He knocked firmly on the door to Nina’s suite. Then he stood back far enough for a person using the peephole to get a good look at him. When the door finally opened Ike used a pistol to wave Hannibal inside, then closed the door and locked it again.
“Is that really necessary?” Hannibal asked.
Not really,” Ike said, holstering his gun. “Nobody wants to hurt Mrs. B. but, you know, it’s my job. She’s on the balcony.”
Hannibal walked through the expansive room and joined her, eight floors above the streets of the nation’s capitol. Ike stood behind him, inside the room but with the glass door open a couple of inches. Nina sat huddled into a chair, a scarf over her hair and glasses shielding her dark eyes.
“So, were you looking for me?”
“No,” Nina said, drawing on a straw stuck into what appeared to be a home made milk shake. “I was just going to stop for lunch. Ike said I shouldn’t, with you there. Said I shouldn’t be seen with you until the trial is over.”
“Ike is a wise man,” Hannibal said.
“Well, what did you find out? Will Mister Devoe be convicted?”
“That may depend on a few things,” Hannibal said, lowering himself into a chair. From that altitude, the people below looked as small as most people’s attitudes made them seem. “Would you mind a couple of questions?”
Nina noisily emptied her glass, with the kind of slurp most folks stop making before they reach twenty. “What did you want to ask me?”
“Well, why are you staying here instead of across the street at the much bigger and more prestigious Watergate?”
Her brows rose in surprise. “I suppose I’m simply not attracted by history and prestige.”
“I doubt it’s a money issue, unless of course you feel like by slumming, relatively speaking, you deny your need for your husband’s money.”
Her cold eyes rolled over onto him viciously. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”
“Well, yes,” he said. “Were you Charlie Devoe’s lover?”
Nina sat upright, her long neck stretched to its limit. Her skin paled beneath its surface tan and her eyes almost doubled in size. “Why in the world would you ask me such a thing.”
Behind him, Hannibal felt Ike fidget. With Nina’s reaction, it was sufficient evidence for him. “You’re the missing alibi, aren’t you? Devoe probably has been up all night gambling from time to time, but that night, while his wife was being murdered, he was here with you.”
Nina’s lips curled in and her eyes became shaded. She replied in a harsh whisper. “I never intended to fool around on Vinnie. He treats me like garbage but I’m still his wife. I never set out to hurt him that way.”
Hannibal wanted to speed up her story. “You never intended to have another man. But you did. You found Devoe.”
“He found me.” Nina looked away from him, and her story flowed as freely as her tears. “Vinnie bought me horses because he thought he was supposed to. We were going to change our social set, he said. But he never cared about those horses and he never cared about spending any time with me. And up there, around the track, I meet a guy who is everything Vinnie ain’t. Kind, and attentive, and adventurous and…”
“And smooth,” Hannibal said. So smooth no neglected wife could resist him. He was her romantic escapade, while she was just another notch on his bedpost. But this notch could save his life.
“You wanted to know if Devoe could get off without you testifying for him, right? Actually I guess you both did. He didn’t tell me about you and, near as I can tell, he didn’t tell his lawyer either. I’m sure I get why.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Nina was on the edge of hysterics now, her long carefully manicured nails digging into her palms. “If Vinnie found out what I’ve done he’d kill me.”
Hannibal stood and stared into the open space before him. “Someone else must have seen him come and go. The desk clerk, a bellman. If they’re questioned…”
“This place is known for its discretion,” Ike said behind him. “Unless Mrs. D comes forward, they’ll all conveniently forget Devoe’s face.”
“Do you think you can get him acquitted without my testimony?” Nina asked.
“It’s possible,” Hannibal said. “If he’s not guilty there has to be evidence. The police have such a good case they’re not motivated to find it. And these trials tend to run on a bit, so we’ve got time. I promise to see what I can do, anyway, to save you both.”
Nina pulled the scarf from her head to wipe her eyes. That resulted in a mascara-smeared scarf and unruly, disarrayed hair. Deprived of husband and lover, and faced with a life and death decision, Nina Bonnaventura had lost all motivation for taking care of herself. She raised her glass to the remaining man in her life.
“Ike, could I have another please?”
“Sorry, Mrs. B, we’re all out of ice cream.” Ike’s answer prompted her to cloud up again, her face falling in on itself, tears again glistening in her eyes. “Okay,” Ike quickly said. “I’ll pop down to the shop and get some more.”
“Mind if I join you?” Hannibal asked.
* * *
“She’s not really a bad woman,” Ike said as he headed out of the hotel shop with a pint of Hagen Das mocha mint. “She was just looking for, you know…”
“Yeah,” Hannibal said. “A little wildness in her life.”
“Sure,” Ike said with a grin. “And you know what? Mr. B.’s not really a bad man, either.”
“Not bad for a leg breaker, you mean.”
Ike took no offense at Hannibal’s remark. “He moved down here to get away from all that stuff. I think if they’re just given a little time, they’ll work it out. Of course if this Devoe thing comes out…”
“I came downstairs with you because I wanted to ask you something,” Hannibal said. “You never said anything to Vinnie or his guys about all this?”
Ike pushed the button for the elevator, shaking his head. “You crazy? In my world, they DO shoot the messenger sometimes. Besides it wouldn’t have lasted. This guy didn’t like me being around all the time. I read him the riot act once. You hurt my lady, I mess you up, you know?”
As the elevator doors slid open Hannibal said “You know, you’re not really a bad guy either, Ike. And you’re in a hell of a tough spot.”
“You know what’s funny? This is the first time she ever fooled around on him. Now I figure, with them separated for months, anything goes. You can bet he ain’t laying there lonely every night.”
“So she was a good girl, just an easy target.”
Ike nodded, but his jovial smile dropped completely as they approached the door. They had locked it when they left, but now it stood ajar. Ike drew his pistol, held it against his leg and walked in. Behind him, Hannibal eased his own gun out of its shoulder holster. They moved, fast and silent, across the room, checking the balcony, the closets, the bathroom, even under the bed, before they would allow themselves to turn their attention to the body lying face down in the middle of the floor.
Ike stood off a few feet, hands trembling, while Hannibal knelt beside Nina Bonnaventura’s form. Her arms were extended in what would have been a very uncomfortable position if she could feel anything. Hannibal was pretty confident that she couldn’t. Her dark wavy hair was now dyed a bright red that ghoulishly matched her nail polish. The red was still spreading to either side of her head, flowing gently from a cleft at the back of her skull. A gloved finger pressed into her neck revealed no pulse. She faced left, but her open eyes now saw nothing and revealed less.
“I’m a dead man,” Ike moaned. “God, I was only gone a minute.”
“Which means whoever did this was watching her pretty close,” Hannibal said, standing. “Who knew she was here?”
“Nobody,” Ike said, starting to pace. “Mister B. didn’t want anybody to know they were having trouble.”
Hannibal sighed deeply, shaking his head at the ugliness to come. “Well, we better call the police and get this over with.
”
Ike paused, his hand already turning the doorknob. “Police? Are you nuts? I don’t do police, buddy. Besides, I don’t know who the hitter is, and for all I know I’m on the bull’s-eye too.”
“Whatever,” Hannibal said, listening to the door slam shut behind him. This one was for him alone, he guessed. He holstered his automatic and reached for the phone.
It took a couple of minutes to get through to the woman who would accept his anonymous call. The telephone game bored them both, and the woman’s voice betrayed an added element of anger or frustration. He wanted to report a murder but no, he would not reveal his name. No, he had nothing to do with the victim. Yes he was quite sure she was dead and no, he had no idea who she was. Yes, here’s the room number and, no he would not be there when the police arrived and, no he would certainly not touch anything because it was after all a crime scene. And finally, thank you for being a concerned citizen.
Hannibal was in no hurry. It would take the police a good fifteen minutes to reach him and he had no place to be right away. He was rather suddenly unemployed. That was fine with him, since he had little sympathy for Charlie Devoe. And he figured the police would eventually solve Nina’s murder.
The elevator seemed to stop at every floor until he finally reached the parking garage. But as he approached his car he noticed a man sitting on the hood of the Thunderbird parked behind him. He was reading the Wall Street Journal. Nothing about the man seemed unusual. He was a businessman, maybe, a guy who got to the gym three times a week and managed to maintain his college physique. But then, Hannibal slowed his walk. What was that sound behind him?
Oh, yes. He recognized the sound of trouble coming his way. Two men, both taller and larger than the businessman were delivering it. Hannibal stopped within reach of his own car’s door handle and stared back at the businessman, who greeted Hannibal’s stare with a smile.
“All right. Lay it out for me.”
The businessman stood slowly, folding his paper. “You come with us. Mr. B. wants to interview you personally about this business with his wife.”
The men behind Hannibal stood close enough for him to smell the testosterone in their breath. “Just like that? You ain’t got no more respect for me than that?” Hannibal had been kickboxing since high school. His training gave him a sense of where he was relative to people around him. His back kick was fast enough and hard enough to double one of his followers over. The other man swung, but Hannibal ducked under the punch easily and slammed three quick hooks into the man’s middle. A right cross put him down.
“Stop that,” the businessman said. He held a small automatic close to his side, pointed at Hannibal but just out of reach. “I thought we could be professional about this. Now you can get in the car, or I can shoot you in the leg and you can get in the car.”
Hannibal looked at the two followers, who had stood up but were making no threatening moves. Their faces were passive, mildly annoyed. One held his hand out. Hannibal nodded and held his suit coat open for the man to take his gun. Then he shrugged his shoulders and got into the car.
* * *
The silent ride ended at a large rambling structure in a quiet neighborhood in the Washington suburb of Silver Spring. Hannibal’s three escorts formed up around him at the perfect distance, controlling but not pushy. The front door opened before he reached it and he walked through the cathedral living room and down into a sunken family room. Acrid cigar smoke stung his nose as he entered.
His impression of the room was that it was over-decorated. Corner shelves and a pair of display cases were crammed with little figurines with no consistent theme he could see. The paintings crowding the walls were the kind of still life and landscape material so popular in hotels. The ornate black lacquer entertainment center held holding a huge television set and a stereo with more components than Hannibal could name. He assumed the woman had done the decorating. The ornaments chosen by the man included the matched pair of heavyweights parked on the love seats to his left and right.
The man facing Hannibal was fullback big with a beer belly pressing the waistband of his polyester pants. He apparently slicked down his thick black hair with thirty-weight oil. The man set his cigar in an ashtray and rolled to his feet. Hannibal heard his escorts behind him shift to either side.
“I see,” Hannibal said. “You’re Bonnaventura, right?”
The man answered with a hard slap, his ham-like hand twisting Hannibal’s head around fast enough to send his dark glasses flying across the room. He followed up with an uppercut that sank deep into Hannibal’s gut and drove him back into the arms of his escorts.
“I want to know why,” Bonnaventura said in a low growl, “and you’re going to tell me.” The men who caught Hannibal tossed him forward again, directly into the path of a loping right that caught him on the side of his jaw.
The helpers caught Hannibal again and flipped him forward, but this time he got his guard up in time. He took a pair of punches on his forearms, then snapped his gloved fist out in three sharp jabs.
“I heard you used to do the muscle stuff,” Hannibal said, bouncing on his toes. “Glad to know you still do some of the work yourself. But I’m curious. I just called the police a couple of minutes before your goons grabbed me. People are going to wonder how you knew something happened to your wife so fast.”
“Didn’t think I had such good connections, did you? I know everything goes through every police phone in the district, punk.”
“I should have realized it was you right away,” Hannibal said. “After all, how many people knew where she was?”
“Nobody but you, stud,” Bonnaventura said, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, and unexpectedly swinging out again, catching Hannibal on the chin. “Should have known. I always knew my Nina liked the dark meat.”
Hannibal stifled his urge to kick, thinking it might bring the others into the battle. He was trying to figure a way out of the house alive while he bobbed and dodged the bigger man’s blows and landed a couple of telling left hooks. “Jealousy. Typical motive. She got you so mad you couldn’t stand it.” Hannibal’s next right staggered Bonnaventura and he backed off a step. “Did you do it yourself? None of your pros would have been so sloppy.”
“Do? Do what?” Bonnaventura charged, his arms gathering Hannibal up and slamming him back hard into the wall. He stared up into Hannibal’s eyes and shouted, “What did she tell you before you killed her, you bastard?”
“Me?” Hannibal reached up behind Bonnaventura to pull his hair back hard. “You trying to pin this on me? I was working for her, idiot. I think the cops will buy abandoned husband as killer a lot easier.”
Hannibal slammed his right knee into Bonnaventura’s belly and the arms lost their strength. But when Hannibal shoved the man away he seemed to float backward, like a robot whose batteries had died. He dropped onto the sofa he had risen from, his eyes unfocused.
“Kill her?” he asked no one in particular. “How could I kill her? I loved her.”
Hannibal stared at his host, along with the other men in the room. Had Bonnaventura been trying to beat a confession out of him? He replayed their conversation between punches, realizing they had been speaking at cross-purposes. His hands dropped to his sides and his eyes went toward the ceiling.
Bonnaventura said, “I seen a lot of hit men in my time, and you don’t act like a guy who…”
“Wait a minute,” Hannibal said, holding his hands palm forward. Two of the muscle men approached and he repeated “Wait!” a bit louder. Bonnaventura waved them away. Silence held the room for thirty long seconds. Then Hannibal quietly murmured “he loved her,” moved slowly to the corner and recovered his glasses.
“You didn’t kill her, Vinnie, and neither did I. But I think I know who did.”
* * *
Frankie Gordon looked more puzzled than worried when he opened the door.
“Mr. Jones. Are you all right? You look like you’ve been…”
�
��In a fight?” Hannibal walked in quickly. “Very perceptive. They dropped me near here so I hoped I could clean up, maybe use your phone.”
Harriet Gordon almost ran into the room. “Who’s there, Frankie?”
“Just me, Mrs. Gordon,” Hannibal said, stepping toward her. She held her purse tightly under one arm but with a quick movement he snatched it away from her. “You got a tissue in here?”
“No!” she shouted, lunging for him. Hannibal easily pushed her away.
“You keep other secrets in here, right?”
“What’s this all about?” Frankie asked. He also reached for the purse, but one sharp jab from Hannibal backed him up and sat him on the couch.
“I wanted to tell you I solved the Devoe murder,” Hannibal said. “Charlie’s innocent, but you already know that. Why else would you defend him?”
“I told you,” Frankie said, tenderly touching his sore mouth. “I owed him…”
“Right,” Hannibal said, backing toward the door. “Gambling debts. Mister, what did you call him, ma’am? “Mister ballet and symphony.” Not the circles Charlie Devoe traveled in. So, one wonders how you would have met him. Then I remembered Charlie saying that his wife Evelyn was more the ballet type. Is that where you met her?”
Harriet stared hard at her husband, hatred showing in her eyes. “He knows,”
“I know now,” Hannibal said. “Before I just suspected, but not much else made sense. There had to be a reason for you to have killed both women.”
“You saying Harriet killed Evelyn Devoe?”
Hannibal almost laughed. “No other reason for her to kill Nina Bonnaventura. Nobody knew where she was except her husband. But then I told you I was going to meet her today. It was easy enough for Harriet here to follow me straight to her, and to slip in as soon as she was alone. Nina knew you, Harriet, so she just opened the door. And then she turned her back. Whatever you hit her with, you should have left it at the crime scene.”
The Thrill List Page 5