I jumped up. "Arrested Tommy!"
"Now wait, Ted. Don't go off half-cocked. It's a break. Don't you see? You can cover delinquency with the lid off now. You'll be writing as a parent in the same boat with other parents...."
I could still hear his frantic noises after I'd slammed the door behind me and run the length of the corridor.
At the police station, I had the distinct feeling they'd been waiting for me. I knew most of them, especially the big red-headed guy who beckoned me into a rear office. His name was Thompson—Detective Emanuel Thompson. He always looked as if he wore a football uniform under his dark blue suit. My articles had roasted him plenty. He handled juvenile delinquency cases.
"Well, Mr. Potter," he greeted me, smiling tightly, "we meet under unfortunate circumstances."
"Can the phony sympathy," I said. "You're not the type. Just let me see my boy."
He used a red-and-blue handkerchief to wipe the dampness from his beefy neck. "I think we'd better have a little talk first."
"I got no talking to do. This is a lousy frame-up against me and the paper. Get my son out here and do it fast!"
HE put the handkerchief away, sighed and reached for the phone.