Hannibal Jones - 04 - Damaged Goods Read online

“What’s that mean?”

  “You know me. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Yeah I know,” Cindy said, her eyes sparkling. “Doesn’t stop them from happening though, does it?”

  -10-

  With much reluctance, Hannibal handed the White Tornado’s keys to a boy displaying too much acne and attitude, and headed into the hotel. The Omni Shoreham was a huge, imposing structure, hogging eleven lovingly landscaped acres of Rock Creek Park in Northwest Washington. Since the 1930’s the Omni has hosted countless celebrities, several presidents and other world leaders. It was no place Hannibal was ever likely to spend a night, but it was a regular choice for these events people referred to as galas. Tonight’s gala, a Gourmet Gala to be precise, would benefit St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital. Hannibal was certain a lot of people were there out of a pure love of children. The fact that every noted pharmaceutical company was represented he attributed to enlightened self-interest on the part of researchers who were showing both support and deference to what they hoped would be a major customer.

  Cindy naturally wore a well-fitted black gown with a single string of pearls and a different pair of black heels high enough to show her legs at their best. They had compromised on Hannibal’s appearance without much debate. Cindy had agreed to his wearing a simple black suit, although she did give him a Structure tie with a nice subtle design. Hannibal had agreed to go without his usual protective camouflage. No gloves and, more significantly, no sunglasses. It was a concession because he didn’t like to show strangers his eyes. He also didn’t like to think about what his eyes probably told people about him.

  “What did you call this guy? Some kind of chemist?”

  “Combinatorial,” Cindy said, handing her wrap to a coat check girl. “Combinatorial chemistry is an integral part of drug discovery, dear. Speeds up research and development, so useful compounds get developed more quickly and less expensively. Gaye was one of the combinatorial chemists who contributed to the completion of sequencing human genes.”

  Hannibal rolled his eyes. “Check out the big brain on Cindy tonight.”

  She held her arm out for him to take. “I memorized that bit when I was working a very small IPO for one of Isermann –Börner’s baby competitors.”

  They sped through the lobby, their heels clicking across the marble as they passed between arched columns and beneath huge cut-glass chandeliers. The hotel was labyrinthine, boasting a couple of dozen ballrooms and meeting rooms, but Cindy steered them with confident certainty toward the gala’s reception. The instant they transitioned to the carpet of the ballroom a blonde Amazon spotted them. She was about four-fifths legs, and her black strapless gown was designed to make that conclusion unavoidable. Her lips were a little too full for a white girl and covered with a lipstick that made Hannibal think of candy apples. She stalked toward them wearing a broad smile, her eyes scanning Hannibal like the light beam of a Xerox machine. Was she memorizing him for later examination?

  “Cindy,” the woman said, putting an arm around Cindy’s waist and kissing the air beside her right cheek. “I am so glad you decided to come. Now the real fun can begin.”

  “Hi Glory. Hannibal, this is Gloria Deitz. International law. One of my best girlfriends at the firm. Glory, hon, I’d like you to meet Hannibal Jones.”

  “Oh my God, Cindy, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this gorgeous man under wraps all this time,” Glory said, gushing like a schoolgirl as they moved toward the bar. “And you never said about his eyes. What a simply luscious shade of blue. Or wait, now they’re looking green. Yummy.”

  Hannibal had counted to ten in his head three separate times before parting his artificial smile to ask “Would you ladies like a drink?”

  “Oh, be a dear and get me an appletini,” Cindy said. Her eyes promised him a reward for this evening, and his eyes accepted.

  “Vodka rocks,” Glory said. As Hannibal turned to the bar he heard her chattering on to Cindy. “You are so lucky. Now, what do you call him?”

  “Hannibal?”

  “Well yes, but I’ve never heard you call him anything else. He must have a nickname or something.”

  “No, just Hannibal,” Cindy said.

  “Wow. Doesn’t it make you think of that cannibal character in the movies?”

  Hannibal collected the girls’ drinks from a smiling bartender and quickly handed them off. He tried to pretend that he and Cindy were the only people there, hoping her girlfriend would take the hint.

  “Cindy, do you see any signs of that guy I wanted to meet this evening?”

  “I haven’t seen Elliot yet, hon. But I do see the right crowd of pharmacists and techies.” She nodded to Gloria and gave her a sly wink. “Glory, we’re going to wander over in this direction and shake a few hands.”

  “I got ya,” the blonde replied in conspiratorial tones. “Gotta network, gotta work the room. That’s what makes you the best, Cindy. I’ll catch you on the bounce back.”

  Hannibal felt out of place walking around empty handed, so on their way across the polished marble floor he stopped at one of the many bar setups for a drink. Only women carried wine at these events, so he asked for an acceptable substitute.

  “Scotch, rocks” he said to a large Black bartender. The man seemed to lean forward, as if his response was for their ears alone.

  “Single malt or double, sir?” Hm. Regular or high test? Was the bartender trying to embarrass him, or school him?

  “Oh, um, single malt?”

  “Yes sir,” the bartender was pleased. “Laphroaig okay?”

  “Oh, sure. Of course.”

  “Very good sir,” The bartender poured with practiced ease and handed over the glass in such a way that Hannibal had to lean in to get it.

  “Good stuff,” the waiter said. “Next time, ask for it by name.”

  “Thanks, brother.”

  Walking through the throng of political and business movers and shakers, Hannibal wondered how there could be any poverty in Washington. Charity balls were more popular than Wizards games, and the price of admission was obscene. But the little circle of men they sidled up to now seemed less well off than some they passed. These were rented tuxedos and Mall store shoes like he himself wore. He didn’t doubt their importance, but it seemed clear that these cocktail sippers actually worked for a living. Cindy seemed to consider the little circle before breaking in, singling out a particular balding, round-faced man and signaling with her chin that he was their quarry. Then she hovered innocently, waiting to catch the fellow’s eye. When he turned to her, she turned on the charm.

  “Cindy Santiago,” the man said, raising his Manhattan toward her. “What a pleasure to see you this evening. Gentlemen, this is the young lady who helped me straighten out that awful patent office mess last year.”

  The other men all seemed to know what a mess that was, and murmured their approval toward her. Then Cindy said, “Good to see you Elliot. I’d like you to meet Hannibal Jones, the fellow I told you about who solves other sorts of problems.”

  Elliot’s mouth opened with his smile now, and he beamed at Hannibal the way he might at a professional athlete or perhaps a rock star. “Yes, the troubleshooter I’ve heard about. Well, what a life that must be. A good deal more exciting than branching nucleotides I’m quite sure.” The others all seemed to agree, and Elliot wasted no time in introduced Hannibal around the little circle.

  “So you’re a real life P.I., eh?” a particularly thin fellow holding a pink drink said. “Sort of like Sam Spade. Get it?” Even without the emphasis on the last name, Hannibal managed to get it. He just didn’t manage to smile. Instead he sipped his Scotch, an act that improved his mood right away. It was smooth and far smokier than any he had tried before. He smiled at the skinny guy, which seemed to surprise everyone.

  “You’re gracious, considering what a putz Franklin is being,” Elliot said. He had the small, delicate hands Hannibal associated with scientists for some reason.
r />   “Hey, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve heard that,” Hannibal said. “And actually, the job’s not much like it looks in those movies.”

  “From what I’ve heard, a private eye is just a professional tough guy,” another drinker threw in. “More like Shaft, right?”

  Hannibal thought he was turning to Cindy, but she had wandered off and left him to deal with these gawkers alone. Not wanting to respond to the last remark, he looked up at Elliot, who seemed to sense his discomfort.

  “No no. I’ll bet he’s more like Ellery Queen. You know, a thinking man’s detective.”

  The last thing Hannibal wanted to discuss at a charity gala was his profession. While he was trying to think up a new subject to introduce, Franklin spoke up again.

  “Well, what do you think, Jones? Which archetype detective are you?”

  Hannibal closed his eyes and tipped his head back, emptying his glass before speaking. “Actually, I think I’m more like the illegitimate child of Spenser and Hawk. That is, if it was possible for them to, you know, do that kind of thing.” Then he pointed his head toward the nearest bartender. “As it happens, Elliot, I could use your help with a case I’m working on. Let’s refresh our drinks.”

  They headed toward the bar but through further head signals Hannibal guided Elliot Gaye to the door and out into the hallway. Gaye took a deep breath as soon as the door hissed closed behind them.

  “Sorry about the attack of the geek patrol. Every one of those fellows is a genius, but their social skills are somewhat lacking. I understand why you’d want to get away.”

  Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “That’s kind of harsh. I mean, I hated it, but they’re just curious kids, and I know I’ve made fun of their kind often enough.”

  “Humph. I’ve got to admit you’re not what I expected at all,” Gaye said.

  “And that wasn’t a dodge back there,” Hannibal said. “I really do need your help on a case.”

  “Really?” Gaye began to wander down the hall, and Hannibal stayed at his side. Despite himself, he seemed to Hannibal to be one of the kids, in awe of real life. “How can I help?”

  “Well, I’m involved in an investigation involving the death of Vernon Cooper. Do you remember him?”

  “Vernon was in prison when he passed, right?” Gaye asked. Then he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Did he die under suspicious circumstances?”

  Hannibal closed his eyes to keep them from rolling. “I think he may have been involved in something that turned out to be over his head. Did you ever hear of a valuable, er, treasure he had hidden for his daughter?”

  “A treasure?” Gaye stopped and looked around the hallway while one set of pudgy fingers stroked his highest chin. “Remember when I told you every one of those guys back there is a genius? I meant that. But Vernon, he was above all of us. I know he was working on something special, but he kept his counsel, and people in our business, we tend to stay in our own lane.”

  “Of course,” Hannibal said. “But is it possible some others might not have been as circumspect as you? What about this Hathaway character?”

  Gaye looked down, as if trying to find his shoes. He bared his lower teeth, sinking his top chin into the rolls beneath it. Hannibal surmised that this was his “make a tough decision” face.

  “Hathaway. He was a cowboy. Too wild for the pharmaceutical arts, if you ask me. Left the company rather suddenly. I think he may have stolen proprietary information, some of the results of some research he was working on.” Then he looked at Hannibal, as if a new idea had struck him. “This is just rumor, you understand. I haven’t seen any evidence of wrong doing or anything.”

  “Relax, Elliot. May I call you Elliot?”

  Gaye beamed. “Certainly, um, Hannibal.”

  “In my profession, you never reveal your sources. So, just between you and me, is it possible that Cooper and Hathaway might have been mixed up in something together?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Gaye said. “Cooper was a straight arrow from all I saw. But you might want to interrogate Hathaway. Could be a lead.”

  Hannibal turned, and bit his lips to keep from laughing. When it passed he said, “I might want to ask him a few questions. Know where he took off to”

  “Well sure. Hathaway’s living large, and the new startup company he jumped to wants everybody to know they got him.”

  * * * * *

  The reception was even more crowded when Hannibal returned, but Cindy found him in seconds. His attendance at this event had served its purpose in his mind. It had been a good dance, so he wasn’t particularly unhappy when Cindy presented him with the piper’s bill. He performed escort duty well through the reception, a silent auction, a truly tasty dinner, and even during the musical performance by a has-been country crossover band. He graciously allowed several nerds to dance with Cindy, including Elliot Gaye who seemed to be built for country dancing.

  It was just shy of eleven o’clock when Hannibal began the cross-town drive down Connecticut Avenue toward his own neighborhood. Traffic was blessedly light as they rolled past the ostentatious buildings of embassy row, and for once Hannibal didn’t mind stopping for a light at every corner. He relaxed into his seat and pulled his tie down an inch from his throat.

  “I owe you an apology, sweetheart,” he said. “That wasn’t half bad, and it’s nice to just spend some time out on the town with my girl.”

  “What’s funny is, we were both working,” Cindy replied. “I had to make connections for the firm, and you had to question Elliot. Just shows you can have fun, even when you’re on the job.”

  “Yep, and it was pretty fruitful for me. As it turns out I should be able to talk to this Hathaway guy tomorrow.”

  “So he didn’t go far?” Cindy asked.

  “Nope. Elliot said his new company is in Grayson County, but hey, it’s still in Virginia so how far away can it be?”

  Cindy patted his free hand and smiled. “That’s my Hannibal. Often wrong, but never in doubt. And by the way, sugar, what did they call you in school?”

  “Mostly my name,” Hannibal said as they passed the Washington Zoo entrance. “I was just Jones to a lot of the teachers.”

  “You mean you really didn’t have a nickname?”

  “Like what? Hanny?”

  “I don’t know. Most people with unusual names pick up a nick name.”

  Hannibal stared up into the traffic light’s red orb for a moment, letting the past catch up to him while he waited for the light to change. “My parents were oddly proud of my name,” he said. “Of course, they didn’t know about Thomas Harris’ cannibalistic character when I was born. They just knew about the general from North Africa who nearly held off the Roman legions using elephants in his army, a couple of hundred years before Jesus was born. They named me after him because they wanted me to have something to shoot for, I guess.”

  Hannibal’s telephone rang, cutting off further conversation. He checked his watch, muttered, “What the hell?” under his breath and poked a button on the dash.

  “Jones? Where the hell you been? Don’t you check your messages?”

  “Blair?” Hannibal asked, slowing for another traffic light. “Listen, I was at a formal dinner and a silent auction, so I turned the phone off. Do you know what time it is?”

  “Of course. But while you were out partying, Anita hasn’t had so nice an evening. She’s in the hospital. She’s been beaten pretty badly.”

  -11-

  SUNDAY

  To Hannibal, Inova was a chain store just like Rite-Aid or Seven-Eleven. There seemed to be one on every corner in Northern Virginia and the fact that they were hospitals didn’t make him any more confident in them than he was of the service in the Olive Garden. Chains generally give you consistency, but rarely special service.

  When Hannibal called Inova Fairfax a minute after Blair disconnected, he learned that Anita was resting comfortably in a private room that must have been provided at Blair’s
insistence. He didn’t want to disturb her, and there was little he could do at a hospital at midnight anyway, so he left her to the doctors’ care.

  After a restless night he entered the hospital corridors at eight o’clock and rushed to Anita’s room. He half expected to find Blair at her bedside, but instead it appeared that he had sent his second. Henry stood at the foot of the bed, dressed exactly as he was when he entered Hannibal’s office days before. With his hands clasped behind his back he reminded Hannibal of the black jockey figures he had seen on rich people’s lawns in racing towns like Saratoga. He wondered if black butlers were as rare as live black jockeys.

  “So happy to see you here,” Henry said in a tone that could have been condescending, or maybe it was subservient. Hannibal didn’t trust his perceptions on that score, so he merely nodded toward Henry and moved to the side of the bed. The rhythmic beeping of Anita’s monitors failed to reassure him. She smelled of iodine and alcohol, and her appearance started a twisting ache in his center. Both her eyes were blackened, her lower lip split and her nose swollen into a new, inappropriate shape.

  “I am so sorry,” Hannibal said. “I had no reason to think you were in any present danger.”

  “Not your fault,” Anita mumbled through swollen lips. “This has nothing to do with you or the case you’re on.”

  “What utter nonsense,” Henry said in the same proper speech pattern. Despite his irritation, Hannibal shared his skepticism.

  “Anita, you’re a brave girl, and stronger than I knew, but you can’t do this by yourself. You have to tell me who did this to you.”

  Anita clenched her eyes tight and pushed her lip out like a stubborn child. “I don’t know who hit me. I didn’t see. He just came up behind me when I left the market last night. I shouldn’t have been out so late.”

  “This is really too much,” Henry said. “Miss Cooper you really must tell us.”

  Hannibal clenched his teeth and waved a hand toward the door. “Henry, could I speak with you for a moment?”