Free Silencing Sam by Julie Kramer Page A

been through enough news scrapes together that Xiong agreed to do it on the sly.
    I tried disregarding Clay on my way to my office, but he waved me over to his desk, which was covered with a mess of notes and photos.
    â€œLook at what I have here, little lady.”
    Rather than argue about the nickname, I ignored it.
    Clay showed me how he was comparing the headless woman’s physical description with that of recently reported missing women in the Midwest.
    â€œI reckon the cops are probably doing the same,” he said.
    â€œSmart move.” I had to respect that. But that didn’t stop me from wishing the story were mine. “Any leads?”
    â€œI’m sorting the blondes. So far, four possibles.”
    Since I wasn’t able to (at least not officially) cover the gossip columnist’s murder, it was starting to feel even more important to me that I make something happen in the headless homicide case. But wrestling it away from Clay seemed less likely now than it had a few days ago when he appeared just a small-market rookie. Clearly, I’d underrated him.
    I was just throwing my shoulder bag on the floor of my office when my desk phone started ringing.
    â€œWe have a problem.” Xiong was on the other end. “The conceal-and-carry permit names are not public.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, not public?”
    â€œNot public record.”
    â€œHow can that be?” In Minnesota all government data is presumed public unless a specific exemption is made in the law.
    Apparently, for the right to bear arms, one was. Gun lovers lobbied under the theory that burglars might target them and steal their weapons if such information should ever be released. The flip side to the argument, that robbers would be less likely to break into armed households, didn’t fly. Neither did the idea that Minnesotans should know which of our neighbors are walking around armed and potentially dangerous.
    By my pause, Xiong could tell I was disappointed.
    â€œI will think, but I do not see alternatives,” he said.
    â€œI know, Xiong. Thanks anyway.” I hung up and stared at my office wall.
    We didn’t have much in the way of options. We could launch a legal challenge, but that would take time and cost money, something Noreen was unlikely to approve, especially once she knew the reason.
    Unless I gave her a different reason.
    Quickly, some online research told me more than fifty thousand Minnesotans had conceal-and-carry permits. Out of that bunch, I’d gamble there were some newsworthy names. Maybe pro athletes. Maybe religious leaders. Maybe politicians who’d voted for the measure to keep the permit records private.
    I imagined confronting some of them on the street, camera rolling, asking to see their guns. And asking why they needed one.
    Interesting approach, unless they shot me. Or my photographer.
    I decided to do some more research. An hour later I was confident that I could make a compelling argument that without oversight on the conceal-and-carry gun process, abuse could occur.
    â€œWhat kind of abuse?” Noreen asked when I pitched the story.
    â€œOh, the usual,” I said. “Felons carrying guns. Crazy people carrying guns. Maybe the police chief’s ne’er-do-well brother-in-law.”
    I explained that, across the country, state laws were inconsistent on privacy and concealed weapons. While in most cases Minnesota was known for open records, when it came to conceal-and-carry permits, we were on the conservative side. Probably because of our strong hunting tradition.
    Businesses had the option to post signs saying they banned guns on their premises. And many did. From the Mall of America to my neighborhood diner.
    Noreen seemed to buy into the news value.
    â€œI wouldn’t want you guys carrying guns around the news-room,” Noreen said. “This is such a hothead environment, what if one of you went postal?”
    I thought it best not to