Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9) by Donna Ball Page B

just kind of stared into his drink for a while, and then he said, ‘Nobody worth knowing.’”
    Buck looked at her, his attention quickening.
    “That’s what he said.  I wrote it down, and Les was with me.  ‘Nobody worth knowing.’”
    Buck frowned.  “That is interesting.”  He put down the last piece of toast.  “I checked on the preliminary forensics last night before I left.  It was definitely a homicide.  The victim had a forty-four caliber bullet hole in his skull, dead before the fire.”
    Wyn took a breath.  “Wow.  If we were TV cops, we’d be hauling Reggie in for questioning right now.”
    “At the very least.”
    “I wonder if he knows that.”
    Buck said, “I wonder if he cares.”
    Wyn said, “It’s not our case.”
    “No evidence, anyway.”
    She picked up her coffee cup.  “Yeah, but I’ve got a bad feeling.”
    “Yeah,” agreed Buck, “and I think I’ll give that state investigator a call, maybe point him in the right direction.”
    “The thing is,” speculated Wyn, sipping her coffee, “until we know who the victim is, we can’t begin to come up with a motive.”
    “But if we had a motive,” Buck countered, “we might be able to figure out who the victim is.”
    Wyn was thoughtful, sipping her coffee.  “Nobody local.”
    “Probably not.  Someone would’ve come forward with a missing person’s by now.”
    “Which is why it’s not our case.”
    “Among other reasons.”  Buck’s phone vibrated in his shirt pocket and he took it out, glancing at the caller ID.  “Speak of the devil,” he murmured.  He pressed the button and answered, “Lawson.”
    “Sheriff, this is Pete Bennet, state police.”  The voice sounded wary, not quite as comradely as it had been in previous conversations.  “We might’ve caught a break on this vic in this car burning.  Nothing for sure yet, still running it through the databases, but there was a cell phone in the car … could’ve been his, could’ve belonged to the perp.  We were able to retrieve enough of the serial number to come up with a name.  Carl Brunner.  Mean anything to you?”
    Buck frowned.  “Not off hand.  I’ll do some checking when I get back to the office.”
    Bennet gave a small grunt of consent.  “We just got in a record of the last week’s phone calls.  One number showed up twice—incoming and outgoing.  Turns out it belongs to a deputy of yours.  One Jolene Smith.  We’ll be talking to her, of course.  But I just thought you’d like a heads-up.”
    As he spoke, Buck’s face grew stiller, and the lines around his lips grew tighter.  Wyn put down her coffee cup, watching him.
    Buck said, with an effort, “I appreciate that.  Do me one more favor if you will.  Give me an hour.  Let me see what I can find out.”
    “I was hoping you’d say that.  It’ll take me that long to get out there anyway.”  The last word was broken by a buzz on the other end of the line.  “Hey, hold on a minute.  That might be my confirmation on the ID.”
    While he was on hold, Buck turned the mouthpiece to his jaw and told Wyn tersely, “They think they have an ID on the victim.  Carl Brunner.  Familiar?”
    She shook her head.  “Do you want me to check into it?”
    “You may not have to.”  The knot between his brows deepened.  “Seems our own Deputy Jo might have known him pretty well.”
    Her eyes flew wide.  “ What? ”
    But Buck turned his attention back to the phone as Bennet came back on the line.  “Sheriff, looks like we both just saved ourselves some trouble.”  The words were innocuous, but his voice was tight with frustration.  “Seems like that name triggered something on a federal database.  They’re taking over, and I’m spending the weekend barbecuing and watching fireworks.  Hope you get to do the same.  But Sheriff,” his tone grew somber, “I’d keep that deputy under watch if I were you.  I’ve got a funny feeling she’ll be getting a visit