“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.
