Michael Connelly: The Narrows

Lockridge seemed to read my thoughts.

"Hey, you think this bastard could've had something to do with Terror going down?"

I looked up at him for a long moment, realizing that the idea of Lockridge being involved in McCaleb's death as a means of gaining control and location of the charter business and The Following Sea was a more believable theory.

"I don't know," I said. "But I'll probably be checking it out."

"Let me know if you want somebody to go with you."

"Sure. But listen, I noticed on the stiff's report that the GPS was the only thing reported stolen. Did that hold up? Nothing else ever turned up missing?"

"That was it. That's why me and Terry thought it was so strange at first. Until we figured out it was Finder." 'Terry thought that, too, that it was him?"

"He was coining around to it. I mean, come on, who else could it have been?"

It was a worthy question, but not one I thought I needed to put front and center at the moment. I pointed at the laptop screen and told Lockridge to keep moving back through the photos. He did so and the procession of happy anglers continued.

We came across one more curiosity in the photo series. Lockridge backed up to a set of six photos that depicted a man whose face was not shown clearly at first. In the three initial shots he was posed holding a brilliantly colored fish up to the camera. But in each shot he held the fish up too high, obscuring most of his face. In each of these shots his dark glasses peeked over the ridge of the fish's dorsal fin. The fish appeared to be the same in each of these three shots, which led me to assume that the photographer was repeatedly trying to get a photo that included the fisherman's face. But to no avail.

"Who took these?"

"Terror. I wasn't there on that one."

Something about the man or maybe the way he had avoided the camera in the trophy photo had made McCaleb suspicious. That seemed obvious. The next three photos in the series were shots of the man taken without his knowledge. The first two were taken from inside the salon, shooting out into the cockpit where the fisherman leaned against the right gunwale. Because the glass on the salon door had reflective film on it, the man would not have seen or known that McCaleb had taken photos of him.

The first of these two photos was in profile. The next a fiill-on face shot. Take away the setting and McCaleb had instinctively gotten mug shot poses, another confirmation of his suspicion. Even with these photos the man was still obscured. He had a full beard of brownish gray hair and wore dark sunglasses with large lenses and a blue L.A. Dodgers hat. What little could be seen of the man's hair appeared to be close cropped and matching the colorations of his beard. He had a gold hoop earring in his right ear.

In the profile shot his eyes were crinkled and hooded, naturally hidden even with the dark sunglasses. He wore blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt beneath a Levi's jacket.

The sixth photo, the last in the sequence, was taken after the charter had ended. It was a long shot of the man walking on the Avalon pier, apparently after leaving The Following Sea. His face was turned slightly toward the camera, though it still wasn't much more than a profile. But I wondered if the man had continued to turn after the shot and perhaps had then seen McCaleb and his camera.

"So what about this guy?" I asked. 'Tell me about him."

"Can't," Lockridge said. "I told you, I wasn't there. That was one Terry picked up on the fly. No reservation. The guy just showed up on the water taxi while Terry was on the boat and asked to go out. He paid for a half a day, the minimum charter. He wanted to go out right away and I was over on the mainland. Terry couldn't wait on me, so he took him out without me. Alone, which is a pain in the ass. But they got a nice Spanish mack out there. Not bad."

"Did he talk about the guy after?"

"No, not really. He only said that the guy didn't take the full half. He wanted to pack it in after just a couple hours. So they did."

"Terry had an alert on. He took six photos, three while the guy wasn't looking. You sure he didn't say anything about that?"

"Like I said, not to me. But Terry kept a lot of stuff to himself."

"Do you know this guy's name?" "No, but I'm sure Terry put something in the charter book. You want me to go get it?"

"Yes. And I'd also like to know the exact date and how he paid. But first, can you print out these photos?" "All six of them? It will take a while." "Actually, all six and give me one of Finder while we're at it. I have the time."

"I don't suppose you want them framed, too."

"No, Buddy, that won't be necessary. Just the photos."

I stepped back while Buddy sat down on the cushioned stool in front of the computer. He turned on a nearby printer, loaded in photo-quality paper, and expertly went through the commands that sent the seven pictures to the printer. Again I noted his ease with the equipment. I had the feeling that there wasn't any content on the laptop that he was not familiar with. Probably nothing in the file boxes on the bunk above us either.

"Okay," he said as he got up. 'Takes about a minute for each one. They come out a bit sticky, too. Might want to spread 'em out till they dry all the way. I'll go up and see what the charter book says about your mystery man."

After he was gone I sat down on the stool. I had watched how Lockridge worked the photo files and was a quick learner. I went back to the main listing and double- clicked on the photo folder labeled mail call. A frame opened containing 36 small photos in a grid. I clicked on the first one and the photo enlarged. It showed Graciela pushing a stroller with a little girl sleeping in it. Cielo Azul. Terry's daughter. The setting appeared to be a shopping mall. The photo was similar to Terry's photos of the mystery man in that it appeared that Graciela did not know she was being photographed.

I turned around and looked back through the doorway toward the steps to the salon. There was no sign of Lockridge. I got up and moved quietly into the hallway. I slipped through the open door of the bathroom. I pressed myself against the wall and waited. Soon enough Lockridge moved across the opening in the hall, carrying the logbook. He was moving very quietly so as to make no noise. I let him pass and then moved into the hallway behind him. I watched as he went through the door of the forward stateroom, ready to startle me with his sudden appearance again.

But it was Lockridge who was startled when he realized I wasn't in the room. When he turned I was right behind him.

"You like sneaking up on people, don't you, Buddy?"

"Uh, no, not really. I was just-"

"Don't do it with me, okay? What's it say in the book?"

His face took on a pink hue beneath the permanent fisherman's tan. But I had given him an out and he quickly took it.

'Terry put his name down in the book but nothing else. It says 'Jordan Shandy, half day.' That's it."

He opened the book and turned it to show me the entry. "What about his method of payment? How much is half a day anyway?"

"Three bills for a half, five for a full. I checked the credit-card log and there was nothing there. Also the checking deposits. Nothing. That means he paid cash."

"When was this? I assume it is logged by date."

"Yeah. They went out on February thirteenth-hey, that was Friday the thirteenth. Think that was intentional?"

"Who knows? Was that before or after the charter with Finder?"

Lockridge put the logbook down on the desk so we could both look at it. He ran his finger down the list of clients and stopped it at Finder.

"He came a week after. He went out February nineteenth."

"And what's the date on the sheriff's report on the boat burglary?"

"Shit, I have to go back up."