“Not a problem. He maybe learned an important lesson about the difference between threats and combat. About readiness. Could make him a better soldier in the long run.”
As Hannibal prepared to stand, Donner said, “Can I ask you something?” Hannibal nodded. “What was your father’s first name?”
“Charles. Why?”
Donner seemed fully back to present-day reality. “It’s the reason I agreed to meet you at all. Charlie Jones. Common enough name, of course. But I worked with an MP NCO named Charlie Jones back during Nam. He was a whole lot blacker than you, but he married a local national so it could be. He was a hell of a good soldier. Just in case it matters.”
19
Saturday
“You know what I think?” Cindy asked as Hannibal pushed their car up the Autobahn. “I think you came over here hoping you’d meet someone who knew your dad.”
“Do we have to talk about that now?” Hannibal asked, enjoying the sun in his face, cutting into his eyes from his right as he drove north. They had enjoyed a wonderful and pleasant night at the hotel, and had gotten out early to start their day. He was working hard to maintain good spirits for the morning’s errand. They had already passed Frankfurt before Cindy mentioned business again.
“Sorry. I just wondered. So, you think this Donner character was telling the truth?”
“Impossible to guess,” Hannibal said, sliding in behind a Mercedes making excellent time. “He sure looked sincere about his loss. I believe he loved his wife. But the rest of the story only hangs together if you don’t look too closely. Anyway I know all I need to. There was a cover-up. That means several people had a good reason to go after Oscar.”
“I follow that, but if someone saw Oscar as a threat, why would they wait so long to do anything about it?”
The world became familiar as Hannibal wheeled into the outskirts of Berlin. He saw that a great deal of construction was going on, and that Berliners in general still dressed a couple of years behind Americans, but mostly, it was his childhood home. Except of course he didn’t see soldiers and American children everywhere.
“Playing devil’s advocate, counselor? Well, from what his mother told me, it could be our theoretical assassin just couldn’t find him. He’s been on the move since he came to the States.”
It occurred to Hannibal that Cindy might have been asking these questions to distract herself from the purpose of their trip. She became quiet, and stopped talking altogether as they rolled through the ivy-covered gate of the small cemetery in second gear. The gate itself had a thin peaked roof, below which hung a white sign with black letters. Hannibal translated Gottesacker der Brudergemeine as the Bohemian Parish Cemetery. They parked among a haphazard collection of vehicles and Hannibal reached into the back seat for the flowers before he got out.
Lilies. White lilies, he remembered, were her favorites. He stood waiting for Cindy to take his arm before moving off, his shoes crunching on the gravel path between monuments that were tended with great care. The Germans did care for their dead, he had to give them that. The grounds showed the meticulous and painstaking care they received. The trees were deep green with that flush of health trees in such places always have. Hannibal stopped in front of a row of low white marble stones. The space behind the monuments was covered with ivy, while a carpet of grass lay in front of them.
“Her whole family’s out here someplace,” Hannibal said. “Or at least was here. My dad is one of the few Americans here, even though that’s the America Memorial Library up there on Blucher Square. Actually, I understand when they built Blucher Street on the northern parts of the cemetery in the seventies, that’s when they tore down the north wall and some of the memorials and graves were destroyed.”
Cindy remained silent. Hannibal wondered if she thought his ramblings were some sort of avoidance technique. Well, it didn’t matter what she thought. He saw no purpose in grief. It was merely respect for those you loved to visit them once in a while and honor their names. He lowered himself onto his haunches and looked closely at the stone. Funny. Both their names were there, but he always thought of this as visiting his mother. Maybe that was because he had twenty years of memories of her, and so very few clear memories of his father. That void, that emptiness, still ached from time to time like a node of poison in his body. As if someday that poison sack could rupture and kill him if he disturbed it too much.
So when he gently laid the flowers down on the grave, he imagined handing them to his mother, and could again see her face light up as it always did when he offered any small gesture of his love. When he stood he was aware of passersby, here to acknowledge their own loved ones. Germans never looked at others in these places. They respected the privacy of other people’s feelings. He stood before the stone, alone in his silence, except for the small hand squeezing his.
“I think I finally understand,” Cindy whispered. “War took your father, but your mother’s life, and yours, were no less destroyed. You were… what did you call it?”
“Collateral damage,” Hannibal said. “Father was a casualty, and our lives were part of the collateral damage.”
Cindy nodded and returned to silence. After a time he turned to her and said, “We’ve got a plane to catch at twelve-fifteen.” They returned to the car but Hannibal sat a moment before starting it. He opened his mouth to speak a couple of times. A nearby tree moved with the soft breeze, its leaves casting shadows across his face. He licked his lips and gripped the steering wheel.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for coming here with me. I don’t know if I was alone…”
Cindy wrapped her hand around his. “Oh no, baby. Thank you. Thank you for bringing me, for letting me see it. And letting me see you, this way.”
He looked up at her, wanting to tell her he loved her, wondering why that was so hard sometimes. Cindy nodded and smiled and just said, “I know.”
The flight home was direct from Frankfurt to National Airport. Flying westward they had watched the sun and almost kept up with it for nine hours, holding hands much of the time. Between long naps they sat wrapped in their own private thoughts. Thanks to the time zones it was only three o’clock in the afternoon when they touched down. Hannibal related his plans for the day to Cindy between the arrival gate and the car. It was time for action to prove Dean’s innocence, and he was asking Cindy to get the ball rolling while he took care of one social obligation first.
At Cindy’s townhouse, Hannibal took a quick shower and changed clothes. Of course he pulled on another black suit, indicating he was still at work. Then he left her to make phone calls while he drove to the Hyatt Regency. After a short elevator ride, he tapped on the door softly, almost hoping he had made the trip for nothing. But it was only seconds before he heard Ruth Peters’ soft steps approach the door. When she opened the door he saw the expectant look lift from her face like a mist when the sun hits the land. She nodded twice, flashing a wistful smile.
“Well Mister Jones,” she said. “Good afternoon. What brings you here this afternoon?”
He had simply wanted to end her suspense. Now he wanted to ease her loneliness. “Well I rather suspected you were sitting up here in your room. I thought you might want to go downstairs and have a cup of tea or something.”
In the elevator, Hannibal learned that Ruth had not bothered to eat lunch that day, so once they were seated in the hotel restaurant he ordered a small salad and a cup of soup for each of them. Only three other people sat in the room with them, two older couples dressed as tourists and a woman who may have been working the hotel but doing it quietly. Ruth looked at each of them closely. She seemed to look at everyone closely.