Part 14 (1/2)

”I know,” Malone said gently.

”Lieutenant Lynch wants to ask Mike questions, so police come, take him away.” Her English was beginning to lose ground as the tears came closer, as she slowly lost control.

”Lynch asked for him?” Malone said. He frowned. Whatever that meant, he wanted to be there himself. And perhaps he could help the old woman in some way. Anyhow, he would try. She stared up at him stonily.

”Look, Mrs. Fueyo,” he said. ”I'm going down there to talk to Mike right now. And if he hasn't done anything, I'll see that he gets right on home to you. Right away.”

Her expression changed a trifle. She did not actually soften, but Malone could feel the grat.i.tude lurking behind her eyes as if it were afraid to come out. She nodded gravely and said nothing at all. He stepped away, and she closed the door without a sound.

He stood staring at the door for a few seconds. Then he turned and punched the elevator b.u.t.ton savagely.

There wasn't any time to lose.

He walked back to the precinct station. Knowing the way, it took him about five minutes instead of the fifteen it had taken him to find the Fueyo residence. But he still felt as if time were pa.s.sing much too fast. He ran up the steps and pa.s.sed right by the desk sergeant, who apparently recognized him; he said nothing as Malone charged up the stairs and around the hall to Lynch's office.

It was empty.

Malone stared at it and started down the hall again without knowing where he was heading. Halfway to the stairs he met a patrolman.

”Where's Lynch?” he asked.

”The lieutenant?” the patrolman said.

Malone fumed. ”Who else?” he said. ”Where is he?”

”Got some kid back in the tank, or somewhere,” the patrolman said.

”Asking him a couple of questions, that's all.” He added, ”Hey, listen, buddy, what do you want to see the lieutenant for? I mean, you can't just go charging in to--”

Malone was down the stairs before he'd finished. He went, up to the desk.

The desk sergeant looked down. ”What's it this time?” he said. ”A track meet?”

”I'm in a hurry,” Malone said. ”Where are the cells? I want to see Lieutenant Lynch.”

The desk sergeant nodded. ”Okay,” he said. ”But the lieutenant ain't in any of the cells. He's back in Interrogation with some kid.”

”Take me there,” Malone said.

”I'll show you, anyway,” the sergeant said. ”Can't leave the desk on duty.” He cleared his throat and gave Malone a set of directions that took him around to the back of the station. He was repeating the directions when Malone left.

There was a door at the end of a corridor at the back of the station.

It was a plain wooden door with the numeral _1_ stenciled on it.

Malone opened it and looked inside.

He was staring into a rather small, rather plain little room. There were absolutely no bright beam lights burning, and there didn't seem to be any rubber hoses around anywhere. There were only four chairs.

Seated in three of the chairs were Lieutenant Lynch and two other police officers. In the fourth chair, facing them, was a young boy.

He didn't look like a tough kid. He had wavy black hair, brown eyes, and what Malone thought looked like a generally friendly appearance.

He was slight and wiry, not over five feet five or six. And he wore an expression that was neither too eager nor hostile. It wasn't just blank, either; Malone finally pinned it down as receptive.