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can find the ones that’re not repaired. The ones that are still potentially dangerous.”
    “Well, that’s the needle, Charlotte, finding the individual cars,” Franklin says. He’s moving his cursor across the screen. “See? This Web site only shows which makes and models have been recalled. Not what happened after that.”
    “Really? That’s absurd,” I say. I turn away from the monitor and perch on Franklin’s black metal file cabinet. “Car owners get notices when their cars are recalled, right?”
    Franklin nods. “It’s all on computer. Manufacturers find the car owners by looking up the unique Vehicle Identification Number of each car. And after the owners take them to the dealer to be repaired, the dealer checks it off as done, and puts the VIN into the same computer network.”
    “Exactly my point,” I say. “So the feds absolutely know which cars have been repaired and which ones haven’t.”
    And that makes me angry. I wave toward Franklin’s monitor. “So why isn’t all of it public information? The feds regulate all those recall notices, right? I think it’s their responsibility to keep track of who’s still driving a dangerous car. They know it, but they’re not telling? Ridiculous. Who knows how many accidents those cars have already caused? And how many are to come?”
    The system is broken. Maybe we can fix it. This is what keeps me going. I point to the phone. “Call them, Franko. Try it the nice way at first. Maybe they’ll just hand the documents over. And tell them—”
    Franklin’s holding up a hand to shush me. He’s already dialed, and wonder of wonders, apparently a real person has actually answered the phone. Score one for our tax dollars.
    “This is Franklin Parrish, at Channel 3 News in Boston?” Franklin says. He’s using his most polite voice, and a remnant of his mostly erased southern accent. “I need to talk with someone about recalls, please.”
    I can’t stand it. I scrawl instructions on my reporter’s notebook and hold it up. “Pssst,” I say, waving the page. Tell them we got a call from one viewer, no biggie.
    Franklin looks over, reads it, and nods.
    “We’re just researching a little consumer-education story,” Franklin says, his voice still mild and nonthreatening. “We got a call from a viewer, you know? And he just wondered how to find out whether his car has ever been recalled.”
    I nod, this is good. Be polite. Ask an easy question first, and one we already know the answer to. I go back to my notebook while Franklin continues.
    “Oh,” he says, all innocent. “You can look it up online? Terrific.”
    “Pssst,” I say again. I hold up the notebook. Can the viewer find out if it’s been fixed?
    Franklin looks over again. This time, reading my note, he makes a torqued-up expression implying: Duh.
    “That’s interesting,” Franklin says. “But, hey, quick question. If it has been recalled, can our viewer find out if it’s been repaired?” As if the thought just entered his mind. Franklin’s a pro.
    “Pssst.” Say he’s thinking of buying it in a used-car lot.
    This time Franklin’s look verges on exasperated. Then as he reads the note, he gives me a thumbs-up.
    “Yes, he’s shopping for cars, you know. Sorry if I wasn’t clear.” Franklin puts a hand to his throat, mimes gagging. This part of journalism often includes a bit of theater. It’s worth it for a good story.
    And this might be a great one. There could be millions of unrepaired recalls in used-car lots. Like I said, time bombs, waiting to endanger unwitting drivers and their families. We have to find those cars. Warn people.
    Get specifics, I write.
    “You know what,” Franklin says, sitting up a little straighter. I can hear his voice hardening. “You must have records of this, I’m sure. Instead of spending time looking for my viewer’s request, why don’t you send us the records for the past three years. All the cars that have been recalled but not