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?"

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, why do you want to see the lieutenant? 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.

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

The desk sergeant nodded. "O.K.," 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," the sergeant said. "On duty. Can't leave the desk." He
cleared his throat and gave Malone a set of directions.

* * * * *

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.

He had the strangest impression that he had seen the boy somewhere
before. But he couldn't remember when or where.

Lieutenant Lynch was talking.

"... All we want, Mike, is a little information. We thought you'd be
able to help us, if you wanted to. Now, how about it?"

"Sure," Mike Fueyo said. His voice was