Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [173]
"Did he have the mask on then?" Matt asked.
"No. But I looked into his car just before the cops came, and it was in the car, that and the knife."
"Did the police find out who he is?" Olivia asked.
"Not right away," the colonel said, and looked at his wife. "At first, he wouldn't say anything, and he wasn't carrying any identification. Not even a driver's license. So Charley tossed him in the slam--"
"Charley?" Olivia asked.
"Charley Yancey, the chief of police. And a pretty good one," the colonel explained, and then went on: "I think Charley charged him with leaving the scene of an accident, which is heavier than being a Peeping Tom, which is like spitting on the sidewalk. Anyway, once he had him locked up, Charley began to try to identify him through the car."
"And did he?"
"Not until about ten o'clock this morning," the colonel said. "The car had Illinois plates, but when Charley called out there, they said the plates were not for the car this guy was driving, and they didn't have the VIN . . . the Vehicle Identification Number? . . ."
"Yes, sir. I'm familiar with the term," Matt said.
". . . in their data bank. So Charley checked with Montgomery--that's the state capital, where our data bank is--and neither did they. Nor did Florida or Mississippi."
"Interesting," Matt said.
"So Charley finally decided to make sure he was using the right VIN, and when he went out to the impound yard, he finally saw the Gambino Motor Cars chrome thing on the trunk. You know what I mean?"
"I'm not sure, sir."
"Next to where it says Chevrolet Impala or whatever, the dealers put their own name."
"Yes, sir. Now I understand. Colonel, can I ask you how you know all this?"
The question made Colonel Richards uncomfortable.
"The minute I started to tell you, I was afraid you'd ask that question," he said. "Would you be satisfied if I told you I have a source inside the police department? I do, and I don't want him getting in trouble with Charley because he's keeping me up to speed on this."
"You're talking about a police officer?"
"No, I'm talking about the guy who goes there once a week to wax the floors."
"Colonel, I can't see any reason why I should tell the chief of police that I even know who you are. I was just curious. . . ."
"That's probably a good idea. Don't tell him you talked to me."
"All right, sir, I won't. You were saying something about the car dealer?"
"Fats Gambino. Great big fat Italian guy. He takes a lot of heat with a name like that, as you can imagine."
"Yes, sir."
"Anyway--he's a friend of mine, by the way--Fats has the Mercedes franchise and the Porsche franchise and others. Volvo, for one. And he deals in classy cars, exotic cars, is that what they call them? Rolls Royces, old Packards, stuff like that."
"Exotic cars. Yes, sir, I understand."
"And he also does things like buy fleets of cars from people like Hertz and Dollar and Alamo. I think they get rid of them after forty thousand miles, or a year. Something like that. Anyway, Gambino buys them up north, brings them here, cleans them up, and puts them on his used-car lot. That's where the peeper got his car."
"He bought it from Gambino?"
"No. He borrowed it from Gambino. It turns out this guy is in the exotic-car business. He was in town to try to sell Fats a Rolls Royce and something else, I forget what, and to try to make a deal with Gambino for a couple of Porsches."
"I'm a little confused here, Colonel," Olivia asked. "You're saying this fellow drove here from someplace in a Rolls Royce, and then borrowed a Chevrolet from Mr. Gambino? "
"No. He drove here in a great big tractor-trailer rig with three, four, really fancy cars in it. Then he borrowed the Chevy from Gambino. Told him he was going to Biloxi to play blackjack. Fats is one pissed-off guy, let me tell you. . . ."
"There goes your mouth again," Mrs. Richards said.
"Mr. Gambino is apparently distressed at the prospect