Pyramid Deception (24 page)

Hannibal rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Jesus, you're an idiot. Look, you want to see your mama today or not?”

“Sure I do, but so what?” Darryl asked. “You ain't no cop. You ain't nobody. You ain't got the juice to get me allowed a second visitor today.”

“No,” Hannibal said, “But I know somebody who's got the juice to take you out of here for a couple hours. Now what do you say?”

“I don't know, Hannibal,” Cindy said, massaging his shoulders. “Do you really think this will work? I mean, it made sense when you laid it out for me this morning, but…”

Sitting in his desk chair Hannibal reached up to cover her hands with his own. “What you're really asking me is, can I read people. That's what it comes down to, babe. If he's the man I think he is, it will work.”

“I should just go with you,” she said, bending to speak into his ear. “Things may not go as planned.”

“That's exactly why you shouldn't go with me,” Hannibal said. “When the time comes, I'll need my officer-of-the-court type witness in a safe, neutral corner.”

A solid knock on Hannibal's office door interrupted her. Orson Rissik called, “Are we going to do this or not?”

The Lucent was hopping when Hannibal arrived. The music was louder than it was on his previous visit, and nearly twice as many people packed the tables. He thought the lights were lower but it could have been the effect of the deeper crowd. The bar was three deep and the girls slipped through the crowd like quick, slender fish to serve the tables. He stood at the door for a moment, taking in the atmosphere and tapping his foot to the go-go beat that was driving the dancers' hips around their poles. Then one of the curvy servers, a tall brunette, spotted him and rerouted her path to cruise past the door.

“Good evening, Tahnee,” Hannibal said. “Nice to see you again.”

Her face reflected surprise that he remembered her name. Tahnee winked and smiled, but kept moving. “Table twelve. Front left.”

She moved on across the floor with Hannibal barely able to keep her in sight. He managed to avoid bumping into anyone despite the fact that most of the men on their feet were watching the stage, not where they were going. When he came within sight of his target he slowed and let Tahnee continue on her rounds. He took a couple of deep breaths, watching his quarry sip cognac.

Show time.

Hannibal walked past the table, spun, and dropped into the chair facing Kevin Larson.

“What's up, Kevin?”

Kevin was dressed for Saturday night: inexpensive but well-fitted chocolate suit and alligator shoes. His eyes stayed on the show over Hannibal's shoulder for a second before he recognized that he had company.”

“Mister Jones. How you doing this evening? Didn't expect to see you here.”

“I've been here once or twice before,” Hannibal said. He wondered where his wife thought he was. “This a regular stop for you?”

“Time to time,” Kevin said, sipping his drink. Hannibal knew he had been invited there this particular night to meet someone.

“I do like this place,” Hannibal said, “but tonight I'm not here to watch the girls work the pole. I'm here to see you.”

Kevin blinked and Hannibal caught a glimpse of a cleverness he had not noticed in those eyes before. It vanished as quickly as it appeared. “I don't get it. Why would you come looking for me?”

“I wanted to talk a little more about Wash and his poor wife. About how they came to be dead.”

“Uh-huh. How'd you find me, anyway?”

Hannibal shrugged. “I'm a detective.”

“Yeah, you said. And I guess you must be pretty good at it.” Kevin looked around himself as if he imagined spies in every corner. Hannibal leaned in a little closer.

“Damn straight, bud. But it don't pay as good as you might think. That's why I want to talk to you about the whole Wash thing.”

Kevin put the edges of his hands on the table in the universal sign for openness. “Look, I'm a simple man. You're going to have to be a lot clearer than that.”

“I will,” Hannibal said, standing. “But not here. At least not out here in the open.”

“Well I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Chill, man,” Hannibal said. “I've got a deal here with the management.” Hannibal raised his hand and gave a small wave. In seconds Tahnee was beside the table. Hannibal waved her closer, handed her a wad of bills and spoke in low tones.

“I need a room with some privacy,” he said. “No girls, just a space for a little meeting.”

Tahnee nodded, thought for a second, and waved to Hannibal to follow her. As she walked away, Hannibal stood and motioned with his head for Kevin to join them.

“And why should I go anywhere with you?” Kevin asked, leaning back.

Hannibal rested both palms on the table and leaned in. “Because, trust me, your life will turn to shit if you don't.” Then he turned and walked toward the stage, keeping Tahnee's shapely behind in sight. At the very front of the room he turned left and looked back. Kevin was following at a discreet distance, looking puzzled and trying hard to hide his still significant limp.

Tahnee led them through a door and down a short hall. She stopped at a door and produced a key from someplace and unlocked it. Then she continued down the hall. Hannibal stepped into the room and left the door standing open. Kevin followed, closing the door behind himself.

The space was plain with dull gray walls and a wooden floor. Four comfortable looking chairs faced each other with plenty of
space between them and a small table beside each one. Lighting was dim, but not so low one could overlook the four-poster bed at the far end. It wasn't quite a separate room, but partial walls a couple of feet wide on either side gave the bed its own little alcove. Close-set strings of beads hung to the floor across the wide central opening. Hannibal guessed this was the place for very private lap dances with an option for more. He settled into a chair. The table beside it held a bottle of Hennessy and a pair of glasses.

“I observed that you are a cognac man, right?”

Kevin stayed by the door. “All right, I'm here. So what's this all about?”

“I figured you must have an idea,” Hannibal said, opening the bottle, “or you wouldn't have come. Have a seat.”

“Well, you said it had to do with Wash's death,” Kevin said, easing himself into the chair facing Hannibal.

“That's the topic all right,” Hannibal said. “He's gone, his wife is gone, and I figure you're in for one hell of an inheritance. To put it simply, I want my share.”

For the next ten seconds the only sound in the room was the gurgle and splash of Hannibal pouring each glass almost full. He wondered if he hadn't been pouring if he might have heard the gears turning in Kevin's head. Kevin was used to hiding behind a screen of pretended simple-mindedness. Hannibal wondered how he would play it this time.

When Kevin again met Hannibal's gaze he said, “What are you saying? Did Wash leave a will? I was just his personal assistant but he didn't really have anyone else so I suppose it's possible…”

“Don't try to shine me on,” Hannibal said, holding a glass out to Kevin. “We both know Wash didn't have time to change his will after his wife was killed. You get the money because you're his only heir. His loving son.”

Kevin's eyes got wild for a moment. He sat straighter. He glanced at the door and for a second Hannibal thought he had
misjudged the man. But then he relaxed, turned to squarely face Hannibal, and accepted his glass.

“What in the world would make you think such a thing?”

Hannibal sipped his drink and smiled. “You know, it's funny what a guy will overlook. Three guys tried to kill me last week. They were Sarah's boys. When they came after me I had the feeling they were sent by somebody else. I mean, Darryl's got the street smarts but he's not a leader, or a mastermind. And there was no reason for him to think I killed Wash, unless somebody told him so. Somebody he trusted. Then I remembered that Sarah told us she had four sons. It made sense that the oldest boy would be the ring leader, hiding in the shadows.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Kevin said, trying on his confused face again, “but how does that connect to Wash?”

“Well, Sarah told me she got married twice,” Hannibal said, taking another sip and letting the smooth warmth spread through him. “She had three kids by two husbands, and no more after. So even though she didn't say so, I figured son number four must have been the first. And he had to be by Wash.”

“Really? He never said anything to me about having a son. He ever talk about having kids to you?”

Hannibal shook his head. “No, that wasn't his path. He needed to be unencumbered. I figure he effectively disowned his son, and his sorta stepsons, when he paid Sarah off to get out of his life.”

Kevin screwed his face up, then took a long drink from his glass. “You saying he had a son he never acknowledged? What kind of brother does that?”

“The kind of brother that thinks he'll make more money with a pretty white wife and no past.”

Kevin took his glass, stood up and started to slowly roam the room. “Wow, if my father did me like that…”

“Yeah, but he did,” Hannibal said with a big smile. “All he ever gave you was that limp, and a job. Sarah told me she got him to give all her boys jobs.”

“Naw, Jack. I worked for Wash all right, but Uncle Sam gave me this bum leg.”

“Nice try, man. Your whole story hangs together as long as nobody suspects you, but it don't stand a close look. For example, Sarah told me Wash paid for surgery for one of her boys. I thought it might be for a club foot. The other three boys have nothing like that in their medical records. So, following my instincts I figured I'd check your medical records. With Sarah's permission and a police assist I'll have them in a few days. Not that I need them to prove you lied.”

“I don't have to listen to this crap,” Kevin said, moving in front of Hannibal and staring down at him. “I told you I picked up some shrapnel in this leg during a firefight.”

“Yeah, you told me that,” Hannibal said, standing to face him. “Right after you showed me all your pretty medals. Impressive stuff, and your only real mistake. I expect you earned all those medals…”

“Damn right I did!”

“Yeah, but there was one missing from the collection. No Purple Heart. My dad was Army, but that medal looks the same no matter what service you're in, and it's the one medal you would have to get if you were injured in combat.”

“That don't prove nothing,” Kevin mumbled.

“Guess not,” Hannibal said, “but the lie and the fact that you changed your name is enough to get a warrant and force a DNA test. And you being Wash's son gives you a damn good motive to kill him. You wanted the fortune he spent a lifetime building.”

“A fortune you want some of, I take it,” Kevin said. He tipped his glass up, draining it, and dropped it back on the table. “Even if you were right, I don't see how a motive would be enough to make a man split his fair and just inheritance.”

“Oh, no, I got the holy trifecta of investigations,” Hannibal said. He held up his thumb. “Motive: the fact that you're his only heir.” He raised his first finger. “Means: in your time with the Force Recon boys you sure had the chance to learn how to break a man's neck, and how to use a Molotov cocktail to burn down a
house. The skills Wash's killer had.” He added his middle finger. “Opportunity. As Wash's personal assistant, you had the pass codes to his security system so you could get in the house any time you wanted to. So tell me, did you drug his liquor? Or just wait until he got too drunk to move? I guess it don't matter. Refill?”

Kevin stared hard into the lenses of Hannibal's Oakleys. Hannibal smiled. Kevin nodded. Hannibal poured. Kevin sipped. “None of that proves I killed him. It's all circumstantial.”

“I suppose.” Hannibal leaned back, smiling bigger. “But my theory explains the only motive for Irene Monroe to be murdered. I don't know what kind of crap you told your accomplices, but we both know the only reason she needed to die was so you'd be Wash's only heir. And while I can't prove you murdered Wash, I got real evidence that you did Irene.”

“That sounds like bullshit to me,” Kevin said. He emptied his glass, slammed it on the table, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

That brought Hannibal to his feet. “You arrogant bastard. You gun her down right in front of my face and drive off and you think nothing happens? Didn't you think I'd catch the license, make and model of the car? Didn't you think I could trace that stolen car and find out who snatched it? And if they put you in a lineup, do you realize how easy it would be for me to lie and identify the guys in the car?”

Kevin gave one sharp laugh and pulled his hands out of his pockets. “That's what you got? That's what you got? Nigger I ain't giving you shit.”

“What?” It was Hannibal's turn to put his glass down hard. He jumped to his feet, backing Kevin up. “You got to pay me. I got you dead to rights.”

Kevin shook his head, grinning, and wagged a finger in Hannibal's face. “You talk like you street, and you acting like just another brother on the hustle, but you don't got no street sense, do you? Well, let me tell you how this plays out in a court room.” Kevin walked as he talked, wandering behind his chair.
“So you identify everybody who was in the car and they drag us in. The police know every one of them pretty good. Me? I got no criminal record at all, man. Not even a parking ticket. I just point at my brothers and say they dragged me into all this. Gee, judge, it was all Darryl's idea. He's the leader of them boys. And he pulled the trigger on the white girl.”

Hannibal lets a shadow of doubt pass across his face. “Is that true?”