Read Online The Narrows by Michael Connelly - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Connelly
Tags: thriller
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these, how would they end up on his computer?'
"Well, there's a few ways. One is that he got them in an e-mail and downloaded them. Another is that somebody borrowed bis camera and shot them. He then found them and downloaded them. The third way is maybe somebody just sent him a photo chip right out of the camera or a CD with the pictures already on it That would probably be the most untraceable way."
"Could Terry do e-mail from here?"
"No, up at the house. There is no hard line on the boat. I told him he ought to get one of those cellular modems, go wireless like that commercial where the guy's sitting at his desk in the middle of a field. But he never got around to it." The printer kicked out the photo and I grabbed it ahead of Buddy's reach. But then I placed it down on the desk so we could both view it. The reflection was blurred and dim but still more recognizable on the print than it was on the computer screen. I could now see that the photographer was holding the camera in front of his face, obscuring it completely. But then I was able to identify the overlapping L and A configuration of the Los Angeles Dodgers logo. The photographer was wearing a baseball cap.
On any given day there might be fifty thousand people wearing Dodgers caps in this city. I don't know for sure. But what I do know is that I don't believe in coincidences. I never have and I never will. I looked at the murky reflection of the photographer and my sudden guess was that it was the mystery man. Jordan Shandy.
Lockridge saw it, too.
"Goddamn," he said. "That's the guy, right? I think that's the charter. Shandy."
"Yeah," I said. "Me, too." ^.
I put the print of Shandy holding up the Spanish mackerel next to the enlargement. There was no way to make a match but there was nothing that made me think the other way. There was no way to be sure but I was sure. I knew that the same man who had showed up unannounced for a private charter with Terry McCaleb had also stalked and photographed his family.
What I didn't know was where McCaleb had gotten these photos and whether he had made the same jump as I had just made.
I started stacking all of the photos I had printed. All the time I was trying to put something together, some connection of logic. But it wasn't there. I didn't have enough of the picture. Only a few pieces. My instincts told me that McCaleb had been baited in some way. Photos of his family came to him in the form of an e-mail or a photo chip or a CD. And the last two photos were the key. The first thirty-four were the bait. The last two were the hook hidden inside that bait.
I believed the message was obvious. The photographer wanted to draw McCaleb out to the desert. Out to Zzyzx Road.
CHAPTER 9
Rachel Walling rode the escalator down into the cavernous baggage pickup area at McCarran International. She had carried her luggage during the journey from South Dakota but the airport was designed so that every passenger had to go this way. The escalator landing area was crowded with people waiting. Limo drivers held signs with the names of their clients, others just held up signs that announced the names of hotels or casinos or tour companies. The cacophony rising from the room assaulted her as she descended. It was nothing like the airport where she had started her travels that morning.
Cherie Dei was going to meet her. Rachel had not seen the fellow FBI agent in four years and that was only a brief interaction in Amsterdam. It had been eight years since she had really spent any kind of time with her and she wasn't sure she would recognize her or that she would be recognized herself.
It didn't matter. As she searched the sea of faces and signs it was a sign that caught her eye. BOB BACKUS
The woman holding it was smiling at her. Her idea of a joke. Rachel approached, without returning the smile.
Cherie Dei had reddish brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was attractive and trim with a good smile, her eyes still with a lot of
"Well, there's a few ways. One is that he got them in an e-mail and downloaded them. Another is that somebody borrowed bis camera and shot them. He then found them and downloaded them. The third way is maybe somebody just sent him a photo chip right out of the camera or a CD with the pictures already on it That would probably be the most untraceable way."
"Could Terry do e-mail from here?"
"No, up at the house. There is no hard line on the boat. I told him he ought to get one of those cellular modems, go wireless like that commercial where the guy's sitting at his desk in the middle of a field. But he never got around to it." The printer kicked out the photo and I grabbed it ahead of Buddy's reach. But then I placed it down on the desk so we could both view it. The reflection was blurred and dim but still more recognizable on the print than it was on the computer screen. I could now see that the photographer was holding the camera in front of his face, obscuring it completely. But then I was able to identify the overlapping L and A configuration of the Los Angeles Dodgers logo. The photographer was wearing a baseball cap.
On any given day there might be fifty thousand people wearing Dodgers caps in this city. I don't know for sure. But what I do know is that I don't believe in coincidences. I never have and I never will. I looked at the murky reflection of the photographer and my sudden guess was that it was the mystery man. Jordan Shandy.
Lockridge saw it, too.
"Goddamn," he said. "That's the guy, right? I think that's the charter. Shandy."
"Yeah," I said. "Me, too." ^.
I put the print of Shandy holding up the Spanish mackerel next to the enlargement. There was no way to make a match but there was nothing that made me think the other way. There was no way to be sure but I was sure. I knew that the same man who had showed up unannounced for a private charter with Terry McCaleb had also stalked and photographed his family.
What I didn't know was where McCaleb had gotten these photos and whether he had made the same jump as I had just made.
I started stacking all of the photos I had printed. All the time I was trying to put something together, some connection of logic. But it wasn't there. I didn't have enough of the picture. Only a few pieces. My instincts told me that McCaleb had been baited in some way. Photos of his family came to him in the form of an e-mail or a photo chip or a CD. And the last two photos were the key. The first thirty-four were the bait. The last two were the hook hidden inside that bait.
I believed the message was obvious. The photographer wanted to draw McCaleb out to the desert. Out to Zzyzx Road.
CHAPTER 9
Rachel Walling rode the escalator down into the cavernous baggage pickup area at McCarran International. She had carried her luggage during the journey from South Dakota but the airport was designed so that every passenger had to go this way. The escalator landing area was crowded with people waiting. Limo drivers held signs with the names of their clients, others just held up signs that announced the names of hotels or casinos or tour companies. The cacophony rising from the room assaulted her as she descended. It was nothing like the airport where she had started her travels that morning.
Cherie Dei was going to meet her. Rachel had not seen the fellow FBI agent in four years and that was only a brief interaction in Amsterdam. It had been eight years since she had really spent any kind of time with her and she wasn't sure she would recognize her or that she would be recognized herself.
It didn't matter. As she searched the sea of faces and signs it was a sign that caught her eye. BOB BACKUS
The woman holding it was smiling at her. Her idea of a joke. Rachel approached, without returning the smile.
Cherie Dei had reddish brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was attractive and trim with a good smile, her eyes still with a lot of
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