Damaged Goods (12 page)

“So how's she doing, Doc? Is she checking herself into a nice rest home?”

Oh, I don't think so,” Roberts said. “She's still in rather bad shape, but she's pretty resilient, and if she keeps drinking lots of water to flush the alcohol out of her system I think she'll be okay.” He looked up at Hannibal, the weight of his knowledge dragging his face down. “Someone used this girl badly, in ways I don't see too often. Too many men, too many ways, and there are signs that when the men couldn't do it to her themselves they used other things. And there are strap marks. She was really lucky.”

Hannibal shook his head. “Doesn't sound too lucky to me.”

“I mean lucky you came along when you did,” Roberts said. “She's hideously undernourished and dehydrated. If she had stayed in this house one more day, not eating and self-medicating with alcohol to dull her pain, who knows what would have happened to her. It was a fortunate turn of fate that brought you to her door before she was too weak or too drunk to answer the bell.”

“Yeah, timing is everything,” Hannibal said, thrusting his hands into his pockets. His hand hit a small bottle there. He pulled it out and, on an impulse, handed it to Roberts.

“Say, Doc, I found these in Marquita's medicine cabinet. Something dangerous? If she was trying to commit suicide, maybe she should be under observation.”

Roberts shook a couple of the round pills into his hand and flipped one over to see the markings. His bushy white eyebrows rose.

“No, people don't try to hurt themselves with flunitazepam. They leave it to someone else”

“Fluni-what?”

Roberts looked up and Hannibal with new weariness on his face. “Do you know the more common name Rohypnol?”

“Is that the same as roofies?” Hannibal asked. “The so-called date rape drug?”

“That's it,” Roberts said, dropping the pills back into their
bottle. “It does have sedative or hypnotic effects. Rohypnol really can incapacitate a girl; prevent her from resisting sexual assault, for instance. One of these is as powerful as ten Valium and can keep a person compliant for eight hours or more. I have to believe someone was using these to keep Ms. LaPage in a compliant frame of mind.”

“That's sick,” Hannibal said. “To sneak drugs into a girl's food or drink to take advantage of her?” He paced from one corner of the room to another. The sun coming in the window was annoying him.

“You found these in her medicine cabinet?” Roberts asked. Hannibal nodded. “Well then, I hardly think they were sneaking them into her.”

Hannibal stopped, mid-pace, and turned to stare at Roberts. “You mean you think she knew? Yeah, of course, she must have. Well, it makes sense I guess, if you want to be controlled. But that's crazy. Why would anyone accept being drugged like that?”

“Ah, Hannibal,” Roberts said. “This sort of naiveté ill becomes you. People will allow you to do anything once you've gained their trust. Whoever was here, whoever did these things to Ms. LaPage, He would appear to be a master at gaining women's trust.”

Trust, Hannibal thought. Blair called it the number one business asset of our age. And maybe it was the number one asset of the sexual predator as well.

“What do we do now, Doc?”

“Well, she'll need some looking after,” Roberts said, standing, “but I don't think there's a medical solution for her problems. When she's regained her strength I would recommend psychiatric counseling. If she's interested, I'd be happy to have her as a patient.”

The bedroom door was open just an inch or two, and Hannibal stood in front of it for a moment before pushing it wider. Sarge sat on the far side of the bed beside Marquita
who was propped up on a collection of pillows and wrapped in a soft yellow silk robe. A shaft of light from the window cast a warm glow around her. Despite obvious exhaustion, she seemed animated as she chatted in low tones with Sarge. Color was already returning to her face. Her hair was shiny and now that it was brushed out it turned out to be longer than Hannibal had realized. It was hard to believe she looked this good, considering what Dr. Roberts had said about her health. Could one night's sleep make that big a difference?

As he pushed the door open, Sarge and Marquita turned toward him. She presented the smile of a practiced southern hostess but her hand clutched Sarge's a little tighter.

“It is good to see you again, Mr. Jones. Is the doctor gone?”

“Yes ma'am. He says you're doing much better. I have to say you sure look a lot better than you did just last night. Do you think you're up to talking to me for a while?”

“She's pretty worn out, Hannibal,” Sarge said. “What do you need with her, anyway?”

Had Sarge been a canine, that question would have been a low warning growl. Hannibal hadn't expected this protective stance, but it was clear from Sarge's body language that he was standing guard over the girl. Hannibal smiled and pulled the chair from the vanity to sit close to the bed. “I have a client who had dealings with the man who hurt Marquita. I've been hired to find him, and she might be able to help me do that.”

“You know, buddy, I don't know if this is stuff she needs to be talking about right now.” Sarge had puffed his chest out and squared his shoulders as he spoke. Hannibal was sure it was an unconscious response, the subtle signals he had learned to send in order to get his way as a bouncer without having to get physical with drunks. There was no percentage in conflict with Sarge. Hannibal kept his focus on Marquita LaPage.

“Ma'am, I know this other girl's problems aren't your concern, but I'm going to ask you to think about your life since Rod Mantooth left here. From what I saw, you've been
punishing yourself and here's why I think you've been doing that. I think you've been waiting for him to come back. And I think you hate yourself for wanting him to return. You're doing everything he told you to do, hoping he'll walk back in that door, but you know damn well that's not what you ought to want.”

As Hannibal spoke, Marquita's soft brown eyes widened and her breath became fast but shallow gasps. When she finally looked down, she appeared on the verge of tears. Long blonde tresses dropped over her lowered face like sheer curtains closing on a window that was too easy to see through.

“Stop it, man,” Sarge said, squeezing her hand. “Can't you see what this is doing to her? Besides, that's all bullsh…” Sarge's eyes cut toward her for a second, “that's all bull, man. The last thing in the world Marquita wants is for that bastard to come back here.”

“Uh-huh.” Hannibal nodded his skepticism, his lips drawn in against his teeth. “Right. So. Where's the collar, Ms. LaPage?”

Marquita shook her head with such violence that her hair sashaying in front of her like a dancer's skirt. Then she slowly looked up through the sheer wall of hair.

He asked again. This time it was just above a whisper. “Where's your collar, Ms. LaPage?”

For a frozen moment, the only movement in the room was the rising of tiny dust motes in the shaft of light falling on the bed. Those bits of matter were so small that they needed only the heat of the sun to put them into mindless flight. For humans, weighed down by guilt and pain and self-loathing, movement can be considerably harder. Eventually, Marquita moved her head to the side, indicating the small table beside the bed on Hannibal's side. A small sniffle came from behind her hair, and three drops of her soul rode gravity down to thump into the comforter.

Hannibal's hand moved very slowly to the table, and quietly slid the drawer open. From inside he lifted her hated
prize. It was gray suede with a silver buckle and tiny rhinestone studs along its length.

“What the hell?” Sarge said, his face contorted the way it would be if he drank sour milk. “You didn't actually wear that thing, did you?”

Marquita's head moved slowly up and down. Hannibal tossed the collar on the bed.

“You kept it close at hand. Symbolic of his ownership right? Evidence that you belong to him. But he abandoned you didn't he? Cast you aside. Was a part of you hoping he'd appear at the door and require you to wear that collar again? No, more important question. Aren't you tired of loving and hating this man, this life? Would you like to stop wondering if he'll come back here?”

When Marquita spoke, her voice was small and distant. “I am so worthless. When he was here, I existed to serve, and I was, God forgive me, I was happy in his service. I did things I never believed I could do, but it gave him pleasure and somehow that became my only goal. I can't explain. I hated him, hated myself for needing to please him.” When no one responded, she looked up, using one hand to part the curtain of her hair. “How can I ever be free of this man?”

“You'll be free of him if I break his neck,” Sarge said.

Hannibal didn't want to go there. “Mantooth has done bad things to other women, Ms. LaPage. He's also a thief. If I find him, I'll make sure he can't come back here. That will take the decision out of your hands.”

“Hannibal can find anybody,” Sarge added.

Marquita stared at the collar in front of her. She raised her hand, then made a frustrated fist and lowered it, as if she was afraid to touch the thin leather strip. “What can I do to help?”

“Atta girl,” Sarge said with a smile. “The only way to get a monkey off your back is to shake it yourself.” He captured her hand again and she held his up, shaking it, as if drawing strength from him. Hannibal figured Sarge for the best tower of strength he knew. She would need it, for what he was about to ask.

“Ms. LaPage,” he began.

“Please call me Marquita. You may have saved my life, and that makes us too close to be so formal.”

“Ms. LaPage, I need to know more about how this man works. I need to know how he met you, and how he insinuated himself into your life.”

Marquita's face collapsed in on itself, as if her very muscles were at war with each other. Then she nodded her head once, quickly, as if agreeing to something. Then, to Hannibal's surprise, her eyes came up, clear and bright. When she finally spoke, it all came rushing out.

“How we met? He was a simple handyman when we met. When I moved up here, after daddy passed, I didn't know anyone. But the investments were here, you see, the real estate holdings and so on. I bought this house, but it's really too much for just me. Rod helped with the yard work, and did all that landscaping with the flowers out front. He also extended the deck.”

“Jesus, babe, why'd you get such a big house anyway?” Sarge asked.

Marquita's smile returned for a moment, and her eyes sparkled as she looked at Sarge. “Ah, mon chere, I had to have space for big parties, didn't I?” Her accent, well hidden at first, began to assert itself.

“Did Mantooth attend your parties?”

“Oh, mon Deux, non! He was not of the station. But we spoke, day to day. He told me he lived nearby and did a lot of work for local residents.”

Hannibal knew exactly where he was living at the time, or more accurately, whom he was living on. “And you liked him?”

“Not particularly at the time. We flirted a little. I guess I was flattered by his attention at first, but it soon became annoying. In fact I fired him.”

“He do something to you?” Sarge asked. His anger was still evident in his voice and his breathing, which had become deeper.

“One day, when I returned from the grocer, he was here working on the yard. He helped me bring the packages in.
Then, when I thanked him he said he wanted a more personal thank you. He became very aggressive, and tried to kiss me, to hold me, but I pushed him away. I told him to get out, and that was the last I saw of him for a while.”

“Why would you ever see him again?” Sarge asked through clenched teeth.

Marquita held his big hand in both of hers. “Because I am a stupid, worthless woman, mon chere, that's why.” Then to Hannibal, she said, “I saw him in Atlantic City. This was weeks later. He was dressed in very expensive clothes this time. I had only seen him in work clothes. And he had a new car, a huge red convertible, like a Cadillac but not really.”

Hannibal saw the confusion on Sarge's face and said, “It's a custom job, half Caddy, half Stingray. I've got a line on the car. So you saw him in a casino?”

“Yes. He recognized me, and walked right up, so forceful and full of himself. He was with another woman, but he just told her to go away. Then he looked me in the eye and told me I was going to be his. He had money now, and more coming, and I would belong to him.”

“What did you say?” Sarge asked.

“Well naturally I…” Marquita stopped herself, her hands falling to the bed between her covered legs. “Well the truth is, I found it rather exciting. This rough, tough man declaring that he would have me. But I walked away from him. That was on a Friday night. And the very next day, here he was at my door with flowers and tickets to a show, doing it the right way. I don't know why I went with him. There was something about him that made it hard to say no.”