Well past the time listed in the obituary, a final car came by, and a man and a woman got out of the back seat. The photographer perked up, jogged over, and snapped pictures as they climbed the steps. Keegan couldn’t be sure, but it might have been William Holden dressed in a trim charcoal suit. The woman with him might have been his wife. What was her name? Brenda something.

Keegan didn’t see Eve or Ormsby’s widow. They were no doubt already inside when he’d arrived. He could picture Eve’s bright eyes glimmering behind a dark veil. There’s plenty you don’t know, Jimmy.

Keegan turned up the radio and let his head fall back on the headrest. He guessed he had an hour to kill, but he couldn’t afford to fall asleep.

After a while, the sun came out from behind the trees, and Keegan folded down the sun visor to cut the glare. The Impala’s two occupants sat looking straight ahead through the windshield. Both wore sunglasses. But whose men were they? They might be Catling’s. They might be Louis Moore’s. Tough guys either way. The thugs on either side of the law were more or less interchangeable when you got right down to it. Whoever they’d be reporting to, Keegan didn’t want them to see him.

A scant half-hour later, a black limo pulled up and idled in front of the church. A few other cars came in behind it. The chapel doors opened, and mourners began to file out. Eve and Ormsby’s widow were ushered down the front steps and into the limo. A hearse eased around to the front of the church and took the front spot in the line of cars. More cars pulled up and joined the queue.

Keegan kept an eye on the Impala across the way as a couple of motorcycle cops led the processions away. The car pulled away from the curb and joined the file, keeping well back from the last car. Keegan got a quick glance of the driver’s profile as the Impala passed—a craggy man of about fifty. Who knew? Maybe it was the same guy who’d smoked cigarettes behind Ormsby’s back gate. That would mean Catling had found his quarry even before Ormsby died.

Keegan turned off the radio and put the Fairlane in gear; it would take all his concentration to keep up with the processional without giving himself away.