“Nothing,” he protested. “I’m on a plane to Atlanta. Final destination, via Pensacola, Florida, Daphne, Alabama.”
“I don’t think I’m going to like this,” Mrs. Craig said.
“What if I told you it’s police business?”
“I’d have trouble believing you. Where did you say you were headed? Alabama?”
“Daphne, Alabama,” he furnished. “And what I need is a rental car in Pensacola, and then someplace to stay-two rooms-in Daphne, Alabama.”
“Somebody’s with you?”
“Yeah. We’re going to need two rooms.”
“I’ll need his name.”
“It’s a her. Olivia Lassiter. Two ‘s’s.”
“Oh?”
“Detective Lassiter.”
“Oh. Her.”
“Like I said, it’s police business.”
“I’m sure it is. How do I get in touch with you? Will your cellular work in Alabama?”
“We’ll soon find out. We get to Atlanta at ten-fifty. Oh, wait a minute. My cellular battery’s dead.”
There was a slight delay as Matt got Olivia’s cell phone number. He gave it to Mrs. Craig.
“Thanks, Mrs. Craig.”
“You realize you’ve made your father’s day, I hope. What do I tell him? I don’t even want to think about your mother.”
“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“How do you spell Daphne?”
“I have no idea.”
“Good morning, Mr. Donaldson,” the Hon. Alvin W. Martin said, charmingly. “I’ve been waiting for your call.”
“It’s Phil, Mr. Mayor. Calling for all the people out there in Phil’s Philly.”
“All right then, Phil.”
“Thank you for taking my call.”
“It’s always a pleasure, Phil.”
“I’ve been trying to call Detective Lassiter and Sergeant Payne, Mr. Mayor. They don’t seem to be available.”
“Is that so?”
“They seem to be out of town, Mr. Mayor.”
“So I understand. Commissioner Mariani told me.”
“You wouldn’t want to tell me where and why, would you, Mr. Mayor?”
“I’ll tell you why. They have a developing lead in the Williamson murder, one that looks very promising.”
“Which just happens to make them unavailable to talk to me, right?”
“I’m afraid, Phil, that seems to be the case. But as soon as they get back in town, I’m sure they will be as delighted to talk to you-and all the people out there in Phil’s Philadelphia — as I am.”
“And when will that be?”
“In four or five days, possibly.”
“And in the meantime, we don’t get to hear what happened in Stan Colt’s hotel room, right? That’s a convenient coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d call it the press of duty, Phil. A matter of priorities. Solving that case takes precedence, as I’m sure you’ll understand, over just about everything else.”
“So what you’re telling me, Mr. Mayor-correct me if I’m wrong-is that no one out there in Phil’s Philly is going to hear what went on in Stan Colt’s hotel room until Sergeant Payne and the beautiful lady detective come back to town?”
“I didn’t say that, Phil. Would you like to talk to someone who was in Mr. Colt’s hotel suite all the time Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter were there?”
“And who would that be?”
“Pick up the extension, please, Detective Martinez, and say hello to Mr. Donaldson.”
“Hello.”
“With whom am I speaking, please?”
“Detective Jesus Martinez.”
“Good morning, Detective. Say hello to all the people out there in Phil’s Philly.”
“Hello.”
“And where are you assigned, Jesus… You don’t mind if I call you ‘Jesus,’ do you?”
“Suit yourself.”
“All right, Jesus. Could you tell me what you were doing in Stan Colt’s hotel room all the time the mayor says Sergeant Payne and the lovely Detective Lassiter were in there?”
“I was on the Dignitary Protection Detail.”
“Mr. Colt needed protection? From what, Jesus?”
“Excuse me?”
“What does Stan Colt need police protection from, Jesus? Pretty women?”
“You bet he does. They was all over the street outside the hotel.”
“Who was?”
“His fans were. His lady fans.”
“And they were all beautiful?”
“Not all of them. Some was dogs.”
“Well, Phil,” the mayor of Philadelphia said, “you asked for the truth.”
“Yes, I did,” Phil said. “Detective Martinez-Jesus-what I’m interested to hear-what all the folks out there in Phil’s Philly want to hear-is what happened in Stan Colt’s hotel room.”
“Okay.”
“You’re going to tell me, right?”
“Lassiter told him what had gone down on the Williamson job.”
“By which you mean the brutal murder of Cheryl Williamson? You call that a job?”
“That’s what we call it.”
“And why did Detective Lassiter feel she was equipped to tell him ‘what had gone down’? And why was she telling him?”
“She was the first detective on the scene. And the Homicide captain told her to tell him.”
“I see,” Phil said. “And what you’re telling me-correct me if I’m wrong-is that all that happened in Stan Colt’s hotel room was that Detective Lassiter told him about the Williamson murder?”
“Yeah.”
“She told him everything, right?”
“Probably not. She’s a pretty good cop, from what I’ve seen, and I don’t think she told him everything.”
“Why not? What’s everything?”
“You don’t tell civilians some things about a job. I don’t know what she didn’t tell him, but I’m sure there was a lot.”
“And what else happened?”
“He bought us a steak dinner. He’s a pretty good guy.”
“Phil,” the mayor of Philadelphia said, “I really hate to break this up, but Detective Martinez has got to get back to his duty-Mr. Colt is having lunch with the cardinal in connection with his fund-raising for West Catholic High School, and Detective Martinez has to be with him. And I’ve got a pretty full plate myself. How about just one more question?”
“Well, let me think of one more question,” Mr. Donaldson said, “to ask for all the folks out there in Phil’s Philly.”
He paused a moment.
