Part 29 (1/2)
”Another unnecessary question.”
”The pictures are in 'Wilifoto,' ” Matt said.
O'Hara turned the laptop on and started the Photo Smart program.
”This fellow is is a bit odd, isn't he?” Mickey said, looking at the first picture, and then, as he ran through the images, twice added: ”Jesus H. Christ!” a bit odd, isn't he?” Mickey said, looking at the first picture, and then, as he ran through the images, twice added: ”Jesus H. Christ!”
”May I see those?” Olivia asked.
”No,” Mickey said. ”You really don't want to see them.”
”I'm a cop, Mr. O'Hara,” she said.
”Of that I have no doubt, my beauty,” O'Hara said, as he turned the computer off and closed the lid, ”but you are also indisputably a very nice young woman. My sainted mother would never forgive me if I showed those images to a very nice young woman.”
He slid the laptop back across the table.
”You going to get him?” he asked.
”Still off the record?” Was.h.i.+ngton 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,” Was.h.i.+ngton 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,” Was.h.i.+ngton 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 La.s.siter,” he said.
”I'm going to have to give my car back to Northwest,” she said.
”You are very bright youngsters,” Was.h.i.+ngton 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 La.s.siter,” Was.h.i.+ngton 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 b.u.t.ton 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 a.r.s.enal.
Their records indicated that a digital camera with that serial number had been s.h.i.+pped, as part of an order for a dozen identical cameras, five months before, to Times Square Photo & 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.”
Oh, s.h.i.+t. But what did I expect? That this critter was going to leave a trail for me?
”But that sometimes happens,” the lady from Kodak went on. ”People sometimes don't activate the program until they have problems with the camera.”
Am I going to get lucky?
”You don't have a phone number of Times Square Photo, by any chance, do you?”
She gave it to him.
”Thank you very much,” Sergeant Payne said. ”I really appreciate your cooperation.”
The two people at Times Square Photo with whom Sergeant Payne spoke on his cellular were not nearly so cooperative. The first person, a male, spoke only a few words of English, and the second, a female he finally managed to get on the line, had only a few more words of English than did her male colleague.
These were sufficient, however, to make Sergeant Payne understand that she couldn't do nothing like consult her records of sale for just anybody, that she was trying to run a business, for Christ's sake, and at that moment she had customers she had to take care of. For Christ's sake.
”Did you understand me when I said this is Sergeant Payne of the Homicide Unit of the Philadelphia police department? ”
”No s.h.i.+t? Good for you. Good luck. Have a nice day.”
And at that point she hung up.
”Sonofab.i.t.c.h!” Matt said, then, to Olivia, ”Sorry.”
”I have heard the expression before,” Detective La.s.siter said.