O’Hara.
“I think the best way to handle this, Detective,” Washington said, “would be for Sergeant Payne to drive us in Mr. O’Hara’s car. En route, he can fill us in on what we should know. In the meantime, you could go to the police station, advise them of our arrival, and tell them we are anxious to speak with the chief at his earliest convenience.”
“Yes, sir,” Detective Lassiter said.
Matt handed her the keys to the Mustang.
“Thank you,” she said with a somewhat brittle smile.
The Mustang stayed on the tail of the Lincoln all the way from the airport through Mobile, across the I-10 bridge over Mobile Bay, and into Daphne, where it turned off U.S. 98 at the Joseph Hall Criminal Justice Center.
En route, as Washington intended he should, Matt told them everything he thought they should know. He pointed out the Gambino Motor Mall, and told them he had spoken with the proprietor, and that Fats had shown him the Peterbilt truck Mr. Daniels had driven into Mobile.
“I called the chief, and he said he just got a search warrant for the truck from a judge in Mobile, but he thought he’d wait until I could go along before he had a look.”
“You didn’t enter the vehicle?” Washington asked.
“No.”
“Good,” Cohen said.
“He certainly had to fuel the truck somewhere,” Washington said, thoughtfully. “If he did so in Philadelphia and used a credit card, that would establish his presence there. On his way down here, as careful as we must presume he is, he probably paid cash. But he may not have had that much cash, and he may have used a card. It’s worth looking into.”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said.
“I’ve got to have a picture of that truck,” Mickey said. “How do I find my way back here?”
“After we have accepted the chief’s kind invitation to witness his search of the vehicle, I will arrange something with Detective Lassiter to get you back here,” Washington said.
“I’d like a picture of you two searching the truck,” Mickey said.
“Sergeant Payne and I have had quite enough personal publicity lately, thank you just the same, Michael.”
“There is good publicity and bad publicity, Jason,” Mickey said, “and you two could certainly use some of the good kind.”
“If you’ll pardon me, Michael, what I am trying to do is develop a variety of good reasons that will suggest to Mr. Daniels that denial of his participation is no longer one of his options.”
“That may be easier than you think, Jason.”
“You will remember, Sergeant, to address me as ‘Lieutenant’ when we are about our official business?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, beware! Beware!” Mickey said. “What we have here is the Black Buddha in a bad mood. Cheap seats a little too small for you in the beam, were they, Lieutenant?”
Cohen laughed.
Washington ignored the remark.
“Why will I find it less difficult to reason with Mr. Daniels vis-a-vis confessing all that you-with your vast experience in these matters-think will be the case?”
“Because he sent his lawyer to see me vis-a-vis copping a plea,” Matt said.
“Try to behave, Steve. We’re in the company of the only two cops in Philadelphia who say things like ‘vis-a- vis’ in normal conversation,” O’Hara said.
“Shut up, Mick. I want to hear about this lawyer,” Cohen said. “What did you say to him, Matt?”
“I told him I would give you-whoever Mrs. Solomon sent down here-his card.”
“That’s absolutely all?”
“That’s absolutely all.”
“No suggestions, anything, that I would be interested in a plea bargain?”
“Nothing. And the only reason I said I’d pass on his card was because Sergeant Kenny told him where to find me.”
“And Sergeant Kenny is who?”
“Local cop. A good one. Been very helpful.”
“And when and where did this conversation take place?” Cohen asked.
“At breakfast.”
“If he ran Matt down at the Nine Dollar No Tell Motel,” O’Hara said, “he must be really interested in copping a plea.”
“Actually, it was in the Marriott. We stayed there last night.”
“And got out before somebody arrived from Philadelphia who would wonder what you were doing in the Grand Hotel? And might talk?”
“ ‘The Grand Hotel’?” Washington asked.
“Marriott’s Grand Hotel. One of the stars in the galaxy of Marriott Resorts. When I told Stanley I was coming down here, he said to stay there. He said it’s great.”
“I have to ask, Matthew. You haven’t behaved inappropriately with Detective Lassiter down here, have you?” Washington said.
“Two rooms. She slept in her bed, I slept in mine.”
That’s the truth. Admittedly not all of it, but the truth.
“But you do have something going with her, right?” Mickey asked.
“Go to hell, Mick.”
“Answer Mr. O’Hara’s question, please,” Washington said.
“I thought for a while there might be something, but if there was, there ain’t no more.”
“While I confess I find this discussion of Matt’s sex life absolutely enthralling,” Cohen said, “can we get back to this guy’s lawyer? You said you’ve got his card, Matt?”
Matt found it and handed it to Cohen in the backseat.
“Do Philadelphia cell phones work down here?” he asked.
“Mine does,” Matt said, and handed Cohen his cellular telephone.
When Matt saw Sergeant Kenny standing beside a thirtyish man in a business suit in the tile-walled outer room of the Daphne police department, he was surprised to see how they resembled each other.
“I got to get a picture of that guy with you, Jason,” O’Hara said.
“Sergeant Payne,” Kenny said. “This gentleman would like a word with you and the other people from Philadelphia.”
The man with Kenny smiled, stuck out his hand, and marched up to Matt.
“Sergeant, I’m Special Agent Bendick of the Federal Bureau,” he said.
“Federal Bureau of what?” Matt’s mouth, on automatic, asked innocently.
“Investigation, of course. The FBI.”
“How can I help the FBI?” Matt asked.
“It’s how the FBI can help you, Sergeant,” Special Agent Bendick said. “A telephone call would have saved you a trip all the way down here. But no real harm done. We’ll handle it from here.”
“Jesus Christ!” Mickey O’Hara said. “You guys really have no shame at all, do you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, J. Edgar Junior. Anything to get the FBI favorable notice in the papers, right? You can already see the headline, right? ‘FBI Apprehends Philadelphia Murderer.’ ”
“Who are you, sir?” Special Agent Bendick asked.
'O’Hara’s my name.”
“And are you some sort of law enforcement officer?”
Mickey shook his head, “no.”
“I couldn’t get on the cops. My parents were married,” Mickey said. He took out his digital camera and aimed
