"I'm not a cop," Malone said. "I'm from the FBI."
"FBI?" the woman said.
"It's all right," Malone said, with all the assurance he could muster. "I only want to talk to him."
"Ah," the woman said. Tears were plain in her eyes now, glittering on the surface. "Why they take him away, I do not know. My Mike do nothing. Nothing."
"But didn't they say anything about—"
"They say?" the woman cried. "They say only they have orders from this Lieutenant Lynch. He is lieutenant at police station."
"I know," Malone said gently.
"Lieutenant Lynch wants to ask Mike questions, so police come, take him away." Her English was beginning to lose ground as tears came.
"Lynch asked for him?" Malone said. He frowned. Whatever that meant, he wanted to be there himself. And perhaps he could help the old woman in some way. Anyhow, he would try. She stared up at him Stonily. "Look, Mrs. Fueyo," he said. "I'm going down there to talk to Mike right now. And if he hasn't done anything, I'll see that he goes home to you. Right away."
Her expression changed a trifle. She did not actually soften, but Malone could feel the gratitude lurking behind her eyes as if it were afraid to come out. She nodded gravely and said nothing at all. He stepped away, and she closed the door without a sound.