Spike had done time for forgery and embezzlement. There’d also been a drug charge, but the prosecutor had dropped it in exchange for the plea bargain on the other two crimes. No violent offenses, but he was the kind of guy you kept away from the till.

The machines hummed and whirred and finally rinsed the last of the dirt from this morning’s crime scene. He pulled up close to Spike who spit once to his right and then tugged the drying rag from his back pocket.

Bragg watched as the guy dried the windshield. He studied his hands and face, searching for signs he’d been in a fight. The medical examiner had called minutes ago and said he had found skin under Rory’s nails. Rory had scratched someone, likely his killer.

Spike didn’t appear to pay much attention to Bragg until he saw Bragg’s white hat resting on the front seat. Worry flowed through Spike, but he kept drying. When Spike finished, Bragg got out of his car and pulled a five from his pocket. He held it out to Spike who, eyes downcast, reached for the money.

“Spike Anders?” Bragg said.

Spike chewed his bottom lip as he quickly tucked the money in his pocket. “Tell my parole officer I’m working hard, and I ain’t been in any trouble.”

“How do you know your parole officer sent me?”

“You’re a Ranger. Last I checked Rangers don’t make social calls to ex-cons.”

“Point taken. I do have a couple of questions for you.”

Spike glanced over his shoulder as if assessing his exit strategy.

Smiling, Bragg slid his hand to the gun resting on his hip. “You’re not in trouble, Spike, but if you run we are gonna have a real issue. And I don’t want trouble. I want to get home to supper.”

Spike sniffed as he twisted the drying rag between his hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” The car behind Bragg beeped, and he waved it toward another dryer.

Spike sighed. “You’re costing me tip money, Ranger.”

“Tell me about Rory Edwards,” he said in no particular rush.

The sound of the familiar name eased the stiffness in Spike’s shoulders. “I ain’t seen Rory in about a week.”

“Where’s the last place you saw him?”

“Here at the drive-through. He came by to show me how good he was doing. Said he’d been sober for two hundred days.”

“Did you believe him?”

“He looked good, for Rory, I mean. Clear-eyed and his hands didn’t shake. He wanted to show his brother he had cleaned up his act. Said there was a woman too who he needed to make amends with.”

“He say who the woman was?”

“No. Never gave a name.”

“Rory ever visit his brother?”

“I don’t know. Rory’s kind of afraid of his brother. His brother was good about bailing him out until about a year ago, and then all the help stopped.”

“Why’d it stop?”

“Their mom died. David told Rory he only helped him to keep the old lady happy. It troubled her Rory had turned out badly. To her dying breath, she prayed Rory would straighten out.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled a crumbled cigarette packet and a book of matches. He lit a cigarette and puffed. “Rory used his Mom’s guilt.”

“Used it?”

“He’d lean on his mother, who would go to David and make him cut Rory a check. This went on for years. Rory knew which buttons to push when it came to his mother. Rory wanted to find his brother and apologize.”

“Where’s Rory been the last year?”

Spike puffed on the cigarette. “Up in Houston. A halfway house or something similar.”

Dr. Watterson had told Bragg Rory’s body tested positive for high levels of alcohol and coke.

“I’d bet my last dollar Rory couldn’t stay sober long. It was still a struggle. Rory liked being hammered too much.” Spike glanced past Bragg and raised a hand. “Be right back to work, boss. I’m talking to a Texas Ranger.”

Bragg turned and saw a thin guy with a clipboard scowling at them. He held up a hand as if to say he recognized he was interrupting and then turned back to Spike. “And you have no information on the woman he wanted to see?”

“No idea. He wouldn’t say. But he kept looking at an old picture.”

Bragg pulled out his cell phone and showed Spike the image nailed to the tree. “That it?”

Spiked leaned in. “Kind of like it.”

Bragg replaced the phone. “Back to the last time you saw Rory.”

“He just said he weren’t gonna drink no more, and he’d gotten a line on a job. Seemed excited about it.”

“What kind of job?”

“He didn’t know exactly. Said it was farm work. Said he looked forward to working with his hands.”

“Where was the job?”

“If he told me, I don’t remember. I reminded him he owed me one hundred bucks, and he said not to worry. He’d pay me back when he got his first paycheck.”

“He didn’t look sad or upset?”

“No. The son of a bitch was on top of the world.” Smoke trailed out of Spike’s mouth and nose as he exhaled. “What’s he gotten himself into this time? Job turn out to be bogus? He get arrested for doing something he shouldn’t? I told him good jobs didn’t fall into the laps of guys like him.”

Bragg rested his hands on his hips. “Rory died.”

Spike paused, cigarette at his lips. “Rory’s dead?”

“He is.”

Spike took a deep drag. “Dumb son of a bitch. Someone knife him or shoot him?”

“He was hanging from a tree when I saw him this morning.”

Spike’s eyes widened. “Hanging? Like he was lynched?”

“Someone strung him up. Tried to make it look like suicide.”

“Shit.”

“He piss anyone off lately?”

“Rory pissed everyone off. He owed money to lots of people. Always made promises he couldn’t keep. He was a taker.”

“You ever hear anyone threaten him?”

“No more than usual. Like I said he could piss people off.”

“I heard he also runs with a guy named Dan.”

“Yeah, I met Dan. He’s okay. Saw him a month ago. He was driving to Seattle for a job. He’s a carpenter who does a lot of custom work. Said some computer bigwig was having shelves installed. Contractor needed extra help so he called Dan. I think they went to school together.”

“You’ve not seen Dan since?”

“Not for weeks.”

Bragg pulled in a breath. “Where was Rory living lately?”

“Rented a room in East Austin. Fifth Street. Don’t remember the address but there’s a taco place on the first floor with a blue chili in the window. One of the last things I told Rory was he smelled like tacos.”

“Anything else you can tell me that would help?”

“Naw.” He drew in a lungful of smoke. “Is there going to be a funeral?” Spike said.

“I don’t have any details. His brother would know.”

“Oh, I ain’t going. Not worth the hassle. Figure Rory wouldn’t have broken a sweat trying to make it to my funeral so I isn’t worried about his. ’Sides, I have to work.”

A horn honked behind them. The manager now flicked a pencil hard against his clipboard as if warning all he was losing patience.

Spike tossed the cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with his booted foot. “Speaking of work, if I don’t get back, the boss is gonna blow a gasket. And if I don’t keep this job, I’ll lose my room at the halfway house.”

Bragg pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Spike. “Keep me in mind if you think of something. Especially if you remember who might have hired Rory.”

Spike held the white card in callused dirty fingers before cramming it in his pocket. “Sure, Ranger, sure.”

Bragg got in his car and pulled out of the parking lot and wound his way back to I-35. The hood of his car glistened, but smudges streaked his front windshield. He checked his phone for messages and seeing none from Mitch decided to swing by the house just in case. After he checked on Mitch, he’d find Rory’s rented room.

Fifteen minutes later when he pulled into the driveway and saw Mitch’s black truck, relief washed away the lingering concern. He worried more and more for the kid with each new day.