Collateral Damage by Austin Camacho Page B

a bit longer than she needed to, as if she was reluctant to continue. Hannibal’s eyes prodded her, and they caught her attention.
    â€œThey’re hazel, aren’t they?” she asked. “Not green as I first thought, or even blue, but hazel.” He nodded. “Black people don’t have hazel eyes. Beautiful, though.”
    â€œSo glad you approve,” Hannibal said through a flat expression. “What do you mean she’s gone?”
    â€œLook I had the address, it looked like a story, you know, long lost son reunited with jailbird mother. So I went to that motel. Geez, what a dive. But the new husband, this Irons guy, tells me she ran off last night some time.”
    â€œDamn.” Hannibal stood and paced into the next room, the living room. “I scared the woman off. I didn’t know who she was. Never considered why she might be keeping such a low profile. I assume you questioned the poor Irons guy.”
    â€œWell I asked him a couple questions,” Irma said, following Hannibal into the living room. Irma’s face reflecteda degree of excitement that brought a bad taste into Hannibal’s mouth. “He confirmed her conviction, but of course he says she was framed. And he did say she saw a boy a few days ago who might be her son.”
    Cindy set a cup of coffee on an end table. With her hands she directed Hannibal to sit beside it, but her eyes were on Irma. “Clearly she didn’t want a lot of attention. Maybe she and Dean have run off together. Coffee?”
    All eyes turned to the telephone when it rang. To Hannibal, it was one more unwelcome intruder barging in at a bad time. He picked it up, but the tone of his hello was not very inviting.
    â€œYou need to come right away,” the panicked voice said. “I don’t know what to do. It’s, it’s horrible.”
    â€œBea?” Hannibal asked.
    â€œI’m in that horrible little place over the garage,” Bea said through her sobs. “Please. It’s horrible. Dean he, he’s in more trouble than I ever…please, please come right away.”

    Hannibal was not a happy man mounting the dark narrow staircase to the apartment above the Kitteridge three-car garage. First because he didn’t know what he was heading into. But mostly because of the company.
    As he pushed the door open he could hear Cindy and Irma behind him jostling for position. He was always pleased to have Cindy along on a case, but his skin jumped at the thought of being shadowed by a reporter. He wished now he had told her no, but he really didn’t know how. And now she’d have her story.
    The lights were on beyond the door Hannibal opened. The room was modestly furnished with mobile home type furniture and smelled as if the air had not been disturbed in a century. His attention was first drawn to the soft sobbing coming from the room beyond the nearly 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 womenaround him on 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 Irma’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.
    â€œPraise the Lord you’re here,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I didn’t know what in the world to do.”
    Irma only got as far as, “Who is” before