"I'm not a cop," Malone said. "I'm from the FBI."
"FBI?" the woman said.
"It's all right," Malone said, with all the assurance he could muster.
"I only want to talk to him."
"Ah," the woman said. Tears were plain in her eyes now, glittering on
the surface. "Why they take him away, I do not know. My Mike do nothing.
Nothing."
"But didn't they say anything about--"
"They say?" the woman cried. "They say only they have orders from this
Lieutenant Lynch. He is lieutenant at police station."
"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 tears came.
"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 goes home to you. Right
away."
Her expression changed a trifle. She did not actually soften, but Malone
could feel the gratitude 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 button 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 passing much too
fast. He ran up the steps and passed right by the desk sergeant, who
apparently recognized him, and said nothing as Malone charged up the
stairs 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?"