I pressed the play button. “This is Detective Barnes,” the message said. “Call us.” Oh, goody, the royal “us.” And her voice was cold enough to freeze the Mississippi River in August. I punched in the number and was immediately transferred to KGB. “Hi,” I said when she answered. “It’s Mitch from the Daily Dispatch.” “Are you proud of yourself?” she said. “That’s a strange question. Why do you ask?” “I thought you’d be bursting with pride after going over our head.” “Going where? I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me.” Not to mention mixing a plural modifier with a singular noun. “Going over our head and getting the St. Paul police chief to talk to our chief about releasing information. Are you proud of that?” Oh, my god, I thought. Brownie’s better idea. “I never asked him to do that,”
