toward deShayes. DeShayes took it and sniffed the barrel and popped out the magazine and cleared the round from the chamber. It flipped onto the bed near my hip. He thumbed the shells out of the magazine, onto the bed beside the first one.
He nodded to himself, the way the nurse had after she'd taken my temperature.
'You're from Boston?' deShayes said. He put the empty magazine back in my gun, put the gun on the night table, picked up the five shells, and dropped them into his suitcoat pocket.
'Yes.'
'A private detective.'
'Yes.'
'Licensed to carry this gun?'
'Yes.'
'Do you happen to have the license with you?' 'In the wallet, in the drawer,' I said.
He reached into the drawer and took out my wallet and handed it to me.
'Take out the gun permit please, and your ID.' I did, and handed them to him. He looked them over carefully and made a couple of notes in his little spiral notebook with his blue Bic pen. Then he handed the stuff back to me.
'Live in Boston?' he said.
'Yes.'
'Where you staying out here?'
'Just came out for the day,' I said.
'Why?'
'Take the dog in the woods. She loves the woods.'
'Two-hour drive to walk the dog?'
'She's a good dog,' I said.
He nodded. His face was blank.
'That's a Browning, isn't it?' DeShayes nodded at the black automatic lying on the night table.
'Yes.'
'Don't they usually hold thirteen rounds in the clip?'
'Yeah.'
'There's only four rounds in your clip and one in the chamber.'
'I fired off eight rounds target shooting.'
'One of which hit you, according to the surgeon, in the back middle quadrant of your left thigh.'
'Embarrassing, isn't it.'
'Actually I think it's more than embarrassing, sir. I think it's bullshit,' deShayes said.
I didn't say anything. Hawk remained peaceful with his eyes closed. His legs straight out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.
'How'd you get out here?' deShayes said.
'Drove out, separate cars.'
'And where is your car now?'
'Where I parked it, I hope. In the parking lot at the Red Lion.'
DeShayes made some more notes.
'Stockbridge police found a car registered to you, this morning, parked in front of a house in town. Tires had been shot out, and most of the windows in the house had been shot out. They're still digging bullets out of the plaster.'
'Son of a gun,' I said. 'Somebody must have hot-wired it.'
'No sign of that,' deShayes said.
'Car thieves are getting very clever these days, aren't they?'
DeShayes didn't comment. He wrote another thing in his little notebook.
'You have anything to add?' he said.
'You know what I know,' I said.
'Sure,' deShayes said. 'They tell me you'll be here awhile. If you decide to leave before I get back to you, give me a call.' He handed me a card that read Detective Joseph E. deShayes.
'What's the E for?' I said.
'Make sure you check with me before you leave,' deShayes said. 'Got it?'
