Two metal lock-boxes were produced. Olivia's Glock and Matt's Colt were produced, which caused the people in line to look at them with great interest. The guns were then unloaded to the satisfaction of the supervisory ticket agent, the cartridges placed in small Ziploc plastic bags, and the bags, in padding, placed in one of the lock-boxes. Then the pistols were put in Ziploc bags and, with packing, placed in the other lock-box. Matt filled out an orange Unloaded Firearm Declaration card. It was placed inside with the pistols, then the boxes locked and placed on the baggage belt.
"You're not the first," the supervisory ticket agent said, handing Matt the keys and the claim checks to the boxes. "Have a nice flight."
"Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or something else?" the stewardess inquired of the cute young couple in seats 2A and 2B.
"No champagne?" Sergeant Payne replied. "I thought you got champagne in first class?"
"Oh, God!" Olivia said.
"We're celebrating," Matt said to the stewardess.
"Just married, maybe?" the stewardess asked.
Matt grabbed Olivia's hand with his left hand, and held the index finger of his right over his lips.
"Don't ask," he said.
"I'll get your champagne," the stewardess said, smiling warmly.
"You're insane," Olivia said when the stewardess had gone. "You're absolutely bonkers."
But she was smiling, and she did not attempt to free her hand.
Matt moved his champagne glass out of the way, took the inflight telephone from its holder between the seats, fed it- with some difficulty-his American Express card, and then made two calls.
The first was to the Homicide Unit, where he left a message for either Captain Quaire or Lieutenant Washington that he and Detective Lassiter were airborne.
The second was to the law offices of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo amp; Lester, where he asked to be connected with Mrs. Craig. Mrs. Irene Craig, a tall, silver-haired svelte lady in her fifties, was executive secretary to Mr. Brewster Cortland Payne II, a founding partner of the firm.
"Your dad's on his way in, Matty," Mrs. Craig greeted him. "I don't know if he's seen theLedger or not, but the colonel's already in the library reading up on libel."
The colonel was Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, another founding partner of the firm, whom Matt's father sometimes described as the firm's resident pit bull.
"That's not really what I called about, Mrs. Craig," Matt said. "I need a favor…"
"Matty, what else did you do?"
Her tone was maternal. She had known Sergeant Payne since he wore diapers.
"Nothing," he protested. "I'm on a plane to Atlanta. Final destination, via Pensacola, Florida, Daphne, Alabama."
"I don't think I'm going to like this," Mrs. Craig said.
"What if I told you it's police business?"
"I'd have trouble believing you. Where did you say you were headed?Alabama?"
"Daphne, Alabama," he furnished. "And what I need is a rental car in Pensacola, and then someplace to stay-two rooms-in Daphne, Alabama."
"Somebody's with you?"
"Yeah. We're going to need two rooms."
"I'll need his name."
"It's a her. Olivia Lassiter. Two 's's."
"Oh?"
"Detective Lassiter."
"Oh. Her."
"Like I said, it's police business."
"I'm sure it is. How do I get in touch with you? Will your cellular work in Alabama?"
"We'll soon find out. We get to Atlanta at ten-fifty. Oh, wait a minute. My cellular battery's dead."
There was a slight delay as Matt got Olivia's cell phone number. He gave it to Mrs. Craig.
"Thanks, Mrs. Craig."
"You realize you've made your father's day, I hope. What do I tell him? I don't even want to think about your mother."
"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
"How do you spell Daphne?"
"I have no idea."
[FOUR] "Good morning, Mr. Donaldson," the Hon. Alvin W. Martin said, charmingly. "I've been waiting for your call."
"It's Phil, Mr. Mayor. Calling for all the people out there in Phil's Philly."
"All right then,Phil."
"Thank you for taking my call."
"It's always a pleasure, Phil."
"I've been trying to call Detective Lassiter and Sergeant Payne, Mr. Mayor. They don't seem to be available."
"Is that so?"
"They seem to be out of town, Mr. Mayor."
"So I understand. Commissioner Mariani told me."
"You wouldn't want to tell me where and why, would you, Mr. Mayor?"
"I'll tell you why. They have a developing lead in the Williamson murder, one that looks very promising."
"Which just happens to make them unavailable to talk to me, right?"
"I'm afraid, Phil, that seems to be the case. But as soon as they get back in town, I'm sure they will be as delighted to talk to you-and all the people out there inPhil's Philadelphia -as I am."
"And when will that be?"
"In four or five days, possibly."
"And in the meantime, we don't get to hear what happened in Stan Colt's hotel room, right? That's a convenient coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
"I'd call it the press of duty, Phil. A matter of priorities. Solving that case takes precedence, as I'm sure you'll understand, over just about everything else."
"So what you're telling me, Mr. Mayor-correct me if I'm wrong-is that no one out there inPhil's Philly is going to hear what went on in Stan Colt's hotel room until Sergeant Payne and the beautiful lady detective come back to town?"
"I didn't say that, Phil. Would you like to talk to someone who was in Mr. Colt's hotel suite all the time Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter were there?"
"And who would that be?"
"Pick up the extension, please, Detective Martinez, and say hello to Mr. Donaldson."
"Hello."
"With whom am I speaking, please?"
"Detective Jesus Martinez."
"Good morning, Detective. Say hello to all the people out there inPhil's Philly."
"Hello."
"And where are you assigned, Jesus… You don't mind if I call you 'Jesus,' do you?"
"Suit yourself."
"All right, Jesus. Could you tell me what you were doing in Stan Colt's hotel room all the time the mayor says Sergeant Payne and the lovely Detective Lassiter were in there?"
"I was on the Dignitary Protection Detail."
"Mr. Colt needed protection? From what, Jesus?"
"Excuse me?"
"What does Stan Colt need police protection from, Jesus? Pretty women?"
"You bet he does. They was all over the street outside the hotel."
"Who was?"
"His fans were. His lady fans."
"And they were all beautiful?"
"Not all of them. Some was dogs."
"Well, Phil," the mayor of Philadelphia said, "you asked for the truth."
"Yes, I did," Phil said. "Detective Martinez-Jesus-what I'm interested to hear-what all the folks out there inPhil's Philly want to hear-is what happened in Stan Colt's hotel room."
"Okay."
"You're going to tell me, right?"
"Lassiter told him what had gone down on the Williamson job."
"By which you mean the brutal murder of Cheryl Williamson? You call that ajob?"
"That's what we call it."
"And why did Detective Lassiter feel she was equipped to tell him 'what had gone down'? And why was she telling him?"
"She was the first detective on the scene. And the Homicide captain told her to tell him."
"I see," Phil said. "And what you're telling me-correct me if I'm wrong-is that all that happened in Stan Colt's hotel room was that Detective Lassiter told him about the Williamson murder?"
"Yeah."