Final Justice Part 61

"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.

"d.a.m.n, 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 La.s.siter, 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 La.s.siter 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.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"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 sonofab.i.t.c.h 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.

[ONE].

It took some time for Sergeant Payne and Detective La.s.siter 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 ma.s.sive oaks between Captain O'Neal Drive and Mobile Bay. Colonel Richards, a short, totally bald, barrel-chested man wearing a yellow polo s.h.i.+rt 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 La.s.siter, Colonel," Matt said.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," 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.

"La.s.siter, 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 La.s.siter- Detective Detective Olivia La.s.siter-and this is Sergeant Payne." Olivia La.s.siter-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 La.s.siter to drink those. Except with Irish."

"See, wisea.s.s?" 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, G.o.d, 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 d.a.m.n 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 h.e.l.l, why not?" Richards said, and began to pour scotch into a gla.s.s martini shaker full of ice.

He looked over his shoulder at Matt.