“I think we need to talk,” he said. “Let’s find a nice place to get something to eat.”
“Ate on the way.”
“Cindy,” he said, looking straight ahead, “I’ll need your legal expertise in a few minutes, but you and me is more important than any case. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“You’ve got business to take care of,” she said, not looking at him. “Can’t we talk about it later?”
Hannibal started the car and turned on the air conditioning. The soft, cool breeze brought his mind into sharp focus. He released the emergency brake. He stepped on the brake pedal and pushed the shifting lever into first. Then he reversed the process, and yanked the emergency brake back on.
“No,” he said, turning to face her. “I need to settle this now. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You tell me what’s going on,” Cindy snapped. “What’s up with us? Who’s the bimbo?”
Hannibal’s mouth fell open. He first thought of Ginger Lerner, but Cindy had no way to know about her. No one would consider Daisy Sonneville a bimbo. He knew nothing of Angela Briggs’ background. He gave up. “What bimbo?”
“What bimbo?” If words had solid substance, Cindy’s would have been venom dripping from her mouth. “That bimbo you got stashed at the crib. She looks like a whore but at least she’s neat. I found her cleaning up for you after breakfast. Did she make the bed too?”
“Quit shouting at me,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Besides, you sound stupid when you try to talk street talk. You must mean Jewel. She’s a client. Did you talk to Sarge?”
Cindy’s eyes blazed. “Why in hell would I talk to Sarge? He got your alibi set up?” Next she said something in Spanish he could not follow.
“Speak English, girl,” he said, putting the Volvo back into gear and pulling out. He crossed the Baltimore beltway headed into the suburbs, where trees cast long shadows across the street to remind him it was getting late. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “Sarge is protecting Jewel. She’s staying in the office rooms for a few days.”
After venting her initial anger, Cindy lapsed into a moody sulking mode. “She looks like a whore. And she was in your kitchen this morning, cleaning up your breakfast.”
“She is a whore,” Hannibal said. “At least she was until Saturday night when I told her pimp she quit. That’s why she hired me, to get her out of the business. And yes, she came over and made breakfast this morning. But that’s all we shared. Burnt bacon and some runny eggs.”
“Saturday? She’s been there since Saturday?” Cindy looked around at the middle class neighborhood they had coasted into as a new thought occurred to her. “She was there while you were with me Sunday night.”
“I was with you,” Hannibal said. “What does that tell you?”
“But, Hannibal,” Cindy said in a softer tone, “why didn’t you tell me?”
He pulled to a stop at the curb on a neat, well paved street. The house across the street had a small but well kept lawn lined with carefully trimmed hedges. Single family, brick with a bay window in front. Flowers lined the front wall and a junior basketball hoop stood guard over the driveway. Hannibal said, “I don’t know” into his side window, but he was not sure Cindy heard him.
“That’s where we’re going and I’m not sure of my legal footing here.”
“Lay it out for me,” Cindy said, but her tone too was softer.
“Remember you sent me to tell Ike Paton’s ex the news?” he asked. “Well, she lives here. I think she knows some things about the Mortimer case, maybe even had a hand in Jacob’s death. But I might ask questions I don’t have the right to ask, or I might put myself or my clients in a position to be sued.”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Cindy said. Then she reached for his hand. “Regardless of the other thing, thanks for making me part of this. I wanted to help Kyle somehow.”
“Listen,” Hannibal said, squeezing her hand tight, “I’m not good at this relationship thing, all right. Never have been. But I don’t want to screw this one up.”
“Let’s talk more after we get the business done.”
The entire neighborhood smelled like it was preparing to barbecue when Hannibal and Cindy crossed the street. The driveway was empty, which was good. Hannibal hoped to finish their business there before he had to explain to another person. He rang the doorbell and within a minute, it swung in. A young girl with cornrowed hair stared up at them with curiosity, but no fear.
“Who you?”
“Is your mom home?” Hannibal asked. Before he finished the sentence, Daisy Sonneville was at the door, dressed as she was in the morning, but covered by an apron. Her eyes grew to silver dollars, but she curled her lips in and swallowed her terror.
“Rose, go over to Mrs. Cole’s house and get your homework started so you’ll be done when Daddy gets home,” she said in a surprisingly calm voice. The girl moved with a discipline seldom seen today. When she was gone, Daisy asked, “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk, Mrs. Sonneville,” Hannibal said. “Please.”
Daisy looked at Cindy, then up and down the block as if someone might be watching. Then she waved them in. Once inside, she retreated to the kitchen. The place, Hannibal guessed, she felt safest. It was spotless, and his nose told him there was a roast in the oven. This woman was working hard at living the dream and leaving behind the very things he was forcing back into her life. She leaned against the sink as if she might never move. With a glance at Cindy, he pulled out a photograph.
“This is Cindy Santiago, Mrs. Sonneville,” Hannibal began. “She’s an attorney, here to make sure I don’t abuse your rights or anything. Please take a look at this picture.” She did so, then pulled away.
“Who’s he?”
“Please, ma’am,” Hannibal said with a tired smile. “A reliable witness tells me you knew this man very well. His name is Jacob Mortimer, but you knew him as Bobby Newton.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You worked for him,” Hannibal persisted, adding power to his voice. “For a while you lived with him. You took care of his baby, right there in that apartment in Edmundson Village. First floor. He was working at the Moonglow.”
Each sentence was a hammer blow to Daisy, making her head sag another inch, until she finally said, “All right. I recognized the picture. So what?”
“So what?” Daisy was directly in front of him, with only the kitchen island separating them. Hannibal leaned forward, placing both hands on the island. “I just found that man, or what’s left of him, buried in the cellar of that building he lived in.”
Somehow, Daisy’s eyes grew even wider. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Hannibal said.
Cindy stepped to one side, separating herself from Hannibal. “If you don’t tell us what you know, Mrs. Sonneville, you could be accused of being an accessory to a murder.”
“But I don’t know anything,” Daisy said, almost in tears.
“You do,” Hannibal snapped, slamming a fist down on the island. “Tell me!”
“What the hell is this?” The voice belonged to a short, well dressed man with close cropped hair and a stern expression. He stood behind Hannibal in the adjoining living room, his hands curled into menacing fists.
“Oh, Phil, they think I…” is all Daisy could get out before choking on a sob.
“What are you accusing my wife of?” Phil Sonneville asked through clenched teeth. “You cops? What makes you think you can come busting in here?” His body language said he was well beyond the listening stage. Hannibal dropped his hands but focused his attention entirely on Phil.
“We’re not the police, Mister Sonneville,” Cindy said in a soothing voice. “We just came here to ask for help. Years ago, your wife was involved in…”
“My wife’s not involved in anything,” Phil shouted. He swung, but Hannibal dodged the fist and blocked the follo
w-on left. Phil’s face was wide open and Hannibal cocked a fist for it.
“Hannibal, don’t,” Cindy said, and in his moment of hesitation Phil drove a right into his midsection. Air blew out of Hannibal’s mouth, but his hands went up in time to deflect two more punches. Finally he lunged forward, hooking Phil’s left arm with his own left. His right hand grabbed Phil’s collar. After spinning around behind the smaller man, Hannibal drove him forward, bulldogging him to the carpet. He heard something slide off the coffee table and shatter on the floor. Daisy’s scream was sharper, shriller than any breaking glass.
“Stop!” Daisy shouted. “Oh God, stop it, please. Let him go. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.” Then her tears broke loose in earnest and her voice dropped to a deep moan. “I can’t carry this guilt anymore.”
Phil stopped struggling and Hannibal released him. Both men were watching Daisy in the kitchen, her small fists pressed into her eyes. Cindy reached to hold her, but she pushed away.
Phil went to stand beside his wife and she hid her face in his shoulder. Her sobs were buried in his suit coat. Hannibal could smell the roast burning, but no one seemed to care. His stomach knotted at the thought of causing a woman such pain. When Daisy raised her face, she was no longer sobbing, but water still flowed freely from her eyes.
“I don’t know how you found me, Mister Jones,” she said in her precise voice, “but you were right to. Bobby and Barbie were good to me and in return I killed them.”
-15-
Cindy looked at Phil but spoke to Daisy. “I think you should have an attorney of your own present, Mrs. Sonneville.”
“This is all a mistake,” Phil said. “My wife could never kill anyone.”
But as Phil tried to look into his wife’s eyes, she backed away from him until she was wedged in a corner, in front of her microwave oven. She was standing straighter, as if a tangible weight was lifted from her. Slowly her shoulders came into the proud position they occupied when Hannibal met her.
“Phil, I never told you any of this,” she began, as if Hannibal and Cindy did not exist. “Before I met you, I worked for Bobby Newton and his girl, Barbie Robinson. It was the last time I was separated from my first husband and I was kind of down on my luck. They took me in and I stayed in their spare room. They had money, some rare coins Bobby was trading slowly, one at a time, when he needed cash. I helped Barbie get around, because she was pregnant. When she had the baby, I took care of her so Barbie could get out.”
Daisy’s story had hit a bump, and she could not drive over it. Cindy said, “You had a weakness for your husband, didn’t you? I know what that’s like.”
Cindy’s words shook more tears and the rest of the story loose. “Pat came one day and took me to his place up in Jersey. When I asked about Bobby and Barbie, tried to visit them, he told me they moved away, but I never really believed it. It took me a long time to leave him for good.”
“Well, you’re not responsible for what might have happened after you left,” Cindy said.
“Don’t you see?” Daisy held her arms wide, palms out, ready for crucifixion. “I told Pat about the coins and the money Bobby had. I just know he told his friend Killer and he went after them. He’d murdered people before. Everybody knew it.”
“Killer?” Hannibal asked. “Killer Nilson? Big guy, like six foot five?”
Three pairs of eyes turned to him in various stages of shock. He seemed to have the floor, so he decided to use it. “From what I’ve heard, Mrs. Sonneville, this guy didn’t need much provocation to do somebody in. And Bobby Newton led a pretty public life as a singer. It was only a matter of time before he attracted the attention of a Killer Nilson, or somebody like that.”
Daisy looked hopefully at Hannibal, but she did not look convinced. Phil offered support and, in a moment Hannibal knew he would find funny later, reached over to turn off the oven. Daisy did not quite smile, but the action brought a cool blast of reality to the scene. Hannibal turned to Cindy, thinking she might have the power to relax the other couple.
“Legal liability, Ms. Santiago?”
“None,” Cindy said without hesitation. “I see no reason for the authorities to become involved in this. And I think we have all we came for.”
For Daisy, the matter was still unresolved in one important way. “Phil, do you hate me?”
“Those people were years ago,” Phil smiled, “and what’s it all got to do with us?” He held his arms wide and Daisy rushed into them. Holding his wife, Phil turned to his unwelcome guests. He offered no thanks for their kindness, nor did he apologize for defending his turf. Hannibal understood, nodded, and took Cindy’s arm as they headed for the door.
Three blocks away from the Sonnevilles’ home, Cindy said, “They’re very lucky. And you’re turning out to be a detective after all. How did you know about this Killer Nilson?”
“Met a cop who’s been around here since before Jake ran away,” Hannibal said. “Knows a lot, but nobody asks him. In fact, if I can get to him before he goes off duty, I think I’ll buy him dinner.” As he hit the beltway again, Hannibal reached to touch Cindy’s hand. Breathing seemed harder right then. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Jewel.”
Cindy nodded. “Guess my reaction was just what you expected.”
Not an apology, Hannibal thought, but close as he would get to one. And to keep this woman, he would accept it.
Hannibal had never seen anyone eat ribs like Terry Dalton could eat ribs. He looked to Hannibal like an overstuffed sausage, stretching his skin ever tighter with each bite. The place he selected was dark enough to need the candles on the tables, and warm enough to convince Hannibal they really cooked on open pits out back. Even at a corner table, they could not ignore the noise of baseball fans at the bar, cheering for the Orioles on television.
Hannibal had also ordered a rack of ribs, but he did not, nor could he, make the noises Dalton made while eating. It was kind of a slurping sound, but with more air, as if he was literally inhaling his food. Cindy handled her Caesar salad with grilled chicken in a more civilized manner. It was about the only meal on the menu which allowed her to keep her hands clean. Hannibal knew she was happy, despite their company, because he had removed both his gloves and his glasses. She had told him in the past she liked him better without them, as if he was a different person.
“How many men are watching Wally Lerner’s place?” Hannibal asked.
“Got three there right now,” Dalton said in between licking his lips. “They’ll know if he even breathes wrong. Now why don’t you tell me about this case you’re on? Who was the dead guy?”
Hannibal swallowed a mouthful of rib meat before answering. The sauce was delicious, sweet and spicy and thick enough to stick with the tender meat. “I think he was a guy named Jacob Mortimer from Virginia,” Hannibal said. “Actually, he was traveling under the name Bobby Newton.”
“That guy?” Dalton gulped his lemonade to clear his mouth. “His daughter was in a few days ago.”
Hannibal barely kept his food in his mouth. “You met Angela?”
“Yeah, she wanted to know if there was a missing persons report filed on Bobby Newton. Said it was her father. She showed me a birth certificate, matter of fact.”
“That’s how she found Doctor Cummings,” Cindy said.
“I think her father might have had a run-in with Pat Louis, or Killer Nilson,” Hannibal said. “How well did you know those guys?”
Having finished his second rack of ribs, Dalton signaled to a waitress. “I sure knew Nilson. Respected him. Even feared him some, like anybody with sense. Man was a lit stick of dynamite, who might go off at any minute. He and Louis were pals, except when they were fighting. I remember Nilson beating Louis up once, over a girl, of all things.”
The waitress arrived and Dalton asked for coffee and pie. Hannibal and Cindy settled for coffee. Steam rising from his cup appeared to make Dalton remember where he was in his story.
“I finally busted them,�
� Dalton said with visible pride. “Nilson, Louis, the whole gang. Got them for fraud. If you’re looking for your killer out of that bunch, it was the one with that name. Louis was no killer. He was the sneaky one. Everything he did was underhanded.”
It was growing dark by the time Hannibal pointed his car south on I-95. He turned on his CD player and let Joshua Redman’s saxophone supply the background music for his ride home. He was pleasantly full and he knew Cindy was too. She leaned her seat back a bit and kicked off her shoes. It had been a long day for them both, he realized. Actually, his was not quite over yet. He pushed a button on the keypad on his visor, autodialing his client’s number. He wanted to report in.
“Mister Nieswand? Hannibal Jones. Is it too late to call?” He spoke to the windshield, knowing the microphone would pick his voice up fine.
“Don’t worry about disturbing anybody,” Nieswand said over the car’s speaker phone. “I’m alone. Doctor Lippincott had my wife checked in to a home for observation. He thinks she’s had a pretty serious breakdown.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hannibal said. It suddenly seemed a little darker outside his window. “This guy Paton was using an assumed name. He was born Patrick Louis and he was a born gangster. He lived a life of violence. I’m sorry it caught up to him in your driveway.”
“An assumed name?” Nieswand asked. The normally sharp-witted lawyer sounded as if his mind was numb and he was having trouble absorbing information.
“Afraid so. Your place was just a convenient hideout.” Hannibal left a respectful silence before going on. “Have you heard anything about the remains I found?”
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