Buffalo Bill's Defunct (9781564747112) Read Online Free Page A

flashlight. The garage light’s not very bright.”
    He took the big flashlight from her, hefting it as if it were a weapon. “Let’s go.”
    The dog had slunk back. It was huge, beautiful, and terrifying. A strip of sleek hair grew backwards along the ridge of its spine. When the dog saw Neill it crouched in the driveway and woofed. Neill squatted down, eyeball to eyeball, and grabbed it by its collar. “Towser, go homel” He released the collar and gave the beast a swat.
    It loped off with another sweet woof.
    “I’m impressed.”
    “Experience.” He shone the light into the interior of the garage. Something scuttled away. “A rat.”
    “Ew.”
    The beam of light shifted, steadied. He didn’t enter the garage.
    “Shall I turn the overhead light off?”
    “I think we have a problem,” he interrupted.
    “We?”
    He turned to her, face serious. “Something is buried there in the center of your garage. Animals have been at it, probably for some time. I’m going to call Dispatch.”
    Meg opened her mouth to protest, shut it, and stared.
    His eyes were grave, frowning. “Did you walk around much in there, touch anything?”
    She pointed. “I walked along that edge to the back door.” She described her actions of the afternoon.
    “Where did you find the petroglyph?”
    “There.” She jabbed a finger toward the center.
    “Pity you picked it up.”
    “I wouldn’t deliberately mess with evidence.” Evidence of what? “You haven’t even gone in to look.”
    “No, and I won’t. It’s city business, not my jurisdiction unless the chief calls on us.”
    “For God’s sake.”
    He sighed. “There are procedures, Ms. McLean.”
    “As I live and breathe.”
    A smile touched his lips. He took a cell phone from his jacket pocket and poked out the emergency number. Coded conversation ensued. Neill seemed to know the dispatcher. A patrol car was on its way.
    They stood looking at each other in the dim light. After a moment he sighed. “Why don’t you go in and wait where it’s warm?”
    Meg felt the nip in the air. She rubbed her arms. “I’ll go in when I know what’s happening.”
    “That could take awhile. I’ll come for the rock fragment when the officer gets here. Will you sign a consent-to-search form? He’ll need it before he goes in.”
    “To search the garage? Sure.”
    He cleared his throat. “He’ll need to search the house, too.”
    Constitutional protests rose in Meg’s throat. “But I just unpacked,” she wailed.
    “I’m sorry.” His smile was rueful. “Very sorry. It’s a cinch to search an empty house. Too bad you didn’t spot the rock before the guys unloaded your truck.”
    “Had I but known,” Meg snarled.
    “Is that a quote?”
    “It’s what all gothic heroines say as they plunge into catastrophe.”

C OMMISSIONER Brandstetter’s dog hung around. Rob saw him bounce behind the patrol car as it drew up with its lights flashing. Towser lifted his leg on the left rear tire, sniffed Rob’s ankles, and gave a soft woof. All along the street, front doors opened and citizens peered out.
    The window of the patrol car slid down. “Hiya, Neill.” Dave Meuler, bald, fifty, and steady. “Teresa said you called.” Teresa Morales was the 911 night dispatcher. “I ain’t getting out of this car with that hound on the loose.”
    “Sit.” When the ridgeback squatted obediently on its haunches, Rob grabbed its collar. He peered down the block. A rectangle of light shone from the house at the end.
    “Commissioner!” he roared, projecting his voice like a ham actor. “Get your butt down here or the dog dies!”
    Dave chuckled. “Bastard’s too damned lazy to take his dog walkies.”
    Rob scratched Towser’s big, square head. The dog licked his free hand. “It’s a matter of principle.”
    “My ass.”
    It took Harold Brandstetter five minutes to walk the short distance. He was about Rob’s height, five-ten, but he had to weigh close to three hundred pounds. Rob