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“Isaac ‘Fort’ Festung,” Eileen said.
“Oh, that chap.”
“That despicable sonofabitch,” Coughlin said, and added, immediately, “Forgive the French.”
A waiter handed the district attorney a drink. She waited until Patricia Payne had hers, then touched glasses and took a healthy sip.
“To Sergeant Payne,” she said.
“Thank you,” Patricia Payne said.
“Denny, ‘despicable sonofabitch’ is an apt description of Fort Festung, so an apology for your language is not necessary, ” Eileen said. “But if you’re asking for a general pardon for our French brothers, I’m not about to forgive them.”
There were chuckles and smiles.
“She’s even stopped buying French perfume,” Dr. Solomon said.
“See if you can enlist Patricia in your cause, Eileen,” Brewster Payne said.
“What they should have done when he showed up in France-he entered France illegally, by the way, and was using a phony name, also illegal-was deport him on the next plane.”
“Didn’t that have something to do with the death penalty?” Patricia asked.
“That was their first excuse, but when that didn’t wash- we didn’t have the death penalty at the time of his trial; there was no way I could have sentenced him to death, as much as I might have liked to-they said they wouldn’t let us extradite because he’d been tried in absentia.”
“I thought the legislature took care of that, and guaranteed him a new trial if he asked for one.” Brewster C. Payne said.
“They did. And we so informed the French. Now they’re giving us some nonsense about the statute of limitations,” Eileen said. “We’re appealing that. We expect a decision on that tomorrow, and if it goes our way, we’re back to Step One. In other words, we start asking all over again for his extradition. ”
She stopped, suddenly becoming aware that two men were seeking her attention.
“And there’s Dave Pekach waiting for me to tell him what I just told you,” she said, nodding at Pekach, who was standing at the edge of the field. “Excuse me.”
She got to her feet and turned to a waiter, “Medium rare,” she ordered. “One piece of Italian sausage, a sliced tomato. No potatoes. I’ll be back in five minutes, or less.” She pointed at her husband. “That handsome gentleman will have the same.”
She stood up, and walked to Pekach, and followed him into the stable. They walked almost to the end of it.
“Did I interrupt something important?” Pekach asked. “You and Denny Coughlin looked pretty serious.”
“We were talking about Saint Isaac,” Eileen said. “What did the new postcard say?”
“The usual. ‘Having fine time, wish you were here. Best regards, Isaac.’”
“The arrogant sonofabitch!” t
he district attorney said, and then went on: “I had a call-Tony Casio did-from the State Department today.
…”
“I have the feeling I’m about to hear something I shouldn’t,” Matt Payne said, coming into the passageway from inside one of the stalls.
“What the hell were you doing in there?” Pekach asked, curiously.
“I’m gone,” Matt said. “Sorry.”
“Stay,” Eileen said. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t hear this. Maybe you should.”
“What were you doing in there?” Pekach pursued.
