The Narrows - Michael Connelly [19]
“Did he talk about the guy after?”
“No, not really. He only said that the guy didn’t take the full half. He wanted to pack it in after just a couple hours. So they did.”
“Terry had an alert on. He took six photos, three while the guy wasn’t looking. You sure he didn’t say anything about that?”
“Like I said, not to me. But Terry kept a lot of stuff to himself.”
“Do you know this guy’s name?”
“No, but I’m sure Terry put something in the charter book. You want me to go get it?”
“Yes. And I’d also like to know the exact date and how he paid. But first, can you print out these photos?”
“All six of them? It will take a while.”
“Actually, all six and give me one of Finder while we’re at it. I have the time.”
“I don’t suppose you want them framed, too.”
“No, Buddy, that won’t be necessary. Just the photos.”
I stepped back while Buddy sat down on the cushioned stool in front of the computer. He turned on a nearby printer, loaded in photo-quality paper, and expertly went through the commands that sent the seven pictures to the printer. Again I noted his ease with the equipment. I had the feeling that there wasn’t any content on the laptop that he was not familiar with. Probably nothing in the file boxes on the bunk above us either.
“Okay,” he said as he got up. “Takes about a minute for each one. They come out a bit sticky, too. Might want to spread ’em out till they dry all the way. I’ll go up and see what the charter book says about your mystery man.”
After he was gone I sat down on the stool. I had watched how Lockridge worked the photo files and was a quick learner. I went back to the main listing and double-clicked on the photo folder labeled MAIL CALL. A frame opened containing 36 small photos in a grid. I clicked on the first one and the photo enlarged. It showed Graciela pushing a stroller with a little girl sleeping in it. Cielo Azul. Terry’s daughter. The setting appeared to be a shopping mall. The photo was similar to Terry’s photos of the mystery man in that it appeared that Graciela did not know she was being photographed.
I turned around and looked back through the doorway toward the steps to the salon. There was no sign of Lockridge. I got up and moved quietly into the hallway. I slipped through the open door of the bathroom. I pressed myself against the wall and waited. Soon enough Lockridge moved across the opening in the hall, carrying the logbook. He was moving very quietly so as to make no noise. I let him pass and then moved into the hallway behind him. I watched as he went through the door of the forward stateroom, ready to startle me with his sudden appearance again.
But it was Lockridge who was startled when he realized I wasn’t in the room. When he turned I was right behind him.
“You like sneaking up on people, don’t you, Buddy?”
“Uh, no, not really. I was just —”
“Don’t do it with me, okay? What’s it say in the book?”
His face took on a pink hue beneath the permanent fisherman’s tan. But I had given him an out and he quickly took it.
“Terry put his name down in the book but nothing else. It says ‘Jordan Shandy, half day.’ That’s it.”
He opened the book and turned it to show me the entry.
“What about his method of payment? How much is half a day anyway?”
“Three bills for a half, five for a full. I checked the credit-card log and there was nothing there. Also the checking deposits. Nothing. That means he paid cash.”
“When was this? I assume it is logged by date.”
“Yeah. They went out on February thirteenth—hey, that was Friday the thirteenth. Think that was intentional?”
“Who knows? Was that before or after the charter with Finder?”
Lockridge put the logbook down on the desk so we could both look at it. He ran his finger down the list of clients and stopped it at Finder.
“He came a week after. He went out February nineteenth.”
“And what’s the date on the sheriff’s report on the boat burglary?”
“Shit, I have to