Free Blood and Bone by Austin Camacho Page B

practicing, and we can find out what he remembers about our retro couple.”

    Some white people, Hannibal observed, shrank as they aged. Doctor Raymond Cummings looked like he had a slow leak, and most of the air had escaped his body over the years. His stoop shouldered form supported a head which reminded Hannibal of a dried apple, but his cloud of white hair, beard and mustachegave him a vaguely Mark Twain look. The white lab coat and skeptical expression did not help.
    â€œSorry I couldn’t see you right away, Mister Jones,” Cummings said. “I have a rather busy practice and I can’t just put these people off to talk to some private eye.”
    â€œNo problem at all,” Hannibal said. Actually it had been four infuriating hours of pacing and watch checking. And there was not a legal parking space within three blocks of the professional building Cummings kept his office in, so Ray stayed downstairs in the car. Hannibal was not sure if this guy was really that busy or if he just did not want to look too available, but he had to make him know this was not a casual visit.
    â€œDoctor, I need your help,” Hannibal began, choosing his approach as he went. The waiting room was small and Hannibal knew he could hold the doctor’s attention if he placed the words in the right order. “I’m on a missing person’s case, and I don’t imagine such things usually interest you much. But you need to understand that my client is a seventeen year old boy with chronic myelogenous leukemia. You know how rare that is?”
    â€œIndeed.” Cummings sat at the small desk, his knees inches from Hannibal’s. “That form usually attacks older people. Is he responding to treatment?”
    Hannibal closed his eyes behind his glasses and trotted out all the medical mumbo jumbo he had memorized. “Radiation therapy has proven fruitless. Chemotherapy has helped but that approach has run its course. According to Doctor Lippincott in Washington, my client’s only hope, is allogeneic bone marrow transplantation.”
    Cummings was no stupid man. Hannibal could see in his eyes he was putting the story together for himself. “I know Lippincott. Good man, and better with cancers than this old GP. So, hence the search. The missing person is a close relative, a possible lymphocytic match. An old client of mine I assume, a clue to whose whereabouts may be found in my records. Is that correct?”
    Hannibal nodded. “My client’s father was known as Bobby Newton. In fact, his name was Jacob Mortimer. Does either of those names mean anything to you, Doctor?”
    Cummings stood up, taking such a deep breath, it temporarily inflated him. He nodded a couple of times, then shook his head side to side a few times. He chuckled silently, his shoulders shaking. He said “Oh my” and walked to the wall. Hannibal waited quietly for the payoff.
    â€œYes, I remember Bobby Newton,” Cummings said at last. “He seemed a fine young man when I knew him, loving, attentive to his woman. You’ve done quite a job of detecting, tracing Bobby to me. But I’m afraid your client has gotten out ahead of you.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    Cummings broke into a genuine laugh. “Angela was here two days ago looking for a clue to put her on her father’s trail. Of course, she didn’t weave as fanciful a story as you have. Quite creative, really, and you did your research well.”
    While Cummings laughed, Hannibal stood up, trying to take it all in. “Angela? The daughter was here? How did she find you?”
    â€œOh, I imagine the same way you did. She found my name on her birth certificate.”
    â€œDoctor, the laugh here is on you I think,” Hannibal said. “Bobby Newton was married before you knew him, to another woman. It’s his son by that marriage I’m trying to help.”
    Cummings sobered somewhat. “Young man, if