Sometimes Hannibal thought he could actually hear trouble coming. In this case the distinctive sound of a smooth twelve-cylinder engine drew his attention. He had barely settled into his office chair for the first time that morning when he heard the Jaguar shut down in front of his building. Hannibal stood back up, pulled on his black suit coat and slid his Oakley sunglasses into place, confident the car’s occupants would head for his door. After all, the Jaguar was not a species native to the Anacostia section of Washington D.C., and when strangers came to this neighborhood, he was usually the reason.
The man who pushed the door open left his back to it, offering only a sideways view of himself, and scanned the room quickly. He stood an inch shorter than Hannibal’s six feet, with quick, sharp eyes and a neutral expression. He was wiry but solid, and appeared neither nervous nor relaxed. In many ways he reminded Hannibal of himself. Except of course that this man’s skin was Neapolitan olive while Hannibal’s was more cafe au lait. When they locked eyes, Hannibal recognized the professional in his visitor. Subtle cues marked him as trained by those outside the law, not the law enforcers who trained Hannibal.
“You Hannibal Jones? The one they call the trouble shooter?”
“You’re in the right place,” Hannibal said. “Have a seat and ask your principal to come in. Unless he’s shot at me before he’ll be safe in here.”
A woman’s husky voice said, “Don’t be so dramatic, Ike.” The body clicking into the room on three inch spike heels was definitely worth guarding, in Hannibal’s estimation. A black knit dress three inches short of her knees showed her to be round where a woman should be round. Wavy hair caressed her face like a lover’s hands and she had the kind of eyes that saw all but revealed little. Despite all this, Ike watched everything in the room but her as he dropped onto the edge of the chair on the other side of the room.
“Hannibal Jones, this is Nina Bonnaventura,” Ike said.
Hannibal rose to his feet and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. What brings you to my humble office?”
“Trouble,” Nina replied. “Isn’t that why anybody comes to you office?”
“Does this problem have to do with the family business up in Jersey?” Hannibal asked, waving her into his visitor’s chair. “I try not to meddle in those affairs.”
Nina flashed an alluring half smile. “So you know the name, eh? Well this problem has nothing to do with that business. It involves Charlie Devoe.”
Hannibal sat and leaned back in his chair, outside of the range of Nina’s heady perfume. “Yes, I’ve been following his trial. And now I have an idea why you’re here. You’re not in trouble, you want me to help Devoe somehow. Since he’s black, you figure a black guy can help him best. Am I getting warm?”
“You don’t waste time, do you Mr. Jones?” Nina asked. “But in fact, I am the one in trouble. I need your help in deciding what to do.”
Hannibal sat quietly and waited. Some people wanted to be drawn out, and would arrange their stories to unfold based on someone else’s questions. On occasion the game was enjoyable. With a man’s life at stake, Hannibal chose not to play. After ten long tense seconds, Nina uncrossed her legs and shifted in her seat.
“I may have evidence that would dramatically affect the outcome of this trial,” She said.
“Then spare yourself my fee and offer it to the court. Devoe could spend the rest of his life in prison if he’s convicted.”
Nina leaned forward conspiratorially, pushing the envelope of her perfume around Hannibal again. “I could face serious consequences if I became involved,” she said. “But I won’t let a man go to jail for killing his wife when I know he didn’t. Now if other evidence were to prove him innocent, then….”
“Then you won’t have to face those consequences.” Hannibal stood and extended a hand to his new client. “I’ll give you one day’s work while I figure out if I can help you at all. Now why don’t you wait outside for a moment? Ike and I will handle the business end of this.”
Ike nodded to Nina that this was reasonable. When she crossed the threshold Hannibal stepped around his desk to stand three inches from Ike’s side. He watched Ike’s face closely. Ike didn’t seem to mind.
“Five hundred dollars for the first day. More if I continue. Expenses extra.”
“I know,” Ike said. Hannibal spotted the waistband holster on Ike’s right side when he pulled his wallet from an inside jacket pocket.
“You work for Vinnie Bonnaventura?” Hannibal asked. “Are you a made man?”
“I’m not really part of that business. I take care of Nina. She’s a non-player. And this Devoe thing has nothing to do with Vinnie.”
“Your loyalty is to Nina,” Hannibal said. “Is she the wife or the sister?”
“Wife,” Ike said, eyes to the floor for the first time. “But listen, they’re not together right now, get it? She’s staying at the Premiere for a while.”
“But he still has you watching over her,” Hannibal said. “That tells me something. So what if she gets involved in this Charlie Devoe thing?”
“I would find myself in a very awkward position.”
“I’ll need to talk to him,” Hannibal said, pocketing his fee. “Know where they’re holding him?”
“Trial’s going on today. He’s right down in the Alexandria courthouse on Fairfax.”
* * *
Some guys look like the wrong side of Velcro when you meet them. Others look too slick for anything to stick to them. Hannibal’s first impression of Charlie Devoe was that he was Teflon coated.
The room was barely large enough to hold the wooden table and four chairs. Devoe leaned back on one of them, wearing a navy suit that cost four figures and an iridescent silk tie. His skin was unusually black, but his nose and lips seemed too thin for his color. H was smoothly shaved with very short hair. He flashed a smile any male model would kill for.
“Okay, so the mystery visitor’s here,” Devoe said in a soft West Indian accent. “Have a seat and tell me why you’re here.”
Hannibal chose to stand, and to leave his sunglasses and thin black leather gloves on. His black suit cost less than Devoe’s, and they both knew it.
“I’m here to help you, Charlie,” Hannibal said, handing over one of his cards. “Someone thinks you’re innocent and they’re willing to pay me to find the proof.”
“Well isn’t that nice,” Devoe said, flashing deep brown seductive eyes. “Lucky for you they’re right. I didn’t kill my wife.”
“The prosecution believes otherwise,” Hannibal said. “And you certainly had a motive.”
“What, her money?” Devoe almost laughed. “Hell, she gave that to me anyway.”
“Maybe not as much as you would have liked,” Hannibal said, not smiling at all. “It took Evelyn Johnson, excuse me, Devoe now, almost twenty years to build her little fried chicken shack into a chain of successful restaurants, and when the franchise set up goes into action next month her fortune will likely expand quite a bit.”
“You did your homework I see,” Devoe said. “Yeah, it took her a long time to make all that money. She must have loved me very much to share all that success with me, eh?”
“And before the marriage two years ago you were….?”
Devoe held his hands wide. “Hey, I’m what I always was. A gambler. A hustler.”
“A ladies’ man?”
“Hey, Evelyn accepted me for what I am, warts and all.”
Hannibal gave him a hard look. “All I’ve read about Ms. Johnson led me to believe she was a woman of breeding and style. She was a leader in the black community not just in D.C., but in the capitol area. So a successful, attractive, wealthy woman closing on fifty chooses you? It’s hard to see.”
Hannibal had to admit Devoe had a devastating smile. “Hey, you know how it is with women. Sometimes they want a little wildness in their lives.” Devoe actually winked at Hannibal. “I’m good at supplying that.”
Hannibal forced his mind in a more useful direction. “She was shot through the heart with a thirty-eight revolver covered with your fingerprints.”
“It was my gun.” Devoe shrugged, again trying to bring Hannibal in on the joke. “I gamble for a living, my friend. Did you think I wouldn’t have a piece?”
“Papers say you have no alibi. Coroner establishes time of death between two and three in the morning. Maid found her body at seven-thirty. Where were you all night while your wife was busy getting murdered?”
Devoe stopped smiling and sipped from a cup of water. Hannibal figured this must be the face he played poker with. “Evelyn was the ballet type, you know? I’m more into horses. I drove up to Rosecroft Raceway for the day. It got late. I found a place to stay.”
Hannibal paced the room, left to right in front of Devoe. “This place you found to stay, did it have any witnesses in it, do you suppose?”
“The guys I shoot craps with don’t talk to police, brother,” Devoe said, his smirk returning. “Some of the betting that went on that night, well, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call legal, know what I mean? I might not survive long if I was to cop to where I was or who else was there.”
The room felt even smaller than it was, so Hannibal headed for the door. “Well I’m getting paid to see if you might get off, so I guess I’d better talk to your lawyer.”
“Hey!” Devoe’s call betrayed an unexpected note of desperation, so Hannibal stopped to look back. Devoe’s face had changed, as if opening the door had pulled the plug holding the confidence in him. As it leaked out he began to look smaller.
“Look here, I’ve never been in the joint in my life. I don’t think I can do time. Now I won’t pretend I was in love with Evelyn, or even that I did right by her. But I’m not a killer, man, you must see that. Don’t let them burn me just cause I was a bad husband.”
* * *
Hannibal’s meeting with Devoe’s lawyer was just a few blocks from the courthouse. Hannibal’s White Volvo GLT pulled into a space beside the corner restaurant just as the lunch rush began. The sun was a bright autumn ball directly overhead, but the sharp glare it cast was a cold light. Frank Gordon sat at an umbrella table in the Blue Point Grill’s outdoor cafe area. The pencil thin attorney in the blonde crew cut held his fork like a scalpel, his every move an expression of precision. He looked up and smiled, yet Hannibal hesitated because Gordon had company.
“Come on, have a seat,” Gordon called in a slightly Yale flavored accent. “Harriet decided to join me for lunch for a change.”
Hannibal removed his gloves and sat facing the street, to the left of Mrs. Gordon. She wasn’t fat, but plump enough to make her appear even shorter than she was. Her thin brown hair cupped her face like hands she was trying to hide behind. She smiled as Hannibal sat and seemed startled when he offered his hand.
“Something to eat?” Frank Gordon asked, slicing into his own grilled swordfish.
“I’ll hit the raw bar inside after we talk,” Hannibal said. “I really just wanted to get a feel for Devoe’s chances, from your point of view.”
“Frankie will get him off,” Harriet said between bites of sea scallops. “He’s the best at this type of thing.”
Hannibal tuned into the Coltrane rolling smoothly out of the restaurant’s sound system. “Yes, I’ve heard some very positive things about your defense record, Frank. How’d Devoe get so lucky as to hook you for his lawyer? Court appoint you?”
Gordon glanced at his wife. “Actually, I owed him a substantial debt, so he kind of pressed me into service.”
“Who would have thought that “Mister Ballet and Symphony” would get himself in this position,” Harriet said around a mouthful of food. To Hannibal’s surprise the jibe went unanswered.
“I’ve got to admit this is no slam-dunk,” Gordon said. “I was out of town when the crime took place, but I’ve read the newspaper reports, and the prosecution’s brief. They’ve got motive, means and opportunity, and a couple of pretty damning pieces of circumstantial evidence.”
“Yes,” Hannibal said, “and all you have is a pretty weak and unsubstantiated story.”
“Too true, but maybe you can change that if you can pin down proof of his whereabouts. You never explained your interest in this case, by the way.”
“Not interested, personally. But I’m working for someone who is. So, do you think he’s telling the truth?”
Gordon cleared his palate with a long drink of water. “Do I think he murdered his wife? No. Do I think he spent the night in some illegal gambling den? I’m not so sure.”
Harriet glanced at her husband, then Hannibal. “Somebody’s paying you to look into the case? Must be a pretty close friend of his.”
“Yes,” Hannibal smiled. “Must be.” Before he could continue, a black Jaguar easing past stole his attention. Ike sat at the wheel and for a moment Hannibal feared the passenger might get out and walk up to him. Instead, the car slowed, then sped away. Hannibal released his breath slowly. He did not want to have to explain who she was to this lawyer. As it turned out, it would not have been necessary.
“That was Nina Bonnaventura’s car,” Gordon said. “She lunches here often. Do you know her?”
“Don’t suppose she was looking for you?” Evelyn asked.
“Unlikely,” Hannibal said, “Although I am meeting her a little later today. But how do you two know her?”
“Can’t always choose your clients,” Frank said.
“And believe it or not, we seem to travel in the same social circles as she and her gangster husband run in,” Harriet said.
Frank shot a cold look at his wife. “She seems a pleasant enough lady, although they’re a bit low brow for my tastes.”
“Your tastes,” Harriet repeated coldly. “Well, she did leave her husband so maybe she really is no longer to your taste.”
“Well, I’ve got an appointment in the district,” Hannibal said, smiling as he rose. “Maybe I’ll grab something to eat on the way.” He didn’t want to be in the middle of their personal conflict, and besides, he didn’t want to be there if Nina Bonnaventura returned.
* * *
Hannibal drew a stare from the desk clerk when he walked into the Premiere Hotel at the Kennedy Center, in what the brochures referred to as “historic” Foggy Bottom. He went directly to the elevators and rode up to the top floor without asking for assistance, or giving anyone a chance to earn a tip. This made him stand out in such a place.
He knocked firmly on the door to Nina’s suite. Then he stood back far enough for a person using the peephole to get a good look at him. When the door finally opened Ike used a pistol to wave Hannibal inside, then closed the door and locked it again.
“Is that really necessary?” Hannibal asked.
Not really,” Ike said, holstering his gun. “Nobody wants to hurt Mrs. B. but, you know, it’s my job. She’s on the balcony.”
Hannibal walked through the expansive room and joined her, eight floors above the streets of the nation’s capitol. Ike stood behind him, inside the room but with the glass door open a couple of inches. Nina sat huddled into a chair, a scarf over her hair and glasses shielding her dark eyes.
“So, were you looking for me?”
“No,” Nina said, drawing on a straw stuck into what appeared to be a home made milk shake. “I was just going to stop for lunch. Ike said I shouldn’t, with you there. Said I shouldn’t be seen with you until the trial is over.”
“Ike is a wise man,” Hannibal said.
“Well, what did you find out? Will Mister Devoe be convicted?”
“That may depend on a few things,” Hannibal said, lowering himself into a chair. From that altitude, the people below looked as small as most people’s attitudes made them seem. “Would you mind a couple of questions?”
Nina noisily emptied her glass, with the kind of slurp most folks stop making before they reach twenty. “What did you want to ask me?”
“Well, why are you staying here instead of across the street at the much bigger and more prestigious Watergate?”
Her brows rose in surprise. “I suppose I’m simply not attracted by history and prestige.”
“I doubt it’s a money issue, unless of course you feel like by slumming, relatively speaking, you deny your need for your husband’s money.”
Her cold eyes rolled over onto him viciously. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”
“Well, yes,” he said. “Were you Charlie Devoe’s lover?”
Nina sat upright, her long neck stretched to its limit. Her skin paled beneath its surface tan and her eyes almost doubled in size. “Why in the world would you ask me such a thing.”
Behind him, Hannibal felt Ike fidget. With Nina’s reaction, it was sufficient evidence for him. “You’re the missing alibi, aren’t you? Devoe probably has been up all night gambling from time to time, but that night, while his wife was being murdered, he was here with you.”
Nina’s lips curled in and her eyes became shaded. She replied in a harsh whisper. “I never intended to fool around on Vinnie. He treats me like garbage but I’m still his wife. I never set out to hurt him that way.”
Hannibal wanted to speed up her story. “You never intended to have another man. But you did. You found Devoe.”
“He found me.” Nina looked away from him, and her story flowed as freely as her tears. “Vinnie bought me horses because he thought he was supposed to. We were going to change our social set, he said. But he never cared about those horses and he never cared about spending any time with me. And up there, around the track, I meet a guy who is everything Vinnie ain’t. Kind, and attentive, and adventurous and…”
“And smooth,” Hannibal said. So smooth no neglected wife could resist him. He was her romantic escapade, while she was just another notch on his bedpost. But this notch could save his life.
“You wanted to know if Devoe could get off without you testifying for him, right? Actually I guess you both did. He didn’t tell me about you and, near as I can tell, he didn’t tell his lawyer either. I’m sure I get why.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Nina was on the edge of hysterics now, her long carefully manicured nails digging into her palms. “If Vinnie found out what I’ve done he’d kill me.”
Hannibal stood and stared into the open space before him. “Someone else must have seen him come and go. The desk clerk, a bellman. If they’re questioned…”
“This place is known for its discretion,” Ike said behind him. “Unless Mrs. D comes forward, they’ll all conveniently forget Devoe’s face.”
“Do you think you can get him acquitted without my testimony?” Nina asked.
“It’s possible,” Hannibal said. “If he’s not guilty there has to be evidence. The police have such a good case they’re not motivated to find it. And these trials tend to run on a bit, so we’ve got time. I promise to see what I can do, anyway, to save you both.”
Nina pulled the scarf from her head to wipe her eyes. That resulted in a mascara-smeared scarf and unruly, disarrayed hair. Deprived of husband and lover, and faced with a life and death decision, Nina Bonnaventura had lost all motivation for taking care of herself. She raised her glass to the remaining man in her life.
“Ike, could I have another please?”
“Sorry, Mrs. B, we’re all out of ice cream.” Ike’s answer prompted her to cloud up again, her face falling in on itself, tears again glistening in her eyes. “Okay,” Ike quickly said. “I’ll pop down to the shop and get some more.”
“Mind if I join you?” Hannibal asked.
* * *
“She’s not really a bad woman,” Ike said as he headed out of the hotel shop with a pint of Hagen Das mocha mint. “She was just looking for, you know…”
“Yeah,” Hannibal said. “A little wildness in her life.”
“Sure,” Ike said with a grin. “And you know what? Mr. B.’s not really a bad man, either.”
“Not bad for a leg breaker, you mean.”
Ike took no offense at Hannibal’s remark. “He moved down here to get away from all that stuff. I think if they’re just given a little time, they’ll work it out. Of course if this Devoe thing comes out…”
“I came downstairs with you because I wanted to ask you something,” Hannibal said. “You never said anything to Vinnie or his guys about all this?”
Ike pushed the button for the elevator, shaking his head. “You crazy? In my world, they DO shoot the messenger sometimes. Besides it wouldn’t have lasted. This guy didn’t like me being around all the time. I read him the riot act once. You hurt my lady, I mess you up, you know?”
As the elevator doors slid open Hannibal said “You know, you’re not really a bad guy either, Ike. And you’re in a hell of a tough spot.”
“You know what’s funny? This is the first time she ever fooled around on him. Now I figure, with them separated for months, anything goes. You can bet he ain’t laying there lonely every night.”
“So she was a good girl, just an easy target.”
Ike nodded, but his jovial smile dropped completely as they approached the door. They had locked it when they left, but now it stood ajar. Ike drew his pistol, held it against his leg and walked in. Behind him, Hannibal eased his own gun out of its shoulder holster. They moved, fast and silent, across the room, checking the balcony, the closets, the bathroom, even under the bed, before they would allow themselves to turn their attention to the body lying face down in the middle of the floor.
Ike stood off a few feet, hands trembling, while Hannibal knelt beside Nina Bonnaventura’s form. Her arms were extended in what would have been a very uncomfortable position if she could feel anything. Hannibal was pretty confident that she couldn’t. Her dark wavy hair was now dyed a bright red that ghoulishly matched her nail polish. The red was still spreading to either side of her head, flowing gently from a cleft at the back of her skull. A gloved finger pressed into her neck revealed no pulse. She faced left, but her open eyes now saw nothing and revealed less.
“I’m a dead man,” Ike moaned. “God, I was only gone a minute.”
“Which means whoever did this was watching her pretty close,” Hannibal said, standing. “Who knew she was here?”
“Nobody,” Ike said, starting to pace. “Mister B. didn’t want anybody to know they were having trouble.”
Hannibal sighed deeply, shaking his head at the ugliness to come. “Well, we better call the police and get this over with.”
Ike paused, his hand already turning the doorknob. “Police? Are you nuts? I don’t do police, buddy. Besides, I don’t know who the hitter is, and for all I know I’m on the bull’s-eye too.”
“Whatever,” Hannibal said, listening to the door slam shut behind him. This one was for him alone, he guessed. He holstered his automatic and reached for the phone.
It took a couple of minutes to get through to the woman who would accept his anonymous call. The telephone game bored them both, and the woman’s voice betrayed an added element of anger or frustration. He wanted to report a murder but no, he would not reveal his name. No, he had nothing to do with the victim. Yes he was quite sure she was dead and no, he had no idea who she was. Yes, here’s the room number and, no he would not be there when the police arrived and, no he would certainly not touch anything because it was after all a crime scene. And finally, thank you for being a concerned citizen.
Hannibal was in no hurry. It would take the police a good fifteen minutes to reach him and he had no place to be right away. He was rather suddenly unemployed. That was fine with him, since he had little sympathy for Charlie Devoe. And he figured the police would eventually solve Nina’s murder.
The elevator seemed to stop at every floor until he finally reached the parking garage. But as he approached his car he noticed a man sitting on the hood of the Thunderbird parked behind him. He was reading the Wall Street Journal. Nothing about the man seemed unusual. He was a businessman, maybe, a guy who got to the gym three times a week and managed to maintain his college physique. But then, Hannibal slowed his walk. What was that sound behind him?
Oh, yes. He recognized the sound of trouble coming his way. Two men, both taller and larger than the businessman were delivering it. Hannibal stopped within reach of his own car’s door handle and stared back at the businessman, who greeted Hannibal’s stare with a smile.
“All right. Lay it out for me.”
The businessman stood slowly, folding his paper. “You come with us. Mr. B. wants to interview you personally about this business with his wife.”
The men behind Hannibal stood close enough for him to smell the testosterone in their breath. “Just like that? You ain’t got no more respect for me than that?” Hannibal had been kickboxing since high school. His training gave him a sense of where he was relative to people around him. His back kick was fast enough and hard enough to double one of his followers over. The other man swung, but Hannibal ducked under the punch easily and slammed three quick hooks into the man’s middle. A right cross put him down.
“Stop that,” the businessman said. He held a small automatic close to his side, pointed at Hannibal but just out of reach. “I thought we could be professional about this. Now you can get in the car, or I can shoot you in the leg and you can get in the car.”
Hannibal looked at the two followers, who had stood up but were making no threatening moves. Their faces were passive, mildly annoyed. One held his hand out. Hannibal nodded and held his suit coat open for the man to take his gun. Then he shrugged his shoulders and got into the car.
* * *
The silent ride ended at a large rambling structure in a quiet neighborhood in the Washington suburb of Silver Spring. Hannibal’s three escorts formed up around him at the perfect distance, controlling but not pushy. The front door opened before he reached it and he walked through the cathedral living room and down into a sunken family room. Acrid cigar smoke stung his nose as he entered.
His impression of the room was that it was over-decorated. Corner shelves and a pair of display cases were crammed with little figurines with no consistent theme he could see. The paintings crowding the walls were the kind of still life and landscape material so popular in hotels. The ornate black lacquer entertainment center held holding a huge television set and a stereo with more components than Hannibal could name. He assumed the woman had done the decorating. The ornaments chosen by the man included the matched pair of heavyweights parked on the love seats to his left and right.
The man facing Hannibal was fullback big with a beer belly pressing the waistband of his polyester pants. He apparently slicked down his thick black hair with thirty-weight oil. The man set his cigar in an ashtray and rolled to his feet. Hannibal heard his escorts behind him shift to either side.
“I see,” Hannibal said. “You’re Bonnaventura, right?”
The man answered with a hard slap, his ham-like hand twisting Hannibal’s head around fast enough to send his dark glasses flying across the room. He followed up with an uppercut that sank deep into Hannibal’s gut and drove him back into the arms of his escorts.
“I want to know why,” Bonnaventura said in a low growl, “and you’re going to tell me.” The men who caught Hannibal tossed him forward again, directly into the path of a loping right that caught him on the side of his jaw.
The helpers caught Hannibal again and flipped him forward, but this time he got his guard up in time. He took a pair of punches on his forearms, then snapped his gloved fist out in three sharp jabs.
“I heard you used to do the muscle stuff,” Hannibal said, bouncing on his toes. “Glad to know you still do some of the work yourself. But I’m curious. I just called the police a couple of minutes before your goons grabbed me. People are going to wonder how you knew something happened to your wife so fast.”
“Didn’t think I had such good connections, did you? I know everything goes through every police phone in the district, punk.”
“I should have realized it was you right away,” Hannibal said. “After all, how many people knew where she was?”
“Nobody but you, stud,” Bonnaventura said, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, and unexpectedly swinging out again, catching Hannibal on the chin. “Should have known. I always knew my Nina liked the dark meat.”
Hannibal stifled his urge to kick, thinking it might bring the others into the battle. He was trying to figure a way out of the house alive while he bobbed and dodged the bigger man’s blows and landed a couple of telling left hooks. “Jealousy. Typical motive. She got you so mad you couldn’t stand it.” Hannibal’s next right staggered Bonnaventura and he backed off a step. “Did you do it yourself? None of your pros would have been so sloppy.”
“Do? Do what?” Bonnaventura charged, his arms gathering Hannibal up and slamming him back hard into the wall. He stared up into Hannibal’s eyes and shouted, “What did she tell you before you killed her, you bastard?”
“Me?” Hannibal reached up behind Bonnaventura to pull his hair back hard. “You trying to pin this on me? I was working for her, idiot. I think the cops will buy abandoned husband as killer a lot easier.”
Hannibal slammed his right knee into Bonnaventura’s belly and the arms lost their strength. But when Hannibal shoved the man away he seemed to float backward, like a robot whose batteries had died. He dropped onto the sofa he had risen from, his eyes unfocused.
“Kill her?” he asked no one in particular. “How could I kill her? I loved her.”
Hannibal stared at his host, along with the other men in the room. Had Bonnaventura been trying to beat a confession out of him? He replayed their conversation between punches, realizing they had been speaking at cross-purposes. His hands dropped to his sides and his eyes went toward the ceiling.
Bonnaventura said, “I seen a lot of hit men in my time, and you don’t act like a guy who…”
“Wait a minute,” Hannibal said, holding his hands palm forward. Two of the muscle men approached and he repeated “Wait!” a bit louder. Bonnaventura waved them away. Silence held the room for thirty long seconds. Then Hannibal quietly murmured “he loved her,” moved slowly to the corner and recovered his glasses.
“You didn’t kill her, Vinnie, and neither did I. But I think I know who did.”
* * *
Frankie Gordon looked more puzzled than worried when he opened the door.
“Mr. Jones. Are you all right? You look like you’ve been…”
“In a fight?” Hannibal walked in quickly. “Very perceptive. They dropped me near here so I hoped I could clean up, maybe use your phone.”
Harriet Gordon almost ran into the room. “Who’s there, Frankie?”
“Just me, Mrs. Gordon,” Hannibal said, stepping toward her. She held her purse tightly under one arm but with a quick movement he snatched it away from her. “You got a tissue in here?”
“No!” she shouted, lunging for him. Hannibal easily pushed her away.
“You keep other secrets in here, right?”
“What’s this all about?” Frankie asked. He also reached for the purse, but one sharp jab from Hannibal backed him up and sat him on the couch.
“I wanted to tell you I solved the Devoe murder,” Hannibal said. “Charlie’s innocent, but you already know that. Why else would you defend him?”
“I told you,” Frankie said, tenderly touching his sore mouth. “I owed him…”
“Right,” Hannibal said, backing toward the door. “Gambling debts. Mister, what did you call him, ma’am? “Mister ballet and symphony.” Not the circles Charlie Devoe traveled in. So, one wonders how you would have met him. Then I remembered Charlie saying that his wife Evelyn was more the ballet type. Is that where you met her?”
Harriet stared hard at her husband, hatred showing in her eyes. “He knows,”
“I know now,” Hannibal said. “Before I just suspected, but not much else made sense. There had to be a reason for you to have killed both women.”
“You saying Harriet killed Evelyn Devoe?”
Hannibal almost laughed. “No other reason for her to kill Nina Bonnaventura. Nobody knew where she was except her husband. But then I told you I was going to meet her today. It was easy enough for Harriet here to follow me straight to her, and to slip in as soon as she was alone. Nina knew you, Harriet, so she just opened the door. And then she turned her back. Whatever you hit her with, you should have left it at the crime scene.”
“That doesn’t explain why Harriet would kill the woman.”
“You figured out that Nina hired me to help Charlie Devoe,” Hannibal said, leaning back against the door. “Maybe you even deduced that Charlie was Nina’s lover. So you figured she must know who the real killer was. That’s why she had to die, before she told anyone. When we talked at lunch it was pretty obvious I didn’t know.”
Harriet shrank into a corner of the couch, but her husband leaned forward. “Why this is absurd. What possible reason would my wife have for killing the Devoe woman?”
“Please,” Hannibal said. “You met Charlie Devoe through his wife Evelyn, right? You didn’t travel in Charlie’s gambling circles but Charlie described his wife as the ballet type, and you are, in your wife’s words, Mr. ballet and symphony. I figure you must have met her more than once. You were very discreet, but your wife found out about your meetings with Evelyn. And I’ve already seen how jealous your wife is. That night, while you were out of town, she went to the home of the woman who was stealing her husband. She was filled with rage. She found a gun in the house, and shot the adulteress in her sleep.”
Harriet made a little whimpering sound, as if the memory of her action was crushing her in the corner. Frankie sat up straighter, and resumed his lawyer’s tone. “None of this holds together, it’s all just speculation. All the evidence concerning the first murder points to Charlie. And whoever killed poor Mrs. Bonnaventura, surely has disposed of the murder weapon by now.”
“Oh certainly,” Hannibal said, noticing the lights coming in the front windows on either side of the door. “But she didn’t leave whatever blunt instrument she had just lying around. She had to carry it away in something. I’m betting it was her purse.” Hannibal opened the small bag and looked inside. “And I’m also betting that the dried blood in here will match Nina’s blood.”
The two-tone bell sound made both Gordon’s jump. Hannibal merely stepped away from the door and reached back for the knob. “That will be the police,” he said.
* * *
Charlie Devoe drove his new white El Dorado through the gate and swung around to stop right in front of the door. He stretched as he got out, clearly not caring if he wrinkled his hand made Italian suit. The sight of Hannibal Jones sitting on his wide wrap around porch did not dampen his smile, although one eyebrow did rise in surprise.
“Well hi there, Mister detective man. Come out to celebrate my release? Come inside and I’ll pour you a tumbler of the best damn cognac you ever tasted.”
Hannibal rose slowly to his feet, his mirror Oakley’s transferring none of the distaste his eyes would have revealed. “No, I’m not here to cheer you on, Charlie. Just to pin down the last of the details of how you did it. Call it compulsive behavior. I have to know I got the story straight.”
“Whoa,” Charlie said. “Slow down, brother. How I did what?”
“I’m not your brother,” Hannibal said through clenched teeth. “I just want to know if you were screwing Harriet Gordon while you were screwing poor Nina Bonnaventura.”
Charlie’s smile dropped and his eyes became wary. “The cops send you here? You wearing a wire?”
“No wire, Charlie,” Hannibal said. “And I’m not working for the police. In fact, I promise you I won’t tell anyone anything you tell me. Just saying that would make my testimony worthless in court. I just want to know.”
Charlie nodded his head a few times, and his smile tentatively returned. “I get it. Okay. You figured out that Frankie Gordon and my wife Evelyn had a thing going on, and you want to know if I nailed his wife in revenge. Well I never touched that whore.”
Hannibal stared out at the perfectly manicured lawn and beautifully maintained gardens between the house and the gate. He wondered how long they’d continue to get the loving care they got when the woman of the house was alive. To Charlie he said “Never touched her, maybe, but you sure used her. You called her, didn’t you? Told her about her husband’s infidelity with Evelyn. Poor, bored, neglected Evelyn, who married for the wild times she’d missed working twenty-four-seven all those years. Then her wild time when out looking for thrills elsewhere. Then I figure she meets a gentleman at the ballet, or the theater. Very discreet…”
“She was cheating on me, man,” Charlie snapped.
“Yeah, like you cared.” Hannibal walked down the steps and perched on the Cadillac’s long hood. “But you told the jealous wife what was going on, probably invented a few juicy details…”
“Hey, man. You can’t put that on me. I just let nature take its course.” For a moment Hannibal thought Charlie might take a swing at him. He left his hands on the car hoping it would happen. But Charlie wasn’t a fighter, and probably realized he would be inviting a beating if he started anything.
“I think maybe you started setting nature up to follow that course weeks before the killing,” Hannibal said, “with phone calls or notes to Harriet about her husband’s affair. The way I figure it, you waited until you knew Frankie Gordon was out of town. Then you called Harriet and told her the two of them were at your house between the sheets. This was the time for her to catch them red handed. You planned to spend the night at Nina’s anyway.”
Charlie’s smile slid entirely off his face and his breathing deepened. “You can’t prove any of that. Besides, she went to the house and did the deed all by herself.”
“Of course she did,” Hannibal said, hopping down from the car and stepping toward Charlie. “You just told her to slip in the back door which you left unlocked. And you just happened to leave your loaded pistol where she’d have to see it. Was it lying on the kitchen table? Or next to the bed? Did you help Evelyn take those sleeping pills that helped her stay in such a deep sleep?”
“She took those things all the time,” Charlie said, backing away from Hannibal. “And you can’t prove any of this stuff. Harriet did the murder and that’s that.”
Hannibal stepped slowly past Charlie, down the smooth asphalt toward the gate. “I don’t need to prove anything. And you’re right about one thing. Evelyn Devoe’s murderer has been caught. But there are people who care about the man responsible for Nina’s death.”
Charlie Devoe stared past Hannibal and began to sweat. A black sedan crept past the gate, and when the tinted window powered down, a big Italian face glared back at him. Then the car moved on.
“Ever meet her husband Vinnie?” Hannibal asked. “He really loved his wife. And he’ll want to meet you. Not today, Charlie, not this week, maybe not even next month. But he will be visiting you.” Hannibal stopped at the gate, turned, and smiled broadly. “And then, you know, I think maybe he and his friends will be able to show YOU a little wildness.”
THE END