Part 27 (1/2)

”Yes?” Malone said.

”I thought perhaps I ought to tell you about them,” Kettleman said.

”Where they were, and all of that.”

Malone stood up. ”Mr. Kettleman,” he said in his most official voice, ”I want you to know that the FBI appreciates what you've done. Your information will probably be very helpful to us, and the FBI certainly commends you for being public-spirited enough to come to us and tell us what you know.” He thought for a second, and then added, ”In the name of the FBI, Mr. Kettleman--well done!”

Kettleman stared, smiled, and gulped. ”My goodness,” he said. ”Well.”

He smiled again, a little more broadly. ”One has one's duty, you know.

My, yes. Duty.” He nodded to Malone.

”Of course,” Malone said, going to the door and opening it. ”Thanks again, Mr. Kettleman.”

Kettleman saw the open door and headed for it blindly. As he left he flashed one last smile after Malone, who sighed, shut the door, and leaned against it for a second.

The things an FBI agent had to go through!

When he had recovered, he opened the door again and peered carefully down the hallway to make sure Kettleman had gone. Then he left the interrogation room and went down the hall, past the desk sergeant, and up the stairs to Lieutenant Lynch's office. He was still breathing a little hard when he opened Lynch's door, and Lynch didn't seem to be expecting him at all. He was very busy with a veritable snow flurry of papers, and he looked as if he had been involved with them steadily ever since he had left Malone and Kettleman alone downstairs.

”Well,” Malone said. ”h.e.l.lo there, Lieutenant.”

Lynch looked up, his face a mask of surprise. ”Oh,” he said. ”It's you. Through with Kettleman?”

”I'm through,” Malone said. ”As if you didn't know.” He looked at Lynch for a long minute, and then said, ”Lieutenant...”

Lynch had gone right back to his papers. He looked up again with a bland expression. ”Yes?”

”Lieutenant, how reliable is Kettleman?” Malone said.

Lynch shrugged. ”He's always been pretty good with the kids, if that's what you mean. You know these social workers--I've never got much information out of him. He feels it's his duty to the kids--I don't know. Some such thing. Why do you ask?”

”Well,” Malone said, ”what he told me. Was he kidding me? Or does he know what he's talking about? Was what he said reasonably accurate?”

”How would I know?” Lynch said. ”After all, you were down there alone, weren't you? I was up here working. If you'll tell me what he said, maybe I'll be able to tell you whether or not I think he was kidding.”

Malone placed both his palms on the lieutenant's desk, mas.h.i.+ng a couple of piles of papers. He leaned forward slowly, his eyes on Lynch's bland, innocent face. ”Now look, Lynch,” he said. ”I like you.

I really do. You're a good cop. You get things done.”

”Well, thanks,” Lynch said. ”But I don't see what this has to do with--”

”I just don't want you trying to kid your buddy-boy,” Malone said.

”Kid you?” Lynch said. ”I don't get it.”

”Come on, now,” Malone said. ”I know that room was bugged, just as well as you do. It was the sensible thing for you to pull, and you pulled it. You've got the whole thing recorded, haven't you?”

”Me?” Lynch said. ”Why would I--”

”Oh, cut it out,” Malone said impatiently. ”Let's not play games, okay?”