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He slid the laptop back across the table.
“You going to get him?” he asked.
"Still off the record?” Washington asked. O’Hara nodded. “All we have right now is the camera. They’re serially numbered, and we’re going to try that.”
"Good luck,” O’Hara said, getting to his feet. “This guy needs bagging, and soon.”
“I’ll keep you posted, Mick,” Washington said.
"I’m counting on that,” O’Hara said. He looked at Olivia. “Remember what I said about the Casanova of Center City, my beauty.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Mickey!” Matt said.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow,” O’Hara proclaimed, and walked out of the diner.
“We have a transportation problem,” Washington said. “I rode out here with Captain Quaire. I have to get back…”
Matt reached into his pocket and handed him the keys to his unmarked car.
“I’ll ride with Lassiter,” he said.
“I’m going to have to give my car back to Northwest,” she said.
“You are very bright youngsters,” Washington said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to sort this out.” He slid across the banquette and stood up, and added: “You can have your car back later-sometime after I meet with Tony, O’Hara, and the kid from the Roy Rogers. Okay if I leave it at the Roundhouse, the keys with the uniform in the lobby?”
“Fine,” Matt said.
“Welcome to Homicide, Detective Lassiter,” Washington said. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about Sergeant Payne. His Lothario reputation is really far darker than the facts justify.”
He walked away from the table.
After a moment, Olivia asked, “Special Victims?”
"I’m thinking,” Matt said. “Sometimes that takes a little time.”
“And I’d like to see those pictures.”
He didn’t reply.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
She watched as he walked to a pay telephone booth in the front of the diner and looked in the yellow pages telephone book. He punched at the keys of his cellular for a moment, then returned to the table.
“What?” Olivia asked.
“Watch,” he said, and pushed the Call button on his cellular phone.
“Center City Photo? I need to talk to someone about Kodak digital cameras.”
Getting the correct number at Kodak from Center City Photo was like pulling teeth. The Eastman Kodak Company in Rochester, New York-once Matt had identified himself as Sergeant Payne of the Philadelphia police department Homicide Unit-was very cooperative. It would take them a little time to run the serial number down-was there a number where he could be reached?
Their call came as Olivia was pulling up before the Special Victims building at the Frankford Arsenal.
Their records indicated that a digital camera with that serial number had been shipped, as part of an order for a dozen identical cameras, five months before, to Times Square Photo amp; Electronics, 17 West Forty-second Street, New York City.
"That camera comes with an overnight FedEx replacement, right?”
“That’s right, Sergeant, it does. And I checked to see if that program had been activated for that camera. It hadn’t.”
