feared for a moment that she had forgotten him and was playing a video game. Then he saw her face pull back in surprise.
“Sir, when you say, where he came from, do you mean originally, or…”
“Both.” When it was offered, he would take all the information available.
“Well, originally, he was from Liberia City, Liberia,” she said. “But he came here from UVA.” Not just a different name, but a different country of origin as well. And he had studied at the University of Virginia before moving to Washington. Hannibal was considering the significance of that fact when the girl made a hmph sound, that sort of surprised sound that people make when they want to tell you something but know you probably wouldn’t care. Of course, Hannibal did.
“What’s that?” he asked, leaning over the counter to see the screen.
“Oh, I was just thinking how predictable some people are,” she said.
Scanning the screen, Hannibal’s eyes hit a familiar name. “There, on his schedule. Krada. Is that professor Jamal Krada?”
“You know Dr. Krada?” she asked. “I was laughing because he’s from Africa and he gets all the African students. Myself, I want to learn America, so I try to get all the American instructors.”
“You know, I think you’ve got the right idea, young lady,” Hannibal said. “In fact, I think I’ll go talk to Dr. Krada right now. I’d like to know just how close he gets to his African students.”
20
Hannibal was peeling down Sixth Street to duck under a yellow light when she answered the phone.
“Hello, Mrs. Krada. It’s Hannibal Jones. Is your husband home this afternoon?”
“Yes,” she said, in the tone she might use if she wasn’t sure what the right answer might be. “Hold on and I’ll go get him.”
“No need,” Hannibal hastened to say. “I’m kind of in the neighborhood and I wanted to thank him in person for his help. Please tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I…all right.”
“Thanks,” Hannibal said. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
“Oh. Um. Yes. Good-bye.”
Hannibal was just wondering if there was a school to learn how to train your woman that well when his phone rang.
“Hey, honey,” Cindy said. The cheerful wave she sent through the phone was riding on a tide of weariness.
How you doing, babe?” Hannibal asked. His anger at Krada evaporated for the moment. “And how goes the hunt for the million-dollar dream house?”
“The hunt is kicking my little Latin ass, sugar,” she said. Hannibal heard a pencil scratching on a pad. “I’ve fallen so far behind at work that I’ll be here in the office all day and most of the night just trying to catch up.”
“Jesus, on a Sunday, babe?”
“Just wanted you to know,” Cindy said.
“It’s sweet of you to let me know, babe. I’m still working that same case, so no worries.”
“All right,” Cindy said. He could tell she was multitasking, and let a couple of seconds of dead air pass. “And I won’t be looking at any more houses for a day or two. But I still haven’t seen my dream house. We’ll sit down tomorrow night and go over a few more prospects on paper to see what’s worth going to see.” She said it almost as an afterthought, as if meeting another man at night was not really worth mentioning. Hannibal felt his anger welling up behind its fragile wall again.
“Yeah. Well, listen, let me go ahead and get back to work,” he said. “Maybe I can wrap this up before tomorrow night. Maybe I can join you.”
“Oh.” He swerved around a slow pedestrian, hearing the writing stop for a moment. “I guess. I didn’t think you were interested in the house thing, but if you want to.”
“I’m here, babe,” Hannibal said as he pulled into the Krada driveway next to a navy blue Lexus. “Let’s just see what happens.”
Hannibal got out of his Volvo and looked over the roof at Krada’s car. If Krada drove a Lexus LS, he wondered what his wife drove. As low as his expectations were, peering into the garage doors still disappointed him. The two-car garage was empty. Nina Krada was certainly home, so it appeared that she didn’t have a car at all.
The front door flew open and Jamal Krada came flying out toting a briefcase and wearing a frown. He was halfway to his car before he realized that Hannibal was already there. With one hand on the car door handle, he faced Hannibal while his face tested a number of expressions, as if he was trying to decide on his reaction.
“Dr. Krada,” Hannibal said, striding toward him, “I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to ask you about a man I’m looking for. He may be using an assumed name, but I have a photograph.”
“Look, I am a very busy man,” Krada said, yanking his door open. “My wife was wrong to tell you I was available. I need to get to the university right now.” He sat in his leather seat and slid his key into the ignition. Hannibal reached into his jacket to retrieve the photograph while his right hand gripped the top of the car door, preventing it from closing.
“Yeah, yeah, busy. That Sunday afternoon class you’ve just got to get to. Right. But for now you can just confirm that you know this man I’m looking for. He goes by Dani Gana now, but you might have known him as Gartee Roberts.”
Hannibal held the photo at Krada’s eye level. After one hard but unsuccessful yank on the door, Krada looked at the picture. His eyes went up to Hannibal’s, and returned to the photo, before he sat back in his seat, facing his windshield.
“Yes, I know the man. He was a student of mine here. That must have been three or four years ago. I have no idea where he is now.”
“What about the rest of this crew?”
“I’ve never seen any of the others before in my life,” Krada said. “May I go now?”
Hannibal released the door and Krada slammed it shut. He started the car, slammed it into gear, and pulled back out of the driveway. In seconds he was gone. Hannibal wondered if Krada was being evasive or just plain lying. If he was in contact with Gana, he could be part of the cover-up.
While Hannibal stood beside his car, Nina Krada opened the door and took a tentative step outside. Her eyes scanned the world, looking for evidence that her jailer was returning. She stepped down the three front steps on bare feet, moving as if she was sneaking out. She walked toward Hannibal even though her eyes never touched him. She stopped beside him, pressing her upper arm against his, as if for warmth. She looked at the photo in Hannibal’s hand and grimaced, then raised a hand and touched one face with a fingertip.
“Her.”
Hannibal looked at her nervous eyes. “You know this woman? You’ve met Viktoriya Petrova?”
Nina nodded. Hannibal waited for her to talk.
“He has these parties,” she said, staring into Hannibal’s collarbone. “He invites all his students. Many of them are also African. I have to serve them. They are children, but I have to serve them.”
He could feel her resentment. She must have felt that she had to serve them like a servant girl in her master’s house. He could imagine Krada showing off his importance to these young students while his wife brought them snacks and drinks and cleaned up after them. At that moment, Hannibal wished that Jamal Krada had killed someone, so he would have an excuse to beat the man’s face in.
“Nina, are you saying this girl attended your husband’s parties?”
“Yes,” she said. “He wanted her.” Her finger stabbed Gana’s face.
“So they were schoolmates,” Hannibal said. “Thank you, Nina.” She smiled at him and, on an impulse, he kissed her very softly on the cheek. She beamed back at him the way a dog does when you pat its head. Hannibal got back into his car. She watched as he backed out of the driveway.
