Free Suitable for Framing by Edna Buchanan Page A

said you wanted to be in on any new developments.”
    â€œYou got Peanut?”
    â€œYou mean FMJ?”
    â€œWhichever.” I felt groggy. “You’ve got ’im?”
    â€œNope. He’s pulled another Casper on us. But get used to seeing people on crutches.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œTwo more carjackings tonight, drivers shot in the leg.”
    â€œSo it was him. Why do you think he keeps doing that?” I croaked irritably, groping over Billy Boots for my notebook on the nightstand.
    â€œMaybe he aims for their heads but he’s a lousy shot. Could be he’s making a statement. Maybe he’s just a mean little bastard. Who the hell knows? But that ain’t all.”
    â€œWhat?” I switched on the reading lamp, squinting in the light.
    â€œThe cars they took tonight. They’re using ’em.”
    â€œFor…?”
    â€œI wondered why one was an old battering ram of an Olds, not like the hot new models they’ve been taking. That was it—battering ram. They hit the Jordan Marsh department store downtown. Backed it right through the glass front doors.”
    â€œDidn’t the alarm go off?”
    â€œSure, but they’re not stupid. They know that after breaking glass activates the sonic alarm, it takes the security company three or four minutes to process it and notify the police. They also know that since alarm calls are ninety percent false, cops aren’t impressed. Hell, they’ll finish their coffee or whatever and take their time. Depending on where they’re at, it takes them five to fifteen minutes or longer to respond. These kids know they’ve got a window of eight to twenty minutes. They’re fast. They ran in and cleaned off the high-ticket racks. Loaded up all the most expensive shirts, pants, and jackets they could carry and hauled buggy, three carloads full. We got ’em in action on store security tape.”
    â€œThink you can round them up by morning?”
    â€œHope to. Everybody’s looking, even the chopper. They shouldn’t be too hard to spot. We’re watching the warehouse districts and their neighborhoods. Want to come out and play?”
    I hate to turn down an invite from a source, especially a cop. Their love-hate relationship with the press runs hot and cold. Say no and he might invite somebody else, maybe a TV crew, and with my luck the big one would break.
    â€œSure, I wasn’t doing anything anyway.”
    â€œMeet me at the station. If I have to leave, they’ll know where I’m at.”
    â€œBe there in twenty.”
    I hit the floor and snatched my trusty navy blue jumpsuit off the closet door where I keep it for middle-of-the-night emergencies. Of course, now that I was up, Bitsy pranced to go out and Billy Boots howled for breakfast, circling his empty dish like a shark.
    Too rushed to open a can, I shook dry cat food into a dish, debating whether to call Lottie. Why drag her out at the cost of a night’s sleep for something that might not be major? I decided.
    Bitsy whimpered at the door, excited and ready for adventure. She yelped and whined as I tried to slip out without her. I sighed and opened the door. “Come on.” We bounded out into the dark of night together.
    Rakestraw stood next to his unmarked in the eerily lit station parking lot, talking to a detective from juvenile. “What the hell is that?” asked the other cop, smirking down at the white toy poodle with a red ribbon in her hair.
    â€œAs good a police dog as you’ve ever seen,” Rakestraw said. The other detective shook his head and walked off. “I used to work midnights with Francie,” Rakestraw said quietly. “I wondered if you still had her sidekick.”
    I had never wanted a small yappy dog, but her owner was my friend. Francie used to smuggle Bitsy onto the midnight shift in her patrol car. When she died in the line of duty, I inherited Bitsy. After