Soon the show wasn't enough to hold everyone's attention and the passengers returned to their former positions. The little girl who first sounded the alert stayed at the gunwale and watched, and so did I, until the porpoises finally dropped off the wake and disappeared in the blue-black sea.

I went inside and took up McCaleb's file again. I reread everything he and I had written. No new ideas came up. I then looked at all the photos I had printed out the night before. I had shown the photos of the man named Jordan Shandy to Graciela but she didn't recognize him and hit me with more questions than answers about him, questions I didn't want to try to answer just yet.

Next in the review were the credit-card and phone records. I had already looked at these in Graciela's presence but wanted to check them more thoroughly. I paid closest attention to the end of February and the beginning of March, when Graciela was sure her husband had been on the mainland. But there was no purchase with a credit card nor phone call made on his cell that gave any indication of where he was, let alone in Los Angeles or maybe Las Vegas. It was almost as if he wanted to leave no trail.

A half hour later the boat pulled into the Los Angeles Harbor and docked next to the Queen Mary, a permanently moored cruise ship that had been turned into a hotel and convention center. As I was walking through the parking lot to my car I heard a shriek and turned around to see a woman bouncing and swaying upside down from the end of a bungee cord extending down from a jumping platform at the stern of the Queen Mary. She had her arms clamped to the sides of her torso and I realized that the reason she had screamed was not because of the fear and adrenaline rush of the free fall, but because her T-shirt had apparently threatened to fall down over her shoulders and head, exposing her to the crowd that lined the railing of the cruise ship.

I turned away and headed on to my car. I drive a Mercedes-Benz sport utility vehicle, the kind some people think helps keep terrorists in business. I don't get involved in such debates but I do know that the people who go on talk shows to argue such things usually pull up in stretch limos. As soon as I got into the car and cranked it, I plugged my phone into the charger and waited for it to come back to life. When it did I saw I had gotten two messages in the forty-five minutes the phone had been out of commission.

The first was from my old partner Kizmin Rider, who now handled administrative and planning duties in the chief of police's office. She left no message other than a request for me to call her. This was curious because we hadn't talked in nearly a year and that conversation had not been the most pleasant. Her usual Christmas card to me had carried her signature only and not the usual cordial note and promise to get together soon. I wrote her direct number down-at least I still rated that-and saved the message.

The next message was from Cindy Hinton, the Sun reporter. She was simply returning my call. I started the Benz and headed toward the freeway so I could loop over to San Pedro and the Cabrillo Marina, where Terry McCaleb's Jeep was waiting for me. I called Hinton back on the way and she answered immediately.

"Yes, I was calling about Terry McCaleb," I said. "I'm sort of re-creating his movements in the last couple months of his life. I assume you had heard he passed away. I remember that the Sun carried an obituary."

"Yes, I knew. You said on your message last night that you are an investigator. An investigator for what agency?"

"Actually, I'm a state-licensed private detective. But I was a cop for almost thirty years."

"Is this related to the missing persons case?"

"In what way?"

"I don't know. You called me. I don't understand what it is you want"

"Well, let me ask you a question. First of all, I know from Detective Ritz over at Metro that Terry had taken an interest in the missing persons case. He studied the facts that were available to him and called on Detective Ritz, offering his time and expertise to work on the case or provide investigative theories. You with me so far?"

"Yes. I know all of this."

"Okay, good. Terry's offer to Ritz and Vegas Metro was rejected. What my question is is what happened next? Did he call you? Did you call him? Did you write a story that said he was investigating this case?"

"And why is it that you want to know these things?"

"Sorry, hold on a second."

I had realized I should not have made the call while driving. I should have expected Hinton to be cagey with me and should have known the call would need my undivided attention. I glanced at the mirrors and cut across two lanes to go down an exit. I didn't even see the sign and didn't know where I was going. I found myself in an industrial area where trucking depots and warehouses lined the street. I pulled to a stop behind a tractor-trailer parked in front of the open garage doors of a warehouse.

"Okay, sorry, I'm back. You asked why I wanted to know the answers to these questions. Well, Terry McCaleb was my friend. And I'm picking up some of the things he was working on. I want to finish his work."

"There sounds like there is something else, something you're not telling me."

I thought for a moment of how to handle this. Giving a reporter information, especially a reporter you didn't know, was risky business. It could snap back on you in bad ways. I had to figure out a way to give her what she needed in order to help me, but then I needed to take it all back.

"Hello? Are you still there?"

"Uh, yeah. Tell you what, can we go off the record here?" "Off the record? We're not even talking about anything here."

"I know. I am going to tell you something if I can tell it to you off the record. Meaning, you can't use it."

"Sure, fine, whatever, we're off the record. Could you please get to the point or whatever this important information is because I need to write a story this morning?"

"Terry McCaleb was murdered."

"Uh, no, actually he wasn't. I read the story. He had a heart attack. He had a heart transplant like six years before. He-"

"I know what was put out in the press and I'm telling you it is wrong. And it will come out that it is wrong. And I'm trying to find out who killed him. Now can you tell me whether or not you put out a story that had his name in it?"

She seemed exasperated when she answered.

"Yes, I wrote one story that he was in. For like a paragraph or two. Okay?"

"Just a paragraph? What did it say?"

"It was a follow-up to my story on the missing men. I did a follow-up to see what had come in. You know, what new leads, if any. McCaleb was mentioned, that's all. I said he came forward and offered his help and a theory but Metro said no thanks. It was worth throwing in because the story was dry as a bone and he was sort of famous because of the movie and Clint Eastwood and all of that. Does that answer your question?"

"So he didn't call you?"

"Technically, yes, he did. I got his number from Ritz and called him. I left a message and he called me back. So technically he called me, if that's how you want it. What is it you think happened to him anyway?"

"Did he tell you what his theory was? The one Ritz wasn't interested in?"

"No, he said he didn't want to comment at all and he asked me to keep his name out of the paper. I talked to my editor and we decided to keep it in. Like I said, he was famous."

"Did Terry know you put his name in the story?"

"I don't know. I never spoke to him again."

"In that one conversation you had, did he say anything about the triangle theory?"

"Triangle theory? No, he didn't. Now I answered your questions, you answer mine. Who says he was murdered? Is that official?"

Now it was time to back out. I needed to stop her in her tracks, make sure she wouldn't hang up and immediately start making calls to check me or my story out.