Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [170]
"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.
"Damn, 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 Lassiter, 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 Lassiter 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.
"Hello?"
"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 sonofabitch 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 Lassiter 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 massive oaks between Captain O'Neal Drive and Mobile Bay. Colonel Richards, a short, totally bald, barrel-chested man wearing a yellow polo shirt 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 Lassiter, Colonel," Matt said.
"I'll be damned," 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.
"Lassiter, 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