"I know," Malone said. "Thanks. Can we go on to our hotel now?"
"I guess," the patrolman said. "Go ahead. We'll take care of the rest of
this. You'll be getting a call later."
"Fine," Malone said. "Trace those hoods, and any connections they might
have had. Get the information to me as soon as possible."
Lieutenant Adams nodded. "You won't have to leave the state, will you?"
he asked. "I don't mean that you _can't_, exactly ... hell, you're FBI.
But it'd be easier--"
"Call Burris in Washington," Malone said. "He can get hold of me--and if
the Governor wants to know where we are, or the State's Attorney, put
them in touch with Burris, too. O.K.?"
"O.K.," Lieutenant Adams said. "Sure." He blinked at Malone. "Listen,"
he said. "About those costumes--"
"We're trying to catch Henry VIII for the murder of Anne Boleyn," Malone
said with a polite smile. "O.K.?"
"I was only asking," Lieutenant Adams said. "Can't blame a man for
asking, now, can you?"
Malone climbed into his front seat. "Call me later," he said. The car
started. "Back to the hotel, Sir Thomas," Malone said, and the car
roared off.