“It wasn’t your fault,” the cop told Daisy. “You were going real slow, and there was no way you could have seen him. He ran right into the side of your car. Besides, you’re a hero. He let the little girl go and made a run for it, but we couldn’t get near him what with all these bystanders. We might have lost him if you hadn’t knocked him on his keister.”

“Oh no,” Daisy said. “Are you telling me that man was the gunman?”

The minicam zoomed in on Daisy.

“How does it feel to have captured Barry LeRoy, the Roach?” a woman asked.

“Well, I didn’t exactly capture him,” Daisy said. “I sort of inadvertently ran into him.”

The minicam swung around to record the Roach, handcuffed now, being led to the paddy wagon.

The woman continued the interview. “Are you a police officer?” she asked Daisy, noting the antennae sticking out of her car like porcupine quills.

“No! Goodness. I’m the WZZZ traffic reporter. I was hoping for an interview. I suppose it’s too late for that,” Daisy said, watching the doors clang closed on the police van.

Steve Crow was on his way to the pound to get a dog when he heard the bulletin come over the radio. The Dog Lady of Snore had just run down the Roach, a major dope dealer. Steve made a U-turn and put in a call to the station.

“Who the devil sent her out on an interview?” Steve yelled into his phone.

“I did,” the editor said. “I thought that’s what she was supposed to do. We always use the traffic cars as mobile units.”

“She bakes dog biscuits!” Steve shouted. “For crying out loud, she gives fashion reports on accident victims.”

“It’s the human interest angle,” the editor said. “People seem to like it.”

Steve slammed the phone into its cradle. He knew people liked it. In fact, he, too, found it pleasant to have the traffic report humanized. What he’d actually been thinking, but didn’t dare say, was that Daisy Adams, despite her cheerful busyness and obvious competency, seemed fragile and vulnerable to him. He wanted to care for her, protect her. He definitely did not want her running around in bad neighborhoods and bagging dope dealers.

He dialed her car phone number and clenched his teeth while he waited. One ring, two rings. “Come on, come on,” he said. When she answered he didn’t bother with hello. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yup. I’m fine.”

“Is it true you ran down Barry LeRoy?”

“Sort of. He kind of bounced off my fender. It was an accident.”

Steve clenched his teeth again and counted to ten. “Okay, where are you now?”

“I’m on my way to the station.”

“Good. I’ll meet you at the garage.”

“Do you have Bob?” Daisy asked. “The editor said you went home to get Bob.”