to get me to protect him. I should have listened.”
“Wait a minute,” Mark said. “You mean the old man found out she was being blackmailed?”
“Nope,” Hannibal said. “But she went to Oscar’s house a few times to try to pay him, to threaten him, maybe to just talk him out of taking her dough. Maybe she even tried to seduce him.”
“No chance with that swish,” Joan muttered. Her fear was slowly transforming into anger.
“Anyway, you worked hard to make your meetings public knowledge. To old Langford and most of your employees, it looked like you were going out with him. Poor Oscar, unable to resist the ego boost, even told people the two of you were dating. That didn’t bother you, did it? You were counting on Langford to do what he always did when you showed serious interest in a man. And he didn’t let you down.”
Mark nodded. “I see now why you kept our relationship secret. You were protecting me from him.”
“Well that does fall together well,” Thompson said. “It would be a snap for the old man to hide the knife in Dean Edward’s apartment. But that makes the motive for the actual murder jealousy. Oscar wasn’t really killed for what he knew at all. Dean Edwards really had nothing whatever to do with that killing.”
Hannibal shook his head. “Nope. Except that he was an awfully convenient scapegoat. An acceptable sacrifice neither of them was concerned with. Not the target, just collateral damage.”
34
Sunday
Oronoco Park, on the shores of the Potomac River in Alexandria, was a world away from Hannibal’s backyard in the District. Trees lined the rocky shoreline but not so close together that they obscured his view of the deep blue river or the speedboats bouncing across its mirror surface. Fortunately, their foliage was enough to mute the grating snarl of the boat engines. It was a perfect autumn day, the sun bright enough to warm his bare arms below his golf shirt sleeves, the breeze just strong enough to keep him from reaching the point of perspiration. The breeze also carried the aroma of sizzling barbecue sauce from the bank of portable grills. Hannibal’s mouth began to water in anticipation.
Hannibal had attended any number of backyard picnics, park side picnics and company picnics at past jobs. However, this was his first catered picnic, and he was enjoying watching the cooks in their aprons and tall white chef’s hats, the scurrying servers and hustling cleanup crew, happy to be left out of the labor force. He was amazed at what Bea Collins had been able to pull together in just five days. He sat on one of the wooden picnic tables standing outside the huge tent-like covering the crew had erected that morning. From his perch, he could see everyone who had attended his own backyard cookout a few days earlier, plus several more folks, all in a party mood. Bea and Dean Edwards sat at the table, hand in hand. A few feet away, Francis Edwards and Harry Irons sat side by side in folding chairs. Harry squeezed Francis’ hand and spoke around a cigarette.
“That future daughter-in-law of yours sure puts on a spread, don’t she?”
“It was the least I could do for all the friends and family who helped see me through the last couple of weeks,” Bea said. “And I wanted us to get to know each other a little better before the big ceremony.”
Hannibal’s gaze wandered beyond Bea to a spot further along the riverside dirt path where Janet Ingersoll sat on a blanket watching Monty and her son Nicky tossing a Frisbee back and forth. Cindy had been talking to her and was just walking away, laughing. She was dressed much as he was, except that her jeans were much tighter. As she approached him and perched on the table, she tilted her face to one side and grinned at him.
“What’s this? You holding class today?”
“Oscar wasn’t killed because of what I told him at all,” Dean said.
“Nope,” Bea said, running a hand through Dean’s hair. “It all had nothing to do with you, baby.”
Hannibal considered how easy it had been for the old man to destroy this boy’s life and his mother’s. Remembering the Peters, Hannibal knew Langford Kitteridge had managed to destroy two families. But looking at Bea with Dean and his mother, he began to believe that sometimes, broken families can heal.
As if to contradict his last thought, Hannibal’s beeper began to vibrate against his waist. He turned it off without looking because he knew who was buzzing him. Across the open field, past the volleyball court, Quaker leaned against Hannibal’s car. He stared down the street to his left with his hands held in what most people would call the “time out” sign, although Hannibal knew it meant “trouble.”
Hannibal hopped off the bench without losing his smile and sauntered toward Quaker. He didn’t want to spoil the party, which is why he didn’t tell Bea, Dean, Janet or even Cindy that he was on the alert for trouble. He was prepared to face two different sources of conflict that day and had asked Quaker, Sarge, Ray and Virgil to take turns on informal sentry duty.
By the time Hannibal reached the sidewalk Isaac Ingersoll was about 30 yards away, walking slowly toward the park as if the path was up a steep hill. The way a man walks when part of him doesn’t really want to arrive at his destination. Wanting to make it easier for that part of him, Hannibal moved at a brisk pace to meet him halfway.
“Hey Isaac. What’s going on?”
Ingersoll stopped just short of walking into Hannibal. “I don’t want no trouble. Just want to see Janet. Just for a minute. Tell her how I’m doing. Maybe she could come home?”
Isaac’s clothes were clean but rumpled, as if he had taken a nap in them. His voice was softer than Hannibal remembered hearing it in the past. His eyes looked milky, and Hannibal wondered if he was under medication.
“Isaac, you know that if you walk down there into the park that whether you want it or not, there will be trouble.”
“I just want to tell her how well I’m doing,” Ingersoll said. “I don’t want her to give up on me.”
Hannibal looked at the ground, hands on his hips. “Isaac, Isaac. You know she doesn’t want to see you yet. I know you’re trying, man, but she’s not ready.”
“I’m doing good in the program,” Ingersoll said, his voice close to pleading. “I haven’t missed a session. Some of the guys in there don’t really want to change but I’m not like them. I love her.”
“I know all about the batterers’ program, Isaac. It’s thirty-six weeks long. It’s a bit soon to declare victory, don’t you think?”
Ingersoll took one tentative step forward, pushing his bulk into Hannibal’s personal space. “Counselor says the program’s got like a two-thirds success rate. I know I’m already really changed. Just want to tell her.”
Hannibal stood his ground, now having to look up to maintain eye contact. “I’ll tell her. Isaac, trust me, this is a bad idea. Please, please let’s not make this physical. Let’s not ruin your chance of her ever opening up to you.”
Hannibal hardly reacted when he felt his beeper vibrating again. He knew he had to maintain his focus on the situation at hand. He worked at appearing relaxed while on another level he decided on what his first, second and third strikes would be if Ingersoll pressed the issue. But until he did, Hannibal had to give the big man’s recent anger management training the benefit of the doubt.
While Ingersoll showed the muscle-locking tension of a man wrestling with his own demons, Quaker stepped up behind Hannibal and reached out to rest a hand lightly on Ingersoll’s shoulder.
“Hey buddy, why don’t we go talk somewhere? I’ll buy you a beer.”
Hannibal could see Ingersoll’s shoulders begin to relax. He was standing down. The moment of greatest tension was past. When he spoke again it was one word. “Janet.”
“Listen, Isaac, I’ll have her call you, okay? Okay?”
Ingersoll nodded, and Quaker took his arm. “Good deal, buddy. Now let’s go get that beer.”
Hannibal smiled and stepped back slowly. Quaker turned Ingersoll with a hand on his arm, and the two men headed down the street. Hannibal figured he owed Quaker a lot more than the cost of however many beers they gulped down that day. Then his mind shifted to the picnic. He fell into an easy jog back to the group.
In a moment, he walked up behind Ursula Voss, the other disruption he had hoped to avert from ruining this day of quiet celebration. Looking over the graying bun at the back of her head he realized it was too late for him to affect the situation. The conversation had already started. Dean looked startled. Bea seemed distressed by the conflict. Standing behind them, Francis fumed. Harry held her hand tight, as if trying to rein in a lioness that sees her cubs attacked. Ursula faced them, her voice implying that she was the victim here.
