The Devil Went Down to Austin (Tres Navarre #3)(106)

place.

He wore swim trunks, flipflops, a plain white Tshirt smeared with dirt and sweat and plant pigments. When he turned, expecting to see only Faye, his face was the most content I'd ever seen it— calm, happy, at peace with his morning's work.

Then his expression went absolutely blank.

"Hello, Vic," I said.

Vic Lopez raised his machete hand, used the back of his glove to wipe a sweat droplet off his chin. He studied us, the blade of the machete hovering over his left shoulder like an insect wing.

"Navarre. Maia. I was just giving Ms. Ingram a hand. Amazing the things you can do once you quit the day job."

"He knows," Faye told him.

Lopez met her eyes, had a silent conversation, looked back at us.

"Dwight's revenge," I said. "It wasn't against his family—it was against yours."

Faye moved to the patio table, sank into one of the chairs. She began putting the shards of the broken cup on the table.

"You're the friend Dwight lost," I said. "You were snatched out of the Hayes house when you and he were only six. You were rescued, and Dwight was left behind. He never forgot."

Lopez lowered his machete.

"I didn't know," he said. "Until very recently, I didn't understand who was doing the killing. I was too young when I—when I got free of that place. Thankfully, I don't remember much. The name Hayes meant nothing to me. He was just another interviewee."

Faye said, "He never told me about Dwight. If he had, perhaps I would've made the connection. But perhaps not ... it was so long ago. It was something we put behind us."

"But it shaped Dwight's life," I said. "He never forgot. You were his personal quest, Vic.

He resented you, hated you, but somewhere in the back of his mind he also loved you, identified with you the way he identified with Matthew Pena. Dwight thought he was you. He wanted to do for you what he wished someone could do for him—kill the family who had let him down."

Lopez turned the blade of his machete, watching it reflect the sunlight. "I never knew my father."

"Ewin Lowry was Hispanic," I said. "That was part of the reason the Doebler family didn't want him around. His name—"

"Was changed to something nice and Anglo when he was young," Lopez interrupted.

"His surname was originally Lopez, which is the name Faye decided to give back to me. That's really all I know about him. When Dwight found Lowry in Waco, he killed a man who meant nothing to me. Clara—my mother—that was different, but mostly her death hurt me because she was Faye's sister, because I watched her die. I don't mean to be cold, Navarre, but you've got to understand—Faye has always been my mother.

I never knew Clara well, or any of the other Doeblers. I never wanted to. I know now that Dwight meant for me to be there the night he killed Clara."

"He'd studied you, knew your patrol schedule. You realized Clara's death was more than a suicide. You went into homicide because of what you saw that night."

"I knew there was something wrong."

"And after Jimmy was murdered—"

"I went off in completely the wrong direction—exactly the way Dwight wanted me to go.

It's only when Ruby died, when I realized the connection to Ewin Lowry—it did look like Clara's son might be involved. But I was Clara's son. I thought maybe Pena was re

sponsible, playing mind games with me. I didn't know what to believe." He gestured at Faye. "I insisted that Faye leave town for a while, until I could figure things out."

"Dwight's plan," I said. "Those unsigned files on the disk. He wasn't claiming to be Clara's son? he was leaving that as your suicide note. He meant to get away, leave you the blame—a dead man at the bottom of the lake, killing yourself the same way you'd killed your victims, your family."

"Except Maia saved me."

Maia said nothing—exactly what she'd said about her trip underwater for the past three days.

Victor tugged off his leather gardening gloves, threw them on the dirt. "So what now?"

Faye had arranged the pieces of broken cup into a line, the same way she'd done with the poisonous coral beans on my last visit. I wondered if Faye always tried to organize things into straight lines.

"No one will charge you with a crime," Maia said. "The police can't fire you for misrepresenting your identity if you've already quit. But the tabloids will have a field day. It's only a matter of time before the reporters find out the truth."

Vic nodded. "When it happens I'll deal with that. Until then, I plan on spending my time here."

The summer heat had started to burn through the morning.

Soon the garden would be a hundred degrees, fit only for cicadas and dragonflies and herbs. But I could picture Faye and Victor out here again this evening—drinking freshly brewed sun tea, enjoying the catmint and sage that had infused the air during the afternoon, watching the blue glow of the moonlight tower take over from the sunset.

Like all Texans, they had learned to make the most of the edges of the day.

"There is a lot I regret," Lopez said. "But the important things had to survive. Do you understand?"

I told him I did. I shook his hand and said goodbye.