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“Jason, what does your screenplay have to say about Daniels wanting to talk privately with his lawyer?”
“I don’t think he will,” Washington replied. “But if he does, it can only accrue to our advantage. I don’t think he’s seen him since the chief got the search warrants. He would tell him that, I’m sure.”
Roswell Bernhardt, Esq., came into the room. The large Daphne police officer standing outside the chief’s office opened the door for him and he went inside.
“Time,” Washington said, and pushed buttons on his watch.
Matt appeared a minute or so later.
“You are prepared, I presume, Sergeant Payne? You’re on in eight minutes and fifteen seconds.”
“Yes, sir.”
Eight minutes later, Washington said, “Good luck, Matt.”
Matt, carrying a tape recorder and two microphones, walked across the room, waited for the Daphne uniform to open the door, then walked into the chief’s office.
And four minutes after that, came out again.
“You’re on, Steve,” Washington said.
“Yeah, but I’m not going to get canned if I give a lousy performance,” Cohen said, and walked across the room.
Five minutes after that, Chief of Police Charles Yancey came into Sergeant Kenny’s office.
“Am I going to be in the way here?”
“Of course not,” Washington said. “And it gives me the opportunity to tell you again how appreciative we all are for all your assistance.”
“This isn’t my first murder,” Yancey said. “But I’ve never been around a sleazeball, murdering pervert like this before. Or seen big-city cops at work.”
“We work exactly the same way as you do.”
“The hell you do. Kenny told me what you did-are doing. Is it going to work?”
“Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t. It largely depends on the interrogator.”
“And that young sergeant is that good?”
“We are about to determine that,” Washington said.
“Kenny told me about the run-in you had with the FBI. Does that happen all the time?”
“I don’t know about all the time. But it happens far too frequently, I’m afraid. They seem to be very concerned with their image.”
“They always-between you and me, a couple of cops- seem to look down their noses at us.”
“Odd,” Washington said. “I seem to have heard that before somewhere.”
Yancey smiled at him.
“You want to go get a cup of coffee while you’re waiting?”
“You’re very kind, but I’d rather stay here.”
“Hell, I’ll get it,” Yancey said.
He hadn’t made it out of the administrative area when the door to his office opened and Matt Payne-carrying the tape recorder and microphones-and Steve Cohen came out.
