Hannibal’s hand rested on the doorknob, but he could not quite bring himself to turn it. “Really? Did he say who?”
“Oh of course not,” she said, shaking her head. “He withdrew into his fantasy world of conspiracies. Pulled away. And then, that summer, he left. Ran away to America.”
“You mean he disappeared?”
“Oh no, not to me, just to his father.” Ruth was drifting, sleep pulling on her. “He wrote to me. When he lived in New York with some people he met. Then he was in Chicago. Wandering. He found out he had a flair for computers, even back then. I sent money. He took courses in California. Even when he was staying in that sinful place Las Vegas two years ago, he wrote to me. I think he fell in with a bad crowd there. But he wrote. He was never a bad boy.”
Her motor seemed to have run down. She sat staring at the floor. Hannibal took her shoulders and helped her lie back on the bed. Her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, and her speech slurred a bit. “And now,” she murmured, “and now I have to bury my son alone, because his father hasn’t the strength.”
Hannibal waited until her breathing deepened fully before he turned off the light and slipped out the door without a sound.
17
Thursday
Hannibal’s eyes opened when the key slid into the lock. The gray outside his window was a lighter shade, and the street lamps were out, but the sun was not quite up. By the time his feet touched the carpet he could smell fresh coffee brewing. Not just coffee, but his special cache of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee shipped in from a specialty shop up in Delaware. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants he had left on the floor and headed toward the other end of the apartment. She was starting his day with a smile, as she so often did.
“Morning, lover,” Hannibal said stepping into the kitchen. Cindy looked up, caught in the act, putting cream cheese and marmalade on the tray with the bagels. Her smile, warm and radiant as the summer sun, held his attention before he noticed the other surprises. Instead of business attire Cindy stood before him in her own sweat suit. Her face, usually so carefully made up, was scrubbed clean. He spotted a small overnight case on a kitchen chair, which, he assumed, contained her day’s clothing.
“I missed you last night,” she said. “Got to thinking about breakfast in bed. And then I decided, why not?”
Snuggled under Hannibal’s comforter they chewed raisin cinnamon bagels and Hannibal watched the sun make its debut over Cindy’s shoulder. The coffee was hot and strong, the way he liked it, with just enough cinnamon added. Hannibal loved the time he spent with his arm around his woman, just relaxing. Once again he considered asking Cindy if she’d like to wake up together every day. And again he wondered what this independent professional woman’s answer would be.
“How would you feel about going away together for a day or two?” he asked.
“Away?” Cindy asked, pushing a last bit of a bagel into her mouth. “Away where?”
“Out of town. Actually, Oscar Peters’ hometown. Frankfurt.”
She turned to face him, her nipples brushing his chest. “Frankfurt? You mean as in Germany? Do you imagine the firm would let me just disappear for a couple of days? Besides, aren’t you on a case, lover? How will Bea feel if we just take off?”
“Oscar’s mother tells me he may have known something about a murder, back when he was in high school,” Hannibal said, his eyes dropping from Cindy’s face. “If what he told her is true, the culprit was never caught. It’s another motive for his murder if it’s true. I think I should follow it up.”
“Follow it up?” Cindy asked, her brow crinkling. “Oscar’s probably fifteen years out of high school. You think you can solve a murder that’s been sitting so long? And what about the guy running from the scene of the crime?”
“If I’m right he’s driving back to Vegas, which is a good four day ride. He’ll keep. Come on.”
Cindy considered his words, her mouth bunched to one side. Hannibal leaned back against a pillow and sipped his coffee. He knew that he had a moment to savoring the richness of what he knew to be the best coffee on earth, born of the unique terrain and rainfall patterns found below the wood line of the majestic Blue Mountains in Jamaica. When Cindy was pondering this way, it was best to leave her alone. Besides, the warmth of her thigh against his was pleasant enough without any further activity.
“Let me see if I have this straight,” she said at last. As she sat fully erect and squared her shoulders the comforter fell away from her ample bosom, further distracting Hannibal. “You want to interview people and check out the scene of the crime, right? So we fly to Europe for you to do that, spend a day there, and jet back? That’s crazy. You really think there can be any kind of connection between this possible murder Oscar was talking about and his death?”
“I’ve got to follow my instincts,” Hannibal said, tangling his fingers in the soft curls flowing in waves about her shoulders. “A man is murdered. The accused killer saw his father murdered. Now I find out the dead man claimed to have knowledge of yet another murder. Can I just accept all that as coincidence?”
Cindy shook her head slowly. “And why drag me along?”
Hannibal ran his fingertips softly down her spine to finally cup her bottom against the mattress. “I guess I just figured we needed some time away together. And there’s something over there I’d like to show you.”
18
Friday
A voice filtered through Hannibal’s sleep-fogged brain telling him to bring his seat to the upright position and fasten his safety belt. His watch told him it was five minutes after five in the morning. A flight attendant announced that the local time was eleven-oh-five. Cindy’s head lifted from his shoulders.
“Why don’t you reset your watch, Cin? I’ll stay on Eastern time.”
Cindy smiled into his face as their Boeing 737’s tires skidded, and then rolled onto the runway. “I liked the way yesterday started a lot better.”
Hannibal agreed, although after their relaxed and unhurried lovemaking it had turned out to be a busy day. They had gone together to explain their plan to Bea. She was surprisingly agreeable to any straw clutching Hannibal might have in mind as long as she knew Dean would be hospitalized. Cindy had gone alone to explain the situation to Dan Balor, senior partner in her law firm. With Dean as a client, and Bea picking up the tab, he had agreed to let her arrange for tickets and hotel accommodations through the firm. Hannibal had visited Mrs. Peters again to get her home address and phone number. She thought he might convince her husband to attend his son’s funeral. He made no effort to persuade her either way. And at seven p.m. their plane lifted off from Dulles Airport and they settled down for the first airline dinner of the trip.
Hannibal tucked into his seat and went to sleep almost immediately after the meal. They were diving into the early morning sun over London before he learned that Cindy had sat awake almost two hours longer then he did. Seven in the morning was two o’clock to their bodies. Cindy had no interest in breakfast so they spent the hour and a half in Heathrow Airport watching other planes come in. Cindy dozed a bit while Hannibal drank British coffee, which is a transitional step between typical American blends and the stronger European grinds and, to Hannibal’s way of thinking, a good explanation of why British citizens still drink a lot more tea then coffee.
The hop to Germany was barely as long as the London layover, but they passed into another time zone to further confuse their systems. After they landed, Hannibal’s first stop was a vending machine that turned his American cash into German Marks. Then they stopped at one of the numerous stands in the Frankfurt Main for breakfast. It was close to noon, so breakfast consisted of a fat sausage Hannibal recommended. They ate on their way to the Avis booth to pick up their car, each carrying an overnight bag. Cindy babbled, something Hannibal only
