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“Jesus H. Christ!” Wohl said, shaking his head.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” she said. “That wasn’t a complaint. I just wondered if it was standard bureaucratic procedure.”

“You know better than that,” Peter said.

“Get me out of here, Peter,” Louise said, softly, entreatingly.

“Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not that far yet,” she said. “All I know is that I don’t want to run the gauntlet of my professional associates outside, and that I can’t, won’t, spend the night here. I’m afraid, Peter.”

“I told you, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “And I sent two officers downstairs to make sure you weren’t hassled when you get in the car.”

“There’s an Arch Street entrance to the garage,” she said. “I don’t think the press knows about it.”

“But you’d have to get past them to get to the garage,” he said.

“There a passage in the basement,” she said. “A tunnel. And even if they were on Arch Street, I could get down on the seat, or on the floor in the back, and they wouldn’t see me.”

“Take your car, you mean?” he asked.

“Please, Peter,” she said.

Why not? She’s calmed down. You can’t blame her for wanting to avoid those press and TV bastards. I’ll take her someplace and buy her a cup of coffee and then I’ll go with her to the Roundhouse.

“Okay,” he said. “Get your jacket.”

“My jacket?” she asked, surprised, and then looked down at herself. “Oh, Christ!” She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked at him. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“I’ll be damned,” he said. “A blushing TV lady.”

“Fuck you, Peter,” she flared.

“Promises, promises,” he heard himself blurt.

“You bastard!” she said, but she chuckled. She went farther into the apartment, and returned in a moment, shrugging into the jacket of her suit.

He waited until she had buttoned it, and then opened the door to the foyer. There was no one there. He pushed the elevator button, and he heard the faint whine of the electric motor. She stood very close to him, and her shoulder touched his. He put his arm around her shoulders.

“You’re going to be all right, Louise,” he said.

There was a uniform cop sitting on a wooden folding chair outside the elevator door in the basement. He got up quickly when he saw Wohl and Louise.

“I’m Inspector Wohl,” Peter said. “I’m taking Miss Dutton out this way. Are you alone down here?”

“No, sir, a couple of guys are in the garage.”

“Thank you,” Peter said. He put his hand on Louise’s arm and led her down the corridor. Halfway down the tunnel, she put a set of keys in his hand.

Two uniform cops walked quickly across the underground garage when they saw them. The eyes of one of them widened—a cop Wohl recognized, a bright guy named Aquila—when he recognized them.

“Hello, Inspector,” Officer Aquila said.

“I’m going to take Miss Dutton out this way,” Wohl said. “The press is all over the street.”

“There’s a couple of them outside, too,” Aquila said. “But only a couple. You can probably get past them before they know what’s happening. You want to use my car?”

“We’ll take Miss Dutton’s car,” Wohl said. “When we’re gone, would you tell Lieutenant DelRaye we’ve gone, and that I’m taking Miss Dutton to the Roundhouse?”