Chris Bawa’s face was like death when he walked forward and slowly handed the locket to Leo. He looked at the initials, and his own jaw moved savagely.
“The damn weasel!” Leo Brand whispered.
“Can I have that?” Sheriff Grant asked.
Without a word, Leo Brand handed the locket to him.
“Thank you,” Cobby Grant said, looking at the initials. “MB. I see. Mike Braimah, I suppose. Mind telling me what this is all about?”
“Fella that shot the little girl, Brandy, wore that chain. Her mother tore it off the shooter,” Chris said softly.
“I see,” Sheriff Cobby Grant said. “Seems like we’ll have to pick Mr Braimah up for questioning, lads.”
Bawa extended his right hand to Leo Brand.
“I owe you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Leo Brand grasped Bawa’s upper arm.
“Brothers,” he said.
Chris nodded, and
