Malone nodded gently. "Sure," he said. "I'll tell you everything that happens—as soon as I know myself. But right now, I haven't got a thing for you. All I have is a kind of theory, and it's pretty screwy."
He stopped. Lynch looked up at him. "How screwy can it get?" he said.
"The facts are nutty enough."
"You have absolutely no idea," Malone assured him. "I'm not even saying a word about this, not until I prove it out one way or another. I'm not even thinking about it—not until it stops sounding so nutty to me."
"Okay, Malone," Lynch said. "I can see a piece of it, if no more. The
Fueyo kid vanishes mysteriously—never mind all that about you getting
him out of the interrogation room by some kind of confidential method.
There isn't any confidential method. I know that better than you do."
"I had to say something, didn't I?" Malone asked apologetically.
"So the kid disappears," Lynch said, brushing Malone's question away with a wave of his hand. "So now I hear all this stuff from Kettleman. And it begins to add up. The kids can disappear somehow, and reappear some place else. Walk through walls?" He shrugged. "How should I know? But they can sure as hell do something like it."
"Something," Malone said. "Like I said, it sounds screwy."
"I don't like it," Lynch said.
Malone nodded. "Nobody likes it," he said. "But keep it under your hat. I'll give you everything I have—whenever I have anything. And by the way—"
"Yes?" Lynch said.