Michael Connelly: The Narrows

I wrote a note in my notebook. Not because it was important but because I wanted Lockridge to know I took him seriously and that whatever he thought was important was also important to me.

"How long did they take?"

"Twenty, twenty-five minutes. I'm not sure how long but it seemed like an eternity when you're trying to keep somebody breathing."

"Yeah. Everybody I talked to said you did your best. So you're saying he never said a word. He just collapsed at the wheel."

"Exactly."

"Then what was the last thing he said to you?"

Lockridge started chewing the nail on one of his thumbs as he tried to recall this.

"That's a good question. I guess it was when he came back to the railing that looks down into the cockpit and he yelled down that we'd be home by sunset."

"And how long was this before he collapsed?"

"Maybe ahalf hour, maybe a little longer."

"He seemed fine then?"

"Yeah, he seemed like the regular Terror, you know? Nobody could've guessed what was going to happen."

"By now you men had been on the boat for four straight days, right?"

"That's right. Pretty close quarters because the party got the stateroom. Me and Terry bunked it in the forward cabin."

"During that time did you see Terry take his meds every day? You know, all the pills he had to take."

Lockridge nodded emphatically.

"Oh, yeah, he was popping his pills right and left. Every morning and every night. We'd been out on a lot of charters together. It was his ritual-he set his watch by it: He never missed. And he didn't on this trip either."

I made a few more notes just to keep silent so that Lockridge might keep talking. But he didn't.

"Did he say anything'about them tasting different, or him feeling different after taking them?"

"Is that what this is about? You people are trying to say Terry took the wrong pills and then not have to pay the insurance? If I had known that, I would've never agreed to talk to you."

He started to get up from his bench. I reached over and gripped his arm.

"Sit down, Buddy. That's not what this is about. I don't work for the insurance company."

He dropped heavily back onto the bench and looked at his arm where I had gripped it.

"Then what is it about?"

"You already know what it's about. I'm just making sure Terry's death was what it was supposed to be."

"Supposed to be?"

I realized that I had used an unfortunate choice of words.

"What I'm trying to say is that I want to make sure he didn't have any help." Lockridge studied me for a long moment and slowly nodded.

"You mean like the pills were tainted or messed with?"

"Maybe."

Lockridge set his jaw tightly with resolve. It looked genuine to me.

"You need any help?"

"I might need some, yeah. I'm going over to Catalina tomorrow morning. I'm going to look at the boat. Can you meet me there?"

"Absolutely."

He seemed excited and I knew I would eventually drop a rock on that but for now I wanted his full cooperation.

"Good. Now let me ask a few more questions. Tell me about the charter party. Did you know this guy Otto beforehand?"

"Oh, yeah, we take Otto out a couple times a year. He lives over there on the island, that's the only reason why we got the multiday charter. See, that was the problem with the business but Terror never cared. He just was happy to sit there in that little harbor and wait on half days."

"Slow down a second, Buddy. What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Terry keeping the boat over there on that island. What we got over there were people who are visiting Catalina and want to go fishing for a few hours. We didn't get the big charters. The three-, four-, five-day jobs where you make the good money. Otto was the exception because he lives over there and he wanted to go fishing off Mexico a couple times a year and get his ashes hauled in the process." Lockridge was giving me more information and avenues of questioning than I could handle at once. I stayed on McCaleb but would definitely come back to Otto, their charter client.

"You're saying that Terry was content to sort of be small-time."

"Exactly. I kept telling him, 'Move the charter over here to the mainland, put out some ads and get some serious work.' But he didn't want to."

"Did you ever ask him why?"

"Sure, he wanted to stay on the island. He didn't want to be away from the family all the time. And he wanted time to work on his files."

"You mean his old cases?"

"Yeah, that and some new ones."

"What new ones?"

"I don't know. He was always clipping articles out of the newspaper and sticking them in files, making phone calls, things like that."

"On the boat?"

"Yeah, on the boat. Graciela wouldn't allow it in the house. He told me that, that she didn't like him doing it. Sometimes it got to the point he was sleeping on the boat at night. At the end. I think it was because of the files. He'd get obsessed with something and she'd end up telling him to stay on the boat until he got over it."

"He told you that?"

"He didn't have to."

"Any case or file you remember he was interested in lately?"

"No, he no longer included me in that stuff. I helped him work on his heart case and then he sort of shut me out of that stuff."

"Did that bother you?"

"Not really. I mean, I was willing to help. Chasing bad guys is more interesting than chasing fish, but I knew that was his world and not mine."

It sounded too much like a stock answer, like he was repeating an explanation McCaleb had once given to him. I decided to leave it at that but I knew this was a subject I would come back to with him.

"Okay, let's go back to Otto. You fished with him how many times?"

"This was our third-no, fourth-trip."

"Always down to Mexico?"

"Pretty much."

"What does he do for a living that he can afford to do this?"

"He's retired. Thinks he's Zane Grey and wants to go sportfishing, catch a black marlin and put it up on his wall. He can afford it. He told me he was a salesman, but I never asked what he sold."

"Retired? How old is he?"

"I don't know, midsixties."

"Retired from where?"

"Just across the water. Long Beach, I think."

"What did you mean a minute ago when you said he liked to go fishing and get his ashes hauled?"

"I meant exactly that. We took him fishing and when we'd stop off in Cabo, he always had something on the side."

"So each night on this last trip, you guys brought the boat into port, always to Cabo." "The first two nights in Cabo and then the third night we made it to San Diego."

"Who chose those places?"

"Well, Otto wanted to go to Cabo, and San Diego was just the halfway point on the trip back. We always take it slow going back."

"What happened in Cabo with Otto?"

"I told you, he had a little something on the side down there. Both nights he got cleaned up and went into town. I think he was meeting a senorita there. He had made some calls on his cell phone."

"Is he married?"

"Far as I know. I think that's why he liked the four-day charters. His wife thought he was out there fishing. She probably didn't know about stopping in Cabo for a Margarita-and I'm not talking about the drink."

"What about Terry, did he go into town?"

He answered without hesitation.

"Nope, Terry had nothing going in that department and he would never leave the boat. He'd never even step on the dock."

"How come?"

"I don't know. He just said he didn't need to. I think he was superstitious about it."

"How so?"

"You know, the captain stays with the vessel, that sort of thing."

"What about you?"

"Most of the time I hung with Terry and the boat. Every now and then I'd go to town to one of the bars or something."