Final Justice Part 62

"Where should I begin?" he asked.

"When was the first time you saw this fellow?" Matt asked.

"Well, just before the whole thing went down was the first time I saw him," Richards said. "I was checking the guard, so to speak."

"I'm not sure I follow you, sir."

"Well, we run three roving patrols. Some of our guys are getting a little long in the tooth, and in the wee hours, they sort of pull off and catch a few winks. You can get yourself shot in the service for that, but this isn't the service, and all I can do is roam around and try to catch them. And then all I can do is wag my finger in their faces and tell them they're letting the side down."

"I understand," Matt said.

Colonel Richards interrupted himself to vigorously shake the martini mixer for a full sixty seconds, and then, with the precision of a chemist dealing with a known poisonous substance, to pour the mixture into oversized martini gla.s.ses.

"Welcome to our home," Bev said, raising her gla.s.s.

"Thank you," Matt and Olivia said, in duet.

The colonel took an appreciative sip and then went on.

"Well, I saw this guy-or thought I did-I saw what looked like somebody running between trees. You know what I mean?"

"Yes, sir."

"So I figured if I stopped, he'd see that, so I drove a couple of blocks away, and parked, and then came back on foot. My night vision's not what it used to be, but I can still move pretty good through the dark. I was in Special Forces for a long time."

"Were you really?" Olivia asked.

"Yes, ma'am, I was," Richards said. "So I see him doing this again. Moving from one tree to another, stopping a minute, and then running to the next. By the time he'd done that three, four times, I had a pretty good idea where he was running to, and while he was hiding behind a tree, I ran, and a little faster, and pretty soon I was ahead of him."

"Interesting," Matt said.

"And I was right about where he was going," Richards said. "Building 202. I got down on the ground when I saw him coming, and I saw him pull a mask-a black ski mask- over his head. Did I say he was wearing black coveralls?"

"No, sir. You did not. What about the mask?"

"You've seen them. One of our guys-I mean one of the Delta Force guys, not the guys in Jabberwocky-came up with the idea of using them-all they are is regular ski masks, except black, and without all that cutesy-poo reindeer stuff you see on some ski masks-for their psychological effect when you're hitting an objective. They scare h.e.l.l out of people. They think they're being attacked by Darth Vader."

"I understand," Matt said.

"So, the first thing I thought was that I didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that somebody running around dressed up like that wasn't selling Bibles door-to-door. And what I should do was shove my .45 up his left nostril. But you always think twice, or should, and I did. Then I thought maybe this was just some clown trying to scare his wife or girlfriend or, for that matter, boyfriend-you'd be surprised at the weirdos that collect in those condominiums. The things we've seen in Jabberwocky . . ."

"Disgusting," Bev Richards chimed in. "Absolutely disgusting! "

"Anyway, so I decided I better be sure this guy wasn't some kind of pervert-or if he was a pervert, he was playing with his own squeeze-before I did anything. So I kept him under surveillance. Then he goes to the kitchen window of 202B- there's two apartments to a floor in the condo buildings, four apartments to each one: 202B is the ground floor one to the left, if you're facing it from the front-and whips out this knife. Sword is more like it, it looks like something the bad guys carry in a Stan Colt movie, a great big sonofab.i.t.c.h-"

"Watch your mouth, Colonel!" Bev Richards said.

"This gentleman then begins to attempt to pry the kitchen window open with this knife, the blade of which I would estimate to be at least fourteen inches in length, as much as four inches in breadth at the widest point, and highly polished, perhaps even chromium plated," the colonel said, paused, and inquired, "Better?"

"Much better," Bev said.

"In other words, Sergeant, a great big sonofab.i.t.c.h," the colonel went on, visibly pleased with himself.

"You saw saw him, Colonel," Olivia asked, "attempt to pry open the window? You're sure that's what he was doing?" him, Colonel," Olivia asked, "attempt to pry open the window? You're sure that's what he was doing?"

"Well, he could have been attacking a column of ants with that sword, but it looked to me like what he was doing with it was trying to pry the window open."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Well, I got out the ol' cellular, alerted the team, told them what was going down, and to block the exits. Unless you want to swim, there's only two ways out of there. Then I got up, put a round in the chamber, turned the flashlight on him, and said, 'Excuse me, sir. May I ask what you're doing?' "

"Those were your exact words?" Matt asked.

"Those were my exact words," Colonel Richards said.

"And then what happened?"

"For a moment, I thought he was going to attack me with the sword, and I hoped he wouldn't, because I never was any good at taking sharp objects away from people, and I didn't want to have to put him down with the .45 because that would really have opened a large can of worms, and then he just turned and ran off."

"Still wearing the mask?" Matt asked.

"I dunno. I suppose so. Anyway, I called 'Halt, or I'll fire' and let off a couple of rounds in the general direction of the moon, thinking that might scare him into stopping. It didn't. So I called the team and told them to block the exits, and to be careful because this guy had a knife. Then I called the cops. Then I started for my car. I saw headlights go on, and heard an engine start and tires squealing. So I got in my car. When I got to the Highway 98 exit, I saw that he'd run into Chambers Galloway's brand-d.a.m.ned-new Mercedes truck thing, and that the old guy had him spread-eagled on the ground with a twelve-bore shotgun pointed at him."

"Did he have the mask on then?" Matt asked.

"No. But I looked into his car just before the cops came, and it was in the car, that and the knife."

"Did the police find out who he is?" Olivia asked.

"Not right away," the colonel said, and looked at his wife. "At first, he wouldn't say anything, and he wasn't carrying any identification. Not even a driver's license. So Charley tossed him in the slam-"

"Charley?" Olivia asked.

"Charley Yancey, the chief of police. And a pretty good one," the colonel explained, and then went on: "I think Charley charged him with leaving the scene of an accident, which is heavier than being a Peeping Tom, which is like spitting on the sidewalk. Anyway, once he had him locked up, Charley began to try to identify him through the car."

"And did he?"

"Not until about ten o'clock this morning," the colonel said. "The car had Illinois plates, but when Charley called out there, they said the plates were not for the car this guy was driving, and they didn't have the VIN . . . the Vehicle Identification Number? . . ."

"Yes, sir. I'm familiar with the term," Matt said.

". . . in their data bank. So Charley checked with Montgomery-that's the state capital, where our data bank is-and neither did they. Nor did Florida or Mississippi."

"Interesting," Matt said.

"So Charley finally decided to make sure he was using the right VIN, and when he went out to the impound yard, he finally saw the Gambino Motor Cars chrome thing on the trunk. You know what I mean?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

"Next to where it says Chevrolet Impala or whatever, the dealers put their own name."

"Yes, sir. Now I understand. Colonel, can I ask you how you know all this?"

The question made Colonel Richards uncomfortable.

"The minute I started to tell you, I was afraid you'd ask that question," he said. "Would you be satisfied if I told you I have a source inside the police department? I do, and I don't want him getting in trouble with Charley because he's keeping me up to speed on this."

"You're talking about a police officer?"

"No, I'm talking about the guy who goes there once a week to wax the floors."

"Colonel, I can't see any reason why I should tell the chief of police that I even know who you are. I was just curious. . . ."

"That's probably a good idea. Don't tell him you talked to me."

"All right, sir, I won't. You were saying something about the car dealer?"

"Fats Gambino. Great big fat Italian guy. He takes a lot of heat with a name like that, as you can imagine."

"Yes, sir."

"Anyway-he's a friend of mine, by the way-Fats has the Mercedes franchise and the Porsche franchise and others. Volvo, for one. And he deals in cla.s.sy cars, exotic cars, is that what they call them? Rolls Royces, old Packards, stuff like that."

"Exotic cars. Yes, sir, I understand."

"And he also does things like buy fleets of cars from people like Hertz and Dollar and Alamo. I think they get rid of them after forty thousand miles, or a year. Something like that. Anyway, Gambino buys them up north, brings them here, cleans them up, and puts them on his used-car lot. That's where the peeper got his car."

"He bought it from Gambino?"

"No. He borrowed it from Gambino. It turns out this guy is in the exotic-car business. He was in town to try to sell Fats a Rolls Royce and something else, I forget what, and to try to make a deal with Gambino for a couple of Porsches."

"I'm a little confused here, Colonel," Olivia asked. "You're saying this fellow drove here from someplace in a Rolls Royce, and then borrowed a Chevrolet from Mr. Gambino? "

"No. He drove here in a great big tractor-trailer rig with three, four, really fancy cars in it. Then he borrowed the Chevy from Gambino. Told him he was going to Biloxi to play blackjack. Fats is one p.i.s.sed-off guy, let me tell you. . . ."

"There goes your mouth again," Mrs. Richards said.

"Mr. Gambino is apparently distressed at the prospect that his name will be a.s.sociated in the public's mind with that of a chap charged by the police as a Peeping Tom. Better?"

"Sometimes, Lacey . . ."

"Let me see if I can get this in sequence, Colonel," Matt said. "When the chief of police couldn't identify the car by its VIN, he did so by tracing it to the Gambino dealership?"

"A little after ten this morning. Gambino goes to work late. When he finally came in, he said, yeah, he owned a car like that, he owned a dozen cars like that, and he had loaned one to a friend of his to go to Biloxi. Bingo. Mr. Peeper is identified. "

"Okay. I think I've got it straight," Matt said. "Thank you."

"And now are you going to tell me why you're interested in this guy? Interested enough to come all the way down here from Philadelphia, P.A.?"

"Colonel, you've been very helpful, and I'm really grateful. But I would be in deep trouble if it ever got out I told you anything that could possibly jeopardize our investigation."

"Okay. I had twenty-seven years in uniform, and for most of that time I had a top-secret clearance. But okay."

"Would you be satisfied if I told you, Colonel, that from what you've told me, the way this Peeping Tom operates is unusually like the way a man we're looking for in connection with a homicide in Philadelphia operates?"

"Your guy is a pervert too?" Colonel Richards asked.

"Yes, Colonel," Olivia said. "He is."

"If our guy turns out to be your guy, will I have to read about it in the newspaper? Or will you tell me first?"

"You'll hear about it long before it gets into the papers," Matt said. "I promise."

[TWO].

It was ten to seven when Matt pulled the rented Mustang into the Joseph Hall Criminal Justice Center in Daphne.

There was a large parking lot, and it was full. Matt wondered why, at this time of day.

"I'm getting hungry again," he said to Olivia.

"After all you had for lunch? I can't believe it."

"I don't know. I must have done something to work up an appet.i.te."

"I can't imagine what," Olivia said. "When are you going to call Lieutenant Washington?"

"I don't have anything to tell him yet," Matt argued. "And if he had something to say to us, he would have called."

Inside a double gla.s.s door was a barren room with shiny tile walls. There were several metal doors and a small window in the walls. Next to the window was a buzzer b.u.t.ton and a sign reading, RING BELL FOR SERVICE.

Matt pushed the b.u.t.ton. There was a buzzing sound, and a moment later the small door opened inward, and the face of a plump middle-aged woman appeared in the opening. She had what looked like a police uniform on, but Matt saw neither badge nor weapon.

"Can I help you?"

"Good evening," Matt said, and showed her his identification. "I'm Sergeant Payne, this is Detective La.s.siter, and we'd like to see Chief Yancey, please."

"Can't right now, he's in court."

She pointed to her left, to a single door in the shiny tile wall.

"Well, then, may I please speak to the supervisor on duty?"

"That'd be Sergeant Paul."

"Do you think I can see Sergeant Paul?"

"You want to see see him, or just speak to him?" him, or just speak to him?"