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

thought the man’s knees were going. He wore sneakers, sweat pants, a T-shirt that said god, guns, and guts, and a red brocade robe that looked like something from a 1940s movie about high society. He toed out as he walked.
    Rob said, “Evening.”
    “You got a fucking nerve threatening to shoot my dog.” The voice was high and harsh like a buzz saw.
    “Just describing natural consequences,” Rob drawled. “Dave’s armed. I hear his mother was bitten by a Doberman.”
    Brandstetter snorted. “What’s going on here anyway?” His bright little eyes darted back and forth, taking everything in. He was sweating.
    “Ms. McLean reported property damage—kids messing around in her garage, I guess. Dave will check it out when your dog’s elsewhere.”
    Brandstetter’s eyes narrowed. “McLean? That’s the new librarian, right?” He had voted against giving her a contract. He voted no a lot.
    “Right.” Rob released Towser’s collar. The dog bounced four feet straight up, placed his front paws on his master’s shoulders, and licked Brandstetter’s face.”Down, goddammit,” Brandstetter shouted, staggering back. “Sit!”
    Towser sat with the air of one expecting a kibble.
    Rob steadied the other man, then let his hand drop. “Put him in the house, Hal.”
    After a moment the commissioner shrugged. “C’mon, dog. Heel.” He strutted off toward the streetlight where two or three of the curious had gathered. The dog trailed behind.
    When they were out of earshot, Rob said quietly, “Remember the Lauder Point case?” Shortly after he joined the department, he had been assigned to investigate the theft of Native American artifacts from Lauder Point County Park.
    Dave opened the door and slid out. He arched his back, as if he’d been sitting in the car for several hours, and rubbed the side of his neck. “Sure, I remember. Tribal council sued the county.”
    Rob described the damaged petroglyph.
    “Part of the loot?”
    “Maybe.”
    Dave whistled. “And you think they stored the things next to your grandma’s house?” It was Rob’s house, and had been for more than two years, but everybody would go on thinking of it as Hazel Guthrie’s house. He watched Dave meditate. “Lauder Point? After all this time?”
    “Yeah.” Lauder Point, ten years before, had been Rob’s first big case. He had not covered himself with glory. “I’ll have egg on my face. Again.”
    “If that’s what the whatchacallit drawing is.”
    “Right. Uh, there’s something else buried in that garage. It stinks.”
    Dave had taken a step along the drive. He froze. “Somebody’s picnic debris?”
    “Could be. Or a dead cat.” Neither wanted to say it might be a human corpse. Rob cleared his throat. “Let’s do it by the book. Got a consent-to-search form?”
    Dave turned back to the car. “Right. I’ll call in while you’re getting the signature. D’you want your forensics crew? The chief’ll throw a fit if he has to use ‘em. He’s over budget.” In criminal cases, the city of Klalo contracted control and evaluation of physical evidence to the county.
    Rob smiled. “I just spent two good hours arm-wrestling the sheriff over my budget.”
    “Election coming up.” Dave rummaged in the glove box.
    No kidding. Sheriff McCormick was a competent manager, and he backed his men up when the occasion called for it. Come election time, though, he always talked fiscal accountability, and he talked a good ballgame. Canceling overtime two weeks before Hallowe’en was counterproductive, though, or so Rob had argued. The sheriff had finally agreed. He would look without joy on an expensive investigation—as this would be if the rock shard turned out to be part of the Lauder Point loot. So much the better, then, if the chief of police picked up part of the tab.
    Rob talked the situation over with Dave and remembered to ask him for a small evidence bag. By 10:30 most of the gawkers had gone back inside their warm houses.