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“She disappeared in the company of a guy named Matt Payne,” Jernigan amplified. “Was she really off somewhere passing money, or whatever, to Bryan Chenowith, and his murderous band of animal activists? And who is Matt Payne? Is he part of the animal-activist underground railroad? Just as soon as we got the word from the wire tappers—and checked the phone book and found only one Payne, Matthew M. in Philadelphia—we drove up from Washington to find out. ”
“She told Daffy—Mrs. Nesbitt,” Matt said, “that she was in her room at the Bellvue-Stratford all night, and just hadn’t answered the telephone. She wasn’t in her room all night.”
“How do you know that?” Jernigan asked.
“I know.”
“She was with you, you mean?” Jernigan pursued.
“No. The last time I saw her—I told you guys this—she was in the Nesbitts’ house in Society Hill. I don’t know where she was, but she did not sleep in her hotel room that night.”
“How do you know that?” Jernigan demanded.
“Forget I said it.”
“How do you know that she wasn’t in her room?”
“She didn’t use the bed. She strikes me as the kind of a girl who would not sleep on the floor.”
“I keep asking you how you know all this.”
“I decline to answer the question on the grounds that my answer might tend to incriminate me,” Matt said.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Matty?” Chief Coughlin asked angrily.
“Chief,” Matt said after a perceptible pause, “if, hypothetically, someone gained access to premises under conditions that might be considered breaking and entering, wouldn’t he be foolish to admit that to the FBI?”
“Jesus, Matty, what the hell were you doing?” Coughlin said.
“Why would this hypothetical person we’re talking about, Payne,” Davis asked, “break into this hypothetical other person’s hotel room?”
“We’re out of school, Davis, right?” Denny Coughlin came to Matt’s defense.
“Absolutely. You have my word,” Davis said.
“Watch yourself, Matt,” Wohl said, which earned him a look of gratitude from Chief Coughlin and lo
oks of annoyance from Davis, Jernigan, and Leibowitz.
“The morning after the party, I got a call from Chad Nesbitt, who, like his wife, was under the impression that Susan Reynolds had left the party with me. They thought she had spent the night with me. I told them she hadn’t—”
“Who is this guy Nesbitt?” Jernigan asked. “This is the first time that name came up.”
“He’s in the grocery business,” Matt said.
“Matty!” Coughlin warned, and then turned to Jernigan and explained: “Nesbitt’s father is chairman of the board of Nesfoods International.”
“We have noticed that a number of these people who like to blow things up in the name of love for animals come from the, quote, better families, unquote,” Jernigan said. “Is there any chance Mr. Nesbitt might be connected with Chenowith and Company?”
“I think that’s very unlikely,” Matt said, coldly angry.
“Why?”
“Well, he’s an ex-Marine, for one thing.”
“So am I,” Leibowitz said. “But on the other hand, so was Lee Harvey Oswald.”
“I think we can safely proceed on the assumption that Mr. Nesbitt—or his wife—is not in sympathy with these people you’re looking for,” Wohl said. “Payne was telling us about his telephone call.”
