A minute later, the front door flew open and Brenda and Tad came out. “Mr. Banks!” he exclaimed. “You’re okay!” He ran to the big man, to be picked up and hugged. Tad held on for dear life.

Brenda hugged him, too, and stood back with Clancey, sighing with relief.

Tad’s eyes were red. “They said you went after Morris. You sure you’re okay?” he added, fighting tears as he pulled back enough to see the tall man’s face.

“I’m okay.” He smiled. The boy’s affection was obvious. It made him feel good. The way Clancey was looking at him felt good, too. He drew in a steadying breath. It was going to be all right. Everything was going to be all right.

There was no way to identify Deputy Sheriff Dalton Reed’s body except by a forensic archaeologist. There was one in San Antonio, who showed up at the crime lab in time for the autopsy. Colter was there as well, along with Alice Mayfield Fowler, the head criminalist for the forensic unit.

“Did you know him?” Alice asked as they proceeded.

“Yes,” Colter said. “Not well. I heard him play the guitar at a retirement dinner some years ago. His granddaughter, Clancey, has the same skill. She plays classical guitar.”

“Your sister, Brenda, noted that on her Facebook page,” Alice mused. “She said Clancey could give you a run for your money.”

“She really could,” Colter said. “But I play country.”

“Guitar is guitar,” she said.

“Not at all. The guitar I play has steel strings. Clancey’s has nylon. The playing styles are different, as well.”

“Hmm,” Alice said. Her eyes were on the delicate work the forensic archaeologist was doing.

“How long had the body been missing?” the archaeologist, Den Mitchell by name, asked as he worked.

“Five years, more or less,” Colter told him.

“Explains the desiccation,” he murmured. He moved aside a piece of parchment-like tissue to reveal a large hole, right where the victim’s heart was—that poor, shriveled, dried-out thing that seemed to have been shattered by the round. A few minutes later, he pulled out a bullet that was lodged in the spine of the corpse. He put it into a bowl.

Colter studied it. “We’ll need ballistics on that, but I know a .45 slug when I see one,” he said. “Unless I miss my guess, he was shot by his own antique Colt .45. We found it with the body.”

“That would be a good guess,” the other man replied. “At least, death was most likely instantaneous. That might be some comfort to his surviving family.”

“I’ll make sure they know,” Colter replied solemnly.

“Clancey and Tad have been staying with you and Brenda,” Alice remarked.

“Yes.” He felt a pang in his heart. “They’ll have to go back to work and school. Now that the danger is past.”