Final Justice Part 34

He took out his cellular telephone and pushed an autodial key.

"Has Captain Quaire gone for the day?" he asked, and then a moment later, "Would you switch me to him, please?"

There was a brief pause.

"Lieutenant Washington, sir," he said, "with a request."

There was another pause.

"On the list of unclaimed property found in the Roy Rogers, as item fifteen, there is 'One black sun visor, make unknown, gray cotton-covered visor, plastic headband.' We have reason to believe it was left behind by one of the doers. The lab reports one partially smudged print, possibly index finger. I would like to inspire them to greater effort. This might be possible if you took the item down there personally, sir. . . ."

There was another brief pause.

"Thank you very much. And may I suggest that you tell them I will be in later tonight to check on their progress?" Pause. "Thanks, Henry. It's all that we have right now."

He pushed the End key and turned to Amal al Zaid.

"Double-A Zee, I think we're at the point where the doer took off his shade. What happened next?"

[THREE].

At twenty after six, just as he turned onto I-95 South, Matt's cellular rang.

"Payne."

"Sergeant, this is La.s.siter."

"I have a surfeit of bad news, Detective La.s.siter. With that caveat, you may proceed."

He thought he heard her giggle, and found it charming.

"No bad news. I just left the Williamsons' . . ."

"And?"

"Everything's under control. Their minister is there. I don't think she's going to change her mind about the uniforms being right in not taking the door. And I'm going back in the morning-she asked me to."

"You get a gold star to take home to Mommy, Detective La.s.siter," Matt said.

"Sergeant," she said, a tone of exasperation in her voice, "Northwest wants their car back, that's one thing. The second thing is, Mrs. Williamson told me Cheryl used to hang out in a bar called Halligan's Pub. I'd like a look, but thought I'd better check with you first."

"Do they serve food in Halligan's Pub?"

"I don't know. I suppose so."

Matt looked at his watch.

"I'll meet you at Northwest in twenty-five, thirty minutes," he said. "You can give them their car back. Where is this Halligan's Pub?"

"In Flourtown."

"Okay. Then we will go together to Halligan's Pub. And after that, we'll see. Washington called. I can pick up my car at the Roundhouse."

"Fine," she said. "Anything else?"

"Call Joe D'Amata and tell him we're going to check out the saloon."

"Right."

A uniform sergeant put out his hand to stop the silver Porsche as it rolled into the POLICE VEHICLES ONLY parking lot at the Thirty-fifth District Building. Except for a few rooms used by the Inspector for the North Police Division, Northwest Detectives occupied most of the second floor of the building.

The driver of the Porsche rolled down the window.

"I think it'll be all right, Officer," he said. "I'm just here to pick up my date."

He pointed toward Detective Olivia La.s.siter, who was leaning against the wall by the entrance.

The uniform sergeant whistled shrilly, attracting Detective La.s.siter's attention.

"You know this guy, La.s.siter?"

She looked, and then nodded.

"Yeah."

She walked to the Porsche.

"Next time, find some other place to park," the sergeant said.

"Yes, sir," Matt said.

Olivia got in the Porsche.

Where the h.e.l.l did he get this car? A Porsche on a detective's pay?

"Have a good time, La.s.siter," the sergeant said.

Matt grinned, but didn't say anything as he turned the Porsche around.

"What was that all about? 'Have a good time'?" Olivia asked.

Matt shrugged.

"What did you say to him?" Olivia challenged.

"Nothing," Matt said.

The h.e.l.l you didn't. You're really a smart-a.s.s. "You get a gold star for Mommy!" Jesus!

"Did you get anything from the Williamsons besides the name of this saloon?" Matt asked.

"The names of half a dozen guys Cheryl dated," she said. "And of a couple of her girlfriends."

"You'll have to give them to Joe."

"I already did."

"Where exactly is this saloon?"

"It's called Halligan's Pub. At Bethlehem Pike and College Avenue in Flourtown. I've been there. Sort of a neighborhood bar for the young and unattached."

"Spend a lot of time in places like that, do you?" Matt asked, innocently. "Looking for a little action?"

You sonofab.i.t.c.h!

She glared at him but said nothing.

If he thinks I'm looking for action, and so much as lays a hand on my hand, I'll knock him into next week.

"Hey, I'm kidding!" Matt said.

"I haven't been amused," Olivia snapped.

"Look, this is my first time," Matt said.

"First time for what? Working with a female detective, you mean?"

"Yeah. Or at least a good-looking one."

"Can we keep this professional?"

"I worked a couple of jobs with an Intelligence detective, a female," Matt said. "But she was old enough to be my mother. We got to be friends. So I asked her-we were having a couple of drinks-how I should behave with a younger female cop. And she said treat her like you would treat any other cop. That's what I was doing. Making a little joke."

Why do I believe him?

"What kind of a little joke were you making with Sergeant Pinski?"

"The uniform in the parking lot?"

"Yeah. What did you say to him?"

"I told him I was just picking up my date."

"You thought that was funny?"

"He believed it. And my other choice was to tell him I was on the job and show him my badge. Thirty minutes later, every uniform in the Thirty-fifth, and all your pals in Northwest Detectives, would have heard about the Homicide sergeant driving a Porsche picking up Northwest's good-looking Detective La.s.siter."

He's right. That's exactly what would have happened.

"Where did you get this car, anyway?"

"When I finished college. It was my graduation present."

"It looks brand-new."

"It's five years old. I take pretty good care of it."

"It's beautiful," she said in genuine appreciation.

That was dumb. What's the matter with me?

"They're nice," Matt said. "Look, let's spell this out. I was not making a pa.s.s at you. I will not make a pa.s.s at you. I just got promoted, and I just transferred to Homicide. The last thing I want is for somebody to say Payne walked in, hung up his hat, and started hitting on La.s.siter. That's the truth."

"Okay. Just so we understand each other."

"So what were you doing in Halligan's Pub? Looking for a little action?"

"You sonofab.i.t.c.h!" Olivia said, but she laughed.

And they found themselves looking at each other. And both looked quickly away.

"What can I get you?" the bartender at Halligan's Pub asked when they had taken stools at the bar.

"I don't know about Mother, but I would like a Famous Grouse on the rocks and a menu."

"You want to eat at the bar?" the bartender asked.

"I want to talk to you, and you're here," Matt said.

"And what for you, honey?" the bartender asked.

I will not ask what a famous whatever is.

"The same, please," Olivia said.

"You've been in here before, right?"

"Indeed she has," Matt said. "Mother tells me this is where the action is. Presumably there will be a shill's fee for her?"

The bartender chuckled, then turned to make their drinks. He put them on the bar and then laid two plastic covered menus on it.

Olivia picked up her gla.s.s and sipped it.

Scotch. Probably one of those very chic, very in, single malts or whatever they call them that the in people drink.

"Hot roast beef sandwich, please," Matt ordered after a ten-second perusal of the menu. "French fries, green beans. What about you, Mother?"

What the h.e.l.l is that Mother business?