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“Yes, sir, I did.”
“I knew that sonofabitch was up to more than peeping through windows,” Colonel Richards said.
“Colonel, I’d like to talk to you.”
“Sure. When?”
“At your earliest convenience, sir.”
“How about right now? Let me tell you how to get here.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
SEVENTEEN
It took some time for Sergeant Payne and Detective Lassiter to find the home of Lieutenant Colonel Lacey Richards Jr. on Captain O’Neal Drive in Daphne. Captain O’Neal Drive was a winding road in a heavily wooded area, and the house numbers were hard-or impossible-to find.
But they finally found it, a large home sitting under massive oaks between Captain O’Neal Drive and Mobile Bay. Colonel Richards, a short, totally bald, barrel-chested man wearing a yellow polo shirt and khaki pants, opened the door himself.
“You’re the homicide guy from Philadelphia?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Payne, right?”
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Matt Payne.”
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing the little lady. A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
“This is Detective Lassiter, Colonel,” Matt said.
“I’ll be damned,” Colonel Richards said. “Well, come on and tell me what you want to know. Can I offer you a little taste? I was about to have one myself.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Matt said.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Richards said to Olivia.
“Lassiter, sir.”
“I meant your first name.”
“Olivia, sir.”
“Can I offer you a little something, Olivia?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He led them through the house to a patio in the rear. There was a row of upholstered desk chairs and a well-stocked wet bar.
“You’re just in time for sunset,” he announced, pointing at the sun setting across the bay. “I like to come out here and watch and have a little taste.”
“It’s very nice,” Olivia said.
A tanned, gray-haired woman at least a foot taller than Richards came onto the patio.
“I’m not sure you should be here, baby,” Richards said.
“I live here, Lacey,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Hi, I’m Bev Richards.”
