You're getting paranoid. They have this clever thing called "police radio." You have one. If something had happened, you 'd have heard about it.

He had trouble finding a place to park and finally decided he had as much right to park by the main entrance as the Highway RPC did. He wasn't here to visit an ailing aunt.

He walked past the "Visitors Register Here" desk by holding out his leather badge-and-photo-ID case to the rent-a-cop on duty. But when he walked across the lobby toward the bank of elevators he saw that the hospital rent-a-cops had set up another barrier, a guy sitting behind a table you had to get past before you could get on an elevator.

This time, holding out the leather folder and murmuring the magic words "police officer" didn't work.

"Excuse me, sir," the rent-a-cop said, getting to his feet after Wohl had waved the leather folder in front of him. "I don't see your visitor's badge."

Another rent-a-cop he hadn't noticed before stepped between Wohl and the elevator.

"I don't have one," Wohl said. "I'm a police officer." He gave the rent-a-cop a better look at his identification.

"Who are you going to see?"

"Matthew M. Payne," Wohl said. "He's on the surgical floor."

"I'm sorry, sir, there's no patient here by that name," the rent-acop said.

He had not, Wohl noticed, checked any kind of a list before making that announcement.

He chuckled. "I'mInspector Wohl," he said. "The police officers keeping an eye on Officer Payne work for me."

"Just a moment, sir," the rent-a-cop said, and sat down at his table and dialed a number. A moment later he said, "You can go up, sir."

"You guys are really doing your job," Wohl said. "Thank you."

The compliment, which was genuine, didn't seem to make much of an impression on either of the rent-a-cops.

When Wohl stepped off the elevator, there was a Highway Patrolman Wohl could not remember having seen before, and a Highway Sergeant he had seen around and whose name came to him almost instantly.

"Hello, Sergeant Carter," Wohl said, smiling, extending his hand. " For a while there, I didn't think they were going to let me come up here."

"Good evening, sir," Sergeant Carter said. "You know Hughes, don't you?"

"I've seen him around," Wohl said, offering his hand. "How are you, Hughes?"

"Inspector."

Then Wohl saw something he didn't like. Behind Hughes, leaning against the wall, was a short-barreled pump shotgun.

I don't think that's a Remington 870, Wohl thought automatically. Probably an Ithaca.

"Do you really think we're going to need the shotgun?" Wohl asked.

"My experience is, Inspector," Carter said, "that if you have a shotgun, you seldom need one."

Wohl smiled.

Now, how am I going to tactfully tell him to get it out of sight without hurting his feelings?

The first time he had seen Carter, shortly after assuming command of Highway, Wohl had taken the trouble of reading his name on the name tag and committing it to memory. First impressionsdid matter, and he had been favorably impressed with his first look at Carter. He was a good-looking guy, tall and lean, about as black as Jason Washington, who wore his uniform not only with evident pride, but according to the regulations. Highway guys were prone-Sergeant Peter Wohl had himself been prone-to add little sartorial touches to the prescribed uniform that sometimes crossed the line into ludicrous. Most commonly this was a crushed brim cap four sizes too small, shined cartridges (and/or extra cartridges), patent leather boots, and Sam Browne belt, that sort of thing. Carter looked like he could pose for a picture with the caption "The Prescribed Uniform for a Highway Patrol Sergeant."

"I understand that the Secret Service guys guarding the President carry their shotguns in golf bags," Wohl said. "To keep from frightening the voters. Is there some way you can think of to get that out of sight, but handy?"

"Not offhand, but I'll come up with something. You said 'handy,' inspector. Does that mean you take this threat seriously?"

"They threw a Molotov cocktail at Sergeant Washington. You would have to be serious, or crazy, to do something like that. Yeah, I take them seriously. These people want two things, I think. To get themselves in the newspapers and to frighten off the witnesses to the Goldblatt job. They're already facing murder one. From their perspective, they have more to gain than to lose from killing a cop."

"Did it scare off the witness?"

"It made him mad," Wohl laughed. "I just talked to Jason Washington. He said Mr. Monahan couldn't wait to get over to the Detention Center and identify these creeps."

"I looked in on Payne," Carter said. "I wondered if he was-if he had a gun. I didn't think I should ask him. I didn't know how much he knows about what the ILA has threatened."

"Do me a favor, Sergeant," Wohl said. "Don't use the term 'ILA.' Don' t call these scumbags an army. That's just what they want. They're thieves and murderers, that's all."

"Sorry," Carter said. "I see what you mean."

"And pass that word too," Wohl said. "To answer your question: Yes, he's got one. The Mobile Crime Lab guys took his to the laboratory, so I loaned him one."

"How long is he going to be in here?"

"I'm not sure that I know what I'm talking about, but I think he'll be out of here tomorrow. Apparently, the doctors think the sooner you' re moving around, the better it is."

"And then what?"

"It's sort of a delicate question. We don't want these lunatics to think they have frightened us silly. Payne is, after all, a cop. Captain Pekach is working out some kind of an arrangement where Payne' s friends can keep an eye on him in plainclothes, maybe on overtime."

"I'd be happy to take a little of that, if you need somebody."

Wohl chuckled. "You'd look a little out of place, Sergeant, but thank you any way."

"Because I'm black, you mean?"

"No. Because you're what-thirty-five? And because you look like a cop. The three guys who are going to sit on Payne are his age."

"And white?"

I can't let that pass.

"Tiny Lewis is as black as you are," Wohl said coldly. "He's also as old as Payne. He's one of the three. And since we're on this sensitive minority kick, Hay-zus Martinez is the second one. That means only one of the three will be what these scumbags would call a honky."

"No offense, Inspector. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"Okay. I hope not. But just for the record, the only color I see in a cop is blue."

"Yes, sir."

Wohl saw that Carter looked genuinely unhappy.

Did I have to jump on his ass that way? Was it because this whole thing has got me more upset than I should let it?

The elevator door whooshed open again. The Highway cop with the shotgun, who had been leaning against the wall, straightened, and then relaxed when he recognized Captain David Pekach.

"Inspector," Pekach said, somewhat stiffly. "Sergeant Carter." He nodded at the Highway cop standing against the wall.

Martha Peebles, smiling a little uneasily, stood behind him.

Nice-looking woman, Wohl thought.

"Hello, Dave."

"Inspector, I don't think you know Miss Peebles," Pekach said, slowly and carefully, as if reciting something polite he had memorized, and then he blurted, "my fiancee."

"No, I don't," Wohl said, and, catching the look on Martha Peebles's face, decided,I'll bet that's the first time he ever used that word. Confirmation came when he looked at Pekach, whose face was now red.

"How do you do?" Martha Peebles said, offering Wohl her hand.

Classy, Wohl decided. Just what Dave needs.

"I'm very pleased to meet you," Wohl said.

"Honey," Pekach went on, "this is Sergeant Carter and Officer Hughes."

They nodded at one another.