“Okay, I’m lost,” Mark said, standing up. “What has all this to do with a murder?”
Hannibal looked at Joan, giving her a chance to speak. She shook her head and remained silent, so Hannibal continued. “As it turns out, Langford here reached the rank of Brigadier General in the Army over there in Berlin. Having an underage girlfriend would have derailed that career for sure, but he had a safe place to take her. Gil Donner’s little love nest. The way I see it, Carla must have caught you two up there, doing the nasty. I don’t understand how she could justify being jealous, but I don’t think she reacted well. Otherwise, Langford wouldn’t have killed her.”
All eyes turned to Langford. His eyes cast toward the carpet. “It was an accident.”
“Maybe,” Hannibal said. “But if she was planning to leave Gil for you, she’d have been a terrible security risk after she found out you liked them younger. In any case, she ended up dead, and again a connection to you would have ended your precious career. So you set her up to look like a suicide. Then you convinced your subordinate, Gil Donner, the provost marshal, to limit the investigation.”
“She was already dead,” Langford said, taking a step toward Hannibal. “There was nothing to be gained by exposing my mistake.”
“Yes, and Donner was in no hurry to expose his lifestyle. The two of you decided nothing you did would hurt her anymore, but you didn’t seem to notice or care about ruining the life of a good MP named Foster Peters. No biggie, right? One thing you learned in your early career in Vietnam was, every enemy action creates a certain amount of acceptable collateral damage.”
Mark stepped closer to Joan, hands held wide. “Is this true, baby? You saw him kill a woman? And then you, you married him?” Joan nodded slowly, but could not produce any words.
“Well they wanted to stay together, but now they had no place to go,” Hannibal said. “And I think maybe old Langford here was really in love with her. So he took her in, and made up the dead brother story to make it acceptable for her to be in his home. Then, to tie her to him better, he married her. I don’t think he knew at the time that Foster Peters’ son, Oscar, was one of her young admirers. Did you let it slip that Carla Donner’s death was suspicious, Joan?”
“I thought he knew,” Joan said, shaking her head. “After all, his father was the investigating officer. I guess I did say too much before I realized he was ignorant.”
Hannibal continued, watching Langford’s eyes, seeing trouble in them. “Pretty soon after that you moved back to the States, right? I’m guessing now, but I figure the general here got posted to the Pentagon for his last assignment. Were you already looking for a younger man then, Joan?”
Langford stepped forward, moving on his feet more lightly than one would expect for a man his age. “Joan would never consider leaving me,” He said in a low, deep voice.
Hannibal chuckled. “Please. The age difference and your overwhelming control of her were tearing her apart. You put her in therapy with Dr. Roberts. But it didn’t do what you wanted it to, did it? He encouraged her to find someone nearer her own age. Then she met Grant Edwards and got the hots for him.”
“He tried to steal my Joan!” Langford bellowed. The women gasped loudly as he pulled a large knife from under his jacket. He flipped into a reverse grip, the point toward his elbow, edge out. Hannibal recognized it as a Ka-bar, the fighting blade favored by Marines since World War II.
“And you killed him with a knife very much like this one,” Hannibal said, holding his hands wide and backing away slowly. “When you found out about him and Joan, you started following her. You heard them arguing. As soon as she left, you went to the door. He let you in but he didn’t know why you were there. Did he turn his back to you or did you slip around behind him to drive the knife into his throat?”
“He didn’t deserve her,” Langford said. “He couldn’t fight for her.”
“Yeah well we don’t need to either,” Hannibal said, reaching for his holster before he remembered that the police took his pistol back at Donner’s hotel room.
“No gun?” Langford asked. “Well, I guess you can’t stop me. And anyway, Edwards was an adulterer who deserved to die.”
Hannibal stepped back in front of the door. “Maybe. But I think he was waiting for his wife to try to work it out that night. That’s why he and Joan argued. She showed up soon after you left and found him dead. Did she deserve to spend a decade in jail? Did her son deserve to have his brain warped by the experience? More collateral damage, general. I can’t let you leave.”
“Then stop me.” Langford swung his blade forward, slashing at Hannibal’s stomach. Hannibal slammed backward against the door to avoid the attack. There seemed no space for him to dodge a second lunge without moving from the door. Fire in Langford Kitteridge’s eyes said he was prepared to kill again to escape.
Mark Norton seemed to awaken from a trance. He stepped forward, shouting. “You crazy old man. No wonder she wanted to get away from you.” He lifted a barstool above his head, preparing to swing it like a club at Langford.
“No!” Joan shouted. “Don’t hurt him.”
Langford spun toward Mark. “You tried to steal her too.”
“You moron, he never suspected you had her,” Hannibal said. “Just as you never suspected she went to Las Vegas last summer to get a divorce from you.”
While Mark held Langford’s focus, Hannibal reached out for his right hand but the older man spun back around faster than anyone in the room thought possible. Hannibal hissed as the heavy blade slashed through his jacket. He felt a burning flash of pain as he leaped aside. Joan screamed, and Langford darted through the door. Mark dropped the barstool and rushed to Hannibal’s side.
“Are you all right?” Mark asked.
“Barely touched me,” Hannibal replied. “Hurts like hell but I’m not really injured. Got to get after him.”
Joan started for the door, but Mark grabbed her arm. “That’s why you went to Vegas?” Mark asked. His face showed the kind of hurt little boys reflect when disappointed. “You didn’t want me to know you’d ever been married to that old coot, so you lied to me and sneaked down there.”
Hannibal shouldered past the couple into the hallway. Langford was nowhere in sight, but his options were limited. As he ran to the stairs, Hannibal wondered what kind of connections the old general had around the Beltway. With money and connections it was just possible he could disappear, maybe even get out of the country before anyone tracked him down. That thought drove him down the two flights of stairs, his side pulsing where the tip of a fighting knife had opened him over his right ribs.
Bursting through the lobby door, Hannibal almost allowed himself a smile. Langford was running toward his car but he had put the big knife away. A midnight blue Crown Victoria pulled into the parking lot, subtly blocking anyone from driving out. It was certainly an unmarked police car. But then, without breaking stride, Langford Kitteridge ran right past his own car.
“Damn,” Hannibal muttered between clenched teeth. Leaning forward, he sprinted with all he had. By closing his mind to the pain in his side, he closed the distance in seconds. A clumsy tackle brought Langford down under him.
A voice in the distance said, “Hey, what the hell? Leave that old man alone.” Hannibal knew it had to be a cop, reacting to the present scene with no knowledge of the history. Not so crazy, he thought. Wasn’t that why the most recent murder had nearly gone unsolved?
“Give it up,” Hannibal said into the old man’s ear. “I don’t really want to hurt you.”
Then shock overwhelmed Hannibal’s mind. A solid punch into his injured ribs all but paralyzed him. Another rocked his head. With startling strength, Langford managed to roll Hannibal over. The knife looked bigger raised above his head, but Hannibal raised a hand to grasp Langford’s wrist. The steady downward pressure seemed augmented by the power in Langford’s eyes.