Final justice

"A black ski mask."

"What we believe, and what the psychiatric profiler believes, Sergeant," Olivia said, "is that our doer has previously done what he did in this case. That is, stalk a young woman until he feels comfortable in breaking into her home. He then ties her to her bed with plastic ties…"

Ke

"Like these?"

"Like those," Matt said.

"… and when she is terrified sufficiently, and her clothing has been cut off," Olivia went on, "he humiliates her sexually and takes photographs of various stages of the assault."

"And then kills them?"

"No. We don't think so," Matt said. "We think he didn't mean to kill our victim. It just happened."

"Would you agree, Sergeant," Olivia asked, "that there is a similarity in themodus operandi of our doer and what this man was apparently about to do last night?"

"I think you could reasonably conclude something like that," Ke

"I don't know," Matt confessed. "I have no idea what the legal procedure is. But I know there's enough here to tell my lieutenant about it."

Sergeant Ke

"Would it be possible for us to have a look at this man?" he asked. "I don't mean interview him. I just have a feeling I ought to have a look at him."

Olivia looked at him in surprise and disapproval.

Ke

"If you've got weapons," he said, as he unholstered his pistol and laid it on his desk, "it'd be better to leave them in here."

Matt and Olivia laid their pistols on his desk, which gave Matt a chance to take a closer look at Ke

Well, hell, why not? As big as Ke

Sergeant Payne's experience with jails was limited to those in Philadelphia, and a cell in the Spring Lake, New Jersey, jail in which, at sixteen, he and Mr. Chadwick T. Nesbitt IV, also sixteen, had been confined overnight, charged with disturbing the peace of that seashore community by taking a midnight swim in the Atlantic without bathing attire.

The Daphne jail was like none in his experience. It reminded Matt more of a hospital than a jail. It was spotless. The walls were of white tile. The bars on the six cells were white. The in-cell toilets were of stainless steel, and there was no graffiti on the walls.

The first cell was empty. Sergeant Ke

Matt stepped in front of the cell and looked in. Olivia stepped up beside him.

Homer C. Daniels, as if he was trying to be friendly, at first smiled-if a little uneasily-at the young couple standing with Sergeant Ke

Then the smile vanished.

"Who are you?" he asked, and when there no response, angrily demanded, "Sergeant, who the fuck are these people?"

"Watch your mouth, Mr. Daniels," Sergeant Ke

"I'm Sergeant Payne, Mr. Daniels," Matt said. "And this is Detective Lassiter. We're from the Homicide Unit of the Philadelphia police department."

"What do you want with me?" Daniels asked.

"I'm sorry, sir. But that's about all I can say to you without your attorney being present."

He turned and walked toward the door through which he had entered the cell block. He stopped just inside, out of sight of the cell, and gestured almost frantically for Ke

They both looked at Matt in bewilderment.

Matt frantically silently mouthed something to Sergeant Ke

"You think that's your man, Sergeant?" he said, speaking a little more loudly than he normally did.

"No question about it," Matt boomed, confidently. "That's him. It all fits. The knife, the mask, the digital camera. Same modus operandi. All we'll have to do is match the DNA, and there's no challenging DNA. I'll start the extradition paperwork tonight."

Olivia shook her head in disbelief.

Matt gestured for Olivia and Ke

"Now we call the Black Buddha," he said to Olivia.

Olivia rolled her eyes.

Oh, shit! There goes my automatic mouth again.

" 'The Black Buddha' is what we call my lieutenant," Matt said, "who is an African-American gentleman slightly larger than you, Sergeant, and generally regarded as the best homicide investigator between Bangor, Maine, and Key West, Florida."

"Bigger than me?" Ke

"Bigger than you, Sergeant," Olivia said.

Ke

"I haven't a clue," Matt confessed. "I'll ask Lieutenant Washington."

"What was that business in there?" Ke

"When I saw that sonofabitch, the idea of him getting a good night's sleep, thinking he was going to bail himself out of here tomorrow, a

"The Black Buddha?" Ke

Matt nodded.

"-about the likelihood of a suspect who has (a) time to reflect on his sins and (b) not had much sleep telling you a lot more than he would if he had had neither."

"You're not actually thinking of interviewing him?" Olivia asked.

"I'll do exactly what Washington tells me to do," Matt said.

"Hello?" a female voice said. Matt recognized it to be that of Martha Washington.

"Matt, Martha," Matt said.

"Martha Washington?" Sergeant Ke

"He's in the shower, Matt. And you, I understand, are in the Deep South?"

"About as deep as you can get," Matt said. "Standing here with a sergeant who looks like your husband's twin brother. I really have to talk to him. When should I call back?"

"I'll just hand him the cellular," she said. "Hold on."

"I'm already a

"This is our doer, Jason."

"You will forgive me for asking, Matthew, but do you believe this because of something more than your intuition? "

"Sergeant Ke

"Who is he?"

"His name is Homer C. Daniels. White male, six feet one inch, two hundred pounds, mid-thirties. He's a dealer in exotic cars, from Las Vegas, and he drives all over the country doing business."

"On what charges are they-presumably the Daphne police-holding him?"

"Peeping, a misdemeanor, and leaving the scene of an accident, which is a little heavier."

"Is there a chance, however slight, that he might be allowed to post bail?"

"Not tonight."

There was a thirty-second pause.

"I will be calling you back shortly, Matthew. May I presume your cell phone battery is fully charged?"

"You may so presume."

"Splendid," Washington said, and the line went dead.

Matt hung up the telephone on Sergeant Ke