Final Justice Part 55

He held out his hand to indicate Detective Martinez's diminutive stature.

"Who's he talking about?" Wohl asked Matt.

"Hay-zus," Matt said. "McFadden relieves him at midnight."

"Another Mick, Stan," O'Hara said. "Good guy. You'll like him."

"Inspector, I would venture to suggest that Mr. Colt would be safe in the capable Gaelic hands of Detective McFadden," Washington said.

"You mind if I ask if you always talk like that?" Mr. Colt asked.

"Always, I'm afraid," Wohl said, chuckling. He looked at his watch. "Put the arm out for him, Matt. Have him meet us here."

"Have him meet us at D'Allesandro's," Mr. Colt said. "This drink is my third and last one for the day, and I'm determined to have a cheese steak. You're all invited, of course."

Washington and Wohl looked at each other.

"Far be it from me to reject Mr. Colt's generous invitation, " Washington said. "And not only because it will afford me a splendid answer to Martha's inevitable question when I finally get home."

"Where the h.e.l.l have you been, what have you been doing, and with whom?" Wohl asked.

" 'Actually, my precious, I was having a cheese steak at D'Allesandro's with Mr. Stan Colt, the movie star.' That should for once strike her dumb."

[TWO].

At five past one, Mr. Stanley Colt having had his cheese steak, and having been transferred into the capable hands of Detective Charles McFadden, Matt got in his unmarked Crown Victoria and started home.

He smiled at the memory of Mr. Colt's response to Inspector Wohl's instructions to Detective McFadden: "He is not to get out of Mickey's car without your permission. If he gives you any trouble, cuff him, and turn him over to Dignitary Protection at the Ritz-Carlton. Trouble is defined to include any gesture toward a member of the opposite s.e.x beyond a friendly smile."

"That's not going to be a problem. I can get laid anytime. But doing this, wow!"

He had just turned onto Walnut Street and was headed west toward Rittenhouse Square when his cellular went off.

Jesus, now what?

"Payne."

"Can you talk?" Detective Olivia La.s.siter inquired.

"Yeah."

"They have a positive ID on one of the doers in the Roy Rogers job-"

"I heard," Matt interrupted. "And they're running an around-the-clock surveillance, which is why they threw us out of Homicide."

There was a silence.

"How's your hand?" Olivia asked after a long moment.

He looked at it.

"Fine," he said. "I had just about forgotten about it."

"Oh."

Another silence.

"I thought maybe you needed the bandage changed," she said, finally.

"No. It looks fine."

"Oh."

Jesus Christ, Matthew, you are the dumbest sonofab.i.t.c.h in Philadelphia!!!

"Where are you, Mother?"

"I'm not your mother."

"Where are you, Not My Mother?"

"In the Starbucks at Twelfth and Market."

"What are you doing there? I thought you went to Homicide?"

"I hung around Homicide for a while, made a few more calls. Then I came here and waited until I thought you'd probably put Colt to bed. Then I called."

"I'm at Nineteenth and Walnut. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"No."

"For Christ's sake, I'll take you home."

"If you come here, somebody who knows one or both of us will see us."

"Then go stand in the dark around the corner on Twelfth and Filbert. I'll pick you up there and take you home."

There was a long pause again, before she asked, "If I took a cab to Rittenhouse Square, how could I get in the building this time of night?"

Another pause, this one on Matt's part, and shorter.

"When you get out of the cab, I'll be waiting for you in the lobby."

And one final pause before she said, "The way you were talking before, I thought you didn't want me to come over there."

"Oh, baby!"

[THREE].

The chiefs of police of Daphne and Fairhope, Alabama, were privately not at all happy with the Jackson's Oak Citizens' Community Watch, Inc.

Daphne and Fairhope are small, prosperous, primarily residential communities in Baldwin County on Mobile Bay in South Alabama. They lie across Mobile Bay from the city of Mobile, and about thirty miles from the Gulf of Mexico.

Baldwin County, which is larger than the state of Rhode Island, is similarly prosperous, both because of its fertile fields and its seash.o.r.e on the Gulf of Mexico-known, despite the valiant efforts of the local chambers of commerce, as the Redneck Riviera-which is famous for its spectacular snow-white beaches, and which attracts affluent tourists throughout the year.

There is not much crime-certainly not as that term is interpreted in Philadelphia-in Baldwin County or in Daphne or Fairhope. But to fight what there is, there is a nice tax base to support law enforcement and the various fire departments.

The police cruisers of the Daphne and Fairhope police departments are state-of-the-art vehicles, equipped with the latest communication systems, video recorders, computers, and speed-detection radar. They are generally replaced annually, and the "old" vehicles sold to less prosperous communities.

The Daphne chief of police was not happy with the Jackson's Oak Citizens' Community Watch, Inc., because he thought it was unnecessary, potentially dangerous, and enjoyed the opposite of respect from his sworn officers. The Fairhope chief of police was not happy with JOCCWI (sometimes referred to privately within the law enforcement community as "Jabberwocky") because he feared it would be contagious and Fairhope would get one like it.

JOCCWI had been formed by a group of concerned citizens as their response to what they regarded as the Daphne police department's inability to rid the community of drug addicts, petty thieves, Peeping Toms, and other disturbers of the domestic tranquillity.

There was a thread of justification in their complaints. So far as the chief knew, if there were those in Daphne using hard drugs, they did so in their homes and purchased them elsewhere. If a stranger appeared in either Fairhope or Daphne who looked remotely as if he might be using-much less selling-hard drugs, a cop trailed him until a search of his/her person was legally justified, or he/she left town, whichever came first.

There was cannabis sativa, of course. And on any given pleasant evening, the chief knew, the young and sometimes not-so-young might go to the beach and smoke a joint or two. Or they might go outside the clubhouse of the Lake Forest Golf and Country Club and take a couple of puffs. If his officers saw them, they were arrested.

There was more validity to the petty-theft charge. There were more than two hundred boats, power and sail, in the marina of the Lake Forest Yacht Club. Just about every one of them had something aboard-from radar sets and depth meters or "fish finders" on a forty-foot Hatteras to oars in a row-boat-that was both quickly removable and easily sold, no questions asked, in any one of a hundred places from Biloxi, Mississippi, in the west to Pensacola, Florida, in the east.

Most of these thefts could be prevented by the boats' owners taking reasonable measures. And the only way to stop the thefts completely would be to station officers not only at the marina but in boats guarding access to it. That was out of the question.

Easily removable things, from radar detectors to hubcaps to entire wheels, were stolen from cars, too, as the founders of JOCCWI contended. And sometimes expensive lawn furniture-or even a new garden hose-bought from Home Depot would vanish from a back lawn overnight.

Sometimes the thieves were caught, sometimes they were not. It was obviously impossible for the police to be everywhere all the time.

The Peeping Tom allegation also had some merit. There were a lot of good-looking young women, married and not, in the condominiums adjacent to the Yacht Club, and on the fringes of Lake Forest, a huge area of small to medium-sized homes. It was not a gated community. It was easily possible for someone with an interest in watching young women undress to go into Lake Forest and hide behind one of its many trees with binoculars. And hard as h.e.l.l to catch them at it.

Among the other disturbers of the peace JOCCWI wished to control were high school kids racing around in Pop's-or their own-car in the middle of the night. The chief had his officers spend a lot of time trying to stop that-he had had more than his fill of picking up dead kids who'd missed a turn and hit a tree-but he knew he hadn't stopped it all.

On the surface, having a number of responsible citizens roaming through the area at night in their own cars, looking for something amiss, and when finding it, reporting it to the police by cell phone seemed at first-even to the chief-to be not so bad an idea.

And among the founders of JOCCWI were the pillars of the community. They were lawyers, executives, schoolteachers, businessmen, dentists, and retired members of the armed forces, including two full colonels, three lieutenant colonels (one of them a former Green Beret), a number of other commissioned officers, and nearly a dozen retired master chief petty officers, sergeants major, and other high-ranking former noncoms.

They showed the chief what they intended to do, and how they intended to do it, and he frankly had felt more than a little admiration for their plan.

The night the concerned citizens went into action, the chief and the mayor went to their headquarters, a rented former concession stand at the Yacht Club, to wish them well.

They learned that the organization now had a name, Jackson's Oak Citizens' Community Watch. It was taken from Jackson's Oak, a tree in Daphne under which Andrew Jackson had allegedly stood shortly before moving west to fight the Battle of New Orleans.

That's when the chief and the mayor saw that the retired Green Beret, who would serve as watch commander that night, had a Colt .45 semiautomatic pistol in the small of his back. And so did Dr. Smiley, the dentist who would command the first four-hour tour. Other members of JOCCW (without the "I" for "Incorporated") were also armed, with everything from pistols to shotguns.

As tactfully as he could, the chief had suggested to the retired Green Beret that perhaps firearms weren't really such a good idea. All that JOCCW was supposed to do was keep an eye open and call the police if they saw something that looked suspicious.

"How the h.e.l.l can you go on guard without a weapon? Jesus Christ, Charley!"

The next morning, the mayor, the chief, the (part-time) munic.i.p.al judge, and the (part-time) city attorney conferred vis-a-vis the armed members of JOCCW patrolling the city.

Legally, there didn't seem much that could be done about it. Under the laws of Alabama, any law-abiding citizen over twenty-one could apply to the Baldwin County Sheriff for a permit to carry a handgun concealed about the person, on or in a vehicle. The permit could not be denied without good cause.

They agreed that the sheriff of Baldwin County, who is an elected official and wished to be re-elected ad infinitum, ad infinitum, was not about to tell the pillars of the community who had organized JOCCW that he'd changed his mind, and they could no longer go about armed. was not about to tell the pillars of the community who had organized JOCCW that he'd changed his mind, and they could no longer go about armed.

The laws regarding longarms were similarly not very comforting to the mayor et al. No licenses were required to own longarms. Citizens had to pa.s.s a firearms safety program to get a hunting license, unless they were veterans of an armed force, or over the age of sixty-five. Many, perhaps 75 percent, of the members of JOCCW met both of the latter two requirements.

Finally, the city attorney suggested that since the members of JOCCW were all reasonable men, if they were aware of the legal ramifications-primarily tort lawsuits for hundreds of thousands of dollars-for shooting someone without full justification, they might lose their enthusiasm for carrying weapons.

This was brought tactfully to the attention of one of the two retired full colonels-a Marine who'd fought all over the Orient from Guadalca.n.a.l to Khe Sanh-who listened attentively, thanked the city attorney for his interest, and said it wasn't a problem.

"That potential difficulty occurred to Bob Skinner," the colonel said. J. Robert Skinner, Esq., one of the founders of JOCCW, was an attorney, specializing in corporate liability. "We expected to be incorporated within the week. If somebody sues JOCCWI-'I' for 'Incorporated'-the corporation treasury will be empty, or nearly so."

The chief, therefore, was concerned but not surprised when his bedside telephone rang at 1:30 A.M. (2:30 A.M. Philadelphia time) and the police dispatcher somewhat excitedly told him, "Chief, we just got a call from Jabberwocky. Request a.s.sistance at the Yacht Club Condominiums. Shots fired."

"I'm on my way. Call the mayor."

Christ, it was inevitable. I'm only surprised that it didn't happen long before this.

Dear Jesus, please don't let them have shot some kid, or some guy trying to sneak into his own house.

When the chief turned off Highway 98 into the drive of the Lake Forest Yacht Club, he saw that three Daphne police cruisers and one each from the Fairhope police department, the Baldwin County sheriff's patrol, and the Alabama state troopers had beat him to the scene.

When he got out of the car, the wail of sirens he heard told him that additional law enforcement vehicles were on the way.

Then he saw there had been a vehicular collision just inside the brick gate posts. A Chevrolet Impala on its way out of the complex had slammed into the side of a Mercedes sports utility vehicle sitting sideward in the road. He recognized the Mercedes to be that of Chambers D. Galloway, retired chief executive officer of Galloway Carpets, Inc., and a founding member of JOCCWI, who lived in one of the big houses overlooking the beach and Mobile Bay.

The chief shouldered his way through the spectators and law enforcement officers.

"Who was shot?" he demanded, before he saw a very large man wearing black coveralls lying facedown on the ground, his wrists handcuffed behind him.

"n.o.body was shot," the retired Green Beret said, just a little condescendingly.

"I was told 'shots fired'!"

"I didn't try to hit hit him, Charley. At that distance, I could have easily popped him. But I knew that Galloway could intercept him at the gate-I'd already alerted him and others- but I figured, what the h.e.l.l, if I let off a couple of rounds into the air, he might give up back there." him, Charley. At that distance, I could have easily popped him. But I knew that Galloway could intercept him at the gate-I'd already alerted him and others- but I figured, what the h.e.l.l, if I let off a couple of rounds into the air, he might give up back there."

He pointed into the condominium complex.

"Why? . . . What did he do to attract your attention?"

"He had a ski mask on and he was trying to pry open a window with a knife . . . great big sonofab.i.t.c.h. It's still in his car-I looked. . . . For some reason, I got a little suspicious. So I alerted the shift, told them to block the entrances, and then I shined my light on this clown and asked him, 'Excuse me, sir. May I ask what you're doing?' At that point, he took off running."

"Chambers Galloway stopped him?" the chief asked, just a little incredulously.

And then the chief saw Chambers Galloway. The tall, ascetic septuagenarian was standing beside the state trooper, chatting pleasantly, looking more than a little pleased with himself.

Mr. Galloway was wearing a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and shoulder and a matching brimmed cap. He held a twelve-bore Belgian Browning over-and-under shotgun, the action open, crooked over his right arm. He could have been standing in a Scottish field, waiting for the beaters to start the pheasants flying.

As the chief looked, a flashbulb went off, and then a second and a third. The chief saw Charley Whelan, of the Mobile Register, Mobile Register, standing atop his Jeep Cherokee in such a position that he could get Mr. Chambers D. Galloway; the p.r.o.ne, handcuffed man in black coveralls; and most of the police officers and their vehicles in his shot. standing atop his Jeep Cherokee in such a position that he could get Mr. Chambers D. Galloway; the p.r.o.ne, handcuffed man in black coveralls; and most of the police officers and their vehicles in his shot.

In a sense, Mr. Whelan was Mobile's Mickey O'Hara. He was considerably younger, and far less well paid, but he was the crime reporter for the Register. Register.