Austin Camacho - Collateral damage

The lights were on beyond the door Hannibal opened. The room’s contents were modest, a few pieces of mobile home type furniture, and it smelled as if the air had not been disturbed in a century. His attention was first drawn to the soft sobbing coming from beyond the almost square living room. From that door, he traced the trail across the thin carpet back to his own feet. With his arms Hannibal directed the women around him to either side to prevent them from stepping on the series of red footprints pointing into the bedroom beyond. It was a man’s spoor, in the pattern of an unusual shoe sole, a running shoe in fact, the unique Brooks Radius SC running shoes Dean wore at work that day.

Hannibal had to pull back on the tails of Kate’s jacket to enter the bedroom first. The twin size bed projected from the wall to the right. Dean lay on his side curled into a fetal position. His shoes lay at the foot of the bed. Bea knelt beside the bed clutching his hands. Her face had been pressed against his but when Hannibal stepped into the room she looked up. A small smile broke through the dampness covering her face.

“Praise the Lord you’re here,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I didn’t know what in the world to do.”

Kate only got as far as, “Who is” before Hannibal’s finger in her face froze the question in her throat.

“Don’t you say a single word,” Hannibal said. “In fact, I think you’d better be out of here right now.”

Kate took a deep breath and leaned her determination right up against Hannibal’s. “If I leave now I go straight to the station with the story, as much as I know.”

Cindy pulled Kate aside. “Let’s negotiate.”

Hannibal ignored Cindy and Kate. “Okay Dean, this does not look good. Please tell me that isn’t blood all over your shoes.”

When Dean raised his head Hannibal hardly recognized him. The nervous kid Hannibal met at Kitteridge Computer Systems had been replaced by a dull-eyed man who fixed him with an empty stare. He had run from a manic state to what looked like clinical depression. He nodded slowly and managed to say, “It is.”

“Whose?”

Dean’s face collapsed on itself. “Oscar’s. It’s Oscar’s. Oscar Peters is dead. Mama’s done it again.”

Hannibal turned from Dean to follow the red trail out the door. Not the end of the journey after all, but the first step.

The blood on Dean’s shoes was fresh enough to retain its copper smell. The single bedside lamp shed just enough light for Hannibal to see there was no sign of struggle on Dean’s face or hands. And the boy was hardly coherent enough to fill in much more. But Hannibal was overwhelmed by the implications of this new development, and his ordered mind wanted to close out one job before starting another. He stepped close to the bed, looking down at the fragile creature curled up on top of it.

“Dean, is Mary Irons your mother?”

“Irons?” Words ambled out, as if Dean was talking through a fog. “Oh, yes, she said she was using Mary Irons. Mary is her middle name. She’s really Francis. Did she really marry again?”

Hannibal settled a hand on Bea’s shoulder. He only had one comforting fact and he figured she needed it. “The woman who went to your apartment Saturday to see Dean wasn’t a rival. It was his mother, Francis.”

At the other end of the room, Cindy stood inches from Kate’s face, speaking in low but intense tones. “What will it take for you to hold everything you know about this situation in strictest confidence?”

“Ah, someone I can deal with,” Kate said, smiling in the subtle conspiracy all successful businesswomen have to be part of. “Look, all I want is the story. If I can stay, I won’t reveal anything to anyone until and unless the principals give me permission. Unless of course a crime has been committed.”

Cindy returned Kate’s smile. “If a crime has been committed in connection with this case, you will still maintain that confidence. You will not reveal any facts until the police already have them.” Cindy held out her hand. Kate took it. Cindy whispered, “If you go back on this deal, I swear to God I’ll terminate your career.”

“As I will yours if you contradict anything I know to be the truth when you’re in court.” The women nodded their agreement and shook again as a sign of professional respect. Then Cindy turned back to her man.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Hannibal, but has anyone called the police yet?”

“Police?” Bea’s eyes were wide with fear. “No. They’ll put my poor Dean in jail. He’s in no condition. Look at him. Mister Jones, now that you’ve found him won’t you protect him? Please?”

Hannibal rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m on board as long as you want me,” he said, but his eyes were on Cindy. He was always grateful for her ability to maintain the practical and legal views. “How much trouble are we in if we don’t call the cops?”

“Probably none, until we confirm that a crime’s been committed,” Cindy said. “Mister Edwards, it looks as if you’ll need legal representation very soon. Do you have a lawyer?”

Dean shook his head.

“Can you represent him?” Bea asked. “Can I retain you on his behalf?”

“Yes, unless he objects,” Cindy replied. “Right now I want time to hear his story without pressure. And to keep him out of jail. Is he hurt in any way? Is any of this blood his?”

“He’s not hurt,” Bea said, unconsciously rubbing Dean’s head as she spoke. “When he called me he could barely speak, I think. When I got here I found the… the mess. I took off his shoes and checked him over pretty well. He’s okay.”

Cindy dropped to her knees to be on eye level with Bea. “He doesn’t look well, Bea. He looks like he’s in shock, or maybe it’s more than that. Do you know if Mister Edwards has been in therapy?”

“Therapy?” Bea said, her voice ripe with irony. “I didn’t even know his mother was alive. How would I know? I know so little about him. I mean, he told me all his family was dead.”

“Back home,” Dean said, staring right through Cindy. “After Mama killed Daddy.”

Hannibal leaned over Cindy. “Back home? Where’s home, son?”

Dean seemed to find that a hard question. His brow knit in concentration. “Oh it’s right there. The other side. Silver Spring.”

“Mister Edwards,” Cindy said, “Can you tell us the name of your doctor back home?”

“Oh, that was years ago,” Dean said. “Years and years. Auntie, she took me to see Doctor Roberts after I saw it. That scared me.”

“What did you see, sweetheart?” Bea asked, too late for Hannibal to stop her.

“You know. Daddy. What Mama did to Daddy with that knife.”

Behind them, Kate whispered, “Oh my God.”

“And… and Oscar,” Dean went on. “He looked just like Daddy did. The same. The same. Blood everywhere.”

Bea hugged Dean and he lapsed into silence. Cindy stood and turned toward the living room.

“I’m going to see if I can find this Doctor Roberts in Silver Spring. If I can, he’s our best hope for protecting Edwards. He might be willing to help us keep his former patient out of the hands of the police. He’d have no trouble convincing a judge his condition is shaky.”

Cindy moved quickly across the room but stopped when she came face to face with another woman on her way in. Joan Kitteridge stared past her until Cindy finally stepped aside. Joan didn’t stop again until she was in the middle of the room. Her glittering brown eyes settled on Kate, then Bea, then Dean, and finally Hannibal.

“All right Jones, I can see this is your show. What the hell’s going on here?”