“My role is simple,” Hannibal said, handing over his card. “Dean’s in trouble. I’m trying to get him out.”
Young stared long and hard at Hannibal’s card, as if trying to draw some extra meaning from it. Hannibal and Cindy allowed him the time to think. When he looked up he was nodding his head, his lips curled. “Yes, I’ve heard a little something of you. Some from another old lawyer type, Dan Balor. Told me you helped him out a bit too. And you, Miss Santiago is it? You are one of Dan’s young lions, eh? Or lioness I suppose.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Cindy said. “I think my client is innocent of the murder he’s accused of. I think. I think the guilty party may be responsible for the other two deaths, or perhaps Oscar Peters died because he knew something about the others. And, sir, unless he’s a client, I would really like to know what Gil Donner wanted to talk to you about this morning.”
Alice entered without knocking and dropped two big paper bags on Young’s desk. She had clearly been with him for several years, a thin woman with a lead from one ear piece of her glasses to the other so they would hang around her neck when she wasn’t wearing them. As she emptied the bags she spoke, not to anyone really but just to the room.
“Hot pastrami on rye. Roast beef on wheat. Turkey on white. Mustard, mayo, ketchup. And three sweetened iced teas.”
Like that, she was gone. Young leaned back and said, “Call it, Miss Santiago.”
Cindy appeared stunned, not sure what she should do, so Hannibal pulled his chair closer to the desk, unwrapped a straw and shoved it through a plastic lid. “Come on Cindy. Turkey, roast beef or pastrami?”
“Um… turkey I guess.”
Hannibal shoved one of the wax paper bundles her way and pulled off his gloves. He opened the roast beef sandwich, shoving one of the small paper plates included under it. The sandwich was fat, but the roast beef was lean. His kind of lunch. He noticed Young was much more relaxed at this human level.
“Well, Donner came here to ask me about Mrs. Edwards’ murder case,” Young said. He opened the pastrami sandwich and crunched on half of the dill pickle before continuing. “He never mentioned his wife’s death, but he did ask a lot about the circumstances of Mr. Edwards’ murder. I think he was looking for similarities between it and the more recent murder of Oscar Peters.”
“Well the two murders do have a lot in common, and my client was shown to be present soon after both.” Cindy said. She finally spread a paper napkin on her lap and nibbled at her sandwich.
“Well your client was too short to run a knife over his father’s throat at the time,” Young said between bites. “And his mother didn’t kill his father anyway.”
“I don’t think so either,” Hannibal put in. The roast beef was juicy and tender and he made a mental note to get the name of the deli it came from before he left. “Of course, for me it’s all conjecture. Why don’t you tell us why you’re so sure she’s innocent?”
Young stopped chewing for a moment, before looking at Hannibal more sternly. “Take them glasses off.” Hannibal complied and Young returned to chewing his food while he stared some more. Hannibal kept his head up but continued with his lunch. He liked a man who judged by eye contact. Young finished the first half of his sandwich, wiped his mouth and took a long sip from his drink.
“What you really want to know is, why’d I plead her out for manslaughter on a heat of passion defense.”
Hannibal glanced at Cindy, who still didn’t look comfortable, so he turned back to Young. “Forgive me for saying so, but innocent does have a nicer ring to it. If she was.”
“Oh she was, Mister Jones, count on it. But sometimes the truth only carries so far in court.”
“You had a suspect?” Cindy asked.
“What I know for sure is that Grant Edwards was having an affair,” Young said, picking up the second half of his lunch. “And I know that girl he married was full of spit and fire but it wasn’t in her to kill the man she loved. And make no mistake about it, she loved Grant. His family pulled him away from her.”
“Couldn’t kill him?” Hannibal asked. “Even if he was fooling around with another woman?”
“How did you know of the affair?” Cindy asked.
“One at a time,” Young said. “I knew about the other woman because the boy told me. But Dean wouldn’t put that on his dad on the witness stand, not so soon after his death. And I do understand that. And no, Francis could never have killed the man no matter what. But I figure the other woman’s man, or maybe her father, slipped in and did the deed.”
This introduced a new source of guilt for Dean. By not vilifying his father, he pushed his mother closer to a conviction.
Cindy emptied her mouth completely before speaking again. “Why not simply subpoena the other woman and let the jury judge for themselves?”
At that Young slammed a hand down on his desk. “Don’t you think I would have if I could find her? I had no clue to her identity. Who could have helped me? The boy wouldn’t talk. The sister, Ursula, didn’t want to see anything except for my client to go to jail. She hated Francis, even before the murder.”
“You know,” Cindy said, “Your ten year old suspicions might not seem so silly today, and they might help establish reasonable doubt for my client. One theory is that Dean told Oscar something about Grant Edwards’ murder, something someone didn’t want Oscar to share. Dean might trust you enough to open up a little bit. Would you consider coming in as co-counsel on this?”
“Perhaps. If you can explain to me how these three murders might be connected.”
Hannibal finished his lunch and emptied his drink with a loud slurping noise. “Cindy can explain all the theories to you. I want to interview Joan Kitteridge again to try to verify a part of her story. And if you two don’t mind, I’m thinking maybe I can get Ruth Peters to tell me more about Gil Donner’s involvement in all this. I’m going to stop by her hotel room and have a little chat with her.”
The first errand was somewhat disappointing. Ruth’s room was empty. For a small gratuity he learned from a bellman that she had left with a man whose description matched that of Gil Donner. Of course Monty was nowhere in sight. He would have followed at a discreet distance. When he could get to a telephone he would let Hannibal know of any significant activity. Hannibal cursed himself for not getting a phone for Monty.
Then he turned his car to the offices of Kitteridge Computer Systems, Incorporated. The Stepford Wives receptionist smiled with recognition when he entered and anticipated his first question.
“If you’re looking for Miss Kitteridge, Mister Jones, she isn’t in today.”
With an effort Hannibal managed not to focus his frustration on her. “That’s all right. Could you buzz Mark Norton for me please?”
“Oh dear, I’m afraid Mister Norton isn’t in today either.”
Hannibal nodded, his eyes closed behind his dark glasses. That, he supposed, was predictable. He thought they would fly back in the wee hours to make their relationship less obvious, but he then he guessed they just decided to enjoy a long weekend together. That, or they had disappeared for good. Joan’s absence only made her connection to Oscar’s murder more suspicious. He was about to leave when he decided to try another wild shot, his second of the day.
“There’s one other person who could help me. Do you know a Native American named Many Bad Horses?”
The girl smiled her chilling mechanical smile. “Victor? Of course, one doesn’t forget a name like that. But he’s, um, no longer with us.”
“Really?” Hannibal said, trying hard to sound conspiratorial. “A talent like him, I would have expected Miss Kitteridge to hang on to. Was he, you know, let go?”
The receptionist lowered her eyes and smiled. “Well, he was allowed to resign of course but…”
Hannibal lowered himself into the chair beside her desk. “But?”
“Well there were rumors,” the woman said. “I heard Miss Kitteridge asked him to go because she caught him messing around in the employee files, you know, digging into people’s personal information. You know those computer types. Can’t stay out of files marked confidential.”
“You’re so right,” Hannibal said. And what did this mean? Was it an indication that Fancy was in the blackmail business? That would certainly point to a motive for Oscar’s death. Did Oscar learn something from his good friend that got him killed? Or did he pass information to Fancy that was traced back to its source?
Hannibal was the lone rider in a down bound elevator when his phone rang again. He flipped it open, hoping to hear from Monty, but prepared for bad news from Cindy about Dean’s hospitalization. When he heard Sarge’s voice, he remembered that he should have expected a call from him as well.
