get it. Cooper understood brain chemistry better than anybody I ever even heard of. This was the real deal, man, a genuine cure for addiction. Think about it. Freedom from cigarettes, cocaine, even heroine, in seventy-two hours. You think guys will pay big for Viagra? This could be the pharmaceutical find of the century. That’s why he hid the formula. He planned to sit on it for a couple of years until he had no obligations to Isermann. If it wasn’t for that accident, you know, but still his daughter was going to be set for life based on that one discovery.”
Hannibal’s mind took flight before Hathaway finished. Could Cooper’s formula really mean the end of junkies on the street? Freedom from the grip that crack had on his city and its people? Maybe even an end to alcoholism? How much would a pharmaceutical company pay to control the prescription medication of a lifetime?
“Well then,” he said, rising from his seat, “I guess I’d better be about the business of finding this magic formula, eh?”
“And I’d better get to work,” Hathaway said as he moved toward the steps. “Hey, I sure wish you luck. And you know what? Forget about them boys last night. They gave me a good scare, but they could have been a lot rougher and I guess you needed to know what I knew.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate your understanding, Mr. Hathaway.”
“Buddy,” he called from the sidewalk. At least you know where to start your search. Who else but a pharmaceutical company would want Cooper’s secret?”
“Who else indeed?” Hannibal wondered aloud. Could there be an underground market for this stuff, maybe to sell bundled with illegal drugs? Or, might someone want to hold this chemical, keep it off the market, to sell to wealthy cocaine users for an exorbitant price?
A pensive Hannibal moved toward the door to check out and settle his bill but some buried instinct caused him to turn around. There was a nondescript man across the street near Hannibal’s car. He wore running clothes and stood with hands on knees, but Hannibal had the feeling this jogger had been staring at him. As soon as Hannibal spotted him, the runner moved down the street at a fair runner’s pace. Probably just his own paranoia, Hannibal thought.
Except that the man hadn’t had a drop of sweat on him.
Cindy met Hannibal in the hall outside Anita’s hospital room. His pulse always gained a few beats per minute when he saw his woman and reacted to her smile, her hair, and her impressive shape. But lately he was more aware of her accessories. Her blue, man-tailored business suit was from Ann Taylor’s. The matching heels were Jimmy Chou. Her small clutch purse was a Louis Vuitton if his memory served him. She had always looked like a million dollars. Now he wondered how many thousands she was wearing.
“Thanks for pulling away from the office,” he said, taking her into his arms for a quick peck on the lips. “I know you’re busy, babe.”
“I can still claim a lunch hour, and I’m always glad to meet you, lover. Besides, things are running themselves pretty well. The offering is taking off at a surprising pace. We’ve got some good buzz on the street.”
“Great,” Hannibal said with a smile. Her scent only amplified the warmth her smile granted him. She was wild flowers and vanilla and maybe some sweet wood and something else. Was this the Estee Lauder Intuition he gave her for Christmas?
“You okay?” Cindy asked.
“Just breathing you in, babe,” Hannibal said. “Did you have time to work with Marquita on her finances?”
Cindy slipped an arm through Hannibal’s and started toward Anita’s room. “Hey, when my man puts me on a mission, I take action. The first thing we did was list her property on the market. She doesn’t need that much house, and it’s a lot to take care of anyway. She also has quite a bit of rental property scattered around the area, some heavily mortgaged but some almost free and clear. A few letters to creditors will keep them off her back until we can raise some cash and streamline her debt picture. Now we just need to get her packed up and in a nice new place in time for the sale of this place.”
“Sale? Kind of optimistic aren’t you?”
“You don’t know the market in that area, lover,” Cindy said, flashing her triumphant smile. “We’ve already got two offers, both higher than the asking price.”
The tinny intercom calling for an anesthesiologist reminded Hannibal why they were there. As he steered Cindy into Anita’s room he whispered, “Remember, you’re the good cop.”
The room was quiet except for the intrusive beeping of electronic monitoring equipment. Isaac towered at the foot of the bed with his thick arms crossed, his pale Nordic eyes already focused on the door. His face lit with a smile as he recognized the newcomers. On the far side of the bed, Henry stood in what Hannibal feared were the only clothes he owned, just staring down at Anita’s sleeping face as if he thought he could heal her through force of will alone. Hannibal gestured toward Henry, but spoke to Isaac.
“He been here the whole time?”
“Well, he takes breaks for food and sleep, but, yeah,” Isaac said. “Devoted.” Isaac knew about devotion the way a recovering alcoholic knows about sobriety. A reformed spouse abuser, he responded to classes and therapy by becoming a fanatical family man. Hannibal didn’t think it worked that way very often, but when it did it was an encouraging triumph of the spirit.
“Isaac, would you please take Henry out for a cup of coffee or something?” Hannibal said. Henry’s head jerked up and he moved to Hannibal’s side with a quiet grace that had to be the result of long training.
“I’m charged with monitoring her progress,” he said, his words very quiet and yet very hard.
“I need to speak to her without interference,” Hannibal said. “You were right before. I may have to be stern to get the information I need and I can’t have her looking to someone else for support. Don’t worry. Ms. Santiago will look out for her interests.”
Henry glanced in Anita’s direction, muttered, “Five minutes,” and left the room. Isaac followed, and Hannibal turned his attention to the patient.
Anita had no mouth or nose tubes, but fluids were still dripping into her arms. The bruise on her right cheek had turned a pale orange, which did not match the purplish crescents under her eyes. Someone had straightened her nose, a process that Hannibal knew from experience was painful. A red line and a tiny bit of thread showed that her lower lip had taken a stitch or two.
Hannibal took Henry’s post on Anita’s right and nudged her arm. Her eyes opened and a warm smile was stillborn as she realized that a substitute had taken Henry’s place. Her eyes darted from Hannibal to Cindy on the other side of the bed and back again. Her brow creased with worry.
“Mr. Jones, what are you doing here, and who is your friend?”
“This is Cindy Santiago,” Hannibal said. “She’s an attorney, here to make sure I don’t violate your legal rights in any way. She is also connected to your case in another way I’ll explain later. As for me, I’m here to find out who hurt you. In order for me to continue, you will have to be open and honest with me.”
Anita’s jaw set. “I told you, I don’t know who hit me. Why won’t you believe me?”
“He could come back,” Hannibal said. He detected blood on Anita’s breath. Had her assailant loosened a tooth?
“It’s not your job to protect me. You should be out finding my father’s legacy, whatever it is.”
Before Hannibal could explain, Cindy leaned forward to take Anita’s hand. “Ms. Cooper, I want you to know that I’ve spent some time in the last couple of days with another woman who might be classified as a victim of this man, Rod Mantooth. He left her emotionally crippled and on the verge of suicide by drinking herself to death. Forget about Hannibal’s quest or whatever connection you might be able to regain with your father by receiving your mystery inheritance. I need to know where this man is, and if you know, you owe it to every woman alive to tell me.”
The beeping accelerated and seemed to become louder in the otherwise silent hospital room. Anita stared hard into Cindy’s eyes and squeezed her hand until their fingers were white. Her eyes crinkled, fighting to contain tears and begging the other woman for understanding.
“I don’t want revenge,” she said. “I just want my money.”
“You contacted him somehow?” Hannibal asked.
“I saw him,” Anita said. She seemed to overcome the tears, but words poured out instead. “I saw him. I was coming out of the Giant and there was that car, sitting in the parking lot. I dropped my groceries and waited for him. When he came to the car he looked right through me, as if he didn’t recognize me. I told him I knew he had
