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checked her out with a colposcope. Then a Wood's lamp. Positive DNA ID."
    "I'm not up to date on the tech, Annie."
    "Oh, right. A colposcope's a magnifying lens medical examiners attach to a video camera, to check for tiny fibers and stuff. The Wood's gives the victim's body a purplish blue glow. Drops or smudges from the perp's body fluids— skin oil, sweat, semen—show up under it. They swab, get DNA markers."
    "Like I said, no case."
    "What do you mean?"
    "You gotta have a face, a name before you can pull somebody in and match the DNA. She give you that?"
    "Uh, no. Not yet."
    "So, zip. She may've been stoned, picked up someone, asked him to take her someplace ..."
    "She's only thirteen!"
    "C'mon, Annie. Things like this have gone down with kids even younger. Maybe she was so whacked she decided to lose that virginity. Get back at her lousy parents that way or something."
    Annie's frowning now. "Yeah, and she's the only one who can tell us how it went."
    "When you asked her last night?"
    "Said she couldn't remember anything after she walked out of Woodleigh Mall around seven-thirty. Shit," Annie snaps, "I gotta check again with toxicology, see if drugs are nvolved here."
    "What for? Won't get you a face or a name."
    Annie goes bad on me, which she only does when she's really upset. "Yeah, Luther, thanks for your ideas," she says curtly. "Now maybe you better get on with cleaning up the drug traffic. Got a pretty full agenda today."
    Her last two words only echo off the walls, because I'm already gone. I know she'll come around all sorry after she finishes sticking it to the kid's parents and gets on the real problem. Way she is. It's why I love her.
    There's a blue Post-It stuck on my computer screen when I walk into my cubicle. "See me when you get in, D."
    No sweat. Dugal's done a 180. I'm one of his best boys now. A born asshole, the LT, always will be an asshole, but far from stupid, and very ambitious. He takes management courses at night in the continuing education department at Towson State, he wants a captaincy bad, a master's degree and one day his own county. Doesn't matter if it's this one or someplace else, just so he's chief of police there. He realized—once he got over being pissed off-—that when your superiors hand you a wild child, a Luther Ewing type, what reflects best on you is taming the bastard, turning him into a great cop.
    I made it easy for him. I began the day after that first Ecstasy raid.
    That start—I rap on the frame of his open office door, stand at ease until he deigns to notice me. "What do you want, Ewing? You want to complain about something?" He swivels in his chair, beckoning me in.
    "No sir. No complaints, sir. I want to apologize for the incident with the unauthorized weapon the other night."
    "You do?"
    "I failed to fully inform myself, sir. It won't happen again."
    "Damn well better not," he says. "What made you think you'd need a piece like that anyway? Our Rugers are more than sufficient... when they're needed. Hell, in ten years I've only had to fire mine twice, both warning shots."
    God watches over innocent bystanders, I'm thinking. Those P89s are the cheapest semi-autos Ruger makes. Christ, ever>' rookie patrolman in the New York subways is carrying a good Glock. "I hope I never have to fire either, sir. Not my preferred way of dealing with a situation. Last resort, correct sir? But there is always a chance you get forced to."
    The LT nods. "Yeah, in our business, that's true."
    "I'd like to ask you a favor, LT. I can't shoot the Ruger for shit. I do have a personal pistol that I can use well, if I ever have to."
    I hand him a black aluminum case. He places it on his desk and pops the latches. Inside, nestled in dimpled gray foam, is a matte-black semi-auto.
    "Looks ordinary. Caliber?"
    "Just .45ACP, sir. Standard issue in lots of places."
    "I know that, Ewing. Capacity?"
    'Ten rounds only."
    "Hell, the Ruger carries ten too," Dugal says. "But you claim you're more