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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 the Ledger 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.”
“Good morning, Mr. Donaldson,” the Hon. Alvin W. Martin said, charmingly. “I’ve been waiting for your call.”
