"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 that his name will be associated in the public's mind with that of a chap charged by the police as a Peeping Tom. Better?"
"Sometimes, Lacey…"
"Let me see if I can get this in sequence, Colonel," Matt said. "When the chief of police couldn't identify the car by its VIN, he did so by tracing it to the Gambino dealership?"
"A little after ten this morning. Gambino goes to work late. When he finally came in, he said, yeah, he owned a car like that, he owned a dozen cars like that, and he had loaned one to a friend of his to go to Biloxi. Bingo. Mr. Peeper is identified. "
"Okay. I think I've got it straight," Matt said. "Thank you."
"And now are you going to tell me why you're interested in this guy? Interested enough to come all the way down here from Philadelphia, P.A.?"
"Colonel, you've been very helpful, and I'm really grateful. But I would be in deep trouble if it ever got out I told you anything that could possibly jeopardize our investigation."
"Okay. I had twenty-seven years in uniform, and for most of that time I had a top-secret clearance. But okay."
"Would you be satisfied if I told you, Colonel, that from what you've told me, the way this Peeping Tom operates is unusually like the way a man we're looking for in connection with a homicide in Philadelphia operates?"
"Your guy is a pervert too?" Colonel Richards asked.
"Yes, Colonel," Olivia said. "He is."
"If our guy turns out to be your guy, will I have to read about it in the newspaper? Or will you tell me first?"
"You'll hear about it long before it gets into the papers," Matt said. "I promise."
[TWO] It was ten to seven when Matt pulled the rented Mustang into the Joseph Hall Criminal Justice Center in Daphne.
There was a large parking lot, and it was full. Matt wondered why, at this time of day.
"I'm getting hungry again," he said to Olivia.
"After all you had for lunch? I can't believe it."
"I don't know. I must have done something to work up an appetite."
"I can't imagine what," Olivia said. "When are you going to call Lieutenant Washington?"
"I don't have anything to tell him yet," Matt argued. "And if he had something to say to us, he would have called."
Inside a double glass door was a barren room with shiny tile walls. There were several metal doors and a small window in the walls. Next to the window was a buzzer button and a sign reading, RING BELL FOR SERVICE.
Matt pushed the button. There was a buzzing sound, and a moment later the small door opened inward, and the face of a plump middle-aged woman appeared in the opening. She had what looked like a police uniform on, but Matt saw neither badge nor weapon.
"Can I help you?"
"Good evening," Matt said, and showed her his identification. "I'm Sergeant Payne, this is Detective Lassiter, and we'd like to see Chief Yancey, please."
"Can't right now, he's in court."
She pointed to her left, to a single door in the shiny tile wall.
"Well, then, may I please speak to the supervisor on duty?"
"That'd be Sergeant Paul."
"Do you think I can see Sergeant Paul?"
"You want tosee him, or just speak to him?"
"I'd really like to speak to him in person," Matt said.
"He's on patrol. I'll give him a call."
"Thank you very much."
Ninety seconds later, her face appeared again.
"He's still working a DUI. Says it will take him fifteen minutes to get here."
"Thank you. Should we wait here?"
"If you went in the courtroom, you could sit down," she said. "I'll tell him where you are."
"Thank you very much."
Matt opened the single steel door in the tiled wall for Olivia, then followed her in.
They found themselves at the head end of a fairly large courtroom, right by the judge, who, sitting on his bench a few feet above them, looked down at them in what was certainly curiosity and possibly annoyance.
"Go along the wall," Matt quickly ordered Olivia, and he followed her past a railing dividing the bench area-which had tables for the accused and their counsel-from the spectator area, which was furnished with benches not unlike church pews.
Behind the last row of benches was an open area, fairly crowded with people-Matt thought they looked like the accused and their counsel-and behind that a set of double doors.
They found seats in the next-to-the-last row and tried to look inconspicuous.