Jake nodded and hustled Younger and Glynis into the building, out of the cold and snow. Inside, the barracks was warm and bright, but mostly empty. Rows of unoccupied desks, dark computer screens. Off in one corner of the main room an African American woman in the patrol’s blue uniform sat at the communications console, a dozen phone screens flickering in front of her.

The two officers who’d come to the lodge were waiting for them, and ushered them into the office of their captain. He was a tall, stern-looking man with bloodshot gray eyes and close-cropped dirty blond hair, his shoulders wide and his stomach flat. Not the kind of man to take lightly.

He pointed at Jake before any of them could sit down and said, without preamble, “Those two men we’ve got in the infirmary claim you assaulted them both.”

Jake nodded as Glynis helped Younger to ease into one of the plastic chairs in front of the captain’s desk.

“I guess I did. But the older one, Perez, he shot my friend here.”

Glynis blurted, “They’re involved in three murders, maybe more.”

The captain stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then, looking back at Jake, he asked, “What is this, a Hallowe’en party that got out of hand?”

It took a while for them to explain. Glynis took out her miniature recorder and the captain played it, listening in stolid, impassive silence. Jake saw his gray eyes narrow, though, whenever Senator Leeds’s name was mentioned.

Once the recording ended, the captain asked, “Senator Leeds is involved in this?”

“He’s mixed up with them,” Jake said, “but I don’t think he knew anything about their trying to kill us.”

Glynis said, “He’s mixed up in the murders of Professor Sinclair and his wife, over in Vernon.”

“The senator?” Clear disbelief etched the captain’s lean, angular face.

“The senator,” Glynis said firmly.

Jake asked if he could phone Tomlinson.

“It’s three in the morning, you know,” said the captain.

“Then I guess I’ll wake him up,” Jake snapped.

The captain thought it over for a moment, then gestured to the phone console on his desk. Jake got Tomlinson’s answering machine, with its cheery “Vote for change!” message. Trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, Jake briefly told the machine where they were and what had happened.

“Phone machine?” Younger asked. He looked pale, drawn. Whatever the medics gave him for the pain is wearing off, Jake figured.

“Yeah. They’re all asleep.”

“But if his phone machine’s working they must have electricity.”

“You think the city hasn’t been hit by the blackout?”

“Either that or he’s got a backup generator at his house.”

Thinking of the Tomlinson mansion, Jake was certain that there was an emergency generator chugging away somewhere on the grounds.