Pyramid Deception (3 page)

A pleasant forty-minute drive put him in Great Falls, which was not so much a town as a sprawling area of outsized homes and expansive wooded lots parked along the Potomac River. Named for the Great Falls National Park, the little village was a loose collection of winding roads, riding trails and country clubs. The Safeway supermarket anchored a shopping center at the intersection of Georgetown Pike and Walker Road. Across Walker sat a little village center with restaurants and shopping but, as Hannibal quickly confirmed, not one decent place to get coffee. Luckily he didn't have to go far down Route 7, back toward Tysons Corner, before he found a Starbucks. Hannibal always found them convenient places to waste a couple of hours. As long as you keep your laptop open and keep the coffee coming, nobody bothers you.

At 11 pm Hannibal left his car in the village center parking lot and walked across the two lane blacktop to the Safeway store. Everything was closed, as expected, leaving the area vacant. Traffic was nil, although a handful of cars had been left in the parking lot.

The shopping center, or strip mall as Hannibal's father would have called it, was L shaped with the Safeway store forming the short leg of the L. The space between the Safeway building and the longer building opened into a wooded area. To make things homey, someone had decided to lay a sidewalk connecting the two buildings and plant a couple of tables in the cement at the corner. Hannibal sat at one of the permanently attached chairs, working at not looking threatening. He was under one of the few streetlamps set way too far apart out there, but he doubted there was a crime problem in that area. The police always take care of the wealthy citizens, and some of the richest in the county lived in the mansions surrounding him.

The cricket serenade from the surrounding woods was so loud it almost drowned out the sound of a car door opening. The moon highlighted a blonde woman stepping out of a black Lexus, one of the vehicles parked in the lot. The black cashmere shawl across her shoulders - Cindy would have called it a
pashmina - was her only practical garment, protecting her from the evening cool. Her heels not only announced her steps loudly, but would be useless if she had to run more than five steps. Like Hannibal she wore black, but her silk dress caught and reflected the moonlight, making her stand out as she walked toward him.

She hesitated as she approached him, so he stood. “I'm Hannibal Jones. You would be Irene?”

“I'm so sorry,” she said, stepping to within arm's length. “I didn't expect you to be…I was afraid Wash might have sent you. He's having me followed, I'm sure of it.”

Up close Hannibal saw that she was quite striking, a statuesque blonde, trim but solid, with the kind of complexion that didn't need much makeup to highlight her finely drawn features.

“UVA? By way of Alabama I'm guessing.”

“How in the world?” She shook her head in feigned disbelief. “Well yes I did my time in Charlottesville, and I was born and raised in Mobile. Now where's Jason?”

Straight to the point. Hannibal liked that. “We decided it might be wiser for us to meet alone.”

“Shoot. I wanted to apologize,” she said. “Please tell him I am very sorry for getting him involved in all this.”

“I'll pass that along. How did you two meet?”

“Well, you see, my parents passed while I was still in college,” she said, waving a hand as if she was keeping rhythm with her story. “I inherited quite a little bit of money. Didn't need it, just sat there collecting interest for a while. Then I met Wash.”

“Wash?” Hannibal asked as she started walking slowly along the front of the shopping center. This was a diversion, he knew. Some people had to tell a story their own way, and she would have to build toward the uncomfortable part of her tale. He presumed that was the part about committing adultery with a young lawyer. It was often more work to get people to stay on task than to let them wander toward the answers he wanted. He walked with her.

“Wash. My husband,” Irene explained. “George Washington Monroe. His parents must have loved the presidents. He was a hot property at the time, an investment genius I heard. Anyway, Wash just swept me off my feet. I swear I was on my way to old maid city when he found me, last in my sorority to tie the knot. That was seven years ago.”

“But things have changed?” Hannibal asked. They were approaching the tavern at the far end of the shopping center, but from the sound of things even it was empty on a week night.

“Don't get me wrong, Mr. Jones, George is a good husband and all, but he treats me like an idiot. Never lets me know a thing about his business, the finances, nothing. Gave me a fine home and a nice car and an allowance, but that's it. I am an educated woman, Mr. Jones. Anyway, I met Jason at a fund-raiser and we were like,” she clapped her hands together, “POW, lightning striking, you know?”

They had reached the end of the building. Hannibal looked up and down the empty Georgetown Pike, then turned and followed her back the way they had come.

“So you wanted to help him,” Hannibal said, prompting her to get on with it.

“Not right away. But Wash started getting mean to me. Ignoring me. Not touching me, if you know what I mean. And then I found out that he had a woman on the side. Probably more than one. That was enough for me. He didn't even have the decency to be embarrassed about it when I confronted him. That's when I got the idea to make Jason rich.”

Hannibal nodded as they walked back through the darkness. “I see. You planned to have revenge on your husband by helping Jason cash in on an opportunity your husband was working on.”

“He was very particular who he would take into his investments,” she said with a sly grin. “But I managed to convince him that I knew a good prospect for him. I figured Jason would make a fortune, then I could marry him and he could support me in the style I'm accustomed to.”

“But Mrs. Monroe, you have money of your own, don't you?”

“That's another thing.” She stopped at the corner by the tables, under the streetlamp. “I thought about leaving Wash, but when I went to check on what was left of my trust fund I found out that Wash had emptied it out on me. I got an accountant to look into it, but he says there's no paper trail and it would be almost impossible to prove he squandered the money away. Now I got nothing of my own.” Then, as an afterthought, she said, “Besides, I love Jason. I want to be with him all the time. And he loves me.” Then she looked over her shoulder and moved closer to the building, partially into the shadows. “I can't stay long, Mr. Jones. I'll be missed.”

“You know, Jason lost all his savings in this investment plan your husband is running,” Hannibal said. “He deserves your help. And it's pretty obvious that your husband's investment plan isn't completely on the up and up.”

“Honey, I don't know anything about his investments and stuff,” Irene said. She was fidgeting, and Hannibal knew he was running out of time before her fear sent her home.

“I understand. Who knows him best? Do you have any friends I could trust to give me the truth?” When she clenched her lips together he added, “My woman lost all her savings too. She and Jason are friends and he thought he was doing her a favor.”

“I'm so sorry,” Irene said. “But getting at Wash's friends through me? That would be like going around your elbow to get to your asshole. None of them trusts me or even likes me. Except. Maybe Vera and Kevin.”

Hannibal managed to stifle a chuckle when the Alabama idiom sneaked through. “Vera and Kevin? Who are they?”

“Kevin was Wash's personal assistant for a while,” Irene said, getting excited and talking with her hands. “He was in the Navy, I think. Decorated war hero. Vera did cleaning around the house when Kevin worked for Wash and we got to be friends. Then Wash fired them both.”

That raised one of Hannibal's eyebrows. “Were they let go because of something one of them found out?”

“I don't know. It was right after these fellows came to the house and were questioning Kevin about Wash. I thought Wash sent them in to see who knew what, so maybe. Look I've got to go.”

“Just one more question, please,” Hannibal said, touching her arm very lightly. “When you found out your husband had raided your trust fund, why didn't you go to the police?”

“Honey, you don't get it,” she said, staring into Hannibal's eyes. “Wash is a very influential man around here. The police would all be on his side. I hired a private detective to look into it, but Wash got him run out of town. I hired an accountant to investigate but Wash scared him away.”

“Well if that's true, there are people who might know something valuable,” Hannibal said. Over Irene's shoulder he saw a black sedan turn off Walker Road and roll toward them, along the front of the supermarket.

The car turned left at the corner. As it passed in front of them Hannibal saw that the passenger window was half way down. Irene spun to face the car. A black tube rested on the edge of the lowered window. The tube spit fire three times with a sound like a woman's polite cough. Irene took a halting step backward. Then her head snapped back and she started to fall.

Before Irene's body hit the sidewalk Hannibal was diving forward, his pistol already drawn. He hit the ground hard, scraping his elbow on the cement. He was prepared to return fire but the engine of the black sedan roared and it sped off across the parking lot.

Hannibal hesitated for no more than a second before reaching to Irene's neck to check for a pulse. Two angry red entry wounds showed on her chest and a third glared at him from her forehead. She had been dead before her head cracked on the sidewalk.

Four seconds after the third bullet hit Irene, Hannibal was up and running along the front of the shopping center, racing toward the killer's car. The sedan was edging onto the exit to Georgetown Pike. Hannibal was panting so hard it almost drowned out the sound of his frantic footsteps. This arrogant bastard had killed the woman right in front of him. As if he was no threat. As if he was just another bystander.

“Oh, hell no,” Hannibal said as the car turned right onto the street. He burst onto the road behind the car, still running hard, straining to read the license plate in the dark. As the sedan began to pull away on the open straightaway Hannibal raised his gun and fired on the run. The automatic's slide slammed back and forward, rocking the pistol in his hand five times.

Then there was nothing more he could do. He knew he had hit the car, but not the driver. The car sped away becoming smaller in the distance until it got over the first hill and disappeared. Hannibal stood for a moment with his hands on his knees and watched his murderous quarry disappear. Then he looked around. It seemed that no one had reacted to the gunfire.
Well, the houses on either side of the deserted road were all set a good hundred yards back, their privacy protected by tall trees.

Looking backward he saw that he had sprinted nearly a quarter mile trying to catch the sedan. Cursing under his breath, Hannibal began a slow walk back to the site of the killing. After a few steps he pulled out his cell phone. He considered calling Cindy, but first things first. He pushed a button to dial one of the numbers he had programmed into the phone.

“Fairfax County Police Department.”

“Hello. This is Hannibal Jones, I'm a private investigator and I need to report a murder.”

The Fairfax County Police Department provided law enforcement services to the citizens of Fairfax County, most of whom lived in towns too small to support a force of their own. The woman on the phone was very polite and businesslike. She walked down the list of questions although he was sure she dispatched a patrol vehicle as soon as he gave his location.

Hannibal broke into a slow jog as soon as he hung up. Sweat was sticking him to his clothes and his feet hurt from running in dress shoes, but he felt as though he deserved some discomfort right then. He had discounted Irene's fear as paranoia and now she was dead. The insult to his pride at having someone murdered right in front of him was fading and he felt ashamed of that reaction. He had lost his best lead to recovering Cindy's money. More importantly, a woman was dead. A woman whose only crime had been trying to help him.

Hannibal's steps were heavy as he headed back into the shopping center lot. The bar on the end was closed and probably was when he ran past the first time. No corroborating witness there. He trudged wearily back toward the far end of the strip mall, his head hanging. That was why he was almost back to the table and chairs when he realized that Irene was gone.

Was this someone's idea of a sick prank? The body was gone, literally without a trace. There was no blood stain on the cement. He knelt beside the place where he had pressed his gloved fingers against Irene's throat. In the dim light he would never see
a stray hair or any other physical evidence but he would surely see blood.

Could she be involved in espionage, he wondered. Spy teams sometimes traveled with cleanup crews. No, that was a stretch. Going all around your elbow, he thought to himself. Occam's razor would lead him to go with the simplest theory until he proved it wrong. Any reasonably smart shooter could have had friends nearby to rush in and clean up his mess while Hannibal was gone. How long did it take him to get back to the shopping center? Five minutes? For all he knew, the shooter could have driven back around to the crime scene, cleaned up his mess and taken off again.

The police car that pulled into the shopping center was not sounding its siren or spinning its roof lights. But its headlights wrapped around Hannibal, pinning him in place until the car stopped. Only then did Hannibal notice that the police car was parked right next to the spot Irene's car should have been in.

The two uniformed white officers who got out of the car could have been brothers, or, Hannibal thought, members of the same chorus line. They were his height, six feet tall, medium build, with stringy blond hair peeking out from under their hats. One name tag said Dickens, the other Edwards. They probably stood side by side in muster formations. Both men approached with their hands on their holstered weapons. Hannibal stood slowly, keeping his hands waist high and in plain sight.