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“Sorry about that, Michael,” I said into the phone. “Allie and her friends are having a sleepover and they're driving me a little nuts.”

“No problem,” Michael replied. “I have brothers. I know the feeling.

“Oh, and before you say anything,” he added, “can we
not
talk about football?”

“Football? What's that?” I joked.

“Exactly,” Michael said. “Thank you.”

I filled Michael in on the details, including my “background check” on Danny Stratham. I was surprised when Michael started to laugh.

“Danny Stratham? Really, Sam?” He chuckled. “He's only one of the nicest guys on the West Hills team. He always shows great sportsmanship. I would never suspect that he would do it.”

“Well, you and I may be the only Cherry Valley students who think that,” I said, a little miffed. “His name was spreading through the school like the flu virus in February.”

“That's just because he looks tough,” Michael
said. “I think we can safely cross him off the suspect list. I'll vouch for him.”

“Okay, I'll take your word for it,” I replied. “Speaking of suspects, is there anyone on your list? Anyone from West Hills?”

“From West Hills?” asked Michael. “No, I can't think of anyone. They're all pretty nice guys, even though they're the enemy.”

“Right, but the playoffs are coming up,” I reminded Michael. “Everyone said that Cherry Valley is the only team that can take the championship away from West Hills. Even nice guys will sometimes do questionable things to get a competitive edge.”

“No way!” Michael protested. “They wouldn't do that.”

It seemed a little strange to me that Michael would defend West Hills, but maybe it was some sort of football brotherhood thing that I didn't know about.

“Fine. We said we weren't going to talk about football anyway,” I reminded him. “Let's just figure out when we can meet with Officer Mendez.”

Michael and I came up with a few suggestions, and I wrote our reply to Officer Mendez and sent it.

I knew I always fumbled when I talked to Michael about football, but I also knew that he was feeling down and I wanted to make him feel better.

“Michael, I'm really glad Mr. Trigg gave us this story,” I said. “I think we can really do some great work here . . . maybe even break the case and find out who did it!”

The line was silent for a few seconds.

“Michael? Are you still there?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I'm here,” Michael replied. “Sam . . . ?”

Michael's voice trailed off. I could hear sadness in it, and I wished I could make it go away. These games must have really gotten to him.

“Yes, Michael,” I answered.

“Good night,” he said abruptly. “Have a great weekend.”

After I hung up, I looked at the phone in disbelief. Michael Lawrence definitely hadn't just been going to say good night, so what
had
he been
going to say before he stopped himself?

I heard screams coming from Allie's room and knew that the scary moviefest had begun. I flopped down onto my bed, grabbed my pillow, and put it over my face. Samantha Martone, meet sleepless night.

Tuesday afternoon, Michael Lawrence and I headed to the Cherry Valley Police Station. We had hardly spoken at all since the phone call on Friday night, so while his mom drove, we used the time in the car to go over our plans.

“Here's my list of questions,” I said, taking out my notebook and showing it to Michael. “What do you think?”

Michael's mom passed back a plastic bag filled with freshly baked oatmeal-raisin cookies.

“I figured you guys might need an after-school energy boost,” she said.

“Thanks, Mrs. Lawrence,” I said as I popped a cookie into my mouth. “These are delicious. I can
see where Michael gets his baking skills.”

Michael handed me another cookie and then pointed to my notebook.

“Looks good, Snacky,” he said. “I think you've got it covered.”

Michael always makes up nicknames for me to tease me. Hopefully he was in a better mood today if he was joking around.

“We only have a half hour,” I said. “I don't want to take time away from your questions. Do you have a list we can go over so we don't repeat anything?”

Michael tapped his temple, obviously referring to his ridiculously reliable memory. “My list of questions is right here, Martone,” he said. “And don't worry. I won't repeat any of your questions. I think it's better if you take the lead on this one anyway.”

“Okay, if you're sure,” I said. “Let's do this!”

We headed into the police station. I was so excited and nervous, I felt like a swarm of caterpillars had cocooned in my stomach and were now emerging as butterflies. I tried to hide it and look professional. I had never been in a police station before, and it was a teeny tiny bit scary.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, why?” I answered.

“I don't know. You look a little stone-faced,” he said.

Thank you, Michael Lawrence, for your honest assessment. Stone-faced was definitely not the look I was going for, so I took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was a challenge, because the frenzy of activity inside the police station was somewhat overwhelming, and I could tell the place was just
filled
with news stories. Just then, a tall woman wearing a dark blue uniform approached us.

“Samantha Martone?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, and I held out my hand when I saw her name tag. “Nice to meet you, Officer Mendez. This is my partner on the story, Michael Lawrence.”

Officer Mendez shook my hand firmly, then turned to Michael. It was hard not to stare at the gun holster strapped around her waist, but I tried my best.

“Let's go somewhere we can talk privately,” she said.

We followed Officer Mendez through a maze of cubbies; then she led us into an interrogation room. “This is where we interview our subjects,” she said. “It's a different process from your investigation, but not so different.”

Michael and I sat across the table from Officer Mendez. I took out a small recording device from my bag. Mr. Trigg had told us that since this was an official investigation, it would be best to document our interviews with something more than my notes or Michael's photographic memory.

“Do you mind if I record the interview?” I asked Officer Mendez. “Just to make sure that we accurately represent anything you say.”

“I don't mind at all,” she replied. “I'd actually insist on doing it myself, if you didn't ask. It's for both of our protection.

“Also,” she continued, “I'll need to see a copy of your story before it's printed. I have to make sure it won't interfere with the investigation or misrepresent the facts. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” I said. “I hope you understand that I'll have to check with our advisor, Mr. Trigg, before I
can agree to that. But I'm sure it won't be a problem.”

Michael kicked my foot under the table, as if to say,
Way to be professional, Martone!

“Sure. You can let me know by e-mail,” Officer Mendez replied. “If I don't hear from you, I'll contact your advisor directly. Now, let's get the tape rolling. We don't have a lot of time.” Boy, she was all business.

I pressed the record button and did a quick test, just to make sure that we could hear everyone in the room clearly—another Mr. Trigg tip. Then I turned to my list of questions.

“Officer Mendez, can you tell us how the police were first alerted to the cougar incident and what they saw when they arrived on the scene?”

“There was an anonymous 911 call that alerted us to the incident,” Officer Mendez began. “We sent two officers in a patrol car to the crime scene. They cordoned off the area and called in the investigative unit. They looked for any signs of evidence and dusted for fingerprints.”

“About what time did the police arrive?” I asked.

“The patrol car arrived on the scene at ten
forty-five a.m.,” Officer Mendez reported. “The investigative team arrived at eleven eighteen a.m. All well before the crowd started gathering for the game.”

I noticed that Michael's leg was shaking up and down. I had no idea what that was about. Maybe he was as nervous about doing an official interview as I was.

“Did they find any evidence?” Michael asked.

“Nothing that's been useful yet,” answered Officer Mendez. “They found fingerprints on the statue, especially on the area around the broken paw, but there's no way to know if they belong to students or to the perpetrators.”

“Perpetrators?” Michael asked. “It's a broken statue.”

“It's a crime,” Officer Mendez said. “We take vandalism seriously. If we identify the perpetrators and the school decides to press charges, then the consequences for those individuals could be severe.”

“Like jail time?” Michael asked.

I could swear that I actually saw him gulp after
he asked that question. He looked a little pale, too.

“Probably not jail time, no, unless they have a prior record,” Officer Mendez admitted. “But it could go on their permanent record, and they may be served with a community service sentence. It's hard to say, because it depends on the justice system. We just apprehend the perpetrators. We don't decide what happens to them.”

“Do you have any suspects?” I asked.

“We don't have any particular suspects at the moment,” Officer Mendez said. “And if we did, I wouldn't be able share their names with you. Let's just say that the Cherry Valley police force considers the vandalism that occurred at Cherry Valley Middle School to be a serious offense, and we will continue our investigation until we are able to locate the person or persons who are responsible for it.”

Michael and I continued to ask questions about the incident. I don't know that we learned a lot more than we already knew, but it was still worthwhile to get some official quotes to add to our story and to get the experience of interviewing
a police officer. When exactly thirty minutes had passed, Officer Mendez pushed back her chair and said it was time to wrap up.

“Thank you so much,” I said as I shook her hand good-bye. “I'll make sure to let you know what Mr. Trigg says.”

“Yes, thank you,” Michael added. “We know your time is valuable, and we really appreciate that you took the time to talk to us.”

Before Officer Mendez could respond, we heard someone shouting her name. A woman wearing charcoal-gray slacks and a white Oxford shirt came rushing over.

“Hey, Mendez, I'm on deadline,” she panted. “Got anything new for me?”

Officer Mendez smiled at us. “Just finishing up here,” she said. “Samantha and Michael, meet Lauren Fields, reporter for the
Cherry Valley Gazette
.”

Lauren Fields!
This was incredible. I read her stories in the newspaper every day. What were the odds that I would meet two of my journalism idols before I even graduated middle school? I grinned
like the Cheshire cat. I had so much I wanted to say, but the words weren't forming in my mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Fields,” Michael said. “This is my writing partner, Samantha Martone. We're working on a story for our school newspaper.”

“The
Cherry Valley Voice
!” Ms. Fields cried. “I know you two. I read your stories.”

“You do?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“I really do,” she replied. “It's a great way for me to see what issues are hitting home in Cherry Valley, especially with the younger audience. The article you wrote about pay to play was really well done. Bravo!”

“We're reporting on the cougar incident,” Michael explained. “Do you have leads on that story?”

Impressive work, Michael Lawrence. Photographic memory
and
the ability to think on your feet. No wonder I like you so much.