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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 Ithica.

“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 impressions did 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 anyway.”

“Because I’m black, you mean?”