"How's your daughter?" she asked, as if she knew my thoughts.

"She's good. The other night she asked me if the Burger King and the Dairy Queen were married."

Jane smiled and I saw that sadness in her eyes again. I knew it had something to do with kids. I asked her something I had been thinking about for a long time.

"You got kids?"

"One. She's a little older than yours. I'm not with her anymore. She lives in France."

That was all she said and I left it at that, feeling guilty because of what I had in my life and because I knew before I asked the question that I was tempting the grief in her. But my question prompted her to ask one she had probably been holding on to for a while, too.

"Are you a cop, Harry?"

I shook my head.

"Was. In L.A. How'd you know that?"

"Just a guess. I think it was the way I saw you walking with your daughter out to your car. Like you were ready to jump on anything that moved. Anything bad."

I shrugged. She had pegged me. "I thought that was kind of nice," she added. "What do you do now?"

"Nothing really. I'm thinking about it, you know."

"Yes."

We were suddenly becoming more than neighbors exchanging superficial conversation.

"What about you?" I asked.

"Me? I'm just waiting on something."

So much for that. I knew that was the end of the line in that direction. I turned from her and watched another sultan or sheik start his way down the jet's steps. The limo driver was waiting with the door open. It looked to me like the driver had something under his jacket, something he could pull out if the going got tough. I looked back at Jane.

"I'll see you, Jane."

"Okay, Harry. Say hi to her for me."

"I will. You be careful."

"You, too."

Back at the dinette I tried Buddy Lockridge once more and got the same result. Nothing. I picked up the pen and drummed it impatiently on my notepad. He should've answered by now. I wasn't getting concerned. I was getting annoyed. The reports on Buddy were that he was unreliable. That was not something I had time for.

I got up and went to the kitchenette and took a beer out of the under-the-counter refrigerator. There was a bottle opener on the doorjamb. I cranked the bottle open and took a long draw. The beer cut through the desert dust and tasted good going down. I figured I deserved it.

I went back to the balcony door but didn't step out. I didn't want to spook Jane again. Staying inside, I glanced out and saw that the limousine was gone and the new jet was buttoned up tight. I leaned out and checked Jane's balcony. She was gone. I noticed that in the ashtray perched on top of the railing she had butted out her smoke after only a quarter burn. Somebody ought to tell her that was a giveaway.

A few minutes later the beer was gone and I was back at the dinette looking at my notes and McCaleb's map book. I knew I was missing something, I just couldn't touch it. It was there, it was close. But I just couldn't reach out to it yet.

My cell phone rang. Finally, it was Buddy Lockridge.

"Did you just call me?"

"Yeah, I did. But I told you not to call me at this number."

"I know but you just called me. I thought that meant it was safe."

"What if it hadn't been me?"

"I've got caller ID. I knew it was you."

"Yeah, but how did you know it was me? What if it was someone else with my phone?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh' is right, Buddy. Look, if you're going to work for me you gotta listen to what I tell you."

"All right, all right, I understand."

"Good. Where are you?"

"Vegas, man. Like you told me."

"You get the stuff off the boat?"

"Got it."

"No FBI?"

"Nah, man. Everything's cool."

"Where are you right now?" As I was speaking I noticed something on my notes and remembered something else about the Times story on the missing men. Rather, I remembered the circle Terry had drawn on the newspaper clip.

"I'm at the B," Lockridge said.

"The B? Where's the B?"

"The big B, man."

"Buddy, what are you talking about? Where are you?"

He whispered his reply.

"I thought everything was on the QT, man. Like they might be listening."

"Buddy, I don't care if they're listening. Quit with the code. What is the big B?"

"The Bellagio. It's a simple code, dude."

"A simple code for a simple mind. You're telling me you checked into the Bellagio on my tab?"

"That's right."

"Well, check out."

"What do you mean? I just got here."

"I'm not paying for the Bellagio. Check out and come here and get a room where I'm at. If I could afford to put you in the Bellagio I'd be staying there myself."

"No expense account, huh?"

"None."

"All right. Where are you at?"

I gave him the name and address of the Double X and right away he knew I was in a fringe location.

"They got pay-per-view there?"

"They don't have shit. Just get over here."

"Well, look, I already checked in here. They're not going to give me my money back. They already charged my card and besides, I already crapped in the toilet. That's like implied ownership of the room, you know. I'll stay one night here and then I'll come stay over there tomorrow."

There's only going to be one night, I thought but didn't say.

"Then everything above what this dump costs is coming out of your pay, man. I didn't tell you to check into the most expensive place on the strip."

"All right, all right, dock my pay if you want. Be that way. I don't care."

"All right, I will. You got a car?"

"No, I took a cab."

"Okay, go down the elevator and get another one and bring that stuff over here to me."

"Can I get a massage first?"

"Buddy, Jesus Christ, if you don't-"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Can't you take a joke, Harry? I'm on my way."

"Good. I'm waiting."

I disconnected without saying good-bye and immediately dropped the conversation from my radar screen. I was excited. I moved on. I thought I had inexplicably solved one of the mysteries. I looked at my re-creation of McCaleb's file notes and at one line in particular.

Triangle theory?-1 point gives 3

On the newspaper story he had also circled the word circle in the Metro detective's quote about the mileage on the rental car of one of the missing men, giving the investigators a large circle in which to look for clues as to what happened to the missing man. I now believed that McCaleb may have circled the word because he thought it was wrong. The search zone was not a circle. It was a triangle, meaning that the miles on the rental car formed the three sides of a triangle. Point one was the airport, the origin. The renter picked up the car and drove to point two. Point two was the place where he crossed paths with the abductor. And point three was the place where the abductor took his victim. Afterward, the car was returned to point one, completing the triangle.

When McCaleb had written his notes he didn't know about Zzyzx Road. He had one point-the airport car rental return. So he wrote, "i point gives 3," because he knew that if one more point on the triangle was identified, it would lead to the remaining point as well.

"One more point of the triangle means we can figure out all three," I said out loud, translating McCaleb's note from shorthand.

I got up and started pacing. I was jazzed and thought I was getting close. It was true that the abductor could have made any number of stops with the rental car, thereby leaving the triangle theory worthless. But if he didn't, if he avoided distractions and single-mindedly took care of the business at hand, then the triangle theory would hold. His thoroughness might contain his weakness. That would make Zzyzx Road point three on the triangle because that would have been the last stop for the car before it was returned to the airport. And that would make point two the remaining unknown. It was the intersection. The place where predator and prey came together. Its location was not known at the moment but thanks to my silent partner I knew how to find it.