Austin Camacho - Damaged goods

Hannibal had gotten there ahead of her, but this wasn’t a real answer. Were they talking about directions to hidden money, the account number of a secret bank account, or a stock brokerage account? It could just as easily be information about a coworker to be used for blackmail. The possibilities were endless, and everything he thought of was intangible. Lost diamonds could be recovered, but stolen information was probably worthless after being used by the thief.

“Right. So he disappeared six months ago, and you haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh, no,” Anita said, leaning forward with her palms on the table. “I saw him last week.”

Hannibal also leaned forward, startled the way we so often are when the ending of a story isn’t what we expect. “Where?”

Anita’s hands locked in an odd way, palms facing with the fingers of one hand curled to hook into the fingers of the other. “I had just finished cleaning Mrs. LaPage’s house. I was getting into my car when he pulled up in front of hers. God, it made my heart hurt to see him. I was so flustered I almost caused an accident pulling away. My mind was just spinning. I didn’t know what to do. That’s why Tonya dragged me out to the club that night. And that’s when I saw you.”

“Timing is everything,” Hannibal said with a smile.

“I think maybe it was fate,” Anita said with total seriousness. “You were sent to help me.”

Hannibal squirmed under the weight of such a divine responsibility. “I’m not sure I have the solution to this particular problem, Miss Cooper. Why don’t you sit tight for a minute and I’ll go talk to Mr. Blair again, to see what we might be able to work out.”

Anita looked frightened when Hannibal stood. Frightened of being alone, he wondered? In any case, she sat obediently while he wandered into the living room. Hannibal pushed his sunglasses back into place before he stepped into the living room. He stopped at the end of a plush sofa, on which Blair sat watching the tape of a baseball game on his sixty-one inch plasma television screen. The Red Sox were pitching to the Yankees. Blair’s feet tapped, and he twitched to the point that he almost vibrated in his seat. Was he a bundle of nervous energy, or did his brain just run at such a frenetic pace that it fired out energy his body had to bleed off. When he looked up, it was as if he was coming out of a trance.

“So, taking the case?”

“Let’s get through the basics first,” Hannibal said. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Blair didn’t hesitate to mute the game and turn his attention to Hannibal. “How can I help?”

“From what Miss Cooper told me, this is too simple. Have you spoken to this Rod? Made him an offer for whatever it is he took?”

Blair shook his head. “I had my people call Marquita LaPage, you know? He’s left town again.”

Hannibal watched Jeeter swing hard at a pitch that was low and inside. “How far did the police get?”

“Police?” Blair made a noise of contempt. “This isn’t a case for the police, if only for personal reasons. I don’t want the man arrested, I just want you to find him and get back whatever he took from Anita’s house. Besides, police probably wouldn’t even believe a crime had been committed, right? I mean, no valuables gone, at least nothing the victim can describe, and no forced entry. No crime from their point of view. This is a case for you, my friend. You know, we’re in the same line of work you and I. What do you know about data mining?”

“Not much,” Hannibal said. “I guess it’s all about extracting the information somebody needs from large databases.”

Blair lit up like a school kid. “That’s it exactly. That’s how I made my fortune, you know, and I think it’s what you do too. We‘re both in the information business, Mr. Jones. The only real difference is that my databases are in computers, and yours are usually in people’s heads. That’s the only way to find a person who doesn’t want to be found in this world. We all leave a trail, after all, it’s just lost among all the other material. It’s all out there, you just have to dig up the right bits of data.”

“Yes, well, buried treasure that might be missing isn’t usually the kind of thing I do,” Hannibal said. “Ms. Cooper doesn’t appear to really be in any kind of trouble. And I did have a little vacation planned. Not to mention, there doesn’t seem to be much to go on.”

“Please, just do me one favor,” Blair said. He picked up a thin envelope from his glass topped end table and handed it to Hannibal. “This is a check for one day’s work and a retainer for a week of your time. Please just go to Anita’s place and look around a bit. Get your feet wet with the case. If you decide it’s not for you, just tear up the second check and move on. I promise I won’t bug you again. Okay?”

Hannibal thought that little kid grin must work for Blair nine times out of ten, and he couldn’t resist returning it. “Okay, you’ve got a deal. Let me mull this one over, and I’ll let you know in the morning if I’ll take the case or not.”

Blair stood and extended his hand. “I had you checked out pretty thoroughly, Mr. Jones. If Anita told you her whole story I know you’ll pursue this.”

Anita Cooper insisted on making lunch for them after Hannibal drove her the five blocks to her home. Her townhouse was a bit more modest than Blair’s but the much greater difference showed in the contents. Expensive furniture doesn’t really look so special until you have something to compare it with. Hannibal thought her father had bought a home just a little beyond his reach. To compensate, he had ordered the cheapest carpet, the least expensive blinds and the most basic kitchen appliances. They had furnished it along the same lines.

Hannibal toured the house while Anita did kitchen things. Being a bachelor, he was amused at how neat she kept the place relative to his own apartment. Beyond that, nothing upstairs seemed remarkable to him except perhaps the after-shave lotion in Anita’s medicine cabinet. The second bedroom was preserved as if someone lived there, but dust motes floated in the strong shaft of sunlight beaming in through the window. He suspected the room was merely a shrine to her lost father.

On the main level he walked into the odor of tuna fish oil and mayonnaise as he passed Anita. She seemed focused very hard on making the world’s best tuna salad sandwiches and soup from a can. The living room held the usual items, although her nineteen-inch television looked puny after standing in front of Blair’s home theater screen.

Another flight of stairs led Hannibal to a family room, and finally, a small office. This room showed signs of recent use. Papers were neatly arrayed on the desk. Perhaps Anita used the computer every day to send e-mails and such. Bookshelves lined the room, and one set of them held a row of numbered green notebooks. That didn’t mean much to Hannibal until he noticed the floppy discs.

A transparent case on Hannibal’s desk holds two rows of poorly labeled discs. Three similar cases stood on Anita’s desk. Perhaps a total of one hundred eighty discs, all grouped by color and separated by dividers. The woman was absolutely anal-retentive. Or maybe her father had been. Looking more closely, he could see that the discs were labeled and numbered with great care. Well, she did say her father was a researcher. Maybe he worked at home.

Again, Hannibal’s attention returned to the green hardcover notebooks. Each was numbered in sequence with a label pasted to the spine. He pulled down the first one and opened it. The pages were lined but much of the content was drawings and diagrams and writings that he recognized as chemical symbols. Each triangle or pentagram with letters at the corners represented a chemical compound but like the accompanying paragraphs it was all gibberish to him. Curious, Hannibal reached for the last volume, number thirty-eight. It was blank. As were thirty-seven and thirty-six. She must have prepared them in advance. But number thirty-four was full to the last page. The book in-between was absent.