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might have a hard time understanding such mild punishment.”
    “Then go to the county’s top prosecutor and see what she says. Sure, prosecutors could force the issue and try to up it to felonyanimal cruelty, that could mean a fine of thousands of dollars, maybe even years in jail. But it also means less time for other legal cases. Law is about priorities.”
    The courthouse criminal backlog was well known. And I knew what the chief was really hinting at was that the lawyers were unlikely to use the F-word—felony—when the victim was an animal.
    The public would certainly be split. Some would urge maximum justice for Buddy. But others might envision themselves in the same situation: What if they messed up and their pet died? Would they want the legal book thrown at them?
    “Thanks, Chief. Anything else you’d like to add?”
    “We here at the Minneapolis Police Department mourn the loss of Buddy, and regret there aren’t more teeth in our law.”
    A really smooth sound bite. But I wasn’t so naive that I didn’t realize that the chief also understood the power of our video. He wanted to play good cop, and let the county attorney come off as the bad cop.
    To be honest, Chief Capacasa and I have had a history of clashes over crime coverage. He even had me handcuffed once, later dismissing it as “just business.” And while he doesn’t realize I know it, the word on the street is that anybody in blue who tickets me gets a day off duty, off the books. So I always keep a close eye on my speedometer whenever I’m behind the wheel within city limits.
    Because of our past, I probably should have simply thanked him for his insight and headed back to the station. After all, we both came out winners. I snagged a decent sound bite for the news and he got to show the taxpayers of Minneapolis that he cares about justice for dead dogs.
    Instead, I brought up Kate’s homicide because it seemed unlikely I’d get another chance with a camera rolling and because nobody from the department had returned my phone call. I knew the camera was still hot because Malik knew better thanto turn it off until I specifically said “We’re done here.” We’ve worked together long enough to have a system to avoid interview regrets.
    “So, Chief, while we’re here, anything new on the Kate Warner investigation?”
    “When there is, we’ll let you know.”
    I sensed he wanted to snarl, but police work involves balancing politics as well as chasing criminals. The city was tracking more murders this year than anytime since 1995 when the New York Times dubbed the city “Murderapolis.” Capacasa understood he better watch his mouth.
    “Which of your homicide teams sketched the chalk fairy at the murder scene?” I asked.
    His eyes narrowed at my audacity in implying a mistake might have been made in the investigation. More likely, he was angry because I knew about the mistake and he had no idea who my source was.
    Moments like this always reminded me that his name sounded like a mafia cousin. Vinnie Capacasa. That name resonated mob muscle. I didn’t actually expect an answer to my question; I just wanted him to know I was plugged into the case. Not surprisingly, he wanted to make it clear who was in charge.
    “That homicide remains an active case which can’t be commented on. Doing so could jeopardize the investigation.”
    “But Chief, couldn’t the case already be jeopardized if the crime scene’s been contaminated by your people? Have your guys given the defense a potential out?”
    That’s when he stood up and walked away with the station’s high-priced wireless microphone still clipped handily to his lapel.
    “Whoo, Chief,” Malik yelled. “Need the mic back.”
    Chief Capacasa ripped it off, flinging the electronic device to the floor . . . as if he was throwing down a gauntlet. And even though he never looked back, we both knew he was.

CHAPTER 10
    L assie was the world’s most famous collie.
    Rin Tin Tin, the most