“What about you?” Hannibal laced his fingers on the table, keeping his face open. “Seen anything around that company that might make employees nervous? Or something about Joan Kitteridge?”
“Well, I see everything that goes on up there,” Oscar said, “but I have to get back to work pretty soon. I’d be happy to give you all the dirty little details later.” His nervous little hand moved out to cover Hannibal’s. “You could stay all night.”
Hannibal felt his stomach jump as his body clenched. He pulled his hand away as if burned and jumped to his feet.
“I think I’ve got enough.”
But as Hannibal marched toward the door, Oscar spun in his chair, his eyes widening behind his thick lenses. “I’m sorry. Please don’t run off. I’m the one who’s scared. Don’t leave me alone here.”
Hannibal opened the door and stood with his hand on the outside knob. “Just what are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid for my life,” Oscar said, his voice begging. “My life has been threatened. There’s trouble on my tail, followed me all the way from Europe.”
“Sounds like a job for the police,” Hannibal said, pulling his gloves back on.
“The police never believe you until it’s too late,” Oscar said. “If you’re helping Dean you should be helping me.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “I can pay you.”
“I don’t think so,” Hannibal said, harder than he intended. “I’ve already got two clients. Look, after I talk to Dean, I’ll check back with you on that.”
Hannibal was in his car before he realized that Oscar had not followed. He sat still for a moment, taking deep, calming breaths. He didn’t like to think of himself as phobic. He didn’t like to think he was afraid of anything. There were just some things he didn’t like. Like men touching him. Besides, that could have been a genuine cry for help Oscar was sounding. If Oscar was in trouble, it could lead to an explanation for Dean’s running off.
Or it could have simply been the cry of loneliness, Hannibal decided as he started his car. And besides, he had done what he was being paid to do. He had found Dean Edwards. He jabbed at the buttons on his car phone while he steered himself back to Route 7 pointed toward Alexandria. After five rings, Cindy’s hello pushed into the car, blowing away the cloud that had filled his mind a moment earlier.
“Hey baby,” Hannibal said. “What you doing for dinner?”
“I’m making it,” she said. He could feel her smile through the ether. “Right now I’m standing in your kitchen, holding the phone with my shoulder, cooking the chicken for my arroz imperial. You feel like chicken and rice?”
“Let’s see how many speed laws I can break between here and there,” Hannibal said. “Then you’ll see.”
“You done with business for the day?”
“Almost,” Hannibal said. “One more phone call to make. Believe it or not, I found Dean Edwards. He ducked out, and he thinks I don’t know where he is, but I do. I think I’ll just give Bea the boy’s location and let her go confront him herself.”
8
Hannibal loved all types of food except, perhaps, that group of dishes most people refer to as American. And he loved to have a woman cook for him. When Cindy carried the large serving dish from the oven to the table, the smile she wore told him she knew how close to heaven she had carried him.
Hannibal knew that Cindy was not domestic by nature. His tough-minded woman felt more at home in a courtroom than a kitchen. But every once in a while, she seemed to feel the need to release her creative side, and her preferred medium for artistic expression was the traditional dishes of her father’s homeland. And Hannibal appreciated the hours invested in this art. Tonight’s feature creation required hours of preparation, but the imperial rice was worth the effort. Hannibal had dropped his jacket, gloves and glasses, and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to dig in.
“So did you tell Bea everything you learned about her man?” Cindy asked as she settled into her chair facing Hannibal.
Smile-inducing aromas were swimming around Hannibal’s flat: onions, garlic, peppers, scallions. Those warm homey aromas made him too happy and relaxed to want to talk business. “Well no, not everything babe. Why set her up for that kind of pain? I did my job. I found him. End of the trail. From there, it’s between them.”
“What if he’s telling the truth? What if he really is keeping secrets because he loves her and doesn’t want her involved?”
His fork dug into the baked layers of rice and chicken and cheese that stretched out as he lifted the food. Monterey jack, he thought, and maybe Parmesan. “Is that how it works when it’s love? If you were in trouble, would you keep it from me, babe?”
Cindy’s answer was disrupted by a knock on the door. Actually, the knock was across the hall. Chewing slowly, Hannibal looked up at Cindy. They were quiet for a moment, but then Cindy sighed and shook her head with sad resignation.
“If they’re at your office door at this hour, they could be in real trouble. No point pretending you don’t need to see who it is.”
“Better be life and death!” Hannibal wiped his mouth on a napkin and went out into the hall. His living room door was near the back of the building, so he walked past the basement door under the wide staircase to the other side before he could see who was standing at the front of the building, worrying his office door with their knuckles.
“I can’t believe he’s gone this early,” Kate Andrews muttered, staring at the door as if she could open it with the power of her stare.
“How the hell did you find me?” Hannibal asked from the other end of the building. She jumped but made a quick recovery and stalked toward him, her heels clicking like gunshots in the hallway.
“You gave me your card, remember? Reporters have to be resourceful, or didn’t they tell you? And once I saw the address, I figured it must be your residence as well.”
“Actually, I live across the hall,” Hannibal said. “Why don’t you come in and tell me what’s so important you came all the way into The District…”
“You broke your word, Jones,” she said, moving past him toward his front door. One foot inside, her eyes met Cindy’s. Kate stopped in her tracks, taking in the food on the table and Hannibal’s half finished meal. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize.”
Cindy’s recovery was a quick as Kate’s, standing and offering her hand for Kate’s reluctant shake. “No bother, come on in. I’m Cindy Santiago, and I didn’t realize Hannibal’s acquaintances included famous TV news reporters. Won’t you join us?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t. I mean…”
“What do you mean by that?” Hannibal asked, closing the door after getting back inside. “I keep my word with everybody, even pushy reporters.”
The three of them stood there for a moment, Kate’s eyes bouncing from Cindy to Hannibal and back. Then Cindy turned to the cabinet over the sink.
“I’m getting another plate. You can speak plainly to Hannibal, Ms. Andrews. I promise not to get involved.”
“Well, that does smell delicious, and I love Mexican food,” Kate said, pulling a chair out but still standing. “But I hate to intrude. I just wanted to ask Mister Jones about a story. A story that he assured me he’d call me about if anything came of it.”
Hannibal returned to his chair and under Cindy’s stare Kate joined them at the table. “I haven’t eaten, as a matter of fact,” Kate said, pushing her fork into the rice mixture.
“Actually, this is Cuban,” Hannibal said. Then to Cindy, “Kate helped me with that video of Dean Edwards, Cindy. I told her if it looked like news I’d give her a call. But so far it looks pretty tame.”
Kate was about to launch an outburst, but her taste buds short-circuited that. “Oh my, this is delicious! Now, Mister Jones, do you expect me to believe you didn’t know that family’s tragic history?”
“History?” Hannibal asked. “I know almost nothing about this guy. Enlighten me.”
Kate looked to Cindy who responded with a smile. “Aside from his cook, I’m also Hannibal’s lawyer. I understand confidentiality, if that’s a concern for you, Ms. Andrews.”