The Devil went down to Austin

CHAPTER 11

"W.B.," I called.

He was three steps away from his white Infiniti, his Nokia in one hand, his alarm deactivator in the other.

Another ninety seconds-if I'd waited for Maia and Garrett, or pushed my way out of the chapel a little less rudely-W.B. would've been gone.

"I'm Tres Navarre," I said. "Garrett's-"

"I remember."

W.B.'s eyes reminded me of Jimmy's. They had the same look of distant anger, like he was gazing past me, impatient for something to happen on the horizon.

Otherwise, W.B. bore little resemblance to his cousin. He was darkcomplexioned, perfectly groomed, with features one would value in a catalogue model-handsome yet inconspicuous, completely uninteresting, so that you'd notice the clothes rather than the man. He was in his midforties, and radiated a sort of old energy that suggested he was born to be this age. It was impossible to imagine him as a child, or wearing anything but a suit.

"Glad you could make the service," I told him. "I wasn't sure any of the Doeblers would show."

"Criticism?"

"Observation."

He beeped the Infiniti's remote control. The car responded with a perky chirping noise, and the door unlatched itself.

"You saw the crowd," W.B. said. "Jimmy's people. He would've wanted them here more than he wanted his family. He got his wish."

"So Jimmy disowned the Doeblers. Not the other way around."

"I have to go, Mr. Navarre."

W.B. got into the Infiniti, selected the ignition key.

I leaned over him, one elbow on the open door. "I called your Aunt Faye. She seemed to think the family wants Jimmy's murder swept under the rug as soon as possible."

"Would you mind stepping back?"

"What'd you talk to the sheriff about, W.B.?"

He stared at me, evaluating. There wasn't a hair out of place in his part. The interior of his car smelled like Jordan almonds.

"You needn't worry," he told me. "If your brother killed Jimmy, that wouldn't surprise me. Especially not with that woman involved. But neither would I go out of my way to seek justice."

"That woman," I said. "You know Ruby?"

W.B. jammed the key in the ignition. A glowing green circle illuminated around it.

"Mr. Navarre, I came here tonight to set aside my resentment. To say goodbye to my cousin. And I'm leaving here even angrier than before. It hardly matters who killed him.

Jimmy wasted his life. Now you and his selfproclaimed real friends can go have a beer in his honour. It's a damned shame."

"And if the wrong person takes the blame for his murder? That doesn't matter either?"

"Get your arm off my car, Mr. Navarre."

"You know Matthew Pena, don't you? You know what he's capable of."

W.B. picked up his Nokia, dialled a single number with his thumb.

"Deputy Engels," he said into the phone. "Would you call city police for me, please. I'm at the Unitarian church on Airport, having some trouble with an irate man from the memorial. I'd call it harassment, yes."

I stepped away, slammed Doebler's door closed for him.

Without looking at me, W.B. Doebler dropped his phone onto the passenger's seat.

The door locks clicked.

His lights came on in the glare of the setting sun, and the white Infiniti pulled out onto Airport Boulevard.