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Final Justice (Badge of Honor 8)

Page 15

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“Not that it matters, but two ‘r’s and a ’y.’ ”

“And what’s GAM?”

“Global Artists Management,” she answered, making her surprise that he didn’t know evident in the tone of her voice.

“Of course,” Matt said, “I should have known.”

“If you need anything else, just let me know.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Have you had your breakfast?”

Not quite an hour before, Detective Payne had had two fried eggs, two slices of Taylor ham, two bagels, a glass each of orange juice and milk, and two cups of coffee.

“I could eat a little something, now that you mention it.”

“Well, when you have your laptop up and working, won’t you please have some breakfast?”

“You’re very kind,” Matt said.

She smiled at him and walked back to the room with the buffet, in the process convincing Payne that both sides of her were stunning.

He turned the laptop on, pushed the appropriate buttons, thought a moment about whether he wanted to make this official or not, decided he didn’t, and then typed, very quickly, for he was an accomplished typist, the private screen name for Inspector Wohl, and then his own; he wanted a copy of what he was about to type.

0935 dignitary is stan colt, coming to town to raise money for west catholic high school. So far two $$dinners, two $$lunches, and a $$benefit performance. will know dates locations etc after breakfasting upper floor suite ritz carlton with mcguire, monsignor schneider, terry davis of gam, others. I think I’m in love. 701.

In a moment, the computer told him his mail had been sent. Probably less than a minute later, the computer on the table behind Inspector Peter Wohl’s desk at Special Operations headquarters would give off a ping, and a message would appear on his monitor telling him he had an e-mail message from 701, which was Detective Payne’s badge number. A similar action would take place on Detective Payne’s desktop, and when he got back to the office, he would copy the message into his desktop.

Leaving the computer on, Payne went into the room with the buffet. Lieutenant McGuire, seated at a table with Monsignor Schneider and the other priest, waved him over.

“Yes, sir?”

“Payne, do you know the monsignor?”

“No, sir.”

“Monsignor, this is Detective Payne, of Special Operations, which will be providing most of the manpower for Mr. Colt’s security while he’s here.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” the monsignor said, smiling and standing up to offer his hand. “Your boss and I are old friends.”

Was that incidental information, to put me at ease, or are you telling me that if I displease you in any way, you’ll go right to Wohl?

“Detective Payne, this is Father Venno, of my office,” the monsignor went on, “who’ll be my liaison, representing the archdiocese.”

“How do you do, Father?” Matt said politely, putting out his hand and looking over Venno’s shoulder, finding Terry Davis at a table with two empty chairs, and wondering if he could get away with joining her.

“Why don’t you get a plate-the omelets are wonderful- and join us?” Monsignor Schneider said.

Shit!

“Thank you very much, sir,” Payne said.

Although he didn’t have nearly as much appetite as he’d had when contemplating taking breakfast with Miss Davis, the omelets offered did have a certain appeal, and Detective Payne returned to the table with a western omelet with everything, an English muffin, and a large glass of orange juice.

“That was an unfortunate business on South Broad Street last night, wasn’t it?” Monsignor Schneider said. “At the Gene Autry?”

“The Roy Rogers, Monsignor,” Father Venno corrected him.



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