Final Justice Part 69

When Sergeant Kenny led Homer C. Daniels from what the Daphne police department called the detention area into the administrative area and toward the chief's office, Daniels was even more firmly cuffed and shackled than Jason Washington thought he would be.

The chief of police had gone into his supply room and come out with a white canvas bag labeled "Prisoner Restraint System." It held three belts made of thick saddle leather and heavy canvas, a Y-shaped chain, and some other accessories. The system looked as if it was rarely used, if it ever had been.

Washington could now see how it worked when installed. The waist belt buckled in the back. On the front, connected to it with heavy chains, were handcuffs. Daniels could move his cuffed wrists no more than a few inches. Daniels's ankles had smaller versions of the waist belt around them. A short length of chain connected the two ankle restraints together, so that he had to walk with small steps. Another chain ran up his back, split into two, then went over his shoulders and connected with the waist belt. His ability to bend was severely restricted. Washington wondered how he was going to sit down in the restraint.

When Sergeant Kenny led his shuffling prisoner through the door of the chief's office, Washington said, "Time," and punched one of the b.u.t.tons on his Tag Heuer chronograph.

"I never saw anyone actually push the b.u.t.tons on one of those fancy watches before," Steve Cohen said in mock wonderment.

Washington held his wrist up so that Cohen could see the dial.

"It is also extremely useful when preparing soft-boiled eggs, Steve. One needn't make wild guesses about whether three and a half minutes have pa.s.sed or not."

"I'm impressed."

"And well you should be."

Three minutes and forty seconds later, Sergeant Kenny came through the door, a very large Daphne police officer went in, and then Kenny walked to his office.

"He wants to take a leak," Kenny said.

"Time," Washington said, punched several b.u.t.tons on his watch, and then said, "Splendid."

Precisely five minutes later, Washington said, "Sergeant Kenny, will you please escort Mr. Daniels back to his cell, so that he may relieve the pressure on his bladder?"

"The more I think about how that guy gets his kicks, the more I'd rather have him p.i.s.s his pants," Kenny said.

"That, while a very interesting thought, would almost certainly, as Mr. Cohen would quickly tell us, violate Mr. Daniels's civil rights," Washington said.

"Let him have his leak, Kenny," Cohen said.

It took seven minutes and twenty seconds for Mr. Daniels to be shuffled back and forth to his cell.

"Time," Washington called, as Daniels shuffled through the door into the chief's office.

Not quite ten minutes later, Washington said, "Matt, go tell the chief that if Mr. Bernhardt wishes to consult with his client . . ."

"Yes, sir," Matt said, and left Kenny's office.

"Jason, what does your screenplay have to say about Daniels wanting to talk privately with his lawyer?"

"I don't think he will," Washington replied. "But if he does, it can only accrue to our advantage. I don't think he's seen him since the chief got the search warrants. He would tell him that, I'm sure."

Roswell Bernhardt, Esq., came into the room. The large Daphne police officer standing outside the chief's office opened the door for him and he went inside.

"Time," Washington said, and pushed b.u.t.tons on his watch.

Matt appeared a minute or so later.

"You are prepared, I presume, Sergeant Payne? You're on in eight minutes and fifteen seconds."

"Yes, sir."

Eight minutes later, Washington said, "Good luck, Matt."

Matt, carrying a tape recorder and two microphones, walked across the room, waited for the Daphne uniform to open the door, then walked into the chief's office.

And four minutes after that, came out again.

"You're on, Steve," Washington said.

"Yeah, but I'm not going to get canned if I give a lousy performance," Cohen said, and walked across the room.

Five minutes after that, Chief of Police Charles Yancey came into Sergeant Kenny's office.

"Am I going to be in the way here?"

"Of course not," Washington said. "And it gives me the opportunity to tell you again how appreciative we all are for all your a.s.sistance."

"This isn't my first murder," Yancey said. "But I've never been around a sleazeball, murdering pervert like this before. Or seen big-city cops at work."

"We work exactly the same way as you do."

"The h.e.l.l you do. Kenny told me what you did-are doing. Is it going to work?"

"Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn't. It largely depends on the interrogator."

"And that young sergeant is that good?"

"We are about to determine that," Washington said.

"Kenny told me about the run-in you had with the FBI. Does that happen all the time?"

"I don't know about all all the time. But it happens far too frequently, I'm afraid. They seem to be very concerned with their image." the time. But it happens far too frequently, I'm afraid. They seem to be very concerned with their image."

"They always-between you and me, a couple of cops- seem to look down their noses at us."

"Odd," Washington said. "I seem to have heard that before somewhere."

Yancey smiled at him.

"You want to go get a cup of coffee while you're waiting?"

"You're very kind, but I'd rather stay here."

"h.e.l.l, I'll get it," Yancey said.

He hadn't made it out of the administrative area when the door to his office opened and Matt Payne-carrying the tape recorder and microphones-and Steve Cohen came out.

Cohen walked to Washington.

"Mr. Daniels asked to confer with counsel, privately," he said.

"How did it go, Steve?"

"Matt did a h.e.l.l of a good job, and I'm not saying that for any reason but giving credit where due."

"I expected nothing less," Washington said. "What are they going to talk about, would you think?"

"Probably my refusal to offer more of a deal than life without the possibility of parole."

"You didn't tell me about that."

"You didn't ask," Cohen said. "The boss wants this guy off the streets permanently. I told her I had the feeling that there are unsolved rapes, maybe even murder-rapes, all over the country that are going to surface now that we've caught this guy."

"Detective La.s.siter spent fruitless hours on the telephone. . . ."

"Calling big-city departments. I don't think she would have gotten around to Daphne anytime soon."

"I grant your point."

"Well, anyway, Eileen said we couldn't count on that, and she decided we have enough to go with here with no deal except life without parole."

"Eileen's tough," Washington said, admiringly.

"Personally, I'd like to see the sonofab.i.t.c.h strapped to the gurney," Cohen said. "But that's emotional. The interests of the people are best served by ensuring that he's behind bars permanently, rather than taking a chance that he'll walk, or get out in ten years."

"Isaac 'Fort' Festung," Washington said. "He was sentenced to life and he's walking around France eating grapes."

"Yeah."

"Any developments there?"

"The G.o.dd.a.m.n French are still dragging their heels. I think it has more to do with giving us the finger than anything else."

"Anyone but Eileen would have probably given up," Washington said. "She's as tenacious as she is tough."

He smiled.

"What's funny?" Cohen asked.

"I just remembered 'appealing to a higher jurisdiction,' " Washington said.

Cohen laughed.

When the Hon. Eileen McNamara Solomon had been on the bench, a just-convicted felon, facing a long prison term, had jumped up from his seat in her courtroom, run to a window, crashed through it and jumped to his death in the interior courtyard of City Hall.

When asked by the press how she felt about this lamentable incident, Judge Solomon had replied, "I can only presume he was appealing to a higher jurisdiction."

Matt came into Kenny's office.

"I forgot one thing before I went in there," he said. "The minute I opened my mouth, my back teeth began to float."

Cohen laughed.

"That happens to me," he said. "Usually ten minutes into a thirty-minute concluding statement."

"Your bladder problem aside, Matthew," Washington said, "how would you a.s.sess your chat with Mr. Daniels?"

"I don't know," Matt said.

"You 'don't know'?" Washington asked, incredulously.

"I think he knows we have him," Matt said. "But what his reaction to that will be, I have no idea. He may decide to take his chances. What has he got to lose?"

Washington grunted noncommittally.

Three minutes later, Roswell Bernhardt, Esq., came out of the chief's office and said that in exchange for a written guarantee that the City of Philadelphia would not seek the death penalty, his client was prepared to make a full statement, cooperate fully with the investigation, and waive extradition.

[TWO].

At five-thirty-five, Mr. Walter Davis walked up the marble steps of the Rittenhouse Club and entered the building through its revolving door. He stopped long enough to check the Members Board, and to see that the bra.s.s nameplate reading MARIANI, R had been slid to the left, so that it was now under the IN heading.

He found Commissioner Mariani in the paneled bar with First Deputy Commissioner Coughlin, which didn't surprise him. But with them at one of the round tables was Brewster Cortland Payne II, Esq., which did.

Mariani waved Davis over. The men shook hands. Davis sat down. A waiter appeared and Davis ordered a scotch, rocks. The others held up their hands in a silent gesture meaning they didn't need another one just now, thank you.

Davis wondered how long they had been here. He sensed that the drinks on the table were not the first round.

"We're having a little celebration, Walter," Mariani said. "I'm glad you were free to join us. I didn't give you much notice."

"It's always a pleasure, you know that. What are we celebrating? "

As if I didn't know.

"Mr. Homer C. Daniels has agreed to waive extradition."

"And he is?"

As if you don't know.

"You don't know?"

"I'm not sure," Davis said.

"He's the man who tied the Williamson girl to her bed with plastic ties, committed obscenities on her body, and then killed her."

"And you've got him?"