"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?"
"Normally, in a case like this, the district attorney will just make the decision, and that would be the end of it. But with Armando C. Giacomo the defense counsel-"
"Who's-what was that name?"
"Armando C. Giacomo. Very good criminal lawyer. Half a dozen one way, six the other if he or Colonel Mawson is the best there is in Philadelphia."
"You never heard of him? "Charley McFadden asked, genuinely surprised, which earned him a no from Matt and a dirty, keep-out-ofthis look from Coughlin.
"The assistant DA, Stillwell, or maybe Tom Callis, the DA himself, is probably worried that Giacomo will start hollering 'police whitewash' or 'cover-up.' Giacomo couldn't do that if you had been before the Grand Jury and they hadn't returned a true bill. You understand all this?"
"I think so."
"It gets a little more complicated," Coughlin said. "I called your father as soon as I heard about this, and he said Colonel Mawson would be in the Roundhouse for your interview."
"Good."
Whatever the hell this Grand Jury business is all about-it never came up when I shot Fletcher-I am very unlikely to get screwed with J. Dunlop Mawson hovering protectively over me.
"Maybe good and maybe not," Coughlin said. "If you had done something wrong, then having Mawson there to protect your rights would be fine. So let me ask you again, Matty, you already told me, but let me ask you again: You didn't shoot at Stevens until he had shot at you, right?"
"Right."
"Did you shoot at him before or after you got hit?"
"After."
"You're absolutely sure about that?"
"Absolutely."
"And that's what Mickey O'Hara will say?"