Part 87 (2/2)
TWENTY-SIX.
At six-thirty-fifteen minutes earlier than Matt had told him to be there-Special Agent John J. Matthews of the FBI walked into the paneled bar of the Doylestown Inn, across the street from the Bucks County courthouse, and saw Detective Matthew Payne sitting at the bar nursing what was probably a scotch and water. Beside him, looking better in the flesh than in the photographs he had seen of her, was Miss Susan Reynolds, a known a.s.sociate of the Chenowith Group.
He walked to them and tapped Detective Payne on the back.
”h.e.l.lo, Matt,” he said. ”What's going on?”
Matt turned on the swiveled bar stool, smiled, and touched Matthews on the shoulder.
”You're early, buddy. I thought you might be. Tell me right now if you're alone.”
”You said come alone, I came alone.”
”Good boy! Susan, this is Jack. Jack, Susan.”
”h.e.l.lo,” Susan said, torn between curiosity and not wanting to look at the FBI agent.
”How do you do, Miss Reynolds?” Matthews said stiffly.
”I think your reputation has preceded you, honey,” Matt said. ”Jack knows who you are.”
”Matt, what the h.e.l.l is going on?” Matthews asked.
”What are you drinking, Jack?” Matt said.
”Nothing, thank you. What I want, Matt, is to know what's going on.”
”Have a drink, Jack,” Matt said, and waved for the bartender. ”Another of these, please, for this gentleman,” he said.
”G.o.dd.a.m.n it, I don't want a drink!”
The bartender shrugged and walked away.
”Okay,” Matt said. ”Let me pay for these, and we'll go someplace where we can talk.”
He looked at the cash register tab on the bar, then reached in his pocket and peeled two bills from a wad of currency and laid them on the bar. He picked up his drink and drained it.
Matthews saw that Reynolds's gla.s.s was still full.
”Where's your car, Jack?” Matt asked.
”Out in back.”
”Good. So's mine,” Matt said.
He politely gestured for Susan to precede him out of the bar.
When they were in the parking lot, Matthews pointed at his car. Matt nodded.
Matt led Matthews to his unmarked Plymouth, unlocked the trunk, opened it, handed the keys to Susan, and then reached inside and came out with a briefcase.
”What's that?” Matthews asked.
”It's a briefcase full of money, Jack,” Matt said. ”Let's go sit in your car.”
Matthews's eyebrows rose high in exasperation.
They walked to his car, a new Chevrolet four-door sedan with Maryland license plates.
”What's with the Maryland plates?” Matt asked.
”My car collapsed,” Matthews said. ”I borrowed this one.”
He unlocked the car, Matt got in the front seat and Susan in back.
”Okay, Matt, now what the h.e.l.l is going on?”
”To answer the question I am sure is foremost in your mind, Jack: Yes, Miss Reynolds and I are emotionally involved.”
”Oh, my G.o.d!”
”Keep that in mind. It bears very heavily on all of this.”
”Matt, I'm going to have to report that,” Matthews said. ”Jesus Christ! I can't believe this, even of you!”
”You're going to have a lot to report,” Matt said, then pushed the briefcase across the seat to him. ”I transfer to your custody, Agent Matthews, preserving the chain of evidence, one leather briefcase.”
”What's in that?” Matthews asked, not touching it.
”Said briefcase was given to me by Miss Susan Reynolds,” Matt said. ”It contains a sum of money given into Miss Reynolds's custody by one Jennifer Ollwood.”
Matthews looked over the seat back at Susan.
”On several occasions, Miss Ollwood has told Miss Reynolds that she fears for her life, and for that of her infant son-”
”What infant son?”
”Miss Ollwood has borne a son to Mr. Bryan Chenowith,” Matt said. ”Mr. Chenowith, of course, is a fleeing felon wanted on charges of murder, so Miss Ollwood takes his threats to her and her child quite seriously.”
”What the h.e.l.l are you up to, Matt? What's going on?”
”Miss Ollwood has told Miss Reynolds that the monies she placed in Miss Reynolds's care came into her hands from Mr. Chenowith. Naturally fearing for her own life, Miss Reynolds did nothing about the money until questioned by the authorities-me-whereupon she immediately and unhesitatingly turned the evidence over to me.”
<script>