The Last King of Texas (Tres Navarre #3)(61)

Ozzie moved his arm again, swore softly. "If George was trying to get Hector Mara to sell out Chich Gutierrez, you can bet Chich would get wind of it. Chich would've had men shadowing Hector. They would've seen him go into George's house and known it was time to hit."

We were back where we started. "So where do I find Chich?"

"Leave that to SAPD. You gave them enough to work with, kid. Don't repeat George's mistakes."

I looked over at Ines, her arms hugging her chocolate-and-beige coat. The wind coming down the drainage ditch made her red hair flicker.

"Aaron Brandon's widow?" Ozzie asked me.

"We met by accident."

"The lady doesn't belong here. And you're not in any shape to be helping each other."

"The lady doesn't want any part of the investigation."

Ozzie nodded, eyes still on Ines. "She's the smart one, then. You been to see George yet?"

"I'm supposed to go this evening."

"I just called the hospital an hour ago," Ozzie said. "His left lung was removed."

"He'll make it."

"A ventilator's breathing for his right lung. He's got a fever from the infection and the antibiotics can't kick it. He's dying, kid."

"He'll make it," I repeated.

Ozzie gave me a weary look. "There's one more thing I thought I'd tell you. I'm resigning from the department."

The winch motor cut off. The VW hadn't budged. The tow-truck guys broke out a pack of cigarettes and stared resentfully at the VWs underbelly as they lit up.

"Early retirement for disability," Ozzie continued. "Half pension." He raised the arm. "The doctor's pressuring me about this. I'm beginning to think he's got a point."

"That's not how you felt yesterday."

"Yesterday was a long time ago, in a comfortable bed. This thing with George, after me getting shot the same week... I started thinking about me and Audrey in Cancun, how we could be there sipping margaritas this time next week. We both got a little money saved up. It's starting to sound real good, kid. What'd you think old Sheriff Navarre would say?"

"You got an extra seat on the plane?'"

Ozzie laughed.

One of the mechanics yelled to him to come help with the cables.

"Idiots should've brought a mobile crane," Ozzie grumbled. "When I get this heap of yours out of the river, kid, I'm slapping a big-ass ticket on the windshield."

"There is no windshield."

Ozzie muttered some more colorful observations about life, then walked down to the tow truck.

I picked my way downstream to Ines.

"Your friend doesn't like me," she said.

"He likes you fine. He thinks you're the smart one."

"Really."

"Sure. Compared to me."

Ines gazed up at the flattened section of guardrail. In full daylight, the tiny scar on the bridge of her nose was whiter. I found myself wondering how she'd broken it, how she'd look without that slight bend.

She said, "Mr. Navarre—"

"Tres."

She paused, seemed to be mentally tasting my name. I guess it didn't taste that good. "Mr. Navarre. I've already told you. I can't help you."

"The dead man I told you about, Hector Mara, the fact that he might've known your brother-in-law Del — that doesn't bother you?"

"Hostia! Everything about my ex-brother-in-law bothers me. Talking about him doesn't help."

She pulled herself up onto the hood of the police car, crossed her legs at the ankles. Peeking out the tips of her cord sandals were scarlet toenails, with flesh-colored smiles around the cuticles where the nails had started to grow out. I tried to imagine what color Ana DeLeon would paint her toenails. Steel-gray? Black?

I mentally slapped myself. "The first time we spoke, you recognized Hector Mara's name."

Ines' fingertip inscribed something in slow cursive on the hood of the car. She stared down resentfully at her own invisible message. "I suppose if I denied that—"

"I'd only wonder why you were lying."

A sour smile. "It would never occur to you that I'm lying because I hate you, would it?"

"Never in a million years."

"I remembered the name," Ines conceded. "Aaron mentioned Hector Mara once, in a phone argument he was having with Del. Months ago, before we moved to San Antonio. I don't remember the context."

"Did you know Aaron in the spring of '93?"

She scowled. "What does that... You mean when Aaron's father was killed?"

"Yes."

She started to ask a question, then apparently changed her mind. Her eyes refocused on the rim of the basin. "I'd come up from Del Rio in fall '92. To enroll at Our Lady of the Lake. It was my first semester."

"Aaron Brandon's first semester teaching there."

"I was in his undergraduate class. We... started having a relationship."

"And Our Lady of the Lake didn't renew his contract."

"Not because of me. Aaron was struggling. He didn't have any confidence. To tell the truth, he wasn't a very good teacher. Halfway through the spring semester, he knew the university wasn't going to ask him back. Aaron wanted to give up, go crawling back to his father for a job at RideWorks. I couldn't just watch Aaron give up and go back to the family business. I convinced him to stay with his teaching, to take another job for the following year even though it wasn't the best—"