on the door of the top floor entrance, Hannibal wondered why Francis stayed in the low rent motel she used if this place was an option. He received a partial answer when Francis Edwards opened the door and waved him in without a word. They stood in the center of the wide living room for a moment, just looking at one another. He would expect a woman to move toward the sofa, or the balcony with its view of private woods, or perhaps the kitchen area, which was separated by just an island.
“You’re not at home here,” Hannibal said. “Whose place is this?”
“Well, I needed a place to go where I could stay out of view of the police for a while,” she said. “When I called Walt this morning he didn’t want to know where I was. When I told him I wanted to talk to you he suggested I meet you here so you wouldn’t know where I was staying either. That way you wouldn’t have to lie to the police. When I got here I just found the door unlocked.”
Hannibal walked to the kitchen, pulled off his glasses and gloves, and began exploring cabinets. “Walt Young invited you to his condominium? That’s certainly different.” He wondered what kind of a lawyer was stupid enough to keep a woman who may soon be a murder suspect in his own home, even for a brief time.
“He’s done everything he can to help me, Mister Jones,” Francis said, still standing and looking lost in the big room. “He knows I haven’t killed anyone.”
Hannibal’s cabinet search was fruitless, but he found a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator and poured two glasses half full. “Tell me, Francis, did you know Walt before you left your husband?”
Francis eased onto one of the stools on the other side of the island and accepted her glass with a nod. “Never saw him until just before the trial. And that’s one of the things I wanted to correct, Mister Jones. I never left Grant. He left me.”
Hannibal tasted his own wine in order to encourage her to drink hers because he thought she needed something to relax her. “I see. But that’s not the reason you wanted to talk to me.”
Francis looked down into her glass, drank it nearly dry, and returned to her downward staring posture. “Mister Jones, I want you to know that I haven’t killed anyone. Not ten years ago. Not last week. But I know what it’s like inside and I won’t let my son go there. I told Walt that if Dean is in danger of conviction I would confess to last week’s murder.” She looked up, moisture hanging in her eyes. “He said I should talk to you first.”
Hannibal realized now that Young had left his own condominium empty on a Sunday afternoon because he thought only Hannibal could prevent her from making a terrible mistake. He hoped Young was right.
“Ma’am I think offering yourself up like that would help no one. Please just give me a little time to track down the real killers. I know some people might think Dean is a killer. More people think you are.”
“I didn’t know this boy who died last week,” Francis said. “And I could never have hurt Grant.”
Hannibal refilled her glass. Up close, her eyes were so clear and blue he didn’t think she could hide the truth there. “Even if he was untrue to you?”
To her credit Francis stared right back into his hazel eyes. “I know Grant was… I know he had another woman, Mister Jones. It wasn’t hard to figure out from what Dean told me in bits and pieces after Grant and I separated. It hurt, certainly, but not enough to turn my love into hate.”
Hannibal’s breath stopped in his throat and he held her eyes with his own. It had never occurred to him that she might know. “Francis, did you ever get an idea who that other woman might have been?”
“Of course,” Francis said with a smile that he would have called wistful in other circumstances. “I’m not the idiot Grant’s family would have me be. It was the young woman who used to baby-sit for us. She was beautiful of course, and probably no more than nineteen or twenty so, I mean who could blame him?”
Hannibal was bursting to fill in the rest, but he didn’t want to risk planting it in Francis’s mind. He closed his eyes and hoped. “Any chance you remember her name?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it was Joan. Yes, Joan something or other.”
“Yes!” Hannibal realized that his smile must have startled Francis. He upended his wineglass and paced around the kitchen island. “I think I might just have it. Oscar, the victim Dean’s accused of murdering, worked for a woman named Joan. I think she might well be the link. If she was the same girl who baby sat for you…”
“You think Grant’s girlfriend killed him?”
“Probably not,” Hannibal said, pulling his gloves back on. “But I do think she was married at the time. And based on what you just told me, her husband would have had a good, solid motive for killing yours. And if Oscar found out about it somehow, there’s a motive for the second killing.”
Hannibal’s excitement faded in the face of Francis’ quiet demeanor. He waited for her to tell him what he was missing. When she spoke, it was with well-practiced helplessness.
“No one will believe you. My son testified in court that it was me he saw.”
“Well, did he?” Hannibal asked.
“Of course not,” Francis said, her fists curling at her sides. “It was that horrid Ursula. She must have badgered him until he thought he saw what she told him to see. But no one will believe him now if he changes his story.”
“I think we can change that,” Hannibal said, stopping to stand beside her. “We intend to probe Dean’s memory tonight. I think what we get will hold up in court and…” Hannibal was interrupted by three sharp knocks.
“That must be Walt,” Francis said, moving toward the door. “We can find out right away what will stand up in court.”
Hannibal pushed his glasses back into place, prepared to have some words with the lawyer about having his client at his home. He never got to say them. Francis pulled the door open and found herself staring up at the imposing figure of Stan Thompson.
“Good evening Mrs. Edwards,” Thompson said. “You’re under arrest for murder.”
25
Francis gasped and fell back, allowing the detective to step through the door. Two uniformed men entered behind him. While one of them produced handcuffs Thompson began reading Francis her rights. Hannibal interrupted him by standing between him and the woman, allowing barely an inch of free space between their chests.
“Mind telling me just what the hell you’re doing?”
Thompson breathed liver and onions down into Hannibal’s face. “What I’m doing is arresting a suspect. You want to add interfering with an arrest to harboring a fugitive?”
“A fugitive?” Hannibal said. “Since when?”
“Oh, since about a half hour ago,” Thompson said. He looked past Hannibal to Francis who was flanked by the other two policemen. He smiled at her the way the winner of a chess game smiles at the loser. “The lab boys finally finished their analysis of the wounds and guess what? Looks like Oscar Peters was killed with the same knife that went into Grant Edwards. Same weapon, same approach, same entry point. That was enough to get me a warrant to come in here. Lucky thing I had a tail on the great detective here.”
“Thompson, you son of a bitch, you set me up.” Hannibal bared his teeth. Thompson turned his maddening satisfied smile to him.
“A real detective uses all the resources at his disposal, son,” Thompson said. “And since I’m in such a grateful mood, I’ll invite you to come along peacefully. Or do we need to put the cuffs on you too?”
“Yeah, I think you’d better,” Hannibal said. His face relaxed just before he hooked his right fist up into Thompson’s midsection. He watched the big detective double over and back away a few steps then turned to face the two uniforms. They stepped away from their prisoner and pulled their clubs into attack position.
“Hold on, boys,” Thompson said from behind Hannibal. “No need for violence. I’m sure Mr. Jones will cooperate now that he’s gotten that little bit of spite out of his system. Won’t you, Mr. Jones?”
Hannibal filled his lungs with deep, angry breaths. He was ready for violence of the worst sort, but he realized that it wouldn’t help Dean, or his mother, for him to be locked up for physically abusing a couple of innocent police officers. Little by little he slowed his breathing and even more gradually he raised his fists straight out in front of him. One of the policemen produced his handcuffs and quickly turned Hannibal around. Hannibal was surprised to see Thompson’s smile fade when they heard the click of the cuffs behind him.
