"Yes, sir. You want me to come up, Chief?"
Coughlin hesitated just perceptibly.
"Yeah. You might as well see the layout."
The Highway Patrol RPC had dropped out, but otherwise, the convoy was the same as the one that had carried Matt to the Roundhouse. Malone's car had led the way from the Roundhouse, followed by Coughlin's Oldsmobile, and Jesus Martinez in a second unmarked Special Operations Ford.
Holloran stopped the car as near as he could get to the elevator. Charley McFadden got out and then turned to help Matt get out and onto his feet.
Coughlin got out of the front seat.
"You and me lock wrists, McFadden," Coughlin ordered. "I don't think Martinez could handle Matt."
"Hey. I'm not a cripple. I can manage," Matt said, standing on his good leg and waving the crutch. "I've got to learn to use this thing anyway."
Coughlin looked doubtful, but finally walked to Martinez.
"Park that wherever you can find a place," he ordered.
Matt, with Charley McFadden hovering around him, made his way to the elevator door, where Malone was waiting. He pushed the button to open the door, waited for Matt and McFadden to get in, and then joined them. When the door started to close, Matt leaned against the elevator wall, and then stuck his crutch into the opening, holding the door open.
Coughlin walked quickly to the door and then stopped.
"You got room for one more?" he asked.
"The more the merrier," Matt said.
Coughlin got in. The door closed.
Sergeant Carter was on the third-floor landing when the door opened.
He saluted Coughlin.
"Good morning, Chief," he said, and then nodded at Malone. " Lieutenant."
"Carter, isn't it?" Coughlin said, offering his hand.
"Yes, sir. I was here, checking the arrangements, and Mrs. Payne-she and your father are in your apartment, Payne-said you would be coming. So I thought I had better wait."
"Everything seems to be all right. The rent-a-cop in the garage is one of ours, isn't he?"
"Yes, sir. And we have a man in the lobby, downstairs, in a Holmes uniform."
"I see a problem," Matt said. "Getting up those stairs."
They all turned to look at the flight of stairs leading up to the attic apartment. They were steep and narrow.
"We could put a rope around your neck and haul you up," McFadden said cheerfully. "Or you could get on my back and I could carry you up piggyback."
"Or," Matt said, handing McFadden the crutch, "I can do this."
He sat down on the stairs, and then, using his arms and one good leg, started pushing himself up the stairs.
Thirty seconds later, he turned to see how far he had to go and found himself looking at the hem of a woman's slip and skirt. He craned his neck and identified the woman.
"I didn't know shrinks made house calls," he said.
"Only when the patient is an unquestioned danger to himself," Amelia Payne, M.D., said without missing a beat. "To judge by the way you did that, you've had some practice scuttling along like a crab." She turned and called, "Sound the trumpet. Our hero is home."
"Amy!" Patricia Payne said.
Matt got to his feet, and leaned against the wall at the head of the stairs.
"Where's your crutch?" Patricia Payne asked.
"Here," McFadden said, coming up the stairs and handing it to him. He stuck it under his arm and made it to the couch. His mother leaned over and kissed him.
"You all right?"
"I'm fine," he said. "Hi, Dad."
"How are you doing?" Brewster C. Payne said.
"If Amy didn't guzzle it down, there was a bottle of Scotch here."
"And I brought one," Brewster Payne said. "And a drink seems like a fine idea."
"That would depend on what they're giving him," Amy said.
"The Mayo Clinic has been heard from," Matt said.
"Let me see it, Matt," Amy said firmly.
He fished in his pocket and handed her the bottle of capsules from the hospital pharmacy.
Denny Coughlin and Jack Malone were now standing at the head of the stairs. Patricia Payne went and kissed Coughlin on the cheek, and then Coughlin introduced Malone.
"What is that stuff they gave him, Amy?" Coughlin asked.
"Just an antibiotic, Uncle Denny," Amy said. "I'm very sorry to report that alcohol is not contraindicated."
Brewster Payne laughed. "You and Lieutenant Malone will have a little taste, Denny?"
"Not for me, thank you," Malone said.
"I will, thank you."
"I still have the bottle of Jameson's you gave me, Uncle Denny," Matt said.
"I'll have a little of that, then, please," Coughlin said.
"So will I," Patricia Payne said. "In fact, I'll even make them."
Sergeant Carter and Jesus Martinez appeared at the head of the stairs. Martinez was wearing an electric blue suit, a shirt with very long collar points, and a yellow necktie. But what caught everyone's attention was that he held a pump shotgun in each hand.
"Hay-zus," Matt said. "Why don't you put those in that closet?" He pointed. "I guess everybody's met Sergeant Carter. Does everybody know Hay-zus Martinez?"
Patricia Payne made a valiant, but failed, effort to conceal her surprise at Officer Martinez.
"Matt's spoken of you often, Mr. Martinez," she said when he turned from putting the shotguns in a tiny closet at the head of the stairs. "I'm glad you'll be looking out for him."
"Yes, ma'am," Martinez said.
"We're about to have a drink. Can we offer you something?"
"No, ma'am, thank you."
"Officer Martinez, Amy," Coughlin said, "was with Charley McFadden when they caught the man who was responsible for what happened to Dutch Moffitt."
"I know who he is," Amy said, not very pleasantly. "Are those shotguns really necessary?"
"Probably not, Miss Payne," Malone said. "It's one of those cases where it's better to take the extra precaution."
"It'sDoctor Payne," Amy said.
"Sorry."
"Ease off, Amy," Matt said sharply.
Patricia Payne came out of the kitchen with two glasses. She handed one to Denny Coughlin and the other to Matt.
"Thank you," Matt said, and took a sip, and then turned and set the glass on the chair at the end of the couch.
The red light on his telephone answering machine was blinking. He shifted on the couch and stretched to push the button that would play his messages.
"Matt-" Brewster Payne said, stopping him.
"Dad?"
"There's some pretty unpleasant stuff on there," Brewster C. Payne said. "The only reason I didn't erase them was because I thought they would be of interest to Denny. Maybe you'd better wait until your mother and Amy have gone."
"Don't be silly, Brewster," Patricia Payne called from the kitchen. " I'm not a child, and I've already heard them."
"What are you talking about, Dad?" Amy asked.
Holloran appeared at the head of the stairs.
"Sorry, Chief, I had trouble finding a place to park."
"Push the button, Matt," Patricia Payne ordered. "Get it over with."
There were, it was later calculated when the tape was transcribed, forty-one messages on the tape, all that the thirty-minute tape would hold. Four of the messages were from people known to Matt Payne. One was a recorded offer to install vinyl siding at a special price good this week only. One was a cryptic message, a female voice saying, "You know who this is, call me after nine in the morning." Matt recognized the voice to be Helene Stillwell's, but had the presence of mind in the circumstances to shrug and shake his head and smile, indicating he had no idea who it might be.