taken something from the house.”
“You confronted him?”
“He must have sold whatever he took, I figured, so I demanded a share of what he got. I told him he owed me at least that much.”
Hannibal doubted the conversation went quite that way, but the result was pretty clear. “He laughed in your face, right? I mean, he sure didn’t see you as any kind of threat. So why would he be so rough?”
“He said I was stale. Used. He needed fresh…” Anita’s entire face clenched and the tears finally flowed down the sides of her face.
Cindy completed her sentence. “He needs fresh meat. That bastard.”
“I was so angry, and ashamed.” Anita sobbed now, not trying to hide it or hold back. “I wanted to hurt him, but I couldn’t. So I took my keys and I made a scratch. Right on the door of his precious car.”
Good for you, Hannibal thought.
“That was very brave,” Cindy said. “Very brave and stupid. Look what he did to you. But Anita, why didn’t you tell the police who it was?”
“They’d put him in jail,” Anita said. “If he’s in jail, I’ll never get any of my money.”
Hannibal knew she had other, deeper reasons for not sending Rod to jail. Hannibal couldn’t guess how it might affect her if she was the reason for Rod getting arrested.
“Okay, you just stay here and rest up and heal,” Hannibal said. “I’ll find this guy and when I do I’ll make sure you’re made whole. I swear it.” Hannibal knew that commitment could have two meanings, and he meant it both ways.
Only Cindy’s presence enabled Hannibal to contain his frustration as he slogged through the stagnant midday traffic. Fairfax Inova was in fact in Falls Church, Virginia, positioned so that Washington was accessible without having to leave the highway. But even after the Monday lunch hour, driving the beltway was like swimming through maple syrup. After a couple of miles on I-495 he turned onto I-66, which moved even more slowly. His tension was compounded by the fact that he had surrendered the stereo to Cindy, who flipped the radio to the smooth jazz station. In this kind of traffic, with the air conditioner blowing full blast, he desperately wanted to rock out.
Eventually he reached the Constitution Avenue exit, dropped Cindy at her building, switched to an AC/DC CD and got back on Constitution for what he knew would be a leisurely roll east. Driving slowly through the city didn’t bother him the way slow motion on the highway did. After all his years in residence, Hannibal still enjoyed the eclectic architecture that downtown D.C. offered. Nodding his head to “Highway to Hell,” he smiled at the city’s internal conflict, symbolized by the contrast of the ostentatious Smithsonian buildings on his left and the park-like stillness of the Capital Mall on his right. Tourists rushed about on his left, trying to see how much they could see in one day. On his right, locals meandered across the thin grass on their bikes or on foot.
Then he maneuvered onto I-395, which moved a little faster and dropped him onto I-295, which flowed faster still. That carried him down past the Navy Yard and across the river into his own neighborhood, Anacostia.
Hannibal stepped out into the humidity, surprised to see Marquita’s silver Lexus a few spaces ahead of his own. In the hallway he was even more surprised to hear movement in his office. The door was ajar. Hannibal rested his hand on the Sig Sauer hanging under his right arm and stepped toward the door, careful not to make a sound. The opening was just wide enough for one eye to see through, but the view prompted a soft smile. Marquita stood leaning back against Hannibal’s desk. Sarge had an arm around her waist and was pressing forward slowly for a kiss. It was the kind of moment that makes a man feel like a voyeur, but also makes it hard to turn away.
Then Sarge’s free hand tenderly touched Marquita’s thigh, and Hannibal saw her flinch. Sarge froze, the moment shattered. Hannibal felt Marquita’s pain, but he knew that Sarge carried his own scars. He was a survivor, a man who had come through firefights in Vietnam, fistfights in Mississippi, the spiral into homelessness and the long climb back to self-respect. Hannibal wasn’t sure he could take another blow to the heart. He was strong, but Marquita was damaged goods, and trying to hold her together could break him apart.
Hannibal took two silent steps backward, then almost stomped forward and pushed the door open. Sarge snapped erect and pulled back from Marquita, who grew a quick, nervous smile.
“Didn’t expect to find you guys here,” Hannibal said, pulling his jacket off and hanging it on the tall coat rack beside the door without looking directly at his guests. “Hang on a sec. Be right back.”
Hannibal walked through the next three rooms of the converted flat to the kitchen at the back and pulled a bottle of filtered water from the small refrigerator. Sarge and Marquita were more composed when he returned with it to the office. Hannibal gave Sarge a questioning look.
“I wanted to get Markie away from that house for a while.” Sarge said. “Then, when we got here I decided to show her your office, you know, give her the tour.”
Hannibal went to the coffee pot on the small table beside his desk and poured the water into the reservoir.
“I think that was a good idea. I was going to call you, but since you’re here I can update you in person.”
“Did you find out something from Anita?” Sarge asked. Hannibal poured Hawaiian Kona beans into the other side of the coffee maker, hit a button, and spoke over the whirring sound of the beans being ground.
“My client, Anita Cooper, was beaten pretty badly Saturday night.”
After a brief pause to inhale the aroma of fresh-ground beans, he sat behind his desk and continued.
“This morning she admitted to me that Mantooth did it.” Marquita sucked in a breath and her fawn colored eyes stretched wide open. “Yes,” Hannibal continued, “He’s back in the area.”
Marquita’s shock and fear pushed her into a different world from Sarge’s immediate rage.
“We gotta find this son of a bitch.”
“No,” Hannibal said, keeping his voice calm. “I gotta find him. You need to stay on your assignment. Keep Marquita safe until this is over.”
Marquita clung to Sarge, placing a hand on his chest as if wanting to literally cling to his heart. Mantooth had a lot to pay for, but bringing these two together could turn out to be an unintended consequence of his evil. Good could come of it, but they needed time. Hannibal pulled a credit card out of his wallet.
“I want you to take Marquita out of town. Someplace with lots of people, but peaceful. An amusement park, or the beach or somewhere. Here, it’s a legitimate expense for the case. Get her to someplace nice while I’m on the hunt.”
Once Sarge was packed and on the road, Hannibal filled a mug with coffee and sipped on his feet. He found himself pacing his office with no leads, no clues and no next step. He had done some skip tracing work before, but Mantooth was being more elusive than anyone Hannibal had pursued before. He seemed to live on cash alone, no credit card or checks. He used an alias for hotels and, it appeared, any other services he used. Still, people have pasts and people make mistakes. With no better course available, Hannibal hopped back into the White Tornado and headed for the courthouse to check for public records. Again, the midday traffic on I-295 was onerous. He could always amuse himself for a few minutes reading the license plates around him. He was certain that the Washington area had the highest per capita rate of vanity plates in the country. Decoding them was always amusing, at least for a while. When that grew boring he decided to have a consultation with a doctor.
“You must have me on speed dial,” Quincy Roberts said after a secretary passed Hannibal’s call to him. “What kind of trouble are you bringing me now?”
“Not trouble, Doc, just a couple of questions,” Hannibal said as 2COOL 4U slid past him on his right. He looked at the driver. She wasn’t.
“I’m free for about fifteen minutes,” Roberts said. “But I’ll bill you anyway. What can I do for you?”
“First, tell me why a guy would steal the formula for a new painkiller. What with aspirin, acetaminophen, ibuprofen, codeine and a dozen others already there, what’s the big deal?” Now a guy in a suit was rolling past in H8 2 W8. Why was the right lane moving so much more quickly?
“You could just as easily have asked, why was ibuprofen of any value after acetaminophen was found,” Roberts said. “To oversimplify, every one of the drugs you named works differently. If a new one came along that lasted longer, or worked better for arthritis pain or migraine headaches, it could be worth a fortune. And since development cost is so great, stealing the formula saves a company a great deal. But these pharmaceutical companies have very good security.”
“Yeah,” Hannibal said, “but you can’t really defend against a guy working on an undocumented project,
