Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [60]
"Where's the birthday boy?" Eileen asked--and before Patricia could answer, dealt with the waiter. "Irish rocks for me. Diet Coke over there." She pointed at her husband, then added: "Make it a double. I've been a good girl all day."
"One for me, too, please," Patricia Payne said. "Not a double."
"Where is Sergeant Payne?" Eileen asked.
Amelia A. Payne snorted.
"I guess you're thrilled, huh?" Eileen asked.
"Not really," Amy said, "truth to tell."
"Matt went into the house for something. He'll be back," Patricia said.
"Is it safe to say you're thrilled?" Eileen asked Patricia.
"Mixed emotions," Patricia replied. "Proud? Sure. Happy for Matt. Sure. But the badge the mayor pinned on him was his father's."
"Ouch," Eileen said. "They kept it all these years?"
"I had it. I thought it was the right--"
"It was," Eileen said, firmly.
"Mother Moffitt showed up at the ceremony," Amy said. "To cast her usual pall on things."
"Amy!" Patricia Payne said.
"Dave got another postcard from our fugitive," Coughlin said, obviously to get off the subject of Mother Moffitt.
"He told me," Eileen said. "There was something today . . . I'll tell you later, when I tell Dave."
"Am I permitted to ask? 'Our fugitive'?" Brewster Payne said.
"Isaac 'Fort' Festung," Eileen said.
"Oh, that chap."
"That despicable sonofabitch," Coughlin said, and added, immediately, "Forgive the French."
A waiter handed the district attorney a drink. She waited until Patricia Payne had hers, then touched glasses and took a healthy sip.
"To Sergeant Payne," she said.
"Thank you," Patricia Payne said.
"Denny, 'despicable sonofabitch' is an apt description of Fort Festung, so an apology for your language is not necessary, " Eileen said. "But if you're asking for a general pardon for our French brothers, I'm not about to forgive them."
There were chuckles and smiles.
"She's even stopped buying French perfume," Dr. Solomon said.
"See if you can enlist Patricia in your cause, Eileen," Brewster Payne said.
"What they should have done when he showed up in France--he entered France illegally, by the way, and was using a phony name, also illegal--was deport him on the next plane."
"Didn't that have something to do with the death penalty?" Patricia asked.
"That was their first excuse, but when that didn't wash-- we didn't have the death penalty at the time of his trial; there was no way I could have sentenced him to death, as much as I might have liked to--they said they wouldn't let us extradite because he'd been tried in absentia."
"I thought the legislature took care of that, and guaranteed him a new trial if he asked for one." Brewster C. Payne said.
"They did. And we so informed the French. Now they're giving us some nonsense about the statute of limitations," Eileen said. "We're appealing that. We expect a decision on that tomorrow, and if it goes our way, we're back to Step One. In other words, we start asking all over again for his extradition. "
She stopped, suddenly becoming aware that two men were seeking her attention.
"And there's Dave Pekach waiting for me to tell him what I just told you," she said, nodding at Pekach, who was standing at the edge of the field. "Excuse me."
She got to her feet and turned to a waiter, "Medium rare," she ordered. "One piece of Italian sausage, a sliced tomato. No potatoes. I'll be back in five minutes, or less." She pointed at her husband. "That handsome gentleman will have the same."
She stood up, and walked to Pekach, and followed him into the stable. They walked almost to the end of it.
"Did I interrupt something important?" Pekach asked. "You and Denny Coughlin looked pretty serious."
"We were talking about Saint Isaac," Eileen said. "What did the new postcard say?"
"The usual. 'Having fine time, wish you were here. Best regards, Isaac.'"
"The arrogant sonofabitch!" the district attorney said, and then went on: "I had a call--Tony Casio did--from the State Department today. . . ."