Her skin wasn’t simply fair. Her face glowed like that of a china doll. It cut a sharp contrast with the eyes that looked almost too big for her face and the rolling waves of hair like a black storm at sea. Her smile was inviting to be sure, but he wasn’t certain if it meant to suck him in or chew him up.
“So tell me,” she said, perching on the edge of the bed, “did you learn anything of value from Mr. Tolstaya?” Her voice was as soft as he remembered, but he had not noted that husky undertone before.
“Yes, tell us,” Ivanovich said. Hannibal snapped around to find him just inside the door. He had slipped inside, unnoticed. He was very quiet of course, but Hannibal knew there was another reason he did not feel Ivanovich’s entrance. For a brief moment, he had fallen under the same spell that held Ivanovich in thrall and, from all appearances, had called Dani Gana back from his African home. He sipped his strong tea while he took time to gather his thoughts.
“Well, I think I know the truth about Viktoriya’s father,” Hannibal said. He stood in the corner beside the door. Ivanovich sat on the nearer bed. Sidorov settled into a chair at the round table. With the audience assembled, Hannibal figured he’d better just get on with it. “Boris Tolstaya admitted to me that he and Nikita argued about the money he owed. The argument became violent.”
“No,” Viktoriya said. “Uncle Boris wouldn’t kill Father.”
“Not on purpose,” Hannibal said. “I think he just got carried away, and your father was weaker and sicker than anyone knew.”
Viktoriya clouded up, and buried her face in her hands. Ivanovich stood to get closer, but stopped short of putting an arm around her. After watching her body shake with soft sobs for a moment, he turned back to Hannibal.
“So this was all about money after all?”
“Maybe,” Hannibal said. “I think there may have been another factor. Boris’s wife seemed to think he wanted Viktoriya for himself, and was going to take off with her to Africa or someplace. Of course, if that was true, why would he introduce her to Dani?”
“He didn’t.”
Viktoriya raised her face when she spoke. Sidorov produced a handkerchief, which she accepted with a smile. Sidorov and Ivanovich looked at her the way the Tarleton twins watched Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind.
“You didn’t meet Dani through Boris?” Hannibal asked.
“Oh no,” Viktoriya said. “I met him in college. Actually, Professor Krada introduced us at one of his parties, and we dated for a while at Howard, but we kept it sort of quiet. It can be hard for a boy dating a white girl there.”
Hannibal’s eyes flashed to Ivanovich, then back to Viktoriya. “My mistake. I knew you went to parties with him at the college while he was a student, but I thought you met him after you yourself left school. You’ve really known this man longer than I thought you had. You didn’t drop out because of meeting him at the Russia House, did you?”
“Oh no, of course not,” she said. “I left school for the abortion. I was kind of surprised to see him again at the Russia House.”
Hannibal watched the men’s faces. It appeared that he was the only person in the room surprised by the mention of an abortion.
His mind returned to Viktoriya’s ruthless husband. Had he gotten Viktoriya pregnant in college? Or what about Boris, whose wife believed he had a thing for her? Hannibal already knew that Raisa was prone to blackmail. Maybe the abortion produced another income stream for her until the blackmailer had had enough. It could be a motive for murder, but it didn’t fit very well with Raisa and Dani being killed by the same weapon-unless Dani had embarrassed the folks back home and someone was sent to clean up all evidence of his transgression.
Before Hannibal could decide on the right way to ask who got Viktoriya pregnant, Ivanovich stood.
“Let us step outside for a moment.”
Ivanovich held the door open for Hannibal and followed him outside. They walked toward the stairs with Hannibal in the lead. He assumed that Ivanovich wanted to protect Viktoriya from the obvious questions, but when they stopped he pulled out his wallet and handed Hannibal a check, folded in half. For the first he looked past Hannibal, avoiding eye contact.
“You have done your job honorably,” Ivanovich said. “I know we did not meet in the best way, and that I took advantage of you, but once you made a commitment you did all that you agreed to do. I want you to know that I am also an honorable man. This is fair compensation for a job well done.”
Hannibal nodded and slipped the check into an inside jacket pocket without looking at it. Now, even in Ivanovich’s mind, the case was over. Hannibal nodded and shook his most recent client’s hand. Ivanovich started back toward the room, but stopped when Hannibal did not follow.
“Will you not come in to say good-bye?”
“No need,” Hannibal said. “Neither of them needs me in their lives anymore. And probably neither do you. I have strong ties to law enforcement and you don’t need their interest rubbing off on you.”
“I see,” Ivanovich said with a wry smile. “And we all have ties to organized crime and you don’t need those associations either.”
“Look, I don’t know what your future holds, and it’s probably best that way,” Hannibal said. “Just protect the girl for a couple more days until I can get in front of Uspensky and convince him that she doesn’t have the missing money or know where it might be. Some losses you can recover and some you can’t. I’m afraid he’s just going to have to eat this one.”
“She would be safe if you gave up Tolstaya.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Hannibal said, turning toward the stairs. “But his wife is there with him. Even if I was prepared to throw Tolstaya to the wolves, I’m not prepared to toss Queenie out with him. Just watch her until you hear from me, OK? I’ve got my own life to take care of.”
The clouds broke open just as Hannibal reached his car. The blackness leaned in, turning afternoon into night and the beltway into an elongated parking lot. Hannibal cranked Van Halen up as loud as he could stand it to blot out the sound of cold, watery fists beating against his roof and hood. He knew it wouldn’t last long.
Only a light drizzle pattered on the street when Hannibal stepped out of the Black Beauty to inhale the sharp freshness of storm-cracked ozone. Inside his office, he stood in the middle of the floor for a few moments, enjoying the peace of having the space to himself for the first time in several days. He draped his jacket over his chair, planning only to call Uspensky to give him what little information he had and to plead for an end to the hostilities. But the flashing light on his phone told him there might be more pressing matters. He had two messages and one of them might be from Cindy. Feeling just a little anxious, he pressed the button.
“Mr. Jones. This is Eric Van Buren, down at UVA. We spoke on the phone in Detective Rissik’s office.”
“Damn,” Hannibal said.
“Listen, I’ve been thinking about my old student, Hamed Barek. I’ve remembered some details that might be of interest to you in your investigation. If you’re still interested, give me a call.”
Hannibal wasn’t sure there was any reason to learn more about Barek, AKA Roberts AKA Gana. He pushed the message button again.
“Jones, this is Orson.” Sigh. Again, not the voice he was hoping for. “I just got a call that Hamed Barek’s mother is in Washington. She’s here from Morocco to pick up her son’s body, which they moved to Baltimore expecting to do an autopsy, which, of course, she put the kibosh on. She’s interested in talking to somebody who can tell her what happened to her boy, and I thought you’d like to talk to her too. Give me a call.”
This was more interesting. She might have some insight as to where he left the money, and Van Buren might have some good conversation starters to offer, so he’d return that call a bit later. But first, he needed to get hold of a certain Russian mob boss.