Final Justice (Badge of Honor 8)

“What the hell, why not?” Richards said, and began to pour scotch into a glass martini shaker full of ice.

He looked over his shoulder at Matt.

“Where should I begin?” he asked.

“When was the first time you saw this fellow?” Matt asked.

“Well, just before the whole thing went down was the first time I saw him,” Richards said. “I was checking the guard, so to speak.”

“I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”

“Well, we run three roving patrols. Some of our guys are getting a little long in the tooth, and in the wee hours, they sort of pull off and catch a few winks. You can get yourself shot in the service for that, but this isn’t the service, and all I can do is roam around and try to catch them. And then all I can do is wag my finger in their faces and tell them they’re letting the side down.”

“I understand,” Matt said.

Colonel Richards interrupted himself to vigorously shake the martini mixer for a full sixty seconds, and then, with the precision of a chemist dealing with a known poisonous substance, to pour the mixture into oversized martini glasses.

“Welcome to our home,” Bev said, raising her glass.

“Thank you,” Matt and Olivia said, in duet.

The colonel took an appreciative sip and then went on.

“Well, I saw this guy-or thought I did-I saw what looked like somebody running between trees. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So I figured if I stopped, he’d see that, so I drove a couple of blocks away, and parked, and then came back on foot. My night vision’s not what it used to be, but I can still move pretty good through the dark. I was in Special Forces for a long time.”

“Were you really?” Olivia asked.

“Yes, ma’am, I was,” Richards said. “So I see him doing this again. Moving from one tree to another, stopping a minute, and then running to the next. By the time he’d done that three, four times, I had a pretty good idea where he was running to, and while he was hiding behind a tree, I ran, and a little faster, and pretty soon I was ahead of him.”

“Interesting,” Matt said.

“And I was right about where he was going,” Richards said. “Building 202. I got down on the ground when I saw him coming, and I saw him pull a mask-a black ski mask- over his head. Did I say he was wearing black coveralls?”

“No, sir. You did not. What about the mask?”

“You’ve seen them. One of our guys-I mean one of the Delta Force guys, not the guys in Jabberwocky-came up with the idea of using them-all they are is regular ski masks, except black, and without all that cutesy-poo reindeer stuff you see on some ski masks-for their psychological effect when you’re hitting an objective. They scare hell out of people. They think they’re being attacked by Darth Vader.”

“I understand,” Matt said.

“So, the first thing I thought was that I didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that somebody running around dressed up like that wasn’t selling Bibles door-to-door. And what I should do was shove my. 45 up his left nostril. But you always think twice, or should, and I did. Then I thought maybe this was just some clown trying to scare his wife or girlfriend or, for that matter, boyfriend-you’d be surprised at the weirdos that collect in those condominiums. The things we’ve seen in Jabberwocky…”

“Disgusting,” Bev Richards chimed in. “Absolutely disgusting! ”

“Anyway, so I decided I better be sure this guy wasn’t some kind of pervert-or if he was a pervert, he was playing with his own squeeze-before I did anything. So I kept him under surveillance. Then he goes to the kitchen window of 202B- there’s two apartments to a floor in the condo buildings, four apartments to each one: 202B is the ground floor one to the left, if you’re facing it from the front-and whips out this knife. Sword is more like it, it looks like something the bad guys carry in a Stan Colt movie, a great big sonofabitch-”

“Watch your mouth, Colonel!” Bev Richards said.

“This gentleman then begins to attempt to pry the kitchen window open with this knife, the blade of which I would estimate to be at least fourteen inches in length, as much as four inches in breadth at the widest point, and highly polished, perhaps even chromium plated,” the colonel said, paused, and inquired, “Better?”

“Much better,” Bev said.

“In other words, Sergeant, a great big sonofabitch,” the colonel went on, visibly pleased with himself.

“You saw him, Colonel,” Olivia asked, “attempt to pry open the window? You’re sure that’s what he was doing?”