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. "Hello 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.
But--"

Malone placed both his palms on the lieutenant's desk, mashing 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, O.K.?"

There was a second of silence.

"All right," Lynch said. "So I recorded the conversation. Kill me.
Crucify me. I'm stealing FBI secrets. I'm a spy secretly working for a
foreign power. Take me o