The Narrows

balls. I didn't expect anything that would help me. I had already reviewed the credit-card receipts and knew there were no purchases I could use to pinpoint McCaleb's location on his three-day trip. But the rule was always to be thorough.
    There were a variety of receipts for local purchases. This included food items from Safeway and fishing equipment from a San Pedro tackle store. There was a receipt for ginseng extract from a health food store called BetterFit, and a receipt from a Westwood bookstore for a book on tape called Looking for Chet Baker. I never heard of the book but knew who Chet Baker was. I decided I would check into it later when I had time to read or listen to a book.
    The rule paid off on the fifth paper ball. I unraveled a cash receipt from a Travel America truck stop in Las Vegas. It was located on Blue Diamond Road, the same street as Vegas Memorial. The date of the purchase was March 2. The purchase was for sixteen gallons of gasoline, a half-liter of Gatorade and the book on tape edition of The Tin Collectors.
    The receipt placed McCaleb in Las Vegas during his three-day trip. It was another confirmation of what I thought I already knew. Nevertheless my adrenaline kicked in another notch. I wanted to get moving again, keep that case velocity going.
    "You find something?" Lockridge asked.
    I crumpled the receipt and threw it down onto the floor of the car with the others. "Not really," I said. "Turns out Terry was a big books-on-tape guy. Didn't know that."
    "Yeah, he listened to a lot of them. Out on the boat when he was up on the helm. He usually had the earphones on."
    I reached back into the car and took the map book off the seat.
    "I'm going to borrow this," I said. "I don't think Graciela's going anywhere where she'll need it."
    I didn't wait for Buddy's approval. I closed the passenger door, hoping that he was buying my act. I then closed the driver's door and locked the vehicle.
    "That's it, Buddy. I'm out of here. You going to be near your phone if anything comes up and I need you?"
    "'Course, man, I'm around. It's a mobile, anyway."
    "All right then, you take care."
    I shook his hand and headed to my black Benz, half expecting to find him following me. But he let me go. As I drove out of the lot, I checked the mirror and saw him still standing next to the Cherokee, watching me go.
    I took the 710 up to the 10 and rode that out to the 15 freeway. After that it would be a straight shot out of the smog and into the Mojave and then on to Las Vegas. I had been making this trip two or three times a month for the past year. I always enjoyed the drive. I liked the starkness of the desert. Maybe I drew from it what Terry McCaleb drew from living on an island. A sense of distance from all the nastiness. As I drove it I felt the constrictions lift, as if the molecules of my body expanded and got a little more space between each other. Maybe it was no more than a nanometer but that little narrow space was enough to make a difference. But this time I felt different. I felt as though this time the nastiness was ahead of me, that it was waiting for me in the desert.
    I was settling into the drive, letting the case facts rotate in my mind, when my cell buzzed. My guess was that it would be Buddy Lockridge making a final plea to be included but it was Kiz Rider. I had forgotten to call her back.
    "So, Harry, I guess I don't even rate a call back from you?"
    "Sorry, Kiz, I was going to call you. I had a busy morning and sort of forgot."
    "Busy morning? You're supposed to be retired. You're not running around on another case, are you?"
    "Actually, I'm driving to Vegas. And I'm probably about to lose my signal in the dead zone. What's going on?"
    "Well, I saw Tim Marcia this morning when I was getting my coffee. He told me you two had talked recently."
    "Yeah, yesterday. Is this about that three-year deal he told me about?"
    "It certainly is, Harry. Have you thought about it?"
    "I just heard about it yesterday. I haven't had time to think about it."
    "I think you should, Harry. We need you back here."
    "That's nice to hear, especially from you, Kiz. I thought I was PNG with you."
    "What does that mean?"
    "Persona non grata."
    "Come on now. It was nothing a cooling-off period couldn't cure. Seriously, though, we could use you back here. You could probably work with Tim's unit if you wanted."
    "If I wanted? Kiz, you make it sound like all I have to do is waltz in there and sign on the dotted line. What do