Blood and Bone (25 page)

“Yes,” Rissik said. With hand signals he directed the officer through creating three cups of coffee and getting them to the right people. “Believe me that saves me a great deal of embarrassment. I assume you're here to find out where we are in our little murder case, and how it relates to your situation with the long lost granddaughter.”

“My first interest is with Sloan Lerner,” Cindy said. “I do want to keep this friendly, detective, but I feel I
must remind you before you start talking that I am Mister Lerner's attorney of record.” She was a little nervous, but Hannibal figured he was the only one who could see it. He knew her decision not to mention their most recent discoveries to Nieswand was a tough one for her. She felt a great deal of loyalty to the partners who took a chance on her right out of law school. As she explained it to Rissik, she wanted to make sure she did not put her boss into a conflict of interest situation. She needed to know where the police case was going before she laid it all out to Nieswand.

Rissik leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I got no secrets to keep, ma'am. You were present when he gave his statement and he hasn't said anything since. I don't think the county attorney's going to drag the Jersey boys into this unless they have to. We're not really interested in the extortion angle, only the murder on our turf. And without a weapon or a decent motive, I don't think Sloan's got anything to worry about.”

“So how do you see the big picture?” Hannibal asked. He sipped from his cup and thought he would spend more time conferring with the police if they all knew how to brew a cup of coffee this good.

“I don't think this is all that much of a mystery,” Rissik said. “I figure this Pat Louis was a professional criminal who knew Jacob Mortimer, the guy you originally went looking for. Maybe he even had something to do with his death, but we might never know that for sure. Anyway, he apparently went to Mexico frequently to avoid capture. At the bordello you told me about, he spotted the girl and noticed her resemblance to Mortimer. When she ran away from home, he followed her and offered her a deal. She
could pretend to be Mortimer's daughter, become part of the family, and inherit a fortune. Naturally, since it was his idea, she would have to share the fortune with him.”

“Well that's pretty sound so far,” Cindy said, “but why the long delay?”

Rissik opened a notebook on his desk and consulted its pages. “As it turns out, Sloan Lerner was involved in a smuggling operation with Pat Louis. They did some time together just about four years ago.”

Hannibal snapped his fingers. “That's right. Dalton, the cop up in Baltimore, told me Louis was arrested four years ago, but the sentence was light.”

“So the girl was adrift in a strange place with no friends,” Cindy added.

“Check,” Rissik said. “So she finds herself a sugar daddy, settles down, goes to school. For all we know, she might have gone straight from there on in.”

“Except her adoptive father died,” Hannibal said. “She was on her own for a while, long enough to finish school, and to learn how hard it is for a young girl to make it on her own.”

“That's my picture,” Rissik said. “Louis gets out of stir and finds her again. She's ready to try the con but he wants to be close to the action, just in case. So he checks out the Mortimer family, looking for a way to be where he can watch the whole situation.”

Cindy leaned forward and slowly put her cup down on the desk. Her eyes were focused on a point on the side of the cup, almost as if she was reading the truth there. “And he finds out who their attorney is. And he spots Abby Nieswand. So weak. So vulnerable. And he seduces her. Then he makes her get him hired as
the family chauffeur just so he can watch the Mortimer situation. The bastard. I'm glad he's dead.”

The room was very quiet for a moment. Hannibal heard the air rushing out of the air conditioning vent overhead, but the sweat drying on his forehead was not the cause of the chill he felt. He had seen Cindy's fiery Latin anger many times, but never this cold hate. It shook him far more than any tantrum ever could.

“Obviously you're not the only one glad,” Rissik said after a moment. “I've got to think the girl was watching him. Maybe she had a prearranged meeting with him that day. Anyway, I figure Angela saw Louis' tussle with Sloan Lerner and saw an opportunity to get the albatross off her neck. If he was already unconscious it was no trick to get up behind him and pop him.”

“Makes sense to me,” Hannibal said. “So what happens now? You go pick her up?”

Rissik chuckled into his cup. “Not likely.”

“All we have here is supposition,” Cindy added. “And most of that based on the testimony of a lifelong felon who, until recently, was the prime suspect in this murder. There isn't even enough evidence to take her in for questioning. If I was the county attorney, I wouldn't even consider it.”

“We have kept her under surveillance,” Rissik said. “It's pretty easy with her tooling around in that brand new canary yellow Porsche 911. This morning she was heading off toward Baltimore.”

“Where she can fill in holes in her story,” Hannibal said.

Cindy looked from him to the police detective and back again. “This isn't right. There must be something we can do.”

Rissik tilted his head at her naiveté. “Like for instance?”

“Like for instance,” Hannibal said, “we can go question the only eyewitness.”

Hannibal did not get many chances to surprise or impress Cindy, but standing at the reception desk of the Charter Behavioral Health System Facility at Potomac Ridge, he got to do both. The nurse was pleasant and so soft-spoken, he wondered if she thought he was a patient. Or maybe she could not tell patients from visitors, so she treated everyone the same. Looking around, he thought this much white could drive anybody over the edge.

The nurse looked up from her computer screen with the same frozen solicitous smile she wore when they walked in. “Why, yes sir, Mrs. Nieswand is one of our recent admissions. She checked in voluntarily, as many of our patients do. If you'll step into that waiting room, I'll see if she can come down for a brief visit.”

He was aware of Cindy's eyes on him on their way to the wide, antiseptic waiting room. The room was empty and painfully quiet, with a smell of vanilla he figured someone sprayed on some regular schedule. Cindy never said a word until they were seated side by side on a green, plastic covered couch.

“All right, Sherlock. How did you know she was here?”

“Real detective work,” he said, “not like they do it on TV. When I went to see Nieswand he said his wife was twenty miles away in a private hospital. She has a substance abuse problem, and according to him, finding a corpse in their garage pushed her over the
edge into schizophrenia. Well, while you were snoozing last night, I got out a map and I drew a circle around his house about twenty miles out. Then I got out the phone book. There aren't very many places around here that can take care of somebody with that set of problems. I figured Lippincott would go for the best. Rockville, Maryland was the right distance from his house and this place was the right hospital.”

“Very impressive,” a man's voice said from the doorway. Hannibal turned to see Lawrence Lippincott march into the room. He leaned forward as he walked, light glinting off his bald brown scalp, hands thrust deep into his pockets. “I told Gabe the day I met you, you looked like a man who got things done. This time, though, I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish.”

“Just trying to get next to the truth,” Hannibal said, standing. “I know the guy who was arrested didn't kill Pat Louis, AKA Ike Paton. At first I thought it was a mob hit, but now I think maybe Angela pulled the trigger. In any case, Abby Nieswand's got the best chance of knowing something that can help me prove that.”

Lippincott sighed. “You may have a point there. Unfortunately, Mrs. Nieswand is in no condition to be questioned, especially about the events of that day. Maybe in a month or so.”

“I thought I might be able to gently…”

“No,” Lippincott said. “She's just not up to it now.”

Hannibal spread his hands in frustration. “Look, Doc, five minutes…”

“Have you forgotten who you're working for?” Lippincott crossed his arms, his lips curled in. “I will not endanger my patient, even if it might incriminate that little gold digger. Look elsewhere for your
precious clues. Unless you would rather stop the investigation altogether.”

“You think this is about your money?” Hannibal snapped. “This is about a teenager who might not get to be a man because Angela's got the family convinced she's the bone marrow donor Kyle needs. Have you forgotten Kyle? He ought to be your first priority too.”

Hannibal clenched his fists, but Cindy's hand on his arm relaxed him a bit. She showed Lippincott her most reasonable courtroom face. “I don't work for you. My responsibility is to my client. And to the firm's clients, including the Mortimers. You appear to have a conflict of interest here, doctor.”

“You're on dangerous ground, girl,” Lippincott said, his finger thrust into her face. “I don't think the senior partner of your firm would appreciate your harassing his wife. You could be risking your career here.”

Cindy's voice dropped but she responded with steely eyed resolve. “It wouldn't be the first time I went against the partners on a point of law.”

Lippincott's jaw worked silently. Hannibal guessed he was not used to being challenged. Then his brows knit together and his teeth flashed. “Abigail Nieswand has been under my professional care for more than three years. She is a troubled woman, a confused woman, and I will not jeopardize her delicate mental condition with questions about the events which drove her to her present state. Mister Jones, your services are no longer required. I will forward a check to your office to cover two days work.”

“You can't separate her from us forever,” Cindy said. “She discovered the body. For all we know she may have seen the murder. Or the murderer.”

“I am not in need of legal counsel,” Lippincott said. “You may not see my patient, and if you don't leave this minute, I'll have security evict you from the premises.”

Cindy rushed forward so quickly Doctor Lippincott stepped back and raise his arms defensively. “Don't play legal games with me, doctor. If your client has material knowledge I'll find a way to question her.”

Hannibal took Cindy's upper arm and pulled her away from the doctor. “Not the time,” he said. “Not the place.” Cindy and Lippincott never broke eye contact until after Hannibal pulled her backward through the hospital's glass door. “You got things to do back at your office. I'm going to get this problem fixed. I'll call you in a few hours and we'll do this one together.”

It would be hard to find a more direct contrast than a comparison of Doctor Lippincott's free clinic in Northeast Washington and his private offices north of Georgetown University. The waiting room was huge, furnished with a few comfortable chairs, all of which were empty at the end of the office day. The carpet was lush, a sandy beige color which complemented the muted earth tones of the walls. The paintings displayed a Southwestern motif, cacti at sunset and buttes in the dawn sun. The magazines in the wall racks would only interest an upscale clientele. Lippincott's receptionist bore more than a passing resemblance to Tyra Banks. Fresh flowers waved their sweet scent from tall vases on her desk. She offered Hannibal a broad smile despite Cindy's presence. He would have loved to talk to her, but instead he stood aside and let Rissik take the lead.

Orson Rissik chose to make his entrance in full police detective mode. Tan trench coat over gray suit, he stalked into the waiting room, jaw and badge thrust forward. The receptionist gasped quietly, her eyes cutting to a drawer on her left as if it was where she kept her stash.

“Where's Doctor Lippincott?” Rissik demanded. His sharp tone shook the young girl. Her hand moved
toward the intercom. “No, don't call him. Just tell me where he is.”

She waved a shaking hand vaguely down a narrow hall. “Consultation room,” she stuttered. “Third door.”

Rissik turned, winked broadly at Hannibal, and strode off down the hallway. Hannibal and Cindy moved quickly to keep up. Hannibal thought they must appear to be junior detectives, he in his usual black suit, Cindy wearing the navy blue skirt suit she usually reserved for courtroom battles. Rissik stopped in front of the closed door long enough for them to catch up. Then he turned the knob and burst in, slamming the door against the wall behind it.

“Lawrence Lippincott?”

Lippincott sprang to his feet behind his massive oak desk. Apparently he was going over his books, much as any businessman might at the end of the day. Although Rissik moved right up to his desk, Lippincott's eyes were on Hannibal and Cindy at the back of the room.