Blood and Bone (13 page)

“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?”

At the other end, Nieswand seemed to perk up a little. “Larry Lippincott's staying on it all night. Did you know the army has a DNA testing lab right near here? The Armed Forces DNA Identification Laboratory is right up in Rockville, Maryland. Larry's up there working with them. Says he'll have a definitive answer by morning, but he's pretty sure now he's got an exact match. Not only does it look like it's Jacob, but it shows the genetic tendency to cancer, he says.”

“If it is, it fits what I got from other witnesses,” Hannibal confirmed. “Looks like Jacob was a mob killing, for his father's coins most likely. It could be a friend of Paton's did it too. Poetic justice maybe.” He turned to Cindy. “It doesn't help Kyle, but I guess my job's over.” She gave him a smile and covered his hand on the wheel.

“I don't know,” Nieswand said. “You seem to have found Jacob, but it's not good news for the family. You said something about a girl.”

“Angela Briggs,” Hannibal said. “Claims to be Jacob's illegitimate daughter.”

“Jacob's death will be a crushing blow to Harlan,” Nieswand said, “but maybe less so if this girl turns out to be his long lost granddaughter. And that would hold out hope for a transplant for Kyle.”

“Mister Nieswand, I don't generally believe in coincidences,” Hannibal said. “Now, I'll admit I interviewed witnesses who claimed Angela looked very much like Jacob, and I can see a resemblance to the photo I have, but her appearance is just too convenient for my tastes. I don't want to raise anybody's hopes.”

Broken lines rushed past while Nieswand considered Hannibal's words. When he spoke, it was with the first genuine emotion Hannibal had heard in his voice. “I think we have to know. Please stay on the job a bit longer. Go with me to Baltimore tomorrow, introduce me to your sources and then to the girl. If there's even a chance…”

After a moment of quiet, Hannibal said, “I understand. All right, I'll stay with it until we have the truth.”

After exchanging goodnights with Nieswand, Hannibal pushed the button to hang up. Cindy sat straighter and turned in her bucket seat to face him.

“He's a good man and a good lawyer, Hannibal. My mentor more than anyone else. He cares. But you're not optimistic, are you?”

“I'm afraid not,” he said. “I want to believe, because I want to think I can help Kyle, but I suppose I'm too cynical.”

“No, just realistic. Anyway, I think you'd better call Sarge now.”

“Yeah. Let him know I'm on the way in,” Hannibal said, reaching again for the telephone controls.

“No, to tell him you won't be back tonight. You're not spending another night in that apartment as long as that woman is there.”

Hannibal smiled and stretched his right hand toward her thigh. “For a while there I wasn't sure…”

Cindy intercepted his hand, holding it tightly on the seat between them. “Don't jump to any conclusions. That doesn't mean anything's going to happen tonight. For now, we need to talk some, and then you sleep in the guest room. We can maybe work on making it right between us this way. I know we can't if you go back there to her. So you stay with me if it's worth it and take your chances.”

Hannibal nodded and squeezed her hand back. “Your place,” he said. “No promises. No rules.”

“You understand?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I understand enough to know that going home tonight could push you away. And I won't risk losing you.”

Cindy released his hand to rub his arm lightly. In the dark, he could see the ghost of a smile starting on her face. “That's a good start,” she said.

The little examining room felt even smaller with three men in it. The room smelled of antiseptic, as all doctor's offices do, but somehow with an extra strength, which stung Hannibal's nose. He stood to the side, in his usual black suit, gloves and sunglasses, watching the two men. He was fascinated by their reactions to each other.

The stoop-shouldered Doctor Cummings invited them in pleasantly enough, but his discomfort with Nieswand was palpable. The lawyer was nattily attired in a custom-made gray pinstriped suit, his toupee almost undetectable. Hannibal was impressed by his presentation, his style, his ability to communicate with and relate to his audience. However, the old family doctor was unimpressed. Hannibal was not sure if the years had given him a distrust of lawyers, Jews, or men with money. In any case, while he listened politely to the story, it was clear he considered Nieswand the enemy.

“So you see, the man you knew as Bobby Newton was, in reality, Jacob Mortimer,” Nieswand said. “And we have definite proof, thanks to DNA analysis, of that man's death. Jacob Mortimer was the only child of a very wealthy man. Any progeny of his would be heirs in line for part of the sizable Mortimer estate.
Under those circumstances, you can surely see why we must be very careful to verify such a person's identity.”

Cummings glanced around as if he was looking for a good place to spit. When his eyes finally lit on Nieswand they narrowed to slits only wide enough for daggers to fly out of them. “You smile too much. I like him better,” he said, jerking a thumb toward Hannibal. “He only smiles when something's funny. I can tell you I delivered Angela Newton eighteen or so years ago. She came here to see me because she found my name on her birth certificate. But all I can verify for sure is this girl's a sweet kid and if she isn't heir to a fortune, she ought to be. Any family would be better off with her than without her.”

“I'm sure that's true,” Nieswand said, “but I'll have to talk to her myself before I introduce her to the family I'm sworn to serve. I'd hate to embarrass her by walking in on her at her place of work, but so far, it's the only place we know to find her.”

Cummings looked at Nieswand for a moment before turning to Hannibal. “Who talks to her?”

“Just the two of us,” Hannibal said. “No crowd, no police, no hassles. I'll guarantee it.”

After another long pause, Cummings pulled an address book from a cabinet drawer and scribbled on a pad. Another pause, a long sigh, and he tore the top sheet off the pad, handing it to Nieswand.

“I don't want her rousted at her job,” Cummings snarled. “Here's her address. She doesn't start work until ten, so if you hurry you can catch her at home. But if there's any trouble,” Cummings pushed his dried features and cloud of white hair into Nieswand's face, “you'll answer to me, shyster.”

Angela's apartment was not very far from, nor any nicer than, Wally Lerner's. Nieswand was nervous about leaving his Mercedes parked behind Hannibal's Volvo on the street.

Nieswand continued his complaints inside. They faced a three-story walkup in a stairway someone had used for a bathroom not too long ago. The hallway leading to Angela's apartment was claustrophobic, with bare bulbs casting harsh shadows around it. They passed one young man on the way whose eyes advertised his drug use. And when they reached the right door, someone had spray painted a crude word across it. Hannibal knocked, then stood back as far as the hall allowed. There was no answering call asking who it was, but he knew he was being inspected through the tiny viewport such doors have. Then he heard two locks disengage and the door swung inward to the length of a small chain. Angela's face peeked through, and Nieswand whistled almost too low to be heard. Her eyes went from him to Hannibal. She neither smiled nor frowned, looking way too world-weary for her age.

“You, I know,” she told Hannibal. “Him, I don't.”

“I'm Gabe Nieswand,” the lawyer said, turning on his courtroom smile. “I represent the family of the man who might be your father. They're very interested in clearing up all this uncertainty, as I'm sure you are as well. We'd like to talk to you for a minute. May we come in?”

The face disappeared. The door closed. The chain rattled. Then the door swung open. Angela was walking back into the studio apartment before either of her guests moved. Hannibal entered first, taking the room in quickly before waving Nieswand in behind him. The living room hardly looked lived in. True, the
sofa and chair were worn, the table old, the walls dingy from going years unpainted. But the furniture and even the worn linoleum were clean. There was no clutter, no mess. No curtains at the windows. No pictures hanging. No knick knacks, books or magazines. No television.