Final Justice (Badge of Honor 8)

“I’ve already checked with the FBI, Denny,” Washington said. “They have nothing. And I have very little faith in the efficacy of a teletype message to other police departments. They probably pay as little attention to them as we pay to theirs.”

He met Coughlin’s eyes for a moment and then, when Coughlin said nothing, turned to Matt.

“Sergeant Payne, I suggest that starting first thing in the morning, whenever she is not occupied with the Williamson family, you have Detective Lassiter make two telephone calls to every major city police department in the country. One to their Homicide bureau and the second to whatever they have elected to dub their sex crimes unit.”

“Yes, sir.”

“While you’re at it, Olivia,” Amy said, “get their fax numbers, and tell them you’re going to fax them the DNA makeup of this guy. If they have any unidentified rapists where the only positive identification factor is the DNA, they can run theirs against ours to see if there is a match.”

“I didn’t know that really worked,” Olivia said. “We can really do that?”

“Sure,” Amy said. “DNA markers are a series of unique, really unique, identifiers, according to scientific standards used around the world. No two are alike; they’re much more difficult-almost impossible-to challenge in court.”

“And as my contribution to the general fund of knowledge,” Washington said, “let me add that two months ago, in federal court right here in Philadelphia, a defense lawyer successfully challenged the scientific validity of fingerprints-the admission thereof as evidence-arguing that the standards for fingerprint identification vary from state to state, and even other countries. I’m really glad Amy brought that up.”

“Good thinking, honey,” Coughlin said.

“That’s my big sister,” Matt said with mock pride.

“And as for you, Sergeant Payne,” Washington said quickly, to keep Amy from replying to the sarcasm, “whenever you can tear yourself from the supervision of the other detectives working this investigation, it would be useful for you to lend Detective Lassiter a hand in that endeavor. Perhaps fortune will smile on us.”

“Yes, sir.”

What he’s saying, Matt decided, is that the two people least likely to make any other substantial contribution to this investigation, Mother and me, will spend all day tomorrow-or for however long it takes-with a telephone stuck in our ears.

Well, what the hell, sergeant or not, I am the rookie in Homicide, and that’s what rookies do, whatever jobs will release someone who knows what he’s doing to do it.

Olivia thought: Well, however politely put, that was a kick in the teeth, wasn’t it, Sergeant Hotshot? You and the temporary employee from Northwest get to work the telephones, while the real detectives do their thing.

And you really deserved a kick in the teeth to bring you down to size, so why do I feel sorry for you?

The bartender began distributing drinks, starting with Doctor’s Specials for Dr. Payne and Detective Lassiter. She was surprised that the first martini glass was empty. She looked at the fresh one.

I don’t need that. I don’t want that. I’m going to make a fool of myself.

“How are you going to get home, Olivia?” Amy asked.

“I’m riding with Matt… Sergeant Payne.”

Like just now.

“Are you all right to drive, Matt?” Amy asked.

“Hey, fight with Peter all you want, but lay off me.”

“I was thinking of Olivia,” Amy replied, “and what makes you think I’m fighting with Peter?”

“Your claws are showing.”

Washington stood up, holding his glass.

“I am leaving before these adorable, loving siblings enter the violent stage,” he said. “But not before I take aboard sufficient liquid courage to face the unsheathed claws I fear I will myself find at home.”

He took a healthy swallow of his drink.

“You will drop by the lab, Frank?”

“Just as soon as I drop the boss off,” Hollaran said.