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."