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she’s not sure about that. For all we know, the perp plopped the dummy down there and was home in time for the six o’clock news.”
    “And he’ll have a good laugh when he sees you guys on at ten,” Doyle said.
    I restrained a smile at Doyle’s support. Grayson made no secret about not liking working with a woman. The woman he most resented was me.
    “Sir—” McKinley began.
    “Do I take it, Grayson, you’ve got no indication at all where he went? Your Tac Team surrounded the whole canyon and he just walked off?”
    “Like I said, sir, he could have been gone before we got here, while the focus was in the hands of Negotiation.”
    “Or he could have crept up the hillside while you were coming down.”
    I had been around Inspector Doyle a lot more than Grayson had. Doyle had had his own hesitations about a woman in Homicide Detail, but we’d worked through most of them. Now, I said nothing to draw attention to myself, or remove Grayson from the line of fire.
    “We’ve got deadlines, you know!” Saunders called.
    “Put a sock in it, Saunders. We’ll get to you,” McKinley yelled. To me, he said, “So, Smith. Is there a connection to the meter mangler?”
    “Good chance,” I said, “not that that’s much help. As far as I know, there’s no decent lead on those cases either.”
    In a remarkably ill-conceived effort to reduce traffic by making driving more difficult for its citizenry, the city fathers had installed cement-roadblock flower pots at intersections and parking meters at every commercial site in the city. Rapidly three things became apparent: First, there were no fewer cars on the streets. Second, it was not an iota easier to find a parking place. But third, there was lots more money in the city coffers.
    The city’s reaction had been to raise the parking meter rates to the highest in the area. The citizens’ reactions had been to grumble about meter maids (of both sexes) lying in wait for the meter to run out, meter maids ticketing when the meter had run out but another quarter had been added, meter maids in general.
    So when a vandal began stealing chalking wands from carts, slashing meter cart tires, chaining meter carts to meters, he became an instant hero. When he hijacked a cart, stranded it in a mudhole, and left an ersatz ticket in its windshield, he moved to All-Star. And when he deposited one in a pile of fresh manure, he became Most Valuable Player.
    Until this week the meter maid cases had been considered pranks and given low priority. Sworn officers, who’d gotten their share of tickets in the two-hour zones around the station, hadn’t fallen over one another to be first to remove the burr from the butt of parking enforcement. It was only last Wednesday that Doyle had told us that the chief figured it was a matter of time till the pranks became assaults. He was leaning toward assigning the case to one of us in Homicide-Felony Assault Detail. As one, Jackson, “Eggs” Eggenburger, and I had inched back in our chairs. But lying low isn’t easy in a small room.
    “Well, Smith,” Doyle said now, “clear up what you’re doing and make this meter maid thing your priority.”
    I wasn’t about to give Grayson the pleasure of hearing me sigh. Before the Tac Team head had a chance to catch my eye and savor his triumph, Doyle added, “And while you’re at it, Smith, you can take the paper on this operation.”
    So much for the joy of Doyle’s support. I nodded, and deliberately ignored Grayson, who probably wouldn’t be able to resist a grin of satisfaction at the thought of me rounding up reports from every one of the team members involved. Doyle’s assignment also meant that he was entrusting me with the assistant field commander’s—lieutenant’s—work. In a successful case, that would have been a coup for me. In this case it just meant work. And the danger of being swamped by the flashiest disaster in years.
    For Grayson it provided a virtually risk-free chance to