The Narrows

weren't doing a thing for him. In a way, they were actually killing him."
    "Exactly."
    "Where did those pills come from?"
    "The bottles came from the hospital pharmacy. But they could have been tampered with anywhere."
    She stopped and allowed time for this to register with me.
    "What is Dr. Hansen going to do?" I asked.
    "He said he has no choice. If tampering took place in the hospital, then he has to know. Other patients could be in danger."
    "That's not likely. You said two different medicines had been tampered with. That means it likely happened out of the hospital. It happened after they were in Terry's possession."
    "I know. He said that. He told me he is going to refer it to the authorities. He has to. But I don't know who that will be or what they will do. The hospital is in L.A. and Terry died on his boat about twenty-five miles off the coast of San Diego. I don't know who would-"
    "It would probably go to the Coast Guard first and then it will be referred to the FBI. Eventually. But that will take several days. You could move it along if you called the bureau right now. I don't understand why you are talking to me instead of them."
    "I can't. Not yet anyway."
    "Why not? Of course you can. You shouldn't be coming to me. Go to the bureau with this. Tell the people he worked with. They'll go right at this, Graciela. I know they will."
    She stood up and went to the sliding door and looked out across the pass. It was one of those days when the smog was so thick it looked like it could catch on fire.
    "You were a detective. Think about it. Someone killed Terry. It could not have been random tampering-not with two different meds from two different bottles. It was intentional. So, the next question is, who had access to his meds? Who had motive? They are going to look at me first and they may not look any further. I have two children. I can't risk that."
    She turned and looked back at me.
    "And I didn't do it."
    "What motive?"
    "Money, for one thing. There's a life insurance policy from when he was with the bureau."
    "For one thing? Does that mean there is a second thing?"
    She looked down at the floor.
    "I loved my husband. But we were having trouble. He was sleeping on the boat those last few weeks. It's probably why he agreed to take that long charter. Most of the time he just did day trips."
    "What was the trouble, Graciela? If I'm going to do this, then I have to know."
    She shrugged as if she didn't know the answer but then answered it.
    "We lived on an island and I no longer liked it. I don't think it was a big secret that I wanted us to move back to the mainland. The problem was, his job with the bureau had left him afraid for our children. Afraid of the world. He wanted to shelter the children from the world. I didn't. I wanted them to see the world and be ready for it."
    "And that was it?"
    "There were other things. I wasn't happy that he was still working cases."
    I stood up and joined her next to the door. I slid it open to let some of the stuffiness out. I realized I should have opened it as soon as we got inside. The place smelled sour. I'd been gone two weeks.
    "What cases?"
    "He was like you. Haunted by the ones that got away. He had files, boxes of files, down on that boat."
    I had been in the boat a long time ago. There was a stateroom in the bow McCaleb had converted into an office. I remembered seeing the file boxes on the top bunk.
    "For a long time he tried to keep it from me but it became obvious and we dropped the pretext. In the last few months he was going over to the mainland a lot. When he didn't have charters. We argued about it and he just said it was something he couldn't let go of."
    "Was it one case or more than one?"
    "I don't know. He never told me what exactly he was working on and I never asked. I didn't care. I just wanted him to stop. I wanted him to spend time with his children. Not those people." "Those people?'
    "The people he was so fascinated by, the killers and their victims. Their families. He was obsessed. Sometimes I think they were more important to him than we were."
    She stared out across the pass as she said this. Opening the door had let the traffic noise in. The freeway down below sounded like a distant ovation in some sort of arena where the games never ended. I opened the door all the way and stepped out onto the deck. I looked down into the brush and thought about the life-and-death struggle that had taken place there the year before. I had survived to find