"I see," Matt said solemnly.

"The best way to handle the problem, in my experience, is with Saran Wrap. In other words, you wrap the leg with Saran Wrap, holding it in place with Scotch tape, and when you get in the bathtub, you keep the leg out of the water."

"Do I take the bandage off, or do I wrap the Saran Wrap over the bandage?"

"Leave the dressing-that's adressing, not a bandage-on."

"Yes, sir."

"In a week or so, in his good judgment, whatever he thinks is appropriate, your personal physician will remove the sutures, in other words those stitches."

"In other words, whatever he decides, right?"

"Right," Pencil-line said. A suspicion that he was being mocked had just been born.

"Got it," Matt said.

"Nurse, you may replace the dressing," Pencil-line said.

"Yes, Doctor," Lari said.

Pencil-line nodded at Matt. His lips bent in what could have been a smile, and he marched out of the room. Doctors One and Two followed him.

"You're a wise guy, aren't you?" Lari said, when they were alone.

"No. I'm a cop. A wise-guy is a gangster. Who wasthat guy, in other words, Pencil-line, anyway?"

"Chief of Surgery. He's a very good surgeon."

"In other words, he cuts good, right?"

She looked at him and smiled.

"You told me you weren't coming back," Matt said.

"I go where the money is. They were shorthanded, probably because of the lousy weather, so they called me."

"I'm delighted," Matt said. "But we're going to have to stop meeting this way. People will start talking."

"How's the pain?" she asked, pushing a rolling cart with bandaging material on it up to the bed.

"It's all right now. It hurt like hell last night."

"It's bruised," she said. "But I think you were very lucky."

"Yeah, look at the nurse I got."

"Have you ever used a crutch before?"

"No. Do I really need one?"

"For a couple of days. Then you can either use a cane, or take your chances without one. When I finish bandaging this, I'll get one and show you how to use it."

"That's not a bandage, that's a dressing."

"I'm bandaging it with a dressing," Lari said, and smiled at him again.

It was, he decided when she had finished, a professional dressing. And she hadn't hurt him.

"What happens now?"

"I get your prescription to the pharmacy, get your crutch, show you how to use it, and presuming you don't break your leg, then-I don't know. I'll see if I can find out."

Charley McFadden, in civilian clothes, blue jeans and a quilted nylon jacket, came in the room as Matt was practicing with the crutch.

"Hi ya, Lari," he said, obviously pleased to see her.

"Hello, Charley," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going to carry Gimpy here to the Roundhouse. Can he operate on that crutch?"

"Why don't you ask me?" Matt asked.

"You wouldn't know," Charley said.

"He'll be all right," Lari said.

"Are you here officially?" Matt asked.

"Oh, yeah. Unmarked car-Hay-zus is downstairs in it-whatever overtime we turn in, the works. Even a shotgun. And on the way here, I heard them send a Highway RPC here to meet the lieutenant. You get a goddamn-sorry, Lari-convoy."

"When?"

"Whenever you're ready."

"When is that going to be, Lari?" Matt asked.

"As soon as you get dressed," she said. "I'll go get a wheelchair."

Matt was amused and touched by the gentleness with which Charley McFadden helped him pull his trouser leg over his injured calf, tied his shoes, and even offered to tie his necktie, if he didn't feel like standing in front of the mirror.

Lari returned with the wheelchair, saw him installed in it, put his crutch between his legs, and then insisted on pushing it herself.

"Hospital rules," she said when McFadden stepped behind it.

"I like it," Matt said. "In China, they make the females walk three paces behind their men. This is even better."

"You're not my man," Lari said.

"We could talk about that."

What the hell am I doing? Making a pass at her when two minutes ago I was wondering how I could get Helene back in the sack?

Both Highway cops on duty at the nurse's station by the elevator greeted Matt by name, and then got on the elevator with them.

Lieutenant Malone was waiting in the main lobby when the door opened.

"There's a couple of press guys," he said to the Highway cops, nodding toward the door. "Don't let them get in the way."

Matt saw two men, one of them wearing earmuffs and both holding cameras, just outside the hospital door.

Lari rolled him up the side of the circular door.

"End of the line," she said.

Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin came through the revolving door, trailed by a very large, neatly dressed young man whom Matt correctly guessed was Coughlin's new driver.

"Morning, Matt," he said.

"Good morning."

"You two make a hand seat," Coughlin ordered. "Put him in back of my car. There's more room."

Coughlin's official car was an Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight.

"I can walk."

"It's icy out there, and you're no crutch expert," Coughlin said.

"Thanks for everything," Matt said to Lari. "I'll see you around."

She crossed her arms under her breasts and nodded.

Charley and Coughlin's driver made a seat with their crossed hands. Matt lowered himself into it, Coughlin pushed open a glass door and they carried him out of the lobby.

"How do you feel, Payne?" one of the reporters called to him, in the act of taking his picture.

"I'm feeling fine."

"Any regrets about shooting Charles Stevens?"

"What kind of a question is that? What the hell is the matter with you people?" Denny Coughlin flared.

The interruption served to give Matt time to reconsider the answer-" Not a one"-that had come to his lips.

"I'm sorry it was necessary," he said.

Matt saw that he was indeed being transported in a convoy. There was a Highway Patrol RPC, an unmarked car(probably Malone's, he thought), Coughlin's Oldsmobile, and behind that another unmarked car with Jesus Martinez behind the wheel.

They set him on his feet beside the Oldsmobile. Coughlin's driver opened the door, and Matt got in.

"Let him sit sideward with his leg on the seat," Coughlin ordered. " McFadden, you ride in your car."

"There's plenty of room back here," Matt protested. "Get in, Charley."

Charley looked at Coughlin for a decision.

"Okay, get in," Coughlin said.

By the time Coughlin had gotten into the front seat, his driver had gotten behind the wheel and started the engine.

Coughlin turned in his seat and put his arm on the back of it.

"You haven't met Sergeant Holloran, have you, Matt?"

"What do you say, Payne?" the driver said.

"Thanks for the ride," Matt said.

"You're McFadden, right?" Holloran asked, turning his head to look at McFadden. "The guy who ran down the guy who shot Dutch Moffitt?"

"Yeah. How are you, Sergeant?"

"While we're doing this, Matty," Coughlin said, "and before I forget it, Tom Lenihan called and asked if it would be all right if he went to the hospital, and I told him you had enough visitors, but he said to tell you hello."

"Thank you."

"There's been another development, one I just heard about, which is the reason I came to the hospital myself," Coughlin said.

Bullshit, Uncle Denny. You wanted to be here.

"What?"

"Stillwell is going to run you past the Grand Jury."

"I don't know what that means."

"Once they take a case before the Grand Jury, and the Grand Jury declines to issue a true bill, that's it."

"I don't know what that means, either."

"It means the facts of the case will be presented to a Grand Jury, who will decide that there is no grounds to take you to trial."

"That doesn't always happen?"