“I need to speak to her without interference,” Hannibal said. “You were right before. I may have to be stern to get the information I need and I can’t have her looking to someone else for support. Don’t worry. Ms. Santiago will look out for her interests.”
Henry glanced in Anita’s direction, muttered, “Five minutes,” and left the room. Isaac followed, and Hannibal turned his attention to the patient.
Anita had no mouth or nose tubes, but fluids were still dripping into her arms. The bruise on her right cheek had turned a pale orange, which did not match the purplish crescents under her eyes. Someone had straightened her nose, a process that Hannibal knew from experience was painful. A red line and a tiny bit of thread showed that her lower lip had taken a stitch or two.
Hannibal took Henry’s post on Anita’s right and nudged her arm. Her eyes opened and a warm smile was stillborn as she realized that a substitute had taken Henry’s place. Her eyes darted from Hannibal to Cindy on the other side of the bed and back again. Her brow creased with worry.
“Mr. Jones, what are you doing here, and who is your friend?”
“This is Cindy Santiago,” Hannibal said. “She’s an attorney, here to make sure I don’t violate your legal rights in any way. She is also connected to your case in another way I’ll explain later. As for me, I’m here to find out who hurt you. In order for me to continue, you will have to be open and honest with me.”
Anita’s jaw set. “I told you, I don’t know who hit me. Why won’t you believe me?”
“He could come back,” Hannibal said. He detected blood on Anita’s breath. Had her assailant loosened a tooth?
“It’s not your job to protect me. You should be out finding my father’s legacy, whatever it is.”
Before Hannibal could explain, Cindy leaned forward to take Anita’s hand. “Ms. Cooper, I want you to know that I’ve spent some time in the last couple of days with another woman who might be classified as a victim of this man, Rod Mantooth. He left her emotionally crippled and on the verge of suicide by drinking herself to death. Forget about Hannibal’s quest or whatever connection you might be able to regain with your father by receiving your mystery inheritance. I need to know where this man is, and if you know, you owe it to every woman alive to tell me.”
The beeping accelerated and seemed to become louder in the otherwise silent hospital room. Anita stared hard into Cindy’s eyes and squeezed her hand until their fingers were white. Her eyes crinkled, fighting to contain tears and begging the other woman for understanding.
“I don’t want revenge,” she said. “I just want my money.”
“You contacted him somehow?” Hannibal asked.
“I saw him,” Anita said. She seemed to overcome the tears, but words poured out instead. “I saw him. I was coming out of the Giant and there was that car, sitting in the parking lot. I dropped my groceries and waited for him. When he came to the car he looked right through me, as if he didn’t recognize me. I told him I knew he had taken something from the house.”
“You confronted him?”
“He must have sold whatever he took, I figured, so I demanded a share of what he got. I told him he owed me at least that much.”
Hannibal doubted the conversation went quite that way, but the result was pretty clear. “He laughed in your face, right? I mean, he sure didn’t see you as any kind of threat. So why would he be so rough?”
“He said I was stale. Used. He needed fresh…” Anita’s entire face clenched and the tears finally flowed down the sides of her face.
Cindy completed her sentence. “He needs fresh meat. That bastard.”
“I was so angry, and ashamed.” Anita sobbed now, not trying to hide it or hold back. “I wanted to hurt him, but I couldn’t. So I took my keys and I made a scratch. Right on the door of his precious car.”
Good for you, Hannibal thought.
“That was very brave,” Cindy said. “Very brave and stupid. Look what he did to you. But Anita, why didn’t you tell the police who it was?”
“They’d put him in jail,” Anita said. “If he’s in jail, I’ll never get any of my money.”
Hannibal knew she had other, deeper reasons for not sending Rod to jail. Hannibal couldn’t guess how it might affect her if she was the reason for Rod getting arrested.
“Okay, you just stay here and rest up and heal,” Hannibal said. “I’ll find this guy and when I do I’ll make sure you’re made whole. I swear it.” Hannibal knew that commitment could have two meanings, and he meant it both ways.
Only Cindy’s presence enabled Hannibal to contain his frustration as he slogged through the stagnant midday traffic. Fairfax Inova was in fact in Falls Church, Virginia, positioned so that Washington was accessible without having to leave the highway. But even after the Monday lunch hour, driving the beltway was like swimming through maple syrup. After a couple of miles on I-495 he turned onto I-66, which moved even more slowly. His tension was compounded by the fact that he had surrendered the stereo to Cindy, who flipped the radio to the smooth jazz station. In this kind of traffic, with the air conditioner blowing full blast, he desperately wanted to rock out.
Eventually he reached the Constitution Avenue exit, dropped Cindy at her building, switched to an AC/DC CD and got back on Constitution for what he knew would be a leisurely roll east. Driving slowly through the city didn’t bother him the way slow motion on the highway did. After all his years in residence, Hannibal still enjoyed the eclectic architecture that downtown D.C. offered. Nodding his head to “Highway to Hell,” he smiled at the city’s internal conflict, symbolized by the contrast of the ostentatious Smithsonian buildings on his left and the park-like stillness of the Capital Mall on his right. Tourists rushed about on his left, trying to see how much they could see in one day. On his right, locals meandered across the thin grass on their bikes or on foot.
Then he maneuvered onto I-395, which moved a little faster and dropped him onto I-295, which flowed faster still. That carried him down past the Navy Yard and across the river into his own neighborhood, Anacostia.
Hannibal stepped out into the humidity, surprised to see Marquita’s silver Lexus a few spaces ahead of his own. In the hallway he was even more surprised to hear movement in his office. The door was ajar. Hannibal rested his hand on the Sig Sauer hanging under his right arm and stepped toward the door, careful not to make a sound. The opening was just wide enough for one eye to see through, but the view prompted a soft smile. Marquita stood leaning back against Hannibal’s desk. Sarge had an arm around her waist and was pressing forward slowly for a kiss. It was the kind of moment that makes a man feel like a voyeur, but also makes it hard to turn away.
Then Sarge’s free hand tenderly touched Marquita’s thigh, and Hannibal saw her flinch. Sarge froze, the moment shattered. Hannibal felt Marquita’s pain, but he knew that Sarge carried his own scars. He was a survivor, a man who had come through firefights in Vietnam, fistfights in Mississippi, the spiral into homelessness and the long climb back to self-respect. Hannibal wasn’t sure he could take another blow to the heart. He was strong, but Marquita was damaged goods, and trying to hold her together could break him apart.
Hannibal took two silent steps backward, then almost stomped forward and pushed the door open. Sarge snapped erect and pulled back from Marquita, who grew a quick, nervous smile.
“Didn’t expect to find you guys here,” Hannibal said, pulling his jacket off and hanging it on the tall coat rack beside the door without looking directly at his guests. “Hang on a sec. Be right back.”
Hannibal walked through the next three rooms of the converted flat to the kitchen at the back and pulled a bottle of filtered water from the small refrigerator. Sarge and Marquita were more composed when he returned with it to the office. Hannibal gave Sarge a questioning look.
“I wanted to get Markie away from that house for a while.” Sarge said. “Then, when we got here I decided to show her your office, you know, give her the tour.”