Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [191]
"Time," Washington said, and pushed buttons on his watch.
Matt appeared a minute or so later.
"You are prepared, I presume, Sergeant Payne? You're on in eight minutes and fifteen seconds."
"Yes, sir."
Eight minutes later, Washington said, "Good luck, Matt."
Matt, carrying a tape recorder and two microphones, walked across the room, waited for the Daphne uniform to open the door, then walked into the chief's office.
And four minutes after that, came out again.
"You're on, Steve," Washington said.
"Yeah, but I'm not going to get canned if I give a lousy performance," Cohen said, and walked across the room.
Five minutes after that, Chief of Police Charles Yancey came into Sergeant Kenny's office.
"Am I going to be in the way here?"
"Of course not," Washington said. "And it gives me the opportunity to tell you again how appreciative we all are for all your assistance."
"This isn't my first murder," Yancey said. "But I've never been around a sleazeball, murdering pervert like this before. Or seen big-city cops at work."
"We work exactly the same way as you do."
"The hell you do. Kenny told me what you did--are doing. Is it going to work?"
"Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn't. It largely depends on the interrogator."
"And that young sergeant is that good?"
"We are about to determine that," Washington said.
"Kenny told me about the run-in you had with the FBI. Does that happen all the time?"
"I don't know about all the time. But it happens far too frequently, I'm afraid. They seem to be very concerned with their image."
"They always--between you and me, a couple of cops-- seem to look down their noses at us."
"Odd," Washington said. "I seem to have heard that before somewhere."
Yancey smiled at him.
"You want to go get a cup of coffee while you're waiting?"
"You're very kind, but I'd rather stay here."
"Hell, I'll get it," Yancey said.
He hadn't made it out of the administrative area when the door to his office opened and Matt Payne--carrying the tape recorder and microphones--and Steve Cohen came out.
Cohen walked to Washington.
"Mr. Daniels asked to confer with counsel, privately," he said.
"How did it go, Steve?"
"Matt did a hell of a good job, and I'm not saying that for any reason but giving credit where due."
"I expected nothing less," Washington said. "What are they going to talk about, would you think?"
"Probably my refusal to offer more of a deal than life without the possibility of parole."
"You didn't tell me about that."
"You didn't ask," Cohen said. "The boss wants this guy off the streets permanently. I told her I had the feeling that there are unsolved rapes, maybe even murder-rapes, all over the country that are going to surface now that we've caught this guy."
"Detective Lassiter spent fruitless hours on the telephone. . . ."
"Calling big-city departments. I don't think she would have gotten around to Daphne anytime soon."
"I grant your point."
"Well, anyway, Eileen said we couldn't count on that, and she decided we have enough to go with here with no deal except life without parole."
"Eileen's tough," Washington said, admiringly.
"Personally, I'd like to see the sonofabitch strapped to the gurney," Cohen said. "But that's emotional. The interests of the people are best served by ensuring that he's behind bars permanently, rather than taking a chance that he'll walk, or get out in ten years."
"Isaac 'Fort' Festung," Washington said. "He was sentenced to life and he's walking around France eating grapes."
"Yeah."
"Any developments there?"
"The goddamn French are still dragging their heels. I think it has more to do with giving us the finger than anything else."
"Anyone but Eileen would have probably given up," Washington said. "She's as tenacious as she is tough."
He smiled.
"What's funny?" Cohen asked.
"I just remembered 'appealing to a higher jurisdiction,' " Washington said.
Cohen laughed.
When the Hon. Eileen McNamara Solomon had been on the bench, a just-convicted felon, facing a long prison term, had jumped up from