Mariani glared at him but nodded.
“Make it quick, Jason.”
“Just before we were all summoned here, sir, I was about to order Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter to immediately proceed to Daphne, Mississippi, to run down a lead in the Williamson case.”
“Sir, that’s Daphne, Alabama,” Matt said.
“ ‘Daphne, Alabama’?” Mariani parroted, incredulously.
“Yes, sir. I believe it’s on the Gulf of Mexico,” Washington said.
“Tell me about the lead, Jason,” Coughlin said.
“Why don’t you explain to the Commissioner what you think you may have, Sergeant Payne?” Washington said.
“Yes, sir. Sir, last night the Daphne police-actually it was a civilian from one of those community watch things- apprehended a man in what looked like the act of prying open the window of a young woman’s apartment.”
“So what?” Quaire snorted. “You’re not suggesting it’s the Williamson doer?”
“Let the sergeant continue, please, Captain,” Peter Wohl said, softly. He added, wonderingly, “Daphne, Alabama? That’s a long way from here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said. “When I heard about this-”
“How did you hear about this?” Mariani asked.
“It was in the newspaper, sir. The Bulletin.”
“Go on, Sergeant,” Wohl said.
“I called down there, sir, and from what I learned, there is enough of a similarity of modus operandi to merit further investigation.”
“Over the years, I have come to appreciate Lieutenant Washington’s belief that the stone under the stone sometimes has to be turned over,” Wohl said. “Even if that stone is as far away as… Where is this place?”
“Daphne, Alabama, sir,” Matt said.
“As far away as Daphne, Alabama, and that turning the stone over might take three, four days, perhaps even longer.”
“I think that Lieutenant Washington was right in deciding to send Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter all the way down to Daphne, Alabama, for four or five days to run this lead down, wouldn’t you agree, Captain Quaire?” Deputy Commissioner Coughlin said.
“Yes, sir, I certainly would,” Captain Quaire, having just realized the all-around wisdom of getting Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter out of town for four or five days, quickly agreed.
“And under the circumstances,” Wohl went on, “that sending them immediately, without waiting for the ordinary administrative procedures to take place, would be justified. Would you agree, Commissioner?”
Mariani thought that over for two seconds.
“Yes, I would agree, Inspector,” he said.
“Have you got any cash, Matt?” Wohl asked.
“Some, and I’ve got credit cards,” Matt said.
“Is there any compelling reason, Detective Lassiter, why you can’t leave, right now, to pursue this investigation wherever it takes you?”
“I’d have to pack,” Olivia said, practically.
“There might not be time for that,” Wohl said. “Perhaps you could pick up whatever you need when you get there?”
“Yes, sir,” Detective Lassiter said.
“In that case, I suggest that you and Sergeant Payne leave for the airport immediately,” Inspector Wohl said. “Leave your car with the Airport unit. I’m sure Lieutenant Washington will arrange to have someone pick it up.”
“Indeed, I will,” Lieutenant Washington said. “Bon chasse, Sergeant Payne.”
“We want to go to Daphne, Alabama, not Florida,” Sergeant Payne said to the lady at the Delta ticket counter in the Philadelphia International Airport.
“According to the computer, Daphne, Alabama, is served by both Mobile, Alabama, and Pensacola, Florida,” the ticket agent said. “I can get you-first class only-on a flight connecting at eleven-twenty-five to Pensacola in Atlanta leaving in thirty-five minutes. If you want to go to Mobile, you’ll have to wait until five-forty-five in Atlanta.”
Matt handed her his American Express card.
“I never leave home without it,” Matt said to the ticket agent.
“Oh, God!” Olivia said.
“Oh, shit, the guns!” Matt said.
The ticket agent looked at him with great interest.
“We’re police officers,” Matt said, which caused the ticket agent to look at him with even greater interest.
Olivia produced her badge and photo identification, which caused the ticket agent to look at her with great interest.
“You’ll have to pack any firearms, unloaded, in your luggage, ” the ticket agent said.
“We don’t have any luggage,” Matt said.
The supervisory ticket agent was consulted.
Two metal lock-boxes were produced. Olivia’s Glock and Matt’s Colt were produced, which caused the people in line to look at them with great interest. The guns were then unloaded to the satisfaction of the supervisory ticket agent, the cartridges placed in small Ziploc plastic bags, and the bags, in padding, placed in one of the lock-boxes. Then the pistols were put in Ziploc bags and, with packing, placed in the other lock-box. Matt filled out an orange Unloaded Firearm Declaration card. It was placed inside with the pistols, then the boxes locked and placed on the baggage belt.
“You’re not the first,” the supervisory ticket agent said, handing Matt the keys and the claim checks to the boxes. “Have a nice flight.”
“Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or something else?” the stewardess inquired of the cute young couple in seats 2A and 2B.
“No champagne?” Sergeant Payne replied. “I thought you got champagne in first class?”
“Oh, God!” Olivia said.
“We’re celebrating,” Matt said to the stewardess.
“Just married, maybe?” the stewardess asked.
Matt grabbed Olivia’s hand with his left hand, and held the index finger of his right over his lips.
“Don’t ask,” he said.
“I’ll get your champagne,” the stewardess said, smiling warmly.
“You’re insane,” Olivia said when the stewardess had gone. “You’re absolutely bonkers.”
But she was smiling, and she did not attempt to free her hand.
Matt moved his champagne glass out of the way, took the inflight telephone from its holder between the seats, fed it- with some difficulty-his American Express card, and then made two calls.
The first was to the Homicide Unit, where he left a message for either Captain Quaire or Lieutenant Washington that he and Detective Lassiter were airborne.
The second was to the law offices of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo amp; Lester, where he asked to be connected with Mrs. Craig. Mrs. Irene Craig, a tall, silver-haired svelte lady in her fifties, was executive secretary to Mr. Brewster Cortland Payne II, a founding partner of the firm.
“Your dad’s on his way in, Matty,” Mrs. Craig greeted him. “I don’t know if he’s seen the Ledger or not, but the colonel’s already in the library reading up on libel.”
The colonel was Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, another founding partner of the firm, whom Matt’s father sometimes described as the firm’s resident pit bull.
“That’s not really what I called about, Mrs. Craig,” Matt said. “I need a favor…”
“Matty, what else did you do?”
Her tone was maternal. She had known Sergeant Payne since he wore diapers.
