Final Justice Part 39

"I've already checked with the FBI, Denny," Washington said. "They have nothing. And I have very little faith in the efficacy of a teletype message to other police departments. They probably pay as little attention to them as we pay to theirs."

He met Coughlin's eyes for a moment and then, when Coughlin said nothing, turned to Matt.

"Sergeant Payne, I suggest that starting first thing in the morning, whenever she is not occupied with the Williamson family, you have Detective La.s.siter make two telephone calls to every major city police department in the country. One to their Homicide bureau and the second to whatever they have elected to dub their s.e.x crimes unit."

"Yes, sir."

"While you're at it, Olivia," Amy said, "get their fax numbers, and tell them you're going to fax them the DNA makeup of this guy. If they have any unidentified rapists where the only positive identification factor is the DNA, they can run theirs against ours to see if there is a match."

"I didn't know that really worked," Olivia said. "We can really do that?"

"Sure," Amy said. "DNA markers are a series of unique, really unique, identifiers, according to scientific standards used around the world. No two are alike; they're much more difficult-almost impossible-to challenge in court."

"And as my contribution to the general fund of knowledge," Washington said, "let me add that two months ago, in federal court right here in Philadelphia, a defense lawyer successfully challenged the scientific validity of fingerprints-the admission thereof as evidence-arguing that the standards for fingerprint identification vary from state to state, and even other countries. I'm really glad Amy brought that up."

"Good thinking, honey," Coughlin said.

"That's my big sister," Matt said with mock pride.

"And as for you, Sergeant Payne," Washington said quickly, to keep Amy from replying to the sarcasm, "whenever you can tear yourself from the supervision of the other detectives working this investigation, it would be useful for you to lend Detective La.s.siter a hand in that endeavor. Perhaps fortune will smile on us."

"Yes, sir."

What he's saying, Matt decided, Matt decided, is that the two people least is that the two people least likely to make any other substantial contribution to this investigation, Mother and me, will spend all day tomorrow likely to make any other substantial contribution to this investigation, Mother and me, will spend all day tomorrow-or for however long it takes-with a telephone stuck in our ears.

Well, what the h.e.l.l, sergeant sergeant or not, I or not, I am am the rookie in Homicide, and that's what rookies do, whatever jobs will release someone who knows what he's doing to do it. the rookie in Homicide, and that's what rookies do, whatever jobs will release someone who knows what he's doing to do it.

Olivia thought: Well, however politely put, that was a kick in the teeth, wasn't it, Sergeant Hotshot? You and the temporary employee from Northwest get to work the telephones, while the real detectives do their thing. Well, however politely put, that was a kick in the teeth, wasn't it, Sergeant Hotshot? You and the temporary employee from Northwest get to work the telephones, while the real detectives do their thing.

And you really deserved a kick in the teeth to bring you down to size, so why do I feel sorry for you?

The bartender began distributing drinks, starting with Doctor's Specials for Dr. Payne and Detective La.s.siter. She was surprised that the first martini gla.s.s was empty. She looked at the fresh one.

I don't need that. I don't want that. I'm going to make a fool of myself.

"How are you going to get home, Olivia?" Amy asked.

"I'm riding with Matt . . . Sergeant Payne."

Like just now.

"Are you all right to drive, Matt?" Amy asked.

"Hey, fight with Peter all you want, but lay off me."

"I was thinking of Olivia," Amy replied, "and what makes you think I'm fighting with Peter?"

"Your claws are showing."

Washington stood up, holding his gla.s.s.

"I am leaving before these adorable, loving siblings enter the violent stage," he said. "But not before I take aboard sufficient liquid courage to face the unsheathed claws I fear I will myself find at home."

He took a healthy swallow of his drink.

"You will drop by the lab, Frank?"

"Just as soon as I drop the boss off," Hollaran said.

"I was going to say Frank could take La.s.siter home," Coughlin said, "but his going by the lab is important." He looked at Matt. "You drive very carefully, Matt. I don't want to hear on Phil's Philly Phil's Philly that you ran into a school bus." that you ran into a school bus."

"I'm all right, Uncle Denny," Matt said.

"Okay, Frank," Coughlin said. "Let's call it a night."

He stood up, finished his drink, and walked to the door. Hollaran followed him. Washington finished his drink and followed them.

"What Slayberg and I are going to do tomorrow, Matt," D'Amata said, "is run down the known acquaintances and ring some doorbells. If anything turns up, we'll let you know."

"Fine," Matt said.

That was really nice of him, Olivia thought. Olivia thought. He picked up on Matt getting kicked in the teeth and was trying to make him feel better. He picked up on Matt getting kicked in the teeth and was trying to make him feel better.

D'Amata and Slayberg left.

"You want to go, Mother?" Matt asked.

She stood up, picked up her gla.s.s, met his eyes, and drained it.

He shook his head in resignation and gestured toward the door.

"You were lucky in there, Mother," Matt said when they were in the Porsche.

"I'm not your Mother, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!"

"You were lucky, Mother," Matt went on, "that your mouth didn't run away with you any more than it did. n.o.body likes a drunken woman. Last warning."

"f.u.c.k you!"

"With the additional warning to never say that to me again, the conversation is closed, Detective La.s.siter," Matt said. "Now, where do you live?"

"Take me to City Hall. I'll take a taxi."

"Commissioner Coughlin ordered me to take you home. Answer the question, Detective La.s.siter."

"The 100 Block of Orchard Lane," she said, icily, after a moment. "It's east of the North Philadelphia Airport. Take I-95, and get-"

"I know where the North Philadelphia airport is."

Matt put the Porsche in gear and backed away from the curb.

[TWO].

"Take the next left, onto Knight's Road," Olivia said, as they were headed down Woodhaven Road.

It was the first thing either of them had said since leaving Liberties.

Matt wordlessly made the turn.

Two minutes later, Olivia said, pointing across the median, "Orchard's over there. You can make a U-turn at the stoplight. "

Matt saw that the stoplight at the intersection of Knight's Road and Red Lion Road was green and that a Dodge Caravan, headed his way on the other side of the median, was the only traffic. It had just pa.s.sed the stoplight.

He touched the brake, flicked the turn signal lever, downshifted, and prepared to make the U-turn at the intersection, after the Caravan.

A Pontiac Grand Am came out of nowhere down Red Lion, ran the red light, flashed past the nose of the Porsche, and then slammed into the side of the Dodge Caravan.

Slammed hard into it. There was the sound of tearing metal as the Dodge was knocked, mostly sideward, across the street, coming to rest at an angle against the curb.

"That sonofab.i.t.c.h ran the light!" Matt said.

He braked sharply, stopped, turned on his flashers, and opened his door.

"Call Radio," he ordered, handing his cellular to Olivia.

The driver's door of the Grand Am opened and the driver got out. He was a young, tall, white male.

"You stupid sonofab.i.t.c.h!" Matt muttered.

"This is Detective La.s.siter, badge 582. We are at Red Lion and Knights Road. We have a vehicular accident, auto-auto. Possible injuries, start in Fire Rescue, and a sector car."

There was a moment's hesitation, then Olivia added, "No. We are not involved."

Thank G.o.d! Matt thought. Matt thought. Neither one of us could pa.s.s a Breathalyzer test right now. Neither one of us could pa.s.s a Breathalyzer test right now.

The young, tall, white male looked first at the Caravan and then at the Porsche stopped on Knight's Road with its warning flashers blinking. Then he sort of shrugged and took off at a lope down Orchard Lane.

"Check on the people in the van," Matt ordered, and jumped out of the Porsche and ran after the young, tall, white male.

Now it's leaving the scene of an accident, you dumb sonofab.i.t.c.h!

And that Grand Am is probably stolen.

"Stop!" he shouted. "I am a police officer."

The young, tall, white male kept running. Matt saw him turn off the street into a driveway.

When Matt reached the lawn of the next house, he cut across it diagonally and at a full run encountered with his foot a wire supporting an ornamental tree on the lawn.

He flew through the air and landed flat on the concrete driveway. He felt his face sc.r.a.pe against the concrete, and a stinging in both hands where they had struck the concrete.

He shook his head and got to his knees.

The young, tall, white male was running around the side of a garage.

Matt ran after him.

When he turned the corner of the garage, he saw the young, tall, white male about to top a five-foot hurricane fence.

"Stop, police officer!" Matt shouted.

The young, tall, white male looked right at him and then dropped to the ground on the far side of the fence.

"I'm going to get you, you sonofab.i.t.c.h!" Matt shouted, and ran toward the fence.

It was his intention to leap the fence gracefully by vaulting over it with the use of his left hand on the parallel pipe at the top of the fence.

Two problems arose. First, the parallel pipe at the top of the fence was perhaps an inch below the top of the fence itself. Second, the uppermost joints of the twisted wire of the fence were above it. One of them penetrated the heel of Matt's hand, which he had planned to use for leverage.

This caused (a) Matt's pa.s.sage over the fence to be considerably less graceful than he intended; (b) a puncture wound in the heel of Matt's hand; and (c) Matt's trousers to be torn from just below the knee almost to the cuff as they became ensnared in the twisted wire at the top of the fence.

"Sonofab.i.t.c.h!" Matt cried, and got to his feet.

He saw that he was between two lines of hurricane fence running behind the houses. The young, tall, white male was running between them. Matt ran after him.

At the end of the parallel lines of hurricane fence there were a dozen garbage cans. The young, tall, white male leapt nimbly over the first two cans, but then his foot slipped between two of them and he sprawled onto the ground amid toppled garbage cans.

Matt, breathing heavily, shoved the garbage cans to one side, then fell to his knees beside the young, tall, white male and pulled his arm behind his back. Then he put his knee on the small of the young, tall, white male's back.

He tried to catch his breath. He became aware that blood was dripping from his chin onto the white sweatshirt of the young, tall, white male.

He heard the wail of a siren, and then the wail of a second siren.

Matt felt the small of his own back for his handcuffs.

I left the f.u.c.king things in the G.o.dd.a.m.n car!

"You gonna let me up now?" the young, tall, white male asked.

"Shut your f.u.c.king mouth!"

The sound of one of the sirens died, and then the other. After what seemed like two and a half years, Matt saw the beam of a sweeping flashlight.

"Over here!" he tried to shout, which told him he had not fully recovered his breath.

The flashlight beam came closer.

"My G.o.d, what happened to you?" Detective La.s.siter asked.