“Your Buick,” Frank said.

“I need a car to run around in for state file fees and gas to the capital.

Hand me the signed title today, and I’ll pull the unredacted logs.”

I took the blue title out of my handbag, signed the line on the back and pushed it across his desk.

Frank picked up his phone and punched in three numbers without looking at the keypad.

“Why did a man named Miller in Canton get three thousand dollars on the day of the memorial?” I asked while he waited for the call to go through.