn't know this boy who died last week,” Francis said. “And I could never have hurt Grant.”

Hannibal refilled her glass. Up close, her eyes were so clear and blue he didn't think she could hide the truth there. “Even if he was untrue to you?”

To her credit Francis stared right back into his hazel eyes. “I know Grant was… I know he had another woman, Mister Jones. It wasn't hard to figure out from what Dean told me in bits and pieces after Grant and I separated. It hurt, certainly, but not enough to turn my love into hate.”

Hannibal's breath stopped in his throat and he held her eyes with his own. It had never occurred to him that she might know. “Francis, did you ever get an idea who that other woman might have been?”

“Of course,” Francis said with a smile that he would have called wistful in other circumstances. “I'm not the idiot Grant's family would have me be. It was the young woman who used to baby-sit for us. She was beautiful of course, and probably no more than nineteen or twenty so, I mean who could blame him?”

Hannibal was bursting to fill in the rest, but he did not want to risk planting it in Francis's mind. He closed his eyes and hoped. “Any chance you remember her name?”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure it was Joan. Yes, Joan something or other.”

“Yes!” Hannibal realized that his smile must have startled Francis. He upended his wineglass and paced around the kitchen island. “I think I might just have it. Oscar, the victim Dean's accused of murdering, worked for a woman named
Joan. I think she might well be the link. If she was the same girl who baby sat for you…”

“You think Grant's girlfriend killed him?”

“Probably not,” Hannibal said, pulling his gloves back on. “But I do think she was married at the time. And based on what you just told me, her husband would have had a good, solid motive for killing yours. And if Oscar found out about it somehow, there's a motive for the second killing.”

Francis' quiet quickly cooled Hannibal's excitement. He waited for her to tell him what he was missing. When she spoke, it was with well-practiced helplessness.

“No one will believe you. My son testified in court that it was me he saw.”

“Well, did he?” Hannibal asked.

“Of course not,” Francis said, her fists curling at her sides. “It was that horrid Ursula. She must have badgered him until he thought he saw what she told him to see. But no one will believe him now if he changes his story.”

“I think we can change that,” Hannibal said, stopping to stand beside her. “We intend to probe Dean's memory tonight. I think what we get will hold up in court and…” Hannibal was interrupted by three sharp knocks.

“That must be Walt,” Francis said, moving toward the door. “We can find out right away what will stand up in court.”

Hannibal pushed his glasses back into place, prepared to have some words with the lawyer about having his client at his home. He never got to say them. Francis pulled the door open and found herself staring up at the imposing figure of Stan Thompson.

“Good evening Mrs. Edwards,” Thompson said. “You're under arrest for murder.”

Francis gasped and fell back, allowing the detective to step through the door. Two uniformed men entered behind him. While one of them produced handcuffs Thompson began reading Francis her rights. Hannibal interrupted him by standing between him and the woman, allowing barely an inch of free space between their chests.

“Mind telling me just what the hell you're doing?”

Thompson breathed liver and onions down into Hannibal's face. “What I'm doing is arresting a suspect. You want to add interfering with an arrest to harboring a fugitive?”

“A fugitive?” Hannibal said. “Since when?”

“Oh, since about a half hour ago,” Thompson said. He looked past Hannibal to Francis who was flanked by the other two policemen. He smiled at her the way the winner of a chess game smiles at the loser. “The lab boys finally finished their analysis of the wounds and guess what? Looks like Oscar Peters was killed with the same knife that went into Grant Edwards. Same weapon, same approach, same entry point. That was enough to get me a warrant to come in here. Lucky thing I had a tail on the great detective here.”

“Thompson, you son of a bitch, you set me up.” Hannibal bared his teeth. Thompson turned his maddening satisfied smile to him.

“A real detective uses all the resources at his disposal, son,” Thompson said. “And since I'm in such a grateful mood, I'll invite you to come along peacefully. Or do we need to put the cuffs on you too?”

“Yeah, I think you'd better,” Hannibal said. His face relaxed just before he hooked his right fist up into
Thompson's midsection. He watched the big detective double over and back away a few steps then turned to face the two uniforms. They stepped away from their prisoner and pulled their clubs into attack position.

“Hold on, boys,” Thompson said from behind Hannibal. “No need for violence. I'm sure Mr. Jones will cooperate now that he's gotten that little bit of anger out of his system. Won't you, Mr. Jones?”

Breathing deeply, Hannibal was ready for violence of the worst sort, but he realized that it would not help Dean, or his mother, for him to be locked up for physically abusing a couple of innocent police officers. He gradually slowed his breathing and even more gradually raised his fists straight out in front of him. One of the policemen produced his handcuffs and quickly turned Hannibal around. Hannibal was surprised to see Thompson's smile fade when they heard the click of the cuffs behind him.

Cindy waited until she and Hannibal were out of the police station before she turned and hugged him. He briefly returned her embrace, but his mood would not allow for much affection. He located his car and stepped quickly toward it.

“Thanks for bailing me out, babe,” he said. “I knew if I called you everything would be all right. Do you think Walt will be able to get Francis out too?”

“Not likely,” Cindy answered. “They've formally charged her with Oscar's murder. And I've got to admit that if I were a judge I'd consider her a flight risk.”

When they reached the car, Cindy handed him the keys. It was not until that moment that he realized what had happened.

“Did you drive my car over here?”

“Seemed like the most practical thing to do,” she said as they got in. “I didn't think you wanted too many people to have that address you gave me, so I just took a cab over and got it.” Hannibal nodded. Knowing Cindy didn't own a car,
he wasn't sure she had a current license, and decided not to ask.

“You know the evidence they've got against her?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cindy said, “And Walt and I have already asked for copies of all the photos and documentation describing the two knife wounds. But from what I've heard, all the circumstantial evidence points to the same killer in both incidents.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” Hannibal said, pulling out into traffic. “But I'm more sure than ever that the killer isn't Francis Edwards. Now, if you'll excuse me a minute, I owe somebody a phone call.”

Hannibal pushed buttons on the phone hanging on his visor, and three rings later Irma Andrews answered. “Wanted to keep you in the picture,” Hannibal said. “They've arrested Francis Edwards for the murder of Oscar Peters. If you're hot you might be able to break the story.”

“Appreciate the thought,” Irma said, “but our stringer on the police beat already caught it. Did she do it?”

“Not a chance.”

“Well, I don't know if this helps, but Joan Kitteridge didn't do it either,” Irma said. “I checked out her alibi, and she most definitely was at a Falls Church Chamber of Commerce dinner until a few minutes before we saw her Monday night. Lots of witnesses who have no reason to lie for her. There's no way she could have done the deed.”

It was no surprise, but still Hannibal had wished otherwise. “Thanks Irma. I'm on my way now to one place we might get a clue as to who did.”

The scene at Charter was more like some satanic ritual than a cross-examination. Dean lay in his bed at the center of the room, bright ceiling lights giving his face an almost angelic glow which combined with the innocent expression to give him the look of a victim or, perhaps, a sacrifice. An intravenous drip flowed into the inside of his left elbow. Dr. Quincy Roberts sat on his right, holding a small medallion hanging from a short chain. Off to the left, in the dimmest corner of the room, Hannibal sat holding Bea's right hand. Cindy held her left. All eyes were on Dean, all faces strained. The look reminded Hannibal of cult members who knew what they had to do, but felt guilty for being willing participants in a grim sacrifice.

They had listened to Quincy's slow rhythmic speech for ten minutes, while Dean stared at the twirling coin and slowly counted down from ten to zero. Hannibal didn't like hypnosis, was perhaps a little superstitious about it. Or maybe he just didn't like the thought of losing control of his own thoughts.

Finally, Quincy turned to face his audience and said, “He's ready. I've prepared him to answer any question posed by Ms. Santiago.”

“You're on, babe,” Hannibal said. Cindy sighed, stood, and switched seats with Quincy. She took a couple of deep breaths, then looked up and smiled at Dean. His eyes floated in a nearly closed posture, but he may have seen her.

“Now Dean, I need for you to answer some questions for me,” she began. “I need for you to think before you speak,
and to tell me the truth when you answer. Don't worry about how you might have answered a question in the past. Don't worry about what I or anyone else might want the answer to be. Just tell me the truth. Can you do that?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Dean muttered. Bea sobbed hearing him speak almost as a child. Hannibal squeezed her hand.

“I want you to remember the night your father was killed,” Cindy said. She was looking for a reaction, but there was none. “Can you do that for me?” Dean nodded.

“You were at home with your father and someone came to visit you, is that right?” Another nod.

“Who did you see?” Cindy asked.

Dean's brow knit for a moment. “Nobody.” Hannibal slid his glasses off and watched Dean's face very closely.

“Now, Dean, I want you to go back there now,” Cindy said in her most soothing tones. “I want you to really be there that day. Can you do that?” Dean nodded his head but was otherwise still. “Where are you, Dean?” Cindy asked.

Dean shook his head quickly, as if throwing something off. A lie, perhaps. “I'm on the dining room floor, behind the door. There's yelling. A fight.”

“Whose voices?”

“Papa's,” Dean said. “Papa and…Mama?”

Cindy leaned closer. “Are you sure it's her voice?”

“I think so. It's a woman, but she's kind of whispering. But Papa's shouting. Really loud.”

Hannibal felt Bea shuddering beside him, but his focus was on Dean's face, which showed an inner conflict of some kind.

“After the fighting, tell me what you heard,” Cindy said. “Everything you heard. Like you're there right now.”

Dean's eyebrows rose without his eyes opening. He cocked his head, as if he could hear those awful sounds again. “They're fighting. Papa yelling, yelling. Then… then the door. Yes, the door opening. Now it's quiet for a second. Then the thump.”

“Thump?” Cindy asked after a moment of silence.

“The thump. And now I hear footsteps. Quiet again. I get up to see what's going on now it's quiet.” Dean shuddered in his bed, then snapped upright like a puppet whose strings had been yanked hard. “Mama screams really really loud so I run out to see what happened and…”

Everyone jumped when Dean's eyes snapped open. He sat still, and Hannibal could tell he wasn't seeing anything. At least, not anything in the room right now. Perspiration dripped into Dean's eyes, but they did not blink from the horror in his mind. Cindy reached out to cover one of his hands with her own.

“Tell me what you see, Dean,” Cindy said. “You have to tell me what you see.”

Dean's eyes clamped shut, and big tears dropped from them onto the white sheets. “Mama. Mama is standing over Papa with this huge knife in her hand. Blood's coming off the knife. She's standing in his blood. It's on her shoes. It's all over.” Dean's voice rose into hysterics before Quincy pulled Cindy away and took her seat.

“Dean, this is Dr. Roberts. All that you saw is in the past. The distant past. It can't hurt you now.”

“Want to bet?” Hannibal said under his breath.

Cindy turned to Hannibal, wrapping her arms around him. She was shaken by her part in this drama, but he could barely bring himself to hold her. He was energized by what he had heard. He stood, pulling her with him, barely able to be quiet while Quincy talked Dean back into a restful sleep.