Final Justice Part 67

"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? Lieutenant?"

Cohen laughed.

Was.h.i.+ngton 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 pa.s.s 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'?" Was.h.i.+ngton 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 La.s.siter down here, have you?" Was.h.i.+ngton 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 h.e.l.l, Mick."

"Answer Mr. O'Hara's question, please," Was.h.i.+ngton 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 s.e.x 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.

[FOUR].

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 Bend.i.c.k of the Federal Bureau," he said.

"Federal Bureau of what?" Matt's mouth, on automatic, asked innocently.

"Investigation, of course. The FBI FBI."

"How can I help the FBI?" Matt asked.

"It's how the FBI can help you, Sergeant," Special Agent Bend.i.c.k 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 Bend.i.c.k 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 it at Special Agent Bend.i.c.k, Sergeant Payne, and Lieutenant Was.h.i.+ngton.

"I'd rather not have my photograph taken, if you don't mind," Special Agent Bend.i.c.k said, holding his hand out in a vain hope-Mickey nimbly dodged around it-of covering the lens so that a photograph would be impossible.

"Jesus, didn't they tell you about the freedom of the press at the Quantico School for Boys?" Mickey asked.

"Sir," Was.h.i.+ngton said, "if we feel that any a.s.sistance from the FBI would be useful to us in this investigation, I will seek same through the appropriate channels."

"And you are?" Special Agent Bend.i.c.k demanded.

"My name is Jason Was.h.i.+ngton. I'm a lieutenant with the Homicide Unit of the Philadelphia police department."

"I'm Special Agent Bend.i.c.k of the Mobile office of the FBI, Lieutenant . . ."

"So you said."

"And inasmuch as this case crosses state lines, the FBI-"

"I don't believe this case meets the necessary criteria for the unsolicited involvement of the FBI, Mr. Bend.i.c.k," Steve Cohen said.

"And may I ask who you are?"

"My name is Steven Cohen. I'm an a.s.sistant district attorney in Philadelphia."

"I don't really understand your att.i.tude," Special Agent Bend.i.c.k began.

"They're understandably a little p.i.s.sed, J. Edgar Junior, that you tried to steal their pinch for the glory of the FBI. Unfortunately, you picked the wrong guys," Mickey said.

He quickly snapped another photograph.

"If you will excuse us, Mr. Bend.i.c.k," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "We have an appointment with the chief."

"Right this way, Lieutenant," Sergeant Kenny said, waving them toward one of the steel doors.

"Mr. O'Hara," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "This is official police business, to which, unfortunately, I cannot make you privy at this time. Perhaps you'd like to stay here and continue your conversation with Mr. Bend.i.c.k?"

Sergeant Kenny waited until Cohen and Matt had gone through the steel door, then followed them through it.

Special Agent Bend.i.c.k looked at the closed door, then at Mickey O'Hara, who was again raising his camera, and then, mustering what dignity he could, marched out of the building.

"I have a confession to make," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "I was not overjoyed when Commissioner Coughlin told me Mickey was coming with us. But now?"

"He was magnificent," Cohen said.

"What did Mickey call him, 'J. Edgar Jr.'?" Matt asked, laughing.

"I don't think we've heard the last of him," Cohen said.

"f.u.c.k him," Was.h.i.+ngton said, coldly.

Matt was surprised. Was.h.i.+ngton very rarely used vulgar language.

Was.h.i.+ngton turned to Sergeant Kenny and offered his hand.

"My name is Was.h.i.+ngton, Sergeant," he said.

"How are you?" Kenny said. "Payne said you were about as big as me."

"And this is Mr. Cohen, an a.s.sistant district attorney." They shook hands.

"Detective La.s.siter was supposed to tell you we would be here as soon as we got ourselves settled. . . ."

"She's in with the chief. Come on, I'll take you in."

"Thank you."

"You got any kin down this way, Lieutenant?" Kenny asked.

"Not so far as I know, but a first glance at the genetic evidence does seem to make that a distinct possibility, doesn't it?"

[FIVE].

Mr. Walter Davis, a tall, well-built, well-dressed-in a gray pin-striped, three-piece suit-man in his middle forties, who was the special agent in charge (the "SAC") of the Philadelphia office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, sensed his secretary's presence at his office door and raised his eyes to her from the doc.u.ments on his desk.

"Yes, Helen?" he asked, a slight tone of impatience in his voice. He had asked not to be disturbed if at all possible.

"I know, I know. But it's Burton White, the SAC in Mobile. . . ."

"Put him through. Thank you, Helen."

Walter Davis had known Burton White since they had been at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, and they had crossed paths often since. They had risen through the ranks together. Not quite as high together, as Philadelphia was a more important post than Mobile.

It is always pleasant, Davis thought, as he waited for the light on his telephone to illuminate, Davis thought, as he waited for the light on his telephone to illuminate, to touch base with a peer who has not risen quite as far as oneself to touch base with a peer who has not risen quite as far as oneself.

The light came on, and Davis grabbed the phone.

"Burton, you old sonofab.i.t.c.h! How are you, buddy? How's things down there in the sunny South?"

"It's raining, and this is the Heart of Dixie, Walt. It says so on our license plates."

"Well, it's good to hear your voice, buddy. What can Philadelphia do for our outpost in the Heart of Dixie?"

"I'm having a little problem with the local cops. Your Your local cops. I thought you might be able to help me-the Bureau- out on this." local cops. I thought you might be able to help me-the Bureau- out on this."

"Do whatever I can, you know that. My local cops? What are they doing way down there?"

"You had a murder up there. . . ."

"We have a lot of murders up here."