purchase on the floor. But the brief flash of fear he felt quickly transformed into anger.
“I called all the shelters.” Isaac said. “They wouldn’t tell me nothing. I been to the police. Where the hell is she?”
Hannibal’s right hand formed a claw. With stiffened fingers he snapped back toward the voice behind him. The strike wasn’t very hard, but it didn’t have to be. Isaac released him and backed off. Hannibal turned to face his huge attacker, who stood with one hand pressed to his eyes.
“I guess she just got tired of taking your shit,” Hannibal said, drawing himself up into a fighting stance. “And frankly, asshole, so have I.”
Isaac Ingersoll was very big, very strong, and quite fast for a man his size. But Hannibal had been kickboxing since high school and right then was filled with the kind of rage that comes when frustration gets overlaid with a layer of indignation. It was quick, and it was ugly.
A series of jabs flashed between Isaac’s upraised hands until blood from his nose was running freely down onto his lip and chin. Then Hannibal got serious and started mixing it up with side kicks to his opponent’s right thigh. Isaac swung. Hannibal dodged and attacked — left, right, kick — until Isaac finally just stopped trying and stepped back absorbing the punishment.
Finally a sharp wheel kick caused Isaac’s knee to buckle and he fell against the wall and sank into a crouch. Hannibal raised his fist to drive a right cross down into Isaac’s face and finish it. The big man’s eyes never closed or turned away and that was what made Hannibal pause.
Isaac’s injured blue eyes looked up into Hannibal’s face and he moaned, “Where is she?” in the voice of a child on the verge of tears. Try as he might, Hannibal could not see a vicious wife-beater. He was looking at a lost boy who needed his mother. He saw a brief flash of Dean huddled on a bed and recognized his facial expression mirrored here. With a sigh he dropped his fists, suddenly ashamed of the blood on his gloves.
“Come into my office. And I swear to God if you give me any more trouble I’ll kick your big ass.”
Isaac meekly followed and dropped into the seat he was directed to. Hannibal turned on the cold water in the kitchen, soaked a towel, wrung it out, and gave it to Isaac to clean himself up with. Then he sat behind his desk.
“Why did you come here?”
Isaac looked up into his own head before answering, and Hannibal got the feeling this was a man who just did not express himself well in words. “To get your help. To find my Janet. You could make her come back to me.”
“She’s not your Janet, Isaac,” Hannibal said. “She’s a grown woman, her own woman. I can’t make her do anything and neither can you. And she’s just decided she doesn’t have to accept being beaten up, understand?”
Isaac nodded, and at that minute he did appear to understand that much. His eyes cast around as if he was searching for the solution to that problem. It occurred to Hannibal that the man could only express himself one way.
“Do you love her?” he asked before he knew he would.
“I love her,” Isaac answered, “as much as I know how. I need her. I can’t live without her. What can I do? What do I have to do?”
The telephone’s bell jangled Hannibal’s nerves from the base of his skull downward. Without thinking he snatched it up to stop the noise. His eyes widened in surprise, mostly because he did not believe in coincidences.
“Some news for you Hannibal,” Janet said. “And not all good. There are more than nine hundred current license plates in Nevada that start with 902. But I was able to narrow it down some.”
Hannibal considered how badly he wanted to hear what Janet had to say, but only for a second. “Janet, would you hold on a second? There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.”
Janet hesitated for just a beat before climbing into Hannibal’s car. He pulled away from the DMV building and headed toward nearby Springfield Mall. Before he passed the first traffic light he asked the question he’d been sitting on since he handed the phone to her husband.
“Do you love him?”
“What the hell kind of a question is that?” Janet asked. In just a few days she had come completely out of her thin shell and was showing the self-confidence of a successful professional woman.
“The kind of question I need answered before we get there,” Hannibal said. “The kind of question that will tell me what it is I should be trying to do.”
He kept his eyes on the road, but he felt or sensed Janet’s face going through a range of expressions. The question took in a wide variety of concepts, emotions and ideas. It always does. People don’t usually notice that, but Janet appeared very aware of it right then. Ultimately the answer came. “Yes.”
“He answered faster,” Hannibal said. “He needs you, Janet, and I think maybe you need that too.”
“I’m afraid for my son.”
“Your husband needs help,” Hannibal said. “He says he’s willing to get it, if you’ll stick by him. I just want you to talk face to face.”
“I’ve already said okay to that,” Janet said. “Now, do you want to hear about the license plate?”
“We’re here. Hold it for when we’re inside.”
Hannibal had not chosen Mozzarella’s because of its cuisine, although he was partial to its version of commercialized Italian food. Nor was its reasonable price range a factor. What mattered was its proximity to Janet’s job, and the fact that it would be pretty full at lunchtime. Some people were a lot less likely to misbehave in a crowded place and Hannibal had judged Isaac to be one of them.
Lighting was dim for a lunch place, perhaps to mitigate the bright reds and yellows accenting the cuisine. Garlic butter and oregano were the dominant aromas. Conversation was low but constant, creating a pleasing background hum of white noise. Janet hesitated once more when they came within sight of the booth. Isaac stood as she approached. While Hannibal wore his black work suit and Janet a neat charcoal skirt suit, Isaac was dressed in jeans and a knit shirt. Still, Hannibal noticed that at one time or another, every woman in the room stole a glance at the big, well-muscled blonde.
Hannibal eased Janet into one side of the booth, then subtly shoved Isaac into the other side and sat beside him. They ordered quickly and tried to settle into being comfortable in what was by definition an uncomfortable situation.
“So,” Hannibal said before any other conversation could start, “more than nine hundred plates that could belong to our murderer. But you said you were able to narrow it down? How?”
“Well, I actually went down the entire list checking make and model.” Janet’s smile returned as she spoke. She so wanted to be useful. Maybe she needed to be needed as much as Isaac needed her. “First I eliminated all the cars I knew were compacts. You said it was a bigger vehicle. Well that got us to six hundred twenty-five cars.”
“Pretty smart,” Hannibal said. He had wanted Isaac to see her in a professional capacity before they talked. Maybe he’d gain a little more respect for her.
“Then I had another thought and went through again, striking all the trucks and vans,” Janet said. “That brought the number down to three hundred twelve. Still a lot of people to check but then I got daring.”
Now Hannibal was grinning. “You are quite the detective. Now what do you mean by daring?”
“Well, you said it was a man driving, right?” Janet didn’t stop when the waiter arrived and placed their food in front of them. “So I figured the car probably wasn’t registered to a woman. Scratching those cut it down to two hundred nine. Nevada has a lot of unmarried women you know.”
“That will make a big difference if this comes down to a real search,” Hannibal said. “I sure appreciate your effort.” He gestured for Janet and Isaac to eat, and dug into his own food. The smoked sausage stuffing his ravioli was bursting with that flavor that can only come from charcoal, and it blended perfectly with the sweet marinara sauce. He watched his two booth mates eyeing each other cautiously while he ate. Isaac was first to speak.
“So how have you been Janet? And how is my Nicky?”
“We are both fine, thank you,” Janet said, not looking up. “I can take care of myself. And my son.”
Little more was said until Hannibal finished his lunch. Isaac looked toward him several times, as if waiting for him to make something happen. Janet’s eyes wandered that way a few times as well. When Hannibal did put his
