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“Your bladder problem aside, Matthew,” Washington said, “how would you assess your chat with Mr. Daniels?”
“I don’t know,” Matt said.
“You ‘don’t know’?” Washington asked, incredulously.
“I think he knows we have him,” Matt said. “But what his reaction to that will be, I have no idea. He may decide to take his chances. What has he got to lose?”
Washington grunted noncommittally.
Three minutes later, Roswell Bernhardt, Esq., came out of the chief’s office and said that in exchange for a written guarantee that the City of Philadelphia would not seek the death penalty, his client was prepared to make a full statement, cooperate fully with the investigation, and waive extradition.
At five-thirty-five, Mr. Walter Davis walked up the marble steps of the Rittenhouse Club and entered the building through its revolving door. He stopped long enough to check the Members Board, and to see that the brass nameplate reading MARIANI, R had been slid to the left, so that it was now under the IN heading.
He found Commissioner Mariani in the paneled bar with First Deputy Commissioner Coughlin, which didn’t surprise him. But with them at one of the round tables was Brewster Cortland Payne II, Esq., which did.
Mariani waved Davis over. The men shook hands. Davis sat down. A waiter appeared and Davis ordered a scotch, rocks. The others held up their hands in a silent gesture meaning they didn’t need another one just now, thank you.
Davis wondered how long they had been here. He sensed that the drinks on the table were not the first round.
“We’re having a little celebration, Walter,” Mariani said. “I’m glad you were free to join us. I didn’t give you much notice.”
“It’s always a pleasure, you know that. What are we celebrating? ”
As if I didn’t know.
“Mr. Homer C. Daniels has agreed to waive extradition.”
“And he is?”
As if you don’t know.
“You don’t know?”
“I’m not sure,” Davis said.
“He’s the man who tied the Williamson girl to her bed with plastic ties, committed obscenities on her body, and then killed her.”
“And you’ve got him?”
“The Daphne, Alabama, police have him. He was apprehended by one of those civilian neighborhood watch outfits, apparently in the act of trying to break into some other young woman’s apartment. He’s a dealer in fancy cars, from Las Vegas.”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised, Walter,” Coughlin said, “if he’s been doing this sort of thing all over the country.”
“A civilian neighborhood watch outfit? If this wasn’t so serious, that would be almost funny. You’re sure he’s the doer, Ralph?”
“We’re sure. We sent Sergeant Payne down there to check him out. Payne said everything fit, but just to make sure, I sent Jason Washington down there, and Eileen Solomon sent Steve Cohen. Not only does everything fit, but he gave Payne a statement and, as I said, has agreed to waive extradition. ”
“Washington and Cohen are in Alabama?” Davis asked.
“I thought you would have heard, Ralph,” Mariani said, innocently. “Washington said the FBI had been there to offer their assistance.”
Davis shook his head, “no.”
“But whatever assistance we can provide, Ralph,” he said. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Thanks, Walter,” Mariani said. “We appreciate that.”
He smiled at Davis and went on:
