Blood and Bone by Austin Camacho Page B

Kyle?”
    â€œI think it will help determine what happened to his father,” Hannibal said. “If the DNA tests come out positive, I don’t want to have to tell him his dad’s dead but nobody knows how or why.”
    â€œOkay,” she said as if agreeing to scrub the floor. “Tell me where we can meet.”

    Hannibal had ridden around Baltimore enough to feel he was overdue finding the good side of town. As they approached Wallace Lerner’s home, he could see this was not it. Considering the worldwide reputation earned by Johns Hopkins University, he hoped the area around it would be ivy covered and tree laden. No such luck. The neighborhood surrounding the University was better than Edmundson Village, but not by a whole lot. Still, Lerner owned the car Hannibal’s skull had been slammed into, so this was where Hannibal had to go. Lerner lived in a large apartment building which, Hannibal guessed, probably housed quite a fewstudents as well. As Ray pulled to the curb, Hannibal leaned over the seat.
    â€œNeed to ask you to wait outside on this one, buddy. If the killer’s in there and I flush him out, I’ll call you on the car phone. I might need you to follow him.”
    â€œNo sweat, Chico,” Ray said. “I ain’t exactly inconspicuous in this thing, but who’d expect a limousine to be following them, eh?”
    On his way up the stairs, Hannibal felt a brief twinge of guilt. Was he letting Kyle down by taking this detour away from the search for the boy’s father? He had to admit he was on a purely selfish mission at the time, chasing a murderer who made the mistake of pounding his own skull, frightening his woman and stealing his car.
    Still, most of the normal world would be going home from work in an hour or so. And he had already accomplished a lot. He had certainly earned his fee for this day. Nieswand told him a definitive DNA match on the skeletal remains would take about twenty-four hours. Until then, he had no way of knowing if his job was already done.
    The hallway was narrow and dark and filled with a vague scent of mildew and unwashed bodies. At the right door, he positioned himself so his face would show through the tiny security viewer before he knocked.
    â€œYeah, it’s open.” The woman’s voice carried a sleepy Jamaican twang. Hannibal turned the knob and stepped into a small, narrow apartment decorated in early eclectic. The coffee table displayed racing forms instead of books or newspapers. The old Formica table by the kitchenette was half covered by cans and boxes of groceries no one bothered to put away. A pair of cows held salt and pepper.
    â€œWell, come on,” the woman called from the bedroom. The same linoleum covered the entire apartment floor and Hannibal crossed it to the half open bedroom door. The woman on the unmade bed never looked up from her soap opera.
    â€œYou looking for Wally?”
    â€œYes, I need to see him,” Hannibal said.
    â€œWell, he ain’t here.” She stared into a thirteen inch screen on a rolling cart in the corner. She had the type of body women usually pay for these days. Breasts too round to be real almost spilled out the top of the man’s shirt she wore. Perfect bronze legs grew out the bottom of the shirt, with no evidence for or against her having anything on underneath. Hannibal figured her for late thirties with a pretty but calculating face and hair too light for auburn but definitely reddish.
    â€œGuess I’ll wait.” Hannibal’s words made her look up. Her smile grew slowly, sincere but crooked.
    â€œWell, hi,” she said, sitting up. “I’m Ginger.” Yes, Hannibal thought, that was the color.
    â€œHannibal Jones,” he said with a nod. “I’ll just have a seat on the couch.”
    Ginger Lerner stood up, thrusting her chest forward as if she had no choice, and swung toward the bedroom door with the exaggerated sway