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“Let me go get the inventory numbers from the knives we have in stock matching that description, then I can ask the computer to show me the ones we sold.”

“Sure,” said Tammy. “I can wait.”

Bonnie ran across the store to the glass showcase that held the knives and Tammy followed her. Bonnie unlocked the glass door at the back of the case and checked the numbers on the tags of three of the knives with serrated blades. All different models.

Tammy followed her back to the cash and waited while she punched the numbers into the computer then ran over to the printer to retrieve the results.

“Here we go, Tammy. We sold two of them since the end of June. July sales to Art Andrews and to Kyle Gregory. You can have the printout.”

“Thanks so much, Bonnie. That’s exactly what I need.”

“One of our knives used in a crime?” asked Bonnie. “You wouldn’t be asking me for that unless something bad happened.”

“Down at Lake Frances,” said Tammy. “Bad enough, Bonnie.”

“Aw, shit. Guess I’ll read about it in the paper.”

Tammy ran outside to the squad. She had to get back to the office and start calling all the sporting goods stores and outfitters in the area. That was gonna take her some time, but she was anxious to find the murder weapon.

Two punks were at the back of the squad. One was laughing while the other one sprayed black paint on the tag.

Tammy saw what they were doing and gave a shout out, “Hey, you fuckers get away from my truck.”

The laughing boy kept on laughing. “Yeah, or what? What are you gonna do about it, little girl with a star?”

Bang.

Tammy fired a shot at the paint can and it flew out the kid’s hand and exploded in midair. Black paint rained down on both the boys and made them holler.

“Face down on the ground. Hands on your heads, you dumb fucks, or I’ll put bullets in both your fucking legs.”

The boys flopped down on their bellies and didn’t move. Tammy cuffed them one at a time while she called them a few names under her breath.

The sound of gunfire drew a lot of people out of the store and Tammy had an audience as she shoved the boys into the back of the squad and slammed the door shut on them.

As she jumped into the driver’s seat she caught a glimpse of Kenny from the order desk smiling and waving at her.

She laughed and waved back at him.

Sheriff’s Office. Coyote Creek.

Tammy parked close to the back entrance of the building, opened the door, and stuck her head in. She gave a shout out, “Harlan, give me a hand.”

Harlan came running from his desk in the squad room. “Whatcha got, Tam?”

“Come and see.” She giggled as she led the way to her squad. She opened the back door and hauled out the two punks splattered with black spray paint.

Harlan chuckled. “How’d they get painted up like that?”

Tammy patted her gun. “Shot the can out of his hand,” Tammy pointed. “That one. Check the back end of my squad.”

“Aw, shit.” Harlan ran around to take a look. “The tag is black and a lot of the paint ain’t just on the tag. It’s up the door of the hatch. The whole squad will have to be re-fuckin-painted.”

“Yeah, property damage and it ain’t gonna be ten cents. These guys or their parents will have to pay for it.”

“Let’s book these fuckers.” Harlan glared at the kids—maybe fourteen or fifteen. “Let’s go you wannabee graffiti painters. Bet your parents will be happy when they find out they have to pay for a new paint job on the squad.”

“You can’t tell our parents,” said the one.