you?”
“Oh no, of course not,” she said. “I left school for the abortion. I was kind of surprised to see him again at the Russia House.”
Hannibal watched the men’s faces. It appeared that he was the only person in the room surprised by the mention of an abortion.
His mind returned to Viktoriya’s ruthless husband. Had he gotten Viktoriya pregnant in college? Or what about Boris, whose wife believed he had a thing for her? Hannibal already knew that Raisa was prone to blackmail. Maybe the abortion produced another income stream for her until the blackmailer had had enough. It could be a motive for murder, but it didn’t fit very well with Raisa and Dani being killed by the same weapon-unless Dani had embarrassed the folks back home and someone was sent to clean up all evidence of his transgression.
Before Hannibal could decide on the right way to ask who got Viktoriya pregnant, Ivanovich stood.
“Let us step outside for a moment.”
Ivanovich held the door open for Hannibal and followed him outside. They walked toward the stairs with Hannibal in the lead. He assumed that Ivanovich wanted to protect Viktoriya from the obvious questions, but when they stopped he pulled out his wallet and handed Hannibal a check, folded in half. For the first he looked past Hannibal, avoiding eye contact.
“You have done your job honorably,” Ivanovich said. “I know we did not meet in the best way, and that I took advantage of you, but once you made a commitment you did all that you agreed to do. I want you to know that I am also an honorable man. This is fair compensation for a job well done.”
Hannibal nodded and slipped the check into an inside jacket pocket without looking at it. Now, even in Ivanovich’s mind, the case was over. Hannibal nodded and shook his most recent client’s hand. Ivanovich started back toward the room, but stopped when Hannibal did not follow.
“Will you not come in to say good-bye?”
“No need,” Hannibal said. “Neither of them needs me in their lives anymore. And probably neither do you. I have strong ties to law enforcement and you don’t need their interest rubbing off on you.”
“I see,” Ivanovich said with a wry smile. “And we all have ties to organized crime and you don’t need those associations either.”
“Look, I don’t know what your future holds, and it’s probably best that way,” Hannibal said. “Just protect the girl for a couple more days until I can get in front of Uspensky and convince him that she doesn’t have the missing money or know where it might be. Some losses you can recover and some you can’t. I’m afraid he’s just going to have to eat this one.”
“She would be safe if you gave up Tolstaya.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Hannibal said, turning toward the stairs. “But his wife is there with him. Even if I was prepared to throw Tolstaya to the wolves, I’m not prepared to toss Queenie out with him. Just watch her until you hear from me, OK? I’ve got my own life to take care of.”
The clouds broke open just as Hannibal reached his car. The blackness leaned in, turning afternoon into night and the beltway into an elongated parking lot. Hannibal cranked Van Halen up as loud as he could stand it to blot out the sound of cold, watery fists beating against his roof and hood. He knew it wouldn’t last long.
Only a light drizzle pattered on the street when Hannibal stepped out of the Black Beauty to inhale the sharp freshness of storm-cracked ozone. Inside his office, he stood in the middle of the floor for a few moments, enjoying the peace of having the space to himself for the first time in several days. He draped his jacket over his chair, planning only to call Uspensky to give him what little information he had and to plead for an end to the hostilities. But the flashing light on his phone told him there might be more pressing matters. He had two messages and one of them might be from Cindy. Feeling just a little anxious, he pressed the button.
“Mr. Jones. This is Eric Van Buren, down at UVA. We spoke on the phone in Detective Rissik’s office.”
“Damn,” Hannibal said.
“Listen, I’ve been thinking about my old student, Hamed Barek. I’ve remembered some details that might be of interest to you in your investigation. If you’re still interested, give me a call.”
Hannibal wasn’t sure there was any reason to learn more about Barek, AKA Roberts AKA Gana. He pushed the message button again.
“Jones, this is Orson.” Sigh. Again, not the voice he was hoping for. “I just got a call that Hamed Barek’s mother is in Washington. She’s here from Morocco to pick up her son’s body, which they moved to Baltimore expecting to do an autopsy, which, of course, she put the kibosh on. She’s interested in talking to somebody who can tell her what happened to her boy, and I thought you’d like to talk to her too. Give me a call.”
This was more interesting. She might have some insight as to where he left the money, and Van Buren might have some good conversation starters to offer, so he’d return that call a bit later. But first, he needed to get hold of a certain Russian mob boss.
It proved easier than expected to get through to Uspensky. Hannibal simply called the office and gave the receptionist his name. When Uspensky picked up his phone after a surprisingly short wait, Hannibal heard a mixture of impatience and gratitude in his voice. Even without knowing what Hannibal had to say, he seemed to appreciate the fact that he called at all.
“Jones. You got something for me?”
“I’ve come across some information you might find of value,” Hannibal said. “But it’s not the kind of news that belongs in a telephone conversation.”
“My day’s already pretty full. Be here tomorrow around 4:30.”
Knowing the fates of Nikita Petrova and Boris Tolstaya made mobsters less intimidating. “You asking me or telling me?”
Long pause. Hannibal could almost feel Uspensky’s mind working. Weighing options. Considering possible outcomes. Cost-benefit analysis.
“Can you be here tomorrow around 4:30?”
Better. “Why, yes, I think my schedule is clear at that time. I’m sure I can make it. And it will be worth it to you. See you then.”
Hannibal felt a little better when he hung up the phone. In his world, one relished one’s small victories. He checked his watch and decided that he didn’t want to deal with either Rissik or Van Buren so close to the end of their workdays. Seeing the time also made him realize how hungry he was. He had missed lunch entirely and dinner time was coming up. And that made him think of Cindy. His Cindy, on her way to dinner with a slick real estate salesman. Unless they decided to dine later. But he knew she liked to eat early.
His right hand moved of its own accord, snatching the phone off its cradle again. While he held it, he used his left to tap computer keys. In a few seconds he had the phone number to Bobby Van’s. He dialed and took a deep breath, knowing that he was crossing some invisible line.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten what time my reservations are for tonight.”
“Sorry sir,” the hostess said. “Your name?”
“Johnson,” Hannibal said. “Reggie Johnson.”
“Yes sir. Johnson, party of two, for 6:30.”
“Great. Thank you.”
Now, what did his hands expect him to do with that information? He looked out at the hazy, indecisive sky. The rain had stopped, but the eaves still dripped in front of the big windows. Was it clearing, or just taking a breath before another burst of rain? Would it become really light before the darkness set in?
Could he just sit there and watch the darkness take over?
Early evening was the worst possible time to be driving into the District, especially if you were struggling up from Southeast to the opposite corner of the city. The only good point from Hannibal’s point of view was that he would not be holding anyone up if he cruised down the street slowly. The rain had stopped and sharp sunbeams came in from the west, giving the sidewalk and the asphalt on the street a sparkling sheen. Even the air looked cleaner, and the Washington Monument glowed like a ghostly signpost.
The steakhouse sat in an old bank building practically around the corner from the White House. Hannibal wasn’t sure where he would park and was even less sure of what he would say to Cindy when he arrived. Would it be less rude to join them or to ask Reggie to excuse them for a moment?
