“You haven’t met Midas, have you?”
“What is he, a half-grown Great Dane?”
“He’s a six-week-old golden retriever. A ball of fuzz. Dogs don’t come any cuter. He melts hearts left and right.”
“And?”
“And don’t turn your back on him.”
Smiling, Jack hung up and went back into the room where his investigators were taking Sykes’s statement. Another investigator and a patrol officer were on their way to pick up Mayor Nolan and bring him in for questioning. They had gone from not knowing anything that morning to pretty much having things sewn up tonight. Some of it had been pure luck, such as his noticing Mrs. Nolan on the road back from Huntsville because she was driving erratically, but most of the events had been the direct result of someone doing something stupid. Even Glenn Sykes, who was pretty damn sharp, had been stupid to get involved in the first place. It all came down to the choices they made, and criminals in general made stupid choices.
When the D.A. and his assistant got there from Scottsboro, the D.A. was noticeably upset. He took Jack aside and said, “Elton Phillips is a very respected member of the community. We have to be very sure of what we have before I’m going to proceed an inch with this.”
“We have him on tape, and we have corroborating testimony from Mr. Sykes. I’m pretty damn sure.”
“Was the tape legally obtained?”
“Mayor Nolan’s wife taped it with the answering machine on her bedroom extension.”
The D.A. considered that. It was Mrs. Nolan’s own phone, and the mayor obviously knew there were extension phones in his house, therefore he couldn’t argue that he had an expectation of privacy concerning his telephone conversations. The legal ground seemed pretty solid.
“Okay, let’s see what Mr. Sykes has to tell us.”
When Temple Nolan saw the white city-owned car turn into his driveway, he took a deep breath and forced him-self to remain calm. Everything would be all right. Sykes’s suggestions had been reasonable; Jennifer’s wild telephone call could be explained away, as could his asking Russo to run a tag number for him. As Sykes had pointed out, since he hadn’t been able to find Daisy, no crime had been committed. If Daisy had realized she’d seen anything important in the parking lot of the Buffalo Club, she’d have already told someone. They were clear.
His doorbell rang. Quickly he took off his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, to give himself a casual, unworried look. Picking up a section of the Huntsville newspaper, he took it with him to answer the door; he looked like a man who had been reading the newspaper and unwinding, a man with nothing to hide.
He affected a look of mild surprise when he opened the door. “Richard,” he said to the investigator. “What’s up?”
“We’d like to ask you some questions about an allegation your wife made this morning,” Investigator Richard Hill said, and he didn’t sound apologetic, either. That was a little worrisome, Nolan thought.
“Sure. Come on in. Nadine told me about Jennifer calling the library, but I didn’t think anyone would take it seriously. Jennifer . . . has a little problem with alcohol, you know.”
“Yes, sir,” said Investigator Hill. He eyed the news-paper, the rolled-up sleeves. “Settling down for the evening, sir?”
“It was an upsetting day. I brought some paperwork home with me; after I finish the paper and have supper, I’ll work on that for a while. Is something wrong?”
Hill looked at his wristwatch. “I’m just surprised you didn’t remember the city council meeting tonight,” he said calmly. “It started five minutes ago.”
The mayor froze, aghast. He’d never, in nine years, missed a city council meeting. Richard Hill knew something drastic would have to be wrong for him to totally forget about it. “I remembered,” he said, trying to cover himself. “But it seemed best to stay home with Jennifer tonight” Thank God he’d lowered the garage doors, so they couldn’t see that Jennifer’s car wasn’t in the bay.
“Mrs. Nolan is at the station,” said Investigator Hill, still very calm and polite. “If you’ll come with us, sir, we’ll drive you there.”
“Jennifer’s at the station?” God, what should he say now? How could he explain not knowing where she was? “Is she all right?” Good. A touch of concern. That was inspired.
“Mrs. Nolan’s just fine, sir.”
“That’s a relief, because she was . . . over the top this morning, if you know what I mean.”
“Please come with us.”
“Sure. I’ll take my car and follow you—”
“No, sir, I’d prefer you ride with us.”
Nolan stepped back, but Hill and the patrol officer smoothly flanked him and grasped his arms, forcing them behind his back. Handcuffs were quickly snapped around his wrists.
Outraged, he stared at the two men. “Get these cuffs off me! What do you think you’re doing? I’m not a criminal, and I refuse to be treated like one.”
“It’s procedure, sir, for your safety and ours. They’ll be removed at the station.” They physically shepherded him from the house, their grasps on his arms propelling him forward.
“You’re fired!” he ground out, his face turning dark red. “Both of you. There’s no excuse for this kind of treatment.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hill as they put him in the backseat of the car and closed the door.
Nolan could barely breathe, he was so furious. Jack Russo had to have instigated this, to get back at him for . . . surely not because he’d asked him to run Daisy’s tag number; that was ludicrous. But what else could it be? Maybe Russo was the insanely jealous type who went off the deep end at the least attention anyone paid to his girlfriend.