“Cool.” Then Hannibal turned to Queenie. “Go ahead. Just talk to the dashboard. Read what’s on the insurance card and tell him whatever else might help.”
Hannibal just pulled up in front of the Ramada because he didn’t want to park. If he parked, Queenie might think he wanted to chat with her and he didn’t really want any more of her company. There were types of women Hannibal just didn’t like being around. That list included lonely women, lying women, greedy women, women who smoked, and women involved in ongoing cases. Queenie Cochran was at least four of those types rolled into one package, and she was a good candidate to go five for five.
“Just come up for one drink,” she was saying. “Just long enough for me to get settled in. I’m kind of, you know, without Benny around.”
“I understand but I have things that I have to get done if we’re going…” Hannibal was interrupted by the telephone ringing. He tapped the button, wondering if Rissik could have already found the missing car, perhaps in a city impound lot.
“Hannibal? How you doing honey?” Cindy’s voice coming out of the speakers caused Queenie’s mouth to drop open and her eyes to swing from side to side the way eyes sometimes do when people are caught someplace they know they shouldn’t be.
“Hang on a minute, Cindy,” Hannibal said, staring at Queenie. “I have a client here, but she was just leaving.”
Queenie took the hint better and faster than he expected, waving good-bye and closing the door with care rather than slamming it. Did she feel as if she had been caught poaching on another woman’s preserve? Had she been trying to?
“OK, we’re alone,” Hannibal said, pulling away from the curb. Except for the Russian wiretap, he thought.
“Your client’s a woman? What’s the case?”
“Missing husband,” Hannibal said, diving under a yellow light and pointing his car toward home. “Actually it’s related to the bigger case I told you about.”
“Right. Well, I just wanted to touch base with you about tonight.”
A tiny Mini slipped in front of him, making him miss the light and trapping him at a corner clogged with pedestrians. “Seriously, honey, this case has me so tied down…”
“Don’t sweat it, lover. I wanted to let you know I’ll be looking at a couple more houses when I leave the office.”
The light turned green, but the walkers didn’t seem to notice. “After work? Why can’t you do all this during the day?”
“Well, dear, some people just won’t let you in their homes unless they’re there.”
Hannibal slowly nosed into the intersection. “Well, I hope you see something you like. And don’t forget to eat something.”
“Don’t worry. After we check the houses, Reggie said we could stop someplace for something to eat while we go over some paperwork.”
“Reggie?” Hannibal said, slowly trying to part the tide of humanity in front of his car, using his bumper. “Is that the Realtor?”
“Yeah. Reggie Johnson. Didn’t I tell you? He’s being real sweet to spend so much time on me.”
The old woman really couldn’t move any faster. The light changed. He was stuck behind it again. “Damn it!”
“Hannibal?”
“Not you, sweetheart,” he said. “The traffic.”
“Oh, okay. Well, listen, I just wanted to let you know what was going on. Much to do, and I know you’re busy too. Talk to you tomorrow, baby. Love you.”
“Love you too, babe. Talk to you later.” He disconnected and the music returned. The light turned green.
“Damn it!”
Not the traffic.
This time Hannibal didn’t even bother to resist Ivanovich. He went home, changed his clothes, and went straight to his office. He was greeted by an upraised pistol. Ivanovich sat behind the desk as before, headphones on. Hannibal locked the door behind himself and walked straight toward Ivanovich. He reached behind the desk, turned off the stereo, and planted his palms on his desk.
“This ain’t working,” he said. “I got to be able to work in here, you got to get on with your life someday, and we both need to be able to relax. So, let me tell you how this is going to work. Let’s agree that you could kill me anytime you want to. You know it, and now I know it. But you don’t want to; because I’m the only man on earth who might get you the answers you want. Right?”
Invanovich leaned back and gave a tentative nod.
“Besides, you kill gangsters, and I’m not one of them,” Hannibal said. “Nobody cares about them, so life’s pretty easy after the fact. If you kill me, you’ll be on the run for the rest of your life. Second, I fucked up in here last night. It was a mistake to go for your pistol. It wouldn’t have changed anything if it had worked. You’ve still got people on Cindy, and I won’t risk her life. So let’s agree that if I do anything stupid again, your boys will take her for that long walk and you know I couldn’t stand that. So I’ll stop trying to figure a way around your control position and focus on getting the goods on Dani Gana. Once I do, you can pull your dogs off my woman’s tail. OK?”
Ivanovich gave another slow nod, but his expression was still unsure.
“Cool. So you can put that thing down now.” Ivanovich didn’t move. “Or don’t. But I got to get back there to check my messages. Look, we have safeguards in place so we can trust each other. Or at least pretend to.”
Ivanovich stood, slipping his gun into his waistband.
“Thank you,” Hannibal said. “One more thing. I can’t eat Chinese one more time. Why don’t you order us a pizza while I take care of some of this administrative crap? Then after we eat I’ll give you a full report on what I learned today. I think I made a little progress.”
Ivanovich called in their order while Hannibal went through his mail. Then he listened to his voice-mail messages and responded to several e-mails. By the time he had finished with those minor jobs a delivery boy was knocking on the door. Hannibal paid the boy and carried the scorching hot cardboard box to his desk. Then he returned to his seat and Ivanovich pulled the guest chair to the desk. Hannibal cranked the stereo up again. Over pizza and sodas, Hannibal shared the events of the day. He had not spoken to Nikita Petrova’s widow because the Cochran lead seemed more promising. They continued to discuss the case as the vodka came out again. Ivanovich filled his glass twice for every one Hannibal emptied, yet Hannibal felt the effects more. As the alcohol relaxed him, his conversation became more direct.
“On the basis of the available evidence, I got to tell you I’m still not convinced that Viktoriya’s father killed himself. However, I am willing to accept on faith that you didn’t kill him.”
“So you believe me?” Ivanovich asked as he poured more liquor into Hannibal’s glass.
“Until and unless the evidence calls you a liar,” Hannibal said, picking up his glass and swallowing half its contents. Ivanovich emptied his and refilled it.
“Well, it does not really matter. This is not about me. This is about Viktoriya.”
Hannibal could feel the industrial beat of the music deep in his chest and it seemed to strengthen him. He pointed at Ivanovich, working to keep his words clear and distinct. “That, my Russian friend, is bullshit. Bull. Shit. This is all about you and your ego. You think you’re Sir Lancelot or somebody. You think that saving this fair, innocent flower will somehow redeem you. Admit it.”
When Ivanovich shook his head, Hannibal thought he could smell the man’s despair. “If I could fix myself I would try, but it’s too late for me.”
“Jesus, man, you listen too much of that Nine Inch Nails crap. Or maybe it’s just a Russian thing to be so damned bleak. You think you earned all that angst? Shit. You ever heard of Corrosion of Conformity?” Hannibal got up, and started scanning the CDs in the rack on the wall.
“I know this band,” Ivanovich said, perking up as if they had struck a point of commonality. When Hannibal found the disc he wanted, he replaced one of the CDs in the player’s five-disc tray with the band he had just named.