stood for a long time. I remembered the photograph. It had been the twin of the one in Jimmy's house-Garrett and Jimmy at the seawall in Corpus, a year or so before Garrett's accident.
'W.B. Doebler was at the sheriff's office,' I told him. 'If the Doeblers start throwing their weight around, demanding action-'
'Fuck W.B. It's a little late for the Doeblers to decide they care about Jimmy.'
'You need help, Garrett.'
'And I don't recall asking you for any, little bro. I'll make the calls. I'll take care of things.'
'What-you're going to buy a bigger gun?'
'Forget it, man. You didn't like the ranch being mortgaged. You ain't going to like the rest of this.'
'I didn't drive up here to build a kiln, Garrett. I sure as hell didn't drive up here to sit on the sidelines while they charge you with murder.'
Garrett dug out his wallet, pulled a twenty and wadded it up, threw it at me. 'Gas money. Sorry I wasted your time.'
I counted silently to ten. Every second was one more I succeeded in not putting my fist through my brother's wall.
The downstairs neighbours cranked up their stereo. Nine Inch Nails throbbed through the carpet. Up on the windowsill, the parrot ruffled his feathers.
'Let's try to cooperate,' I said. 'For Jimmy's sake. You told them you were with me when that shot was fired. Your book was face down on the sleeping bag when I woke up. You were already gone. Where the hell were you?'
Garrett wore last night's cutoffs, and when he shifted, the stub of his right leg peeked through at the end-a pointed nub of flesh like a mole's nose.
'I was sleeping in my van. With the doors locked.'
'Why?'
He rubbed his thumb against his forefingers, rolling an imaginary joint. 'In Jimmy's house, I woke up in a cold sweat. I have phantom pains and I get these weird dreams-like somebody has been standing over me in my sleep. I would've felt stupid waking you up. I thought Jimmy was sleeping upstairs. So I went to the one place I feel safe and mobile-behind the wheel of my van. I locked myself in, put my gun on the seat next to me, went to sleep. The shot by the water woke me up. What was I going to tell the police? I was afraid of ghosts so I locked myself in my car?'
'It would've been better than lying, Garrett. I'm going to need an explanation for Detective Lopez.'
His eyes flared. 'You need an explanation. Well, let's just stop the goddamn world.
Let's drop everything and make sure Tres is okay, because my little brother needs an explanation. He needs the ranch. He needs to know where Garrett is twentyfour hours a day. Well, maybe for once, little brother, you ain't going to get everything you need.'
The counting wasn't helping anymore. Downstairs, Nine Inch Nails went into their next song, the bass line massaging the soles of my boots.
'Did you see anyone last night?' I asked.
'No.'
'You must suspect someone. The banker guy.'
'Matthew Pena,' Garrett murmured.
There was something in his voice I hadn't heard often-pure hate.
'You think he's capable of murder,' I said. 'An investment banker?'
Garrett pressed his palms against his eyes. 'I don't know.'
'What about Jimmy's ex? Ruby McBride?'
He hesitated. 'No. No way.'
'But?'
Garrett stared at his monitor. 'There are reasons I didn't talk to you sooner, little bro.
Not just because I wanted you in the dark.'
'I snoop for a living, Garrett. Let me help.'
'In all the years Dad was sheriff, do you ever recall me asking him for help?'
'Maybe you should have. He would've done damn near anything if you'd ever called.'
'Here it comes, the guilt trip from the good son. Forget it. I don't want you in my problems because I don't want you hurt, man. And believe me, you would get hurt.'
I looked at Garrett's clock-Dad's clock. I'd been in Austin twentyfive hours. The ranch was still mortgaged. Jimmy Doebler was dead. My brother's life was falling apart. And he didn't want me involved because I might get hurt.
I set my shot glass on Dad's army locker, which served as Garrett's makeshift coffee table. I stared at Dad's recliner, thought about Dad's old saddle that hung on Garrett's bedroom wall.
Not for the first time, I had to swallow back a comment about hypocrisy. Garrett always insisted I'd been Dad's favourite, the model son, and yet I owned almost nothing of the Sheriff's. Garrett, who had always railed that he wanted nothing to do with our father, lived surrounded by his things.
'You don't want my help,' I said, 'at least get a lawyer. You want some names?'
He gave me an uneasy look. 'I told you, man. I'll handle it.'
'Fine,' I said. 'Just primo.'
I was halfway out the front door when he called, 'Tres.'
The sun through the skylights made his beard glow almost blond.
'You're right about cooperating for Jimmy's sake,' he told me. 'But you've got to trust me, little bro. I've got to handle this without you. I just can't-'
He looked at me as if he was trying to explain a smashed vase. 'Do you understand?'
'I'm trying, Garrett. I am.'
He held my eyes, searching for some stronger commitment. When he didn't find it, he turned and wheeled himself into the bedroom.
I pulled his front door locked behind me.
The afternoon sun was heating the walls of The Friends into a cooking surface. I walked toward the stairwell, listening to industrial rock and the neighbours arguing behind every door.
CHAPTER 6
I managed to stay home a whole twentyfour hours, but San Antonio felt like a ghost town.
My colleague George Berton was in L.A., spending his life savings on the Spurs playoff games. My boss, Erainya, and her son, Jem, were vacationing in the Greek Isles. Even my mom was gone-off fishing with her new beau at a mountain cabin in Colorado.
I spent Saturday alone in the offices of the Erainya Manos Detective Agency, eating Erainya's weekold dolmades and trying to gather information. I emailed a friend at the Bexar County ME, asked if he could finagle Jimmy Doebler's autopsy report from Travis County. I tried the Bexar County Sheriff's Department and SAPD, hoping somebody knew somebody in Austin who could give me an inside read on Vic Lopez's investigation. Nobody got back to me.
The Doebler family proved to be a brick wall.
Most of the clan lived in Austin. I'd even met some of them. But nobody wanted to talk to me on the phone. Yes, they remembered me-Garrett Navarre's brother, Jimmy's friend. Yes, they'd heard about Jimmy's death. Could I please refer all further questions to the family's law firm?
I couldn't tell which name they spoke with more coolnessGarrett's or Jimmy's.
W.B. Doebler, Jimmy's cousin and present chairman of the board of Doebler Oil, was in a meeting. Could I please call back? I did, six times over the course of the day. W.B. Doebler was still in a meeting.
I almost thought I'd struck gold when I discovered that Jimmy had an aunt, Clara's younger sister, also living in Austin, but even Faye DoeblerIngram turned me down.
