He sat there staring at the frozen image, wondering if he should pursue it. If he could read the time on the watch, he might be able to triangulate the time of the shooting by using the camera clock and the dispatch clock. It might clear up a loose end. But did it mean anything? Walters had been right about one thing. There are always details that don’t add up. Always loose ends. And McCaleb wasn’t sure if this one was worth the time it would take to tie it up.
His private debate was interrupted. Living on a boat, he had learned to read the subtle rises and falls of his home, to know whether each was caused by a boat wake out in the fairway or the weight of someone coming on board. McCaleb felt the boat dip slightly and immediately looked over his shoulder and out the sliding door. Graciela Rivers had just stepped onboard and was turning around to help a little boy step on next. Raymond. Dinner. He had completely forgotten.
“Shit,” he said as he quickly turned off the video and got up to go out and greet them.
There was an easy smile on her face.
“No-I mean, I sort of forgot for the last five hours. I got lost in all of this paperwork I’ve been looking through. I meant to go over to the market and-”
“Well, that’s okay. We can do it another-”
“No, no, are you kidding? We’re going to have dinner. Is this Raymond?”
“Oh, yes.”
Graciela turned to the boy, who was standing shyly behind her at the stern. He seemed small for his age, with dark hair and eyes, brown skin. He wore shorts and a striped shirt. He carried a sweater in his hands.
“Raymond, this is Mr. McCaleb. The man I was telling you about. This is his boat. He lives on it.”
McCaleb stepped forward and leaned down with his hand out. The boy was carrying a toy police car in his right hand and had to transfer it to the other. He then tentatively took McCaleb’s hand and they shook. McCaleb felt an unexplainable sadness as he met the boy.
“It’s Terry,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Raymond. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Can you fish off this boat?”
“Sure you can. Someday I’ll take you out, if you want.”
“That would be good.”
McCaleb straightened up and smiled at Graciela. She looked lovely. She wore a light summer dress similar to the one she had worn the first time she had come to the boat. It was the kind that the breeze off the water easily pushed against her figure. She, too, carried a sweater. McCaleb was in shorts, sandals and a T-shirt that said Robicheaux’s Dock amp; Baitshop on it. He felt a little embarrassed.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Over there they’ve got a nice restaurant on top of the marine store. They’ve got good food and a great view of the sunset. Why don’t we have dinner there?”
“Sounds good to me,” Graciela said.
“All I have to do is change real quick and, Raymond, I have an idea. Why don’t we drop a line off the stern and you see if you can catch something while I go inside and show Graciela a few things I’ve been working on?”
The boy’s face brightened.
“Okay.”
“Okay, then, we’ll fix you up.”
McCaleb left them there and went inside. In the salon he took his lightest rod and reel out of the overhead storage rack, went to the tackle box under the chart table and got out a steel leader already set with a number eight hook and a sinker. He attached the leader to the reel line and then went to the cooler in the galley, where he knew he had some frozen squid. Using a sharp knife, he cut off a piece of squid skirt and drove the hook through it.
He returned to the stern with the rod and reel and handed the rig to Raymond. Crouching behind the boy with his arms coming around him, he gave him a quick lesson on casting the bait into the middle of the fairway. He then told him how to keep his finger on the line and to read it for nibbles.
“You okay now?” he asked when the lesson was completed.
“Uh-huh. Are there fish in here by the boats?”
“Sure, I’ve seen a school of sheepshead swimming right where your line is.”
“Sheepshead?”
“It’s a fish with yellow stripes. Sometimes you can see them moving in the water. You watch for them.”
“Okay.”
“Are you all right now if I go in and get your mother something to drink?”
“She’s not my mother.”
“Oh, yes, I-I’m sorry, Raymond. I meant Graciela. You okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Okay, give a holler if you hook one. And then start reeling!”
He pointed a finger into the boy’s side and dragged it up his tiny rib cage. McCaleb’s father had done the same thing to him when he was holding a fishing pole, his sides unprotected. Raymond giggled and maneuvered away, never taking his eyes off the spot where his line disappeared into the dark water.
Graciela followed McCaleb into the salon and he closed the slider so the boy would not hear them. His face must have been red from the slip-up with the boy. She read him before he got the chance to apologize.
“That’s okay. It’s going to happen a lot now.”
He nodded.
“Is he going to stay with you?”
