Final Justice boh-8

by W. E. B Griffin

  There were two pleasant young men behind the reception desk.

  “My name is Payne,” Matt said, as he handed one of them his American Express card. “I’m supposed to have a reservation. ”

  The young man consulted his computer.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “Two ‘nice’ singles is what was requested. We think our bayside rooms are ‘nice,’ and we’ve put you into two of those. I’m afraid they’re not adjacent…”

  “That’s fine,” Detective Lassiter said.

  “… at $305 per day. Will that be satisfactory, Mr. Payne?”

  “That’s fine,” Matt said.

  They were handed brochures outlining all the hotel had to offer and electronic keys to the rooms. Two bellmen appeared.

  “Call me when you’re settled,” Matt said. “I’m going to get on the phone.”

  “You want me to come there?” Olivia asked.

  “Probably a good idea,” Matt said.

  Following the bellmen, they marched off through the lobby toward the elevators.

  The young man who had handled their reservation turned to the other.

  “What would you like to bet me that only one set of sheets will be mussed tonight?” he asked.

  “Police department,” a female voice with a thick southern accent announced.

  “Good afternoon,” Detective Olivia Lassiter said. “I’m hoping you can help me.”

  “Be happy to try, ma’am.”

  “Do you happen to have a phone number where I could call the Jackson’s Oak Citizens’ Community Watch?”

  “You mind if I ask why you want to call them?”

  “Well, we just moved into the area, and my husband wanted to ask about volunteering.”

  “Would you believe you’re the sixth call we’ve had today, saying the same thing?”

  “Is that so?”

  “You got a pencil handy?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “The best person to call is Colonel Lacey Richards Jr.,” the Daphne police operator said. “He’s the one who really runs Jabberwocky. He lives on Captain O’Neal Drive…”

  Pause.

  “Damn, I had his number here somewhere.”

  There was another pause.

  “Here it is,” the Daphne police operator said, and recited it.

  Another female with a thick southern accent answered Sergeant Payne’s call, and said that she was sorry, “but the colonel’s out playing golf. He should be back about five.”

  “Thank you very much,” Sergeant Payne replied. “I’ll call again then.”

  He put the telephone down, leaned against the headboard of the king-sized bed, and looked across the room at Detective Olivia Lassiter, who was sitting in an armchair.

  “He’s playing golf, but will be back at five. I still think we should see what he has to say before we talk to the cops.”

  “So do I,” Olivia said.

  “On the other hand, if all they’ve got him on is a Peeping Tom charge, which is a misdemeanor, he may post bail and be long gone.”

  “They won’t let him post bail without knowing who he is. We can find him.”

  “Great minds run in similar paths,” Matt said. He looked at his watch. “We have a little over an hour. What do you want to do?”

  Detective Lassiter looked at him for a long moment, then stood up, and then looked at him a long moment again.

  Then she reached down for the hem of the light blue cotton dress she’d bought in the shopping mall in Pensacola and pulled it off over her head.

  “Jesus Christ!” Matt said.

  “Well, you said to see what they had in translucent black,” Olivia said.

  “Hello?”

  “Colonel Richards?”

  “Right.”

  “Colonel, my name is Matthew Payne…”

  “Has this got something to do with the Jackson’s Oak Citizens’ Community Watch?”

  “Yes, sir. It does.”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you my office number. You call there in the morning, and ask my secretary to mail you an application.”

  “Colonel, I’m a sergeant with the Homicide Unit of the Philadelphia police department…”

  “You’re calling from Philadelphia?”

  “No, sir. I’m in the Grand Hotel in Point Clear.”

  “You came all the way down here about that pervert I bagged last night… Hey, you said Homicide, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “I knew that sonofabitch was up to more than peeping through windows,” Colonel Richards said.

  “Colonel, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Sure. When?”

  “At your earliest convenience, sir.”

  “How about right now? Let me tell you how to get here.”

  “Thank you very much, sir.”

  SEVENTEEN

  It took some time for Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter to find the home of Lieutenant Colonel Lacey Richards Jr. on Captain O’Neal Drive in Daphne. Captain O’Neal Drive was a winding road in a heavily wooded area, and the house numbers were hard-or impossible-to find.

  But they finally found it, a large home sitting under massive oaks between Captain O’Neal Drive and Mobile Bay. Colonel Richards, a short, totally bald, barrel-chested man wearing a yellow polo shirt and khaki pants, opened the door himself.

  “You’re the homicide guy from Philadelphia?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Payne, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Sergeant Matt Payne.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were bringing the little lady. A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  “This is Detective Lassiter, Colonel,” Matt said.

  “I’ll be damned,” Colonel Richards said. “Well, come on and tell me what you want to know. Can I offer you a little taste? I was about to have one myself.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir,” Matt said.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” Richards said to Olivia.

  “Lassiter, sir.”

  “I meant your first name.”

  “Olivia, sir.”

  “Can I offer you a little something, Olivia?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He led them through the house to a patio in the rear. There was a row of upholstered desk chairs and a well-stocked wet bar.

  “You’re just in time for sunset,” he announced, pointing at the sun setting across the bay. “I like to come out here and watch and have a little taste.”

  “It’s very nice,” Olivia said.

  A tanned, gray-haired woman at least a foot taller than Richards came onto the patio.

  “I’m not sure you should be here, baby,” Richards said.

  “I live here, Lacey,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Hi, I’m Bev Richards.”

  “This is sort of official, honey.”

  “Did he offer you something to drink?” she said, ignoring him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sir, I have no objection to Mrs. Richards hearing what I have to ask,” Matt said.

  “I surrender,” Richards said. “This is Olivia Lassiter- Detective Olivia Lassiter-and this is Sergeant Payne.”

  They shook hands.

  “My husband said you were here about that pervert he caught last night,” Bev Richards said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “All the way from Philadelphia?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I really want to hear about this,” she said. “But will it wait until I make you something to drink?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Matt said.

  “What’ll it be?” Richards asked.

  “Whatever you’re having will be fine, sir.”

  “You may want to reconsider,” Bev said. “What he drinks is something he calls a scotch martini.”

  Matt and Olivia looked at each other and smiled.

  He saw that Richards had seen the smile and didn’t like it. “You
make a martini, except no vermouth, and with scotch?” Matt asked.

  “Right.”

  “That would be fine with us, sir. I just taught Oliv… Detective Lassiter to drink those. Except with Irish.”

  “See, wiseass?” Colonel Richards said to his wife.

  “They’re the drink of choice at a bar where we go,” Matt said.

  “You mean you and her, or the other homicide cops?” Richards asked.

  “She, and me, and the other homicide cops,” Matt said.

  “Oh, God, I’ll never hear the end of that,” Bev Richards said.

  “You want me to make enough for you, or are you going to continue to be difficult?”

  “Make the damn scotch martinis,” Bev Richards said. “I can’t wait to hear what he’s going to ask you.”

  “I can make the drinks and talk at the same time, just like I can chew gum and walk at the same time. What do you want to know, Sergeant?”

  “Actually, sir, I’d like to ask you what happened. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to get our conversation on my tape recorder.”

  Richards frowned, and for a moment Matt thought he might say no.

  “What the hell, why not?” Richards said, and began to pour scotch into a glass martini shaker full of ice.

  He looked over his shoulder at Matt.

  “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 glasses.

  “Welcome to our home,” Bev said, raising her glass.

  “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 hell 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 sonofabitch-”

  “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 sonofabitch,” the colonel went on, visibly pleased with himself.

  “You saw 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-damned-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 Ch
arley 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 classy cars, exotic cars, is that what they call them? Rolls Royces, old Packards, stuff like that.”