Jess’s anger flared. He’d chosen to die rather than let Jess take Anna. He’d intended to get all three of them killed. Instead, Peter’s father breathed life no more.
At that moment, Jess felt no remorse. Maybe she would be sorry some day, when Peter asked, “Why did you let them kill my father?” But not now.
6
A few days later, Jess joined Bette, who sat watching Anna on the Land of the Dragons playground. The family resemblance was unmistakable. Both were clearly from Betsy Martin’s gene pool. In Anna, Jess saw some hint of Richard too. How could a wonderful child have emerged from two such damaged parents?
The woman Jess had seen outside Betsy’s house the night of the shooting was there, too. Maria Gaspar’s youngest daughter and Anna were friends. Both girls were on the playground.
“She looks happy, doesn’t she?” Bette asked, with a wistful tone. Anna was in counseling and taking medication which the psychologist hoped would help her to work through the traumas she’d endured at her parents’ hands.
To reassure her, Jess said, “Don’t worry so much. She’s young. With luck and love, she won’t remember most of it.”
A tear rolled down Bette’s cheek. Her lips quivered. “She won’t have much to remember about her mother.”
Jess closed her eyes against tears of her own. She had risked her life so that Anna might thrive. Now, all she could do was hope. “It’s up to you to keep Betsy alive for her.”
“We’ll help, too, Bette,” Maria said, giving Bette’s shoulders a hug and meeting Jess’s gaze over Bette’s bowed head. “Carlos has been like a father to Anna for a while now, anyway.”
Jess nodded her agreement to this imperfect arrangement. Together, they watched Anna climb the rope ladders and slide down the dragon’s tail, laughing when she landed on her butt in the sand.
“Betsy was so smitten. And he loved her, too.” Bette stopped, bewildered. “What went wrong?”
Jess rubbed her sore arm to stop its pulsing. Like Richard’s effect on Anna, Jess’s wound would hurt for a long time and leave a permanent scar. Jess needed no reminder of the hole in her heart where Peter lived, but welcomed the pain and would welcome the scar, too. She’d narrowly escaped Richard twice. She never intended to forget that, or to make the same mistake again.
She rejected sweetening the truth. To defeat Richard forever, Bette must do her part. “Betsy knew he was dangerous before she married him. She ignored her instincts and deceived herself. I’ll help you, but the best thing you can do for Betsy now is to make sure Anna doesn’t repeat that pattern.”
And I’ll be watching.
THE END
More adventures with Jess Kimball coming soon!
MEET DIANE CAPRI
Diane Capri is the New York Times, USA Today, and bestselling author of numerous series, including the Hunt for Justice and Hunt for Jack Reacher series and the Jess Kimball Thrillers. A former lawyer, she now divides her time between Florida and Michigan. Capri has been nominated for several awards, including the International Thriller Award, and she won the Silver award for Best Thriller e-Book from the Independent Publishers Association. She is currently at work on her next novel.
Please connect with her online:
http://www.DianeCapri.com
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A Little Wildness
by
AUSTIN S. CAMACHO
Sometimes Hannibal thought he could actually hear trouble coming. In this case the distinctive sound of a smooth twelve-cylinder engine drew his attention. He had barely settled into his office chair for the first time that morning when he heard the Jaguar shut down in front of his building. Hannibal stood back up, pulled on his black suit coat and slid his Oakley sunglasses into place, confident the car’s occupants would head for his door. After all, the Jaguar was not a species native to the Anacostia section of Washington D.C., and when strangers came to this neighborhood, he was usually the reason.
The man who pushed the door open left his back to it, offering only a sideways view of himself, and scanned the room quickly. He stood an inch shorter than Hannibal’s six feet, with quick, sharp eyes and a neutral expression. He was wiry but solid, and appeared neither nervous nor relaxed. In many ways he reminded Hannibal of himself. Except of course that this man’s skin was Neapolitan olive while Hannibal’s was more cafe au lait. When they locked eyes, Hannibal recognized the professional in his visitor. Subtle cues marked him as trained by those outside the law, not the law enforcers who trained Hannibal.
“You Hannibal Jones? The one they call the trouble shooter?”
“You’re in the right place,” Hannibal said. “Have a seat and ask your principal to come in. Unless he’s shot at me before he’ll be safe in here.”
A woman’s husky voice said, “Don’t be so dramatic, Ike.” The body clicking into the room on three inch spike heels was definitely worth guarding, in Hannibal’s estimation. A black knit dress three inches short of her knees showed her to be round where a woman should be round. Wavy hair caressed her face like a lover’s hands and she had the kind of eyes that saw all but revealed little. Despite all this, Ike watched everything in the room but her as he dropped onto the edge of the chair on the other side of the room.
“Hannibal Jones, this is Nina Bonnaventura,” Ike said.
Hannibal rose to his feet and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. What brings you to my humble office?”
“Trouble,” Nina replied. “Isn’t that why anybody comes to you office?”
“Does this problem have to do with the family business up in Jersey?” Hannibal asked, waving her into his visitor’s chair. “I try not to meddle in those affairs.”
Nina flashed an alluring half smile. “So you know the name, eh? Well this problem has nothing to do with that business. It involves Charlie Devoe.”
Hannibal sat and leaned back in his chair, outside of the range of Nina’s heady perfume. “Yes, I’ve been following his trial. And now I have an idea why you’re here. You’re not in trouble, you want me to help Devoe somehow. Since he’s black, you figure a black guy can help him best. Am I getting warm?”
“You don’t waste time, do you Mr. Jones?” Nina asked. “But in fact, I am the one in trouble. I need your help in deciding what to do.”
Hannibal sat quietly and waited. Some people wanted to be drawn out, and would arrange their stories to unfold based on someone else’s questions. On occasion the game was enjoyable. With a man’s life at stake, Hannibal chose not to play. After ten long tense seconds, Nina uncrossed her legs and shifted in her seat.
“I may have evidence that would dramatically affect the outcome of this trial,” She said.
“Then spare yourself my fee and offer it to the court. Devoe could spend the rest of his life in prison if he’s convicted.”
Nina leaned forward conspiratorially, pushing the envelope of her perfume around Hannibal again. “I could face serious consequences if I became involved,” she said. “But I won’t let a man go to jail for killing his wife when I know he didn’t. Now if other evidence were to prove him innocent, then….”
“Then you won’t have to face those consequences.” Hannibal stood and extended a hand to his new client. “I’ll give you one day’s work while I figure out if I can help you at all. Now why don’t you wait outside for a moment? Ike and I will handle the business end of this.”
Ike nodded to Nina that this was reasonable. When she crossed the threshold Hannibal stepped around his desk to stand three inches from Ike’s side. He watched Ike’s face closely. Ike didn’t seem to mind.
“Five hundred dollars for the first day. More if I continue. Expenses extra.”
“I know,” Ike said. Hannibal spotted the waistband holster on Ike’s right side when he pulled his wallet from an inside jacket pocket.
“You work for Vinni
e Bonnaventura?” Hannibal asked. “Are you a made man?”
“I’m not really part of that business. I take care of Nina. She’s a non-player. And this Devoe thing has nothing to do with Vinnie.”
“Your loyalty is to Nina,” Hannibal said. “Is she the wife or the sister?”
“Wife,” Ike said, eyes to the floor for the first time. “But listen, they’re not together right now, get it? She’s staying at the Premiere for a while.”
“But he still has you watching over her,” Hannibal said. “That tells me something. So what if she gets involved in this Charlie Devoe thing?”
“I would find myself in a very awkward position.”
“I’ll need to talk to him,” Hannibal said, pocketing his fee. “Know where they’re holding him?”
“Trial’s going on today. He’s right down in the Alexandria courthouse on Fairfax.”
* * *
Some guys look like the wrong side of Velcro when you meet them. Others look too slick for anything to stick to them. Hannibal’s first impression of Charlie Devoe was that he was Teflon coated.
The room was barely large enough to hold the wooden table and four chairs. Devoe leaned back on one of them, wearing a navy suit that cost four figures and an iridescent silk tie. His skin was unusually black, but his nose and lips seemed too thin for his color. H was smoothly shaved with very short hair. He flashed a smile any male model would kill for.
“Okay, so the mystery visitor’s here,” Devoe said in a soft West Indian accent. “Have a seat and tell me why you’re here.”
Hannibal chose to stand, and to leave his sunglasses and thin black leather gloves on. His black suit cost less than Devoe’s, and they both knew it.
“I’m here to help you, Charlie,” Hannibal said, handing over one of his cards. “Someone thinks you’re innocent and they’re willing to pay me to find the proof.”
“Well isn’t that nice,” Devoe said, flashing deep brown seductive eyes. “Lucky for you they’re right. I didn’t kill my wife.”
“The prosecution believes otherwise,” Hannibal said. “And you certainly had a motive.”
“What, her money?” Devoe almost laughed. “Hell, she gave that to me anyway.”
“Maybe not as much as you would have liked,” Hannibal said, not smiling at all. “It took Evelyn Johnson, excuse me, Devoe now, almost twenty years to build her little fried chicken shack into a chain of successful restaurants, and when the franchise set up goes into action next month her fortune will likely expand quite a bit.”
“You did your homework I see,” Devoe said. “Yeah, it took her a long time to make all that money. She must have loved me very much to share all that success with me, eh?”
“And before the marriage two years ago you were….?”
Devoe held his hands wide. “Hey, I’m what I always was. A gambler. A hustler.”
“A ladies’ man?”
“Hey, Evelyn accepted me for what I am, warts and all.”
Hannibal gave him a hard look. “All I’ve read about Ms. Johnson led me to believe she was a woman of breeding and style. She was a leader in the black community not just in D.C., but in the capitol area. So a successful, attractive, wealthy woman closing on fifty chooses you? It’s hard to see.”
Hannibal had to admit Devoe had a devastating smile. “Hey, you know how it is with women. Sometimes they want a little wildness in their lives.” Devoe actually winked at Hannibal. “I’m good at supplying that.”
Hannibal forced his mind in a more useful direction. “She was shot through the heart with a thirty-eight revolver covered with your fingerprints.”
“It was my gun.” Devoe shrugged, again trying to bring Hannibal in on the joke. “I gamble for a living, my friend. Did you think I wouldn’t have a piece?”
“Papers say you have no alibi. Coroner establishes time of death between two and three in the morning. Maid found her body at seven-thirty. Where were you all night while your wife was busy getting murdered?”
Devoe stopped smiling and sipped from a cup of water. Hannibal figured this must be the face he played poker with. “Evelyn was the ballet type, you know? I’m more into horses. I drove up to Rosecroft Raceway for the day. It got late. I found a place to stay.”
Hannibal paced the room, left to right in front of Devoe. “This place you found to stay, did it have any witnesses in it, do you suppose?”
“The guys I shoot craps with don’t talk to police, brother,” Devoe said, his smirk returning. “Some of the betting that went on that night, well, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call legal, know what I mean? I might not survive long if I was to cop to where I was or who else was there.”
The room felt even smaller than it was, so Hannibal headed for the door. “Well I’m getting paid to see if you might get off, so I guess I’d better talk to your lawyer.”
“Hey!” Devoe’s call betrayed an unexpected note of desperation, so Hannibal stopped to look back. Devoe’s face had changed, as if opening the door had pulled the plug holding the confidence in him. As it leaked out he began to look smaller.
“Look here, I’ve never been in the joint in my life. I don’t think I can do time. Now I won’t pretend I was in love with Evelyn, or even that I did right by her. But I’m not a killer, man, you must see that. Don’t let them burn me just cause I was a bad husband.”
* * *
Hannibal’s meeting with Devoe’s lawyer was just a few blocks from the courthouse. Hannibal’s White Volvo GLT pulled into a space beside the corner restaurant just as the lunch rush began. The sun was a bright autumn ball directly overhead, but the sharp glare it cast was a cold light. Frank Gordon sat at an umbrella table in the Blue Point Grill’s outdoor cafe area. The pencil thin attorney in the blonde crew cut held his fork like a scalpel, his every move an expression of precision. He looked up and smiled, yet Hannibal hesitated because Gordon had company.
“Come on, have a seat,” Gordon called in a slightly Yale flavored accent. “Harriet decided to join me for lunch for a change.”
Hannibal removed his gloves and sat facing the street, to the left of Mrs. Gordon. She wasn’t fat, but plump enough to make her appear even shorter than she was. Her thin brown hair cupped her face like hands she was trying to hide behind. She smiled as Hannibal sat and seemed startled when he offered his hand.
“Something to eat?” Frank Gordon asked, slicing into his own grilled swordfish.
“I’ll hit the raw bar inside after we talk,” Hannibal said. “I really just wanted to get a feel for Devoe’s chances, from your point of view.”
“Frankie will get him off,” Harriet said between bites of sea scallops. “He’s the best at this type of thing.”
Hannibal tuned into the Coltrane rolling smoothly out of the restaurant’s sound system. “Yes, I’ve heard some very positive things about your defense record, Frank. How’d Devoe get so lucky as to hook you for his lawyer? Court appoint you?”
Gordon glanced at his wife. “Actually, I owed him a substantial debt, so he kind of pressed me into service.”
“Who would have thought that “Mister Ballet and Symphony” would get himself in this position,” Harriet said around a mouthful of food. To Hannibal’s surprise the jibe went unanswered.
“I’ve got to admit this is no slam-dunk,” Gordon said. “I was out of town when the crime took place, but I’ve read the newspaper reports, and the prosecution’s brief. They’ve got motive, means and opportunity, and a couple of pretty damning pieces of circumstantial evidence.”
“Yes,” Hannibal said, “and all you have is a pretty weak and unsubstantiated story.”
“Too true, but maybe you can change that if you can pin down proof of his whereabouts. You never explained your interest in this case, by the way.”
“Not interested, personally. But I’m working for someone who is. So, do you think he’s telling the truth?”
Gordon cleared his palate with a long drink of water. “Do I think he murdered his w
ife? No. Do I think he spent the night in some illegal gambling den? I’m not so sure.”
Harriet glanced at her husband, then Hannibal. “Somebody’s paying you to look into the case? Must be a pretty close friend of his.”
“Yes,” Hannibal smiled. “Must be.” Before he could continue, a black Jaguar easing past stole his attention. Ike sat at the wheel and for a moment Hannibal feared the passenger might get out and walk up to him. Instead, the car slowed, then sped away. Hannibal released his breath slowly. He did not want to have to explain who she was to this lawyer. As it turned out, it would not have been necessary.
“That was Nina Bonnaventura’s car,” Gordon said. “She lunches here often. Do you know her?”
“Don’t suppose she was looking for you?” Evelyn asked.
“Unlikely,” Hannibal said, “Although I am meeting her a little later today. But how do you two know her?”
“Can’t always choose your clients,” Frank said.
“And believe it or not, we seem to travel in the same social circles as she and her gangster husband run in,” Harriet said.
Frank shot a cold look at his wife. “She seems a pleasant enough lady, although they’re a bit low brow for my tastes.”
“Your tastes,” Harriet repeated coldly. “Well, she did leave her husband so maybe she really is no longer to your taste.”
“Well, I’ve got an appointment in the district,” Hannibal said, smiling as he rose. “Maybe I’ll grab something to eat on the way.” He didn’t want to be in the middle of their personal conflict, and besides, he didn’t want to be there if Nina Bonnaventura returned.
* * *
Hannibal drew a stare from the desk clerk when he walked into the Premiere Hotel at the Kennedy Center, in what the brochures referred to as “historic” Foggy Bottom. He went directly to the elevators and rode up to the top floor without asking for assistance, or giving anyone a chance to earn a tip. This made him stand out in such a place.
The Thrill List Page 4