"Good evening, Jack. I heard about that candlestick business; too bad."
"Yeah." Jack swept a hand through his dark, nearly black hair. "It was an unwise venture on my part, but there's no use crying over spilt milk. What do we have, Hound?"
"Forensics hasn't come back on it yet, but we believe that it was little Ginger."
"Ah, no, not little Ginger. That poor kid has had the worst of luck." Jack crouched down as he pulled on a pair of rubber inspection gloves. "Any suspects?" he selected tweezers from the pack on his waist and tweezed a few crumbs off the floor, placing them gently inside an evidence bag.
"The usual." Hound's somber face inspected the floor. "T. Wolf is prime, but, then again, so is Fox Sly."
"Has the Breadman family been informed yet?"
"We sent Redd over a little while ago, but we're not expecting too much assistance from the family."
"You know how the Breadmans felt about Ginger; he ran away so often they've rather given up on him."
"Are they suspects as we