"Sure," Mike Fueyo said. His voice was a little high, but it was well controlled and responsive. "Sure, lieutenant. I'll help if I can--but I just don't dig what you're giving me. It doesn't make sense." Lynch stirred a little impatiently, and his voice began to carry a new bite. "I'm talking about Cadillacs," he said. "1972 Red Cadillacs." "It's a nice car," Mike said. "What do you know about them?" Lynch said. "Know about them?" Mike said. "I know they're nice cars. That's about it. What else am I going to know, lieutenant? Maybe you think I own one of these big red 1972 Caddies. Maybe you think I got that kind of money. Well, listen, lieutenant, I'd like to help you out, but I'm just not--" "The Cadillacs," Lynch said, "were--" "Just a minute, lieutenant," Malone said. Dead silence fell with great suddenness. Lynch and all the others looked around at Malone, who smiled apologetically. "I don't want to disturb anything," he said. "But I would like to talk to Mike here for a little while." "Oh," Lynch said sourly. "Sure. Sure." "I'd like to ask him a couple of questions," Malone said. "Alone." "Alone." Lynch said. "Oh." But there was nothing for him to do, Malone knew, except bow to the inevitable. "Of course," he said. "Go right ahead." "You can stand outside the door," Malone said. "He won't get away. And you'd better hold this." Malone, knowing perfectly well that staying armed and alone in a room with a suspect was something you just did not do--for very good reasons--unstrapped his .44 Magnum and handed it to the lieutenant. He left reluctantly, with his men. Malone could understand Lynch's attitude. If Malone solved the case, Lynch would not get any credit. Otherwise, it might go down in his personal record. And, of course, the NYPD would rather wrap the case up themselves; the FBI was treated as a necessary interference. Unfortunately, Malone thought, Lynch had had absolutely no choice. He sighed gently, and turned his attention to Mike Fueyo, who was still sitting in his chair. "Now, Mike--" he began, and was interrupted. The door opened. Lieutenant Lynch said: "If you need us, Malone, just yell." "You'll hear me," Malone promised. The door shut. He turned back to the boy. "Now, Mike," he began again, "my name is Malone, and I'm with the FBI. I'd like to ask you a few--" "Gee, Mr. Malone," Mike broke in eagerly. "I'm glad you're here." Malone said: "Well, I--" "These cops here have been giving me a pretty rough deal, you know?" Mike said. "I'm sure they--" Malone began. "But I've been looking for you," Mike went on. "See, I wanted to say something to you. Something real important." Malone leaned forward expectantly. At last he was going to get some information--perhaps the information that would break the whole case wide open. He said: "Yes?" "Well--" Mike began, and stopped. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Mike," Malone said. "Just tell me whatever's on your mind." "Sure," Mike said. "It's this."