Cindy waited until she and Hannibal were out of the police station before she turned and hugged him. He briefly returned her embrace, but his mood would not allow for much affection. He located his car and stepped quickly toward it.
“Thanks for bailing me out, babe,” he said. “I knew if I called you everything would be all right. Do you think Walt will be able to get Francis out too?”
“Not likely,” Cindy answered. “They’ve formally charged her with Oscar’s murder. And I’ve got to admit that if I were a judge I’d consider her a flight risk.”
When they reached the car, Cindy handed him the keys. It was not until that moment that he realized what had happened.
“Did you drive my car over here?”
“Seemed like the most practical thing to do,” she said as they got in. “I didn’t think you wanted too many people to have that address you gave me, so I just took a cab over and got it.” Hannibal nodded. Knowing Cindy didn’t own a car, he wasn’t sure she had a current license, and decided not to ask.
“You know the evidence they’ve got against her?” he asked.
“Yes,” Cindy said, “And Walt and I have already asked for copies of all the photos and documentation describing the two knife wounds. But from what I’ve heard, all the circumstantial evidence points to the same killer in both incidents.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Hannibal said, pulling out into traffic. “But I’m surer than ever that the killer isn’t Francis Edwards. Now, if you’ll excuse me a minute, I owe somebody a phone call.”
Hannibal pushed buttons on the phone hanging on his visor, and three rings later Kate Andrews answered. “Wanted to keep you in the picture,” Hannibal said. “They’ve arrested Francis Edwards for the murder of Oscar Peters. If you’re hot you might be able to break the story.”
“Appreciate the thought,” Kate said, “but our stringer on the police beat already caught it. Did she do it?”
“Not a chance.”
“Well, I don’t know if this helps, but Joan Kitteridge didn’t do it either,” Kate said. “I checked out her alibi, and she most definitely was at a Falls Church Chamber of Commerce dinner until a few minutes before we saw her Monday night. Lots of witnesses who have no reason to lie for her. There’s no way she could have done the deed.”
It was no surprise, but still Hannibal had wished otherwise. “Thanks Kate. I’m on my way now to one place we might get a clue as to who did.”
26
The scene at Charter was more like some satanic ritual than a cross-examination. Dean lay in his bed at the center of the room, bright ceiling lights giving his face an almost angelic glow which combined with the innocent expression to give him the look of a victim or, perhaps, a sacrifice. An intravenous drip flowed into the inside of his left elbow. Dr. Quincy Roberts sat on his right, holding a small medallion hanging from a short chain. Off to the left, in the dimmest corner of the room, Hannibal sat holding Bea’s right hand. Cindy held her left. All eyes were on Dean, all faces strained. The look reminded Hannibal of cult members who knew what they had to do, but felt guilty for being willing participants in a grim sacrifice.
They had listened to Quincy’s slow rhythmic speech for ten minutes, while Dean stared at the twirling coin and counted down from ten to zero. Hannibal didn’t like hypnosis, was perhaps a little superstitious about it. Or maybe he just didn’t like the idea of losing control of his own thoughts.
After what seemed like a very long time, Quincy turned to face his audience and said, “He’s ready. I’ve prepared him to answer any question posed by Ms. Santiago.”
“You’re on, babe,” Hannibal said. Cindy sighed, stood, and switched seats with Quincy. She took a couple of deep breaths, then looked up and smiled at Dean. His eyes floated in a nearly closed posture, but he may have seen her.
“Now Dean, I need for you to answer some questions for me,” she began. “I need for you to think before you speak, and to tell me the truth when you answer. Don’t worry about how you might have answered a question in the past. Don’t worry about what I or anyone else might want the answer to be. Just tell me the truth. Can you do that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean muttered. Bea sobbed hearing him speak almost as a child. Hannibal squeezed her hand.
“I want you to remember the night your father was killed,” Cindy said. She was looking for a reaction, but there was none. “Can you do that for me?” Dean nodded.
“You were at home with your father and someone came to visit you, is that right?” Another nod.
“Who did you see?” Cindy asked.
Dean’s brow knit for a moment. “Nobody.” Hannibal slid his glasses off and stared hard into Dean’s face.
“Now, Dean, I want you to go back there now,” Cindy said in her most soothing tones. “I want you to really be there that day. Can you do that?” Dean nodded his head but was otherwise still. “Where are you, Dean?” Cindy asked.
Dean snapped his head back and forth, as if trying to shake something off. A lie, perhaps. “I’m on the dining room floor, behind the door. There’s yelling. A fight.”
“Whose voices?”
“Papa’s,” Dean said. “Papa and…Mama?”
Cindy leaned closer. “Are you sure it’s her voice?”
“I think so. It’s a woman, but she’s kind of whispering. But Papa’s shouting. Really loud.”
Hannibal felt Bea shuddering beside him, but his focus was on Dean’s face, which showed an inner conflict of some kind.
“After the fighting, tell me what you heard,” Cindy said. “Everything you heard. Like you’re there right now.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose without his eyes opening. He cocked his head, as if he could hear those awful sounds again. “They’re fighting. Papa yelling, yelling. Then… then the door. Yes, the door opening. Now it’s quiet for a second. Then the thump.”
“Thump?” Cindy asked after a moment of silence.
“The thump. And now I hear footsteps. Quiet again. I get up to see what’s going on now it’s quiet.” Dean shuddered in his bed, then snapped upright like a puppet whose strings had been yanked hard. “Mama screams really really loud so I run out to see what happened and…”
Everyone jumped when Dean’s eyes snapped open. He sat still, and Hannibal could tell he wasn’t seeing anything. At least, not anything in the room right then. Perspiration dripped into Dean’s eyes, but they did not blink from the horror in his mind. Cindy reached out to cover one of his hands with her own.
“Tell me what you see, Dean,” Cindy said. “You have to tell me what you see.”
Dean’s eyes clamped shut and big tears dropped from them onto the white sheets. “Mama. Mama is standing over Papa with this huge knife in her hand. Blood’s coming off the knife. She’s standing in his blood. It’s on her shoes. It’s all over.” Dean’s voice rose into hysterics before Quincy pulled Cindy away and took her seat.
“Dean, this is Dr. Roberts. All that you saw is in the past. The distant past. It can’t hurt you now.”
“Want to bet?” Hannibal said under his breath.
Cindy turned to Hannibal, wrapping her arms around him. She was shaken by her part in this drama, but he was barely able to hold her. He was energized by what he had heard. He stood, pulling her with him, struggling to be quiet while Quincy talked Dean back into a restful sleep.
“If that’s the truth it’s sure not what he said in court,” Hannibal said. “Did you hear it?”
Bea looked up, her brow knit. “I heard him say he caught his mother with the knife, standing over his father. What a horrible thing for a child to see.”
“No, no,” Hannibal said, breaking away from Cindy and pacing toward the bed. “There was an argument, but
