There were two names on the page he'd stopped at.
The first was: Lt. Peter Lynch, NYPD. It was followed by two little squiggles.
The second was: Mr. Kenneth J. Malone, FBI.
There were no squiggles after his own name, and Malone felt oddly thankful for that, without knowing exactly why. But what did the names mean? And who had—
"Uh ... Mr. Malone—" Bill said tentatively. "That is your notebook, isn't it?"
"Oh," Malone said. He looked up at the cop and put on his most ingratiating smile. "Sure," he said. "It's mine. Sure it is. Just checking to see if I'd lost any pages. Not good. Losing pages out of a notebook. Never. Have to check, you know. Procedure. Very secret."
"Sure," Bill said uncertainly.
Malone took a deep breath. "Thought I'd lost the notebook," he said. "I appreciate your returning it."
"Oh," Bill said, "that's O.K., Mr. Malone. Glad to do it."
"You don't know what this means to me," Malone said truthfully.