Pyramid Deception

by Austin S. Camacho

  Rissik managed to cloak his surprise. “Well if he’s some sort of confidence man the FBI might not be the only agency watching him. There would be issues of hidden income.”

  “Sure,” Hannibal said with a nod. “He may be a person of interest to the IRS as well. Or the SEC”

  Rissik turned his attention to Cindy. “So, Miss Santiago, might you have some connections at Internal Revenue, or the Securities and Exchange Commission?”

  “Hello. Business attorney,” she said, pointing at herself. “I work with the IRS and the SEC on a daily basis.”

  “Then perhaps you can find out if either of those agencies has opened a case file on Monroe. He might have loved her, but men do strange things when they think they might be going to jail.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Hannibal said. “When we meet at dinner we’ll all have something to report.”

  Finding Kevin and Vera Larson was no challenge for Hannibal. Information had a phone number for them in Falls Church, Virginia and connected him. “Vera Clean agency, this is Kevin, how can I help you.”

  Mr. Larson, my name is Hannibal Jones. I’m an investigator, looking into the disappearance of Irene Monroe.”

  “Damn shame,” Larson said.

  “Yes, well, I thought you might have some valuable background information. Can we get together?”

  “Don’t know what I can do, but I’d be happy to help,” Larson said. “Come on over. You got a pen? I’ll give you the address.”

  Larson’s townhouse in Falls Church was an easy 20 minute drive down Route 7 in a community of two-level homes called Hillwood Square. Larson answered the door in a tee shirt, jeans and sneakers, and offered both a firm handshake and a ready smile.

  “You’re lucky to catch me at home,” he said, waving Hannibal inside. “I have handyman work most days but it’s unpredictable.”

  “I’m glad I caught you,” Hannibal said, stepping inside. “I don’t know what you might know about Irene…”

  “I heard that Mrs. Monroe was missing and if I can be of any help at all, I’m happy to. She was always good to me and my wife.”

  Larson’s complexion was polished mahogany, his hands strong and sure. He was in his early thirties and appeared fit, although he moved with a halting gait. Hannibal remembered a mention of a war wound.

  “You spent some time in the military, I hear,” Hannibal said, following Larson to the kitchen. The modest house was furnished with an eye to both cost and efficiency, but more JC Penney than Ikea. The kitchen carried the homey aroma of tomato sauce.

  “Yeah, I was a corpsman in Afghanistan,” Kevin said, stirring the sauce and turning the gas down.

  Hannibal paused at a shadow box on the kitchen wall. “And proud of your service, I see. My dad was army so I don’t know all the navy medals but…”

  Kevin pointed with pride. “Navy Commendation Medal, Navy Achievement Medal, Meritorious Service, Good Conduct Medal, Expeditionary Medal, and the Afghanistan Campaign Service Medal. I was just a kid, but I was eager, you know. And they gave me my wish. Trained me up and sent me out there with the Marine Recon boys. I’m telling you, that was being alive, until I picked up a bit of shrapnel during a firefight. They fixed me up good but the limp never went away. I always thought that was one reason Wash hired me. We had something in common, you know?”

  A dark-skinned whirlwind blew into the room carrying some sort of ledger. She dropped the book on the table, took a deep breath and spun to offer her hand.

  “This is Vera,” Kevin said, “the love of my life.”

  “Sorry if I’m a little distracted,” Vera said. “The business don’t run itself. You want something to drink?” Vera was dressed like Kevin, except that her jeans hugged her ample hips more tightly. She was darker than her husband and wore her hair in a natural style, pulled back by a wide headband. It reminded Hannibal of the Afro styles popular in 1970s. Her voice was so strong and confident he knew that people must often think she was being aggressive when she was just sure she was right.

  “I got it,” Kevin said, reaching for the refrigerator. Vera nodded and dropped onto a chair, opening her ledger and scanning for some information.

  “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time,” Hannibal said, taking a seat beside Vera. “So Kevin, how’d you end up working for Wash?”

  “Mostly luck,” Kevin said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a soda bottle. “I was kind of lost after the Navy cut me loose. I guess a gimp is no use in a war so they sent me home, but the medical training they give a corpsman doesn’t get you a job. My mom couldn’t stand to see me just sitting around. She used to work for Wash. She called him up and sent me over there and the next thing I knew, I was working for him.”

  While he talked, Kevin methodically pulled three glasses from a cabinet, filled them with ice and poured tea to within a quarter inch of the rim of each.

  “Kind of a change from military service,” Hannibal said when Kevin joined him and Vera at the table. “What was that like, being a personal assistant?”

  “I got to tell you, it was pretty cool, and not so different from the Navy as you might think. All I had to do was run the house and take care of Wash’s personal crap so he could focus on what he does.”

  “Which is?”

  “Making money,” Vera said without looking up.

  “Seriously, that’s his job,” Kevin said with a laugh. “He finds investors and then just moves their money around and takes a cut when their investments grow. I don’t understand the securities business or any of that business trading stuff, but I know he’s damned good at it. And as long as I took care of him I had everything he had. I lived there with him, I ate like he ate and I drank like he drank. And of course there was Vera.”

  “She was already working there?” Hannibal sipped his drink and concealed a slight shiver. It was sweet tea, so sweet it made his teeth hurt. He put his glass down, hoping the ice would melt enough to water it down some.

  “Yeah, she was Irene’s assistant.”

  “I was supposed to make her appointments and take care of her monstrous wardrobe and so on,” Vera said with a wry smile. “Truth is, I was more of a paid friend.”

  “And a confidante,” Hannibal said. “I’ll bet you knew her better than anyone.”

  “Mm-hm. I sure thought I did. But I just can’t believe she would up and leave that man. Can’t swear she loved him, but she sure loved her life.”

  “And how about you? Were you as happy there as Kevin?”

  She put down her pen and turned her flashing eyes on Hannibal. “They was good to me, so yeah, I liked the job, even before I met this big lug.”

  Hannibal turned to Kevin. “And you fell for her.”

  “Like a ton of bricks, man,” Kevin said. “And we was quite a team, taking care of the Monroes.”

  “How about them?” Hannibal asked, leaning back. “Were they a team?”

  Kevin took a long drink, sipping slowly. It was the kind of pause Hannibal often saw when someone wasn’t prepared for a question and wanted to choose the right answer.

  “Honestly, I thought they were the dream couple,” Kevin finally said. “They seemed so in love. I’m with Vera, I can hardly believe Irene would run off like that.”

  “What if she didn’t?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if she didn’t leave of her own free will?” Hannibal asked.

  Kevin mulled that for a second. “What, you mean like a kidnapping? I guess Wash has enough money to make it worth it.”

  Hannibal nodded. There was a possibility no one else had mentioned. He wondered why Wash hadn’t asked about that.

  “A possibility. But we think she may have come to harm.”

  “What?” Kevin’s brows rose. “Why would anybody want to hurt Irene?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me. Mrs. Larson, you talked with Irene every day. Do you think she might have known anything, had any information that might be import
ant enough to kill for?”

  “I can’t imagine what that might have been,” Vera said. “We had some men come around asking questions a while back, but I never knew what they was after. Kev, check that sauce, would you?”

  “We’re just trying to figure out if anyone might benefit from her death.”

  Kevin went to the stove and stirred the sauce. “That don’t make no sense. Nobody benefits if she’s gone. It’s not like somebody gets an inheritance or something.”

  “Didn’t she have money of her own?”

  Vera laughed. “It ain’t public knowledge, but that man took all her money.”

  It appeared that they did talk about everything. Hannibal had to think that if Irene had valuable information, then the Larsons would be in danger as well.

  “You knew their lives pretty well,” Hannibal said. “I bet you both knew about Irene’s boyfriend.” Kevin sat down and the couple looked at each other before turning to Hannibal and nodding. “If there was somebody else in Wash’s life, you would know, right?”

  Both the Larson’s looked down. Kevin took a drink and averted his eyes. Vera laid her hands flat on the table. “Mr. Monroe, he had nobody else in his life, Mr. Jones. No family, no children, no real friends, nobody. He had lots of parties and he had lots of people he did business with, but he was a lonely man, Mr. Jones. Irene was all he had, except for us.”

  During the momentary pause Hannibal could hear a couple arguing next door. Vera looked back down at her ledger. Everyone took a drink, ice tinkling in their glasses. Despite its sweetness Hannibal thought the tea smelled bitter.

  “His was a small world, and yet he fired you both.”

  “Not really,” Kevin said. “Wash just kind of thought we needed to move on to better things. He staked me all the equipment to get my handyman business going. I hated to go but I sure couldn’t turn away from the opportunity.”

  “And you, Mrs. Larson. Were you equally sorry to go?”

  Vera glanced at her husband before answering. “I was so happy there, Mr. Jones. But Mr. Monroe offered to set me up in this cleaning business. I couldn’t say no. Besides, those men had just been around asking all those questions. I was glad to get away from that at least.”

  Hannibal looked around at the Larson home, less than a quarter of the square footage of the house up in Great Falls, and thought he knew the limits of Monroe’s generosity. Hannibal wasn’t sure why Monroe had sent the Larsons away, but he had bought their absence, and their loyalty, at discount rates.

  “I still miss hanging with Wash, though,” Kevin said. “He was like family to me. If somebody really did hurt Irene, I sure hope you find them and make them pay.”

  Dinner was a lot noisier than lunch had been, but Orson Rissik looked a good deal happier. Cindy at least didn’t complain out loud. Hannibal just wanted to eat and move on. He had more in mind to get done before the night ended.

  Seating was close in Ruby Tuesday on a Friday night. It was a little too warm for the suit and tie Hannibal still wore, and he could smell the fried food at the next table. But despite the volume of diners they didn’t wait nearly as long to be served as they had at lunch. He pulled one of the wings out of their shared appetizer sampler and turned to Rissik.

  “So tell us, oh connection to mainstream law enforcement, what did Fairfax County’s finest learn today?”

  “It will come as no surprise to you that the investigation developed nothing new today,” Rissik said, biting into a spring roll. “But before I go into how my afternoon went, I think we should let the lady speak.”

  “Why thank you, kind sir,” Cindy replied as a waitress placed a plate in front of her. “It’s nice to dine with gentlemen. Even here.”

  “And yet,” Hannibal said, “you managed to snatch up the last piece of fried mozzarella before the entrees arrived. So, you spoke with your contacts in those big government agencies in charge of keeping me from having any money. What did they have to say?” He popped the last bit of wing into mouth. They were labeled fire wings, but weren’t nearly hot enough for his tastes.

  “The SEC was a bust,” Cindy said. “If they have a file open on George Washington Monroe, nobody knows about it.”

  “They’re wimps. What about the IRS?”

  Cindy leaned in close to the table. “None of this is for public release, but I was able to confirm that the IRS is building a case against Monroe. The way it was explained to me, they think it’s pretty obvious that something shady’s going on, but the situation is so convoluted that it will take them some time to unravel the ball of yarn we call Monroes fiscal picture. . Hmmm. This grilled salmon is surprisingly good.”

  “So if the wife had the kind of evidence that could save the feds months of work, that might have given Monroe a motive,” Hannibal said, “Or even the dropped partner, Hernandez.” He shook some hot sauce on his ribs and took another bite. That was better.

  “I don’t know,” Rissik said, sipping his iced tea. “Hernandez might be off the hook. My guy at the Bureau says they definitely had a sit down with him. They don’t want to talk about what they got out of him but if he was interviewed by the FBI you got to figure they cut some kind of a deal or he’d be in jail right now, which he ain’t.”

  “Have they talked to anybody else?” Cindy asked.

  “He wouldn’t give me that much, but I was able to confirm that they did not talk to the wife.” Rissik sat behind a sirloin accompanied by broccoli and a baked potato—again.

  Cindy stared down into her food, pulling another small bite off with her fork. “If they indict him on fraud charges, or any kind of business irregularities they’ll freeze his assets.”

  Rissik looked at Hannibal who tried hard not to react at all. It seemed an inappropriate remark when the two men were focused on the murder, and Hannibal figured she thought so too. That was the reason she never looked up after saying it.

  Hannibal quickly reported on his interview with the Larsons. The rest of the meal passed quietly. After a brief tug-of-war over the bill, which Hannibal won, Rissik headed home and Hannibal walked Cindy back to their hotel room.

  The hotel was barely a block away. An autumn breeze was pushing out of the parks on their left as they began their stroll down Presidents Street. Fallen leaves rustled around their feet. On the way they passed a trail into the park that Hannibal thought would be a good starting point for a morning run. As they crossed Market Street, halfway to the Hyatt Regency, Cindy took Hannibal’s arm. It felt a little forced, but her spirits really did seem brighter, as if the fog she had been lost in was lifting. Right then he wished the hotel was a little farther away.

  They went up to their room in what felt like a purposeful silence. Cindy slipped off her shoes as soon as she was inside, stripped to her bra and panties, and sat on the bed. Hannibal turned the television to News Channel 8 and stretched out beside her. Cindy slowly leaned over so that her head rested on his chest.

  “You are so sweet, Hannibal. I think you hate being with a news junkie.”

  “Not at all, babe,” Hannibal said, resting a hand on her hip. “I just want you to relax.”

  Cindy snuggled against him. She kissed his chest and started unbuttoning his shirt. Her hair cascaded across his body, hanging down to the bed. His fingertips slowly stroked her naked thigh. Her perfume reached up to him, trying to pull him into the right mood. But she was moving very slowly. Despite her seductive actions, he sensed an underlying tension that would not allow for a truly romantic mood. She raised her head, still not speaking or looking at him. When she tugged at his belt he squeezed her waist with one hand.

  “You don’t have to, you know.”

  Cindy’s head dropped onto his stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m not very convincing, am I?”

  Hannibal took her shoulder and eased her back until her face was beside his.

  “I’m on a case, baby. You don’t need to be the femme fatale tonight.”

  Cindy’s lips clenched and Hannibal feared she might tear
up. “I know. It’s just that we so rarely have time together like this, and this place is so nice. I feel like we’re wasting the hotel room.”

  Hannibal didn’t know what to say, and he realized that the feeling was becoming familiar. He held her close, wishing he knew the magic incantation to make his woman’s unhappiness float away. Instead they sat quiet, watching the local news go by for a while. As Cindy became more and more relaxed Hannibal focused on shoving his natural impatience to the back of his mind. After her head drooped and snapped back up she looked up to him.

  “Honey, I think I want to go to sleep a little early. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” Hannibal replied, “but my work day isn’t over yet. You put this case out of your mind and get some rest and when I get back, we’ll see whether or not we’ll waste this room.”

  Seated on that bench under the stars at the train station, Hannibal’s mind was not on Cindy Santiago’s seductive form. Nor was it on her missing money, or even the murder he was determined to solve. He was only remotely aware of the sharp breeze that cut through the night every few minutes, or the tumultuous racket generated by an army of crickets on the other side of the tracks. He wasn’t thinking of anything, really. He was just waiting.

  Waiting was not something he learned to do during his half-dozen years as a New York City cop. Those years had taught him determination, intimidation, observation and deduction. It was his time with the Secret Service that taught him to wait. Some days he spent hours staring at a crowd in the streets or at an airport or even a train station like that one in Alexandria, waiting for something that he didn’t expect. Those times were sort of like shutting himself down without sleeping. His senses were alert while the rest of him slipped into stasis, hibernating until other systems were needed.

  People came and went, most of them unaware that Hannibal was even there. He was practically invisible in his black suit, and he removed his sunglasses to be less conspicuous. As midnight approached, so did the last train of the evening. It was his last chance of the day to see what he was looking for. If his quarry wasn’t aboard he would go home and return tomorrow.