certainly. It let him know something more about the enemy he was facing. But it wasn't really a lot of help.
What did he do now?
Her Majesty had suggested going to the Fueyo house, collaring the girl—but treating her nicely, Malone reminded himself—and demanding the book back. She'd even said he would get the book back—and, since she knew some of what went on in Dorothea Fueyo's mind, she was probably right.
But what good was that going to do him?
He knew what was in the book. Getting it back was something that could wait. It didn't sound particularly profitable and it didn't even sound like fun.
What he needed was a next move. He thought for a minute, dropped the coins into the phone and dialed the number of the police commissioner's office. After a brief argument with a secretary, he had Fernack on the phone. And this time, Malone told himself, he was going to be polite.
If possible.
"Good afternoon, John Henry," he said sunnily, when the commissioner's face was finally on the screen. "Can you get me some more information?"
Fernack stared at him sourly. "Depends," he said.
"On what?" Malone said, telling himself he wasn't going to get irritated, and knowing perfectly well that he was lying.