Final Justice Part 70

"The Daphne, Alabama, police have him. He was apprehended by one of those civilian neighborhood watch outfits, apparently in the act of trying to break into some other young woman's apartment. He's a dealer in fancy cars, from Las Vegas."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised, Walter," Coughlin said, "if he's been doing this sort of thing all over the country."

"A civilian neighborhood watch outfit? If this wasn't so serious, that would be almost funny. You're sure he's the doer, Ralph?"

"We're sure. We sent Sergeant Payne down there to check him out. Payne said everything fit, but just to make sure, I sent Jason Washington down there, and Eileen Solomon sent Steve Cohen. Not only does everything fit, but he gave Payne a statement and, as I said, has agreed to waive extradition. "

"Washington and Cohen are in Alabama?" Davis asked.

"I thought you would have heard, Ralph," Mariani said, innocently. "Washington said the FBI had been there to offer their a.s.sistance."

Davis shook his head, "no."

"But whatever a.s.sistance we can provide, Ralph," he said. "All you have to do is ask."

"Thanks, Walter," Mariani said. "We appreciate that."

He smiled at Davis and went on: "So what I'm I'm celebrating is that an hour ago Eileen Solomon called to tell me that she had just spoken with the Attorney General of Alabama, who told her-in case Daniels changes his mind about waiving extradition-that the governor of Alabama would authorize his extradition just as soon as we place the request before him. And just a few minutes ago the homicide detective . . . Joe D'Amata, I think you know him?" celebrating is that an hour ago Eileen Solomon called to tell me that she had just spoken with the Attorney General of Alabama, who told her-in case Daniels changes his mind about waiving extradition-that the governor of Alabama would authorize his extradition just as soon as we place the request before him. And just a few minutes ago the homicide detective . . . Joe D'Amata, I think you know him?"

"Yes, indeed."

". . . called Denny from the airport to say he and the others, including several lab people, are indeed going to be aboard the five-fifty flight to Alabama. Joe's carrying the request-for-extradition packet with him in case it's needed."

"You apparently have this pretty well sewed up," Davis said.

"It looks that way, Walter. And what Denny and Brewster are celebrating is young Payne's faultless performance- starting with his finding this fellow down there- on his first time out as a homicide supervisor."

Mr. Davis's scotch rocks was served.

He raised his gla.s.s to Brewster Cortland Payne II.

"To Sergeant Payne," he said. "And at the risk of making Denny angry, Brewster, you know how much I would like to have your son working for the Bureau. And the offer is still open."

"So is Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo and Lester's, Walter, but the police department seems to have him firmly in its clutches."

[THREE].

"Before Steve and Matt get into the wine and become incoherent, " Washington said, "I think an a.n.a.lysis of where we are and where we have to go would be in order."

Mr. Cohen gave Lieutenant Washington the finger.

They were sitting in upholstered chairs around two tables pushed together in the Bird Cage Lounge at the Grand Hotel.

Perhaps understandably, they were the object of some curiosity on the part of other guests. There were two enormous black men who looked like brothers, one of them in police uniform. There was a second uniformed police officer, a small man. There was an attractive young woman in the otherwise all-male ensemble, but she seemed to be sitting as far away as was possible in the circ.u.mstances from the only young man in the group. And finally, there was a dignified man in a double-breasted gray suit and finely figured necktie sitting beside a man with wildly unruly red hair, who was wearing an open-collared yellow polo shirt and a yellow-and-red plaid jacket.

"Where do we stand legally, Steve?" Washington asked.

"Joe D'Amata's in the air right now," Cohen said. "He's got the warrant for Daniels's arrest and the request-for-extradition packet, in case Daniels changes his mind about waiving extradition-"

"And if he does?" Washington interrupted.

"Eileen has talked to the Alabama attorney general," Cohen replied. "He told her the governor will sign the extradition order as soon as he gets it. If we have to go that route, I'll have to go to Montgomery, which raises the question 'How do I get there'?"

"Mr. Cohen," Chief Yancey said, "if you have to go, we can get you there in probably a little less than three hours. It's a straight shot up I-65. The troopers would be happy to carry you."

"The state troopers?"

Yancey nodded. "We do it all the time. We call it a handoff. A car would pick you up here, then go as far as he usually patrols up I-65. Another trooper car would meet you there. And maybe another one before you got to Montgomery. But they'll get you there, and be happy to do it."

"Well, that would really solve that problem," Cohen said. "But let's hope it doesn't prove necessary."

"Kenny?" the chief asked.

"I'll set it up, in case we need it," Sergeant Kenny said.

"Okay, that settles that," Cohen said. "Now, where was I? Okay. With Joe on the airplane are two lab technicians, we don't know who yet, and two detectives, ditto. They're going to change planes in Atlanta, fly to Pensacola, pick up a rental car, probably two rental cars, and then drive here, to the world-famous $37.50 No-Tell Motel, where Matt and Olivia are staying."

"I had a call from Peter Wohl, Steve," Washington said. "We know who the detectives are. Mutt and Jeff."

"Really?" Matt asked. "What are they going to do when they get here? And what about Stan Colt?"

"All I know is Inspector Wohl said that's who he's sending, and what they're going to do is sit on Daniels's truck as long as it's here, and when we locate a truck, or trucks, large enough to haul Daniels's truck-with contents-back to Philadelphia, they're going to ride back with it."

"When are you going to search the truck?" Chief Yancey asked.

"Where we are legally with that, Chief," Cohen said, "is that Matt has statements from Fats Gambino and you, Fats's stating that he saw Daniels lock the truck and trailer in his locked and guarded lot, and the truck has been there, under guard, since then. Yours states that the keys in your possession believed to be those to the truck and trailer were taken from Daniels at the time of his arrest and have never left police possession since that time. Tomorrow, the lab technicians will make an examination to see if anyone has forced any locks, and be prepared to testify they saw no evidence of such. I don't know for sure, but what they will do then is probably see what prints and whatever they can get from the exterior of the truck-stuff that might get lost between here and Philadelphia-and then conduct a cursory search of the interiors of the truck and tractor. If they don't find a body-which is not entirely out of the question here-or something else spectacular, they will seal both tractor and trailer as well as they can, and supervise the loading of it onto whatever we finally get to haul it back to Philadelphia."

"That seems like a h.e.l.l of a lot of work," Yancey said. "Taking everything to Philadelphia."

"It is," Cohen agreed. "My boss is concerned-and so am I-about preserving the chain of evidence. We've got three jurisdictions here. Philadelphia; Daphne-Baldwin County; and because the truck is in Mobile, Alabama-Mobile County. But I think it's under control. Legally, the search will be executed by the Mobile police, using the search warrant the Mobile County judge issued. Matt and I-and to cover all the bases, Mutt and Jeff, too-will be there. And if you can send somebody-"

"I think Sergeant Kenny and I can find time to be there," Yancey interjected.

"Then any of us, or all of us, can testify under oath that Philadelphia police and Daphne police witnessed the search- and had control of the evidence-from the time the Mobile police exercised their search warrant-and put Daniels's keys in the locks."

"Kenny and I will be there," Yancey repeated, and then asked, "How are you going to get him to Philadelphia?"

"That's yet to be determined," Washington said. "I have given Sergeant Payne a list of other people from whom he and Detective D'Amata should take statements, which should keep them gainfully occupied for the next day or two. Detective La.s.siter and I have reservations for a flight leaving Mobile at one-fifteen tomorrow afternoon. That may or may not provide time for me to speak with Detective D'Amata. . . ."

"I'm going back tomorrow?" Olivia asked.

"At one-fifteen," Washington said.

She was obviously surprised at the announcement. So was Matt. But when he looked at her, there was no mistaking what the coldly furious glint in her eyes meant.

She thinks I knew all about it. h.e.l.l, she thinks I asked Washington to send her home.

". . . but inasmuch as Mr. Cohen and Detective D'Amata will have three hours together in a car coming back here, I don't see that as a problem. Do you, Sergeant Payne?"

"No, sir."

"In that case, our business having been completed, you may summon a waiter and you and Steve can begin to drink yourselves into oblivion."

"If that's all, sir, may I be excused?" Olivia asked.

"Olivia, I hope you understand that was an attempt at humor. We're going to have a very few drinks, and then dinner."

"I have a headache, sir."

"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, thank you. I just don't feel-"

"I understand," Washington said, as, ever the gentleman, he rose to his feet. "I'm sure you'll feel better by morning."

"Would you like me to take you to the motel, Olivia?" Matt asked.

"I'll get a cab, thank you just the same."

"I don't know if they have cabs," Matt said.

And really hope they don't.

"We have the next best thing," Chief Yancey said. "Kenny?"

Kenny spoke to the microphone pinned to his shirt.

"Barbara-Anne, send whichever car is closest to the Grand Hotel to give Detective La.s.siter a ride to her motel. She'll be outside the front door."

"Thank you very much," Detective La.s.siter said.

They watched her walk out of the Bird Cage Lounge.

"Didn't want to ride with you, huh?" Mickey O'Hara asked. "Is that what they call 'a lover's quarrel'?"

"Go to h.e.l.l, Mickey," Matt snapped.

"What is bothering her, Matt?" Washington asked. "Something obviously is."

"I think she thinks I arranged for her to be sent back," Matt said.

"I can quickly straighten that out, if you'd like."

"She wants to stay in Homicide," Matt said. "Is there any chance she can? She's a pretty good cop."

"Your loyalty is commendable. . . ."

"Is that what it is, 'loyalty'?" Mickey said.

"Mickey," Washington said, coldly angry, "sometimes, as now, you don't know when to stop." He turned to Matt. "As for her staying in Homicide, that, I'm afraid, is self-evidently out of the question. And you should know it is."

Matt couldn't think of a reply.

"And I just thought of something else," Washington said. "When I spoke with Commissioner Coughlin, he suggested that your father might like you to call. And I had the feeling that the commissioner would not consider a call from you to be an unwelcome intrusion on his time."

"Well, I guess I'd better do that right now," Matt said. "Before I become incoherent."

He got up from the table and went through a plate-gla.s.s door to an area between the hotel building and the bay. They could see him taking out his cellular.

"I think what we have here is raging testosterone," Cohen said. "And I'm not making fun of him."

"For that reason, I was deaf to his insolence," Washington said. He looked between Chief Yancey and Sergeant Kenny.

"I think a word of explanation is in order. Sergeant Payne is carrying his father's badge. Shortly before Matt was born, his father was killed on duty, answering a silent alarm. Deputy Commissioner Coughlin was his father's best friend. He is Matt's G.o.dfather."

"Being a cop's in his blood, huh?" Sergeant Kenny said.

"Prefacing this by saying I am-perhaps too obviously- fond of our young sergeant, I sometimes wonder if he's not flying a little too high for his experience."

"He did a good job with Daniels, Jason," Steve Cohen said. "Absolutely professional."

"And now he knows it. That's my point, Steve. Our Matty is not burdened with over-modesty."

"And he's going to be money in the bank on the stand," Cohen pursued. "If we're taking a poll, I'd say Matt is a h.e.l.l of a good cop."

"I a.s.sociate myself with the shyster," O'Hara said. "Now, can we get something to drink, for Christ's sake?"

[FOUR].

"The Nesbitt residence," the Nesbitt butler answered the call.

"Brewster Payne, Porter. Is Mr. Nesbitt available?"

"I'm sure he will be at home for you, Mr. Payne. One moment, please."

Several moments later, Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt III, Chairman of the Executive Committee of Nesfoods International, Inc., who had been practicing with a new putter on the practice green behind the left wing of his home, came on the line.

"If you weren't my lawyer, I'd be happy to hear from you. What's the bad news you really hate to have to tell me this time? IRS, or something else?"

"Actually, Tom, this does have a certain IRS connection."

"Oh, G.o.d, now what?"

"Your a.s.sets have been seized and you may have to go to prison."

"I don't think that's funny."

"I had drinks with Denny Coughlin at the Rittenhouse just before I started home."