The Narrows by Michael Connelly Page A

late calls. I knew Marcia wouldn’t mind. I took out my cell and called the number McCaleb had written next to his name on the file. Marcia answered immediately. I identified myself, got through the long-time-no-see pleasantries and explained that I was calling about Terry McCaleb. I didn’t lie but I didn’t say I was working a murder investigation. I said I was sorting through his files for his wife and came across Marcia’s name and number. I was simply curious about what their relationship had been.
    “Harry, you worked some cold cases in your time, right? That thing up at your house last year came out of a cold case, didn’t it?”
    “Right.”
    “Then you know how it goes. Sometimes you grasp at straws, you take any help you can get. Terry called me up one day and offered his services. Not on a specific case. I think he had seen a story in the Times about the unit and he basically said if I ever needed him to work a profile he was there for me. He was one of the good ones. I was really sorry to hear what happened. I wanted to get over to Catalina for the service but things sort of came up.”
    “Like they always do. Did you ever take him up on the offer to do a profile?”
    “Yeah, sort of. I know I did and a couple other of the guys here did, too. You know how it is. The department has no profiling to speak of and sometimes waiting on the bureau and Quantico can take months. Here was this guy who knew what he was doing and he didn’t want anything back. He just wanted to work. So we used him. We bounced a few things off him.”
    “And how did he do?”
    “He did good. We’re working this one case now that’s interesting. When the new chief put the squad together we started going back through the open-unsolveds. We linked six cases—body dumps up in the Valley. They had some similar aspects but were never connected before. We copied the files to Terry and he confirmed. He connected them through what he called ‘psychological commonalities.’ We’re still working it but at least we know what we have now. We’re on the track is what I mean. I’m not sure we would be where we are if Terry hadn’t helped us out.”
    “Good, I’m glad to hear he helped with it. I’ll tell his wife and I’m sure it will help her to know that.”
    “Good. So, Harry, you coming back in?”
    I was expecting him to ask what I was really doing with McCaleb’s files, not whether I was coming back to the department.
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You heard about the three-year ticket the chief instituted?”
    “No, what’s that?”
    “He knows we lost a lot of talent in recent years. All the scandals and whatnot, good people saying, what the hell, I’m out of here. So he’s opening the door for people to come back. If you reapply within three years of retirement and are accepted you can get back in without having to go to the academy. That’s perfect for old guys like you.”
    I heard the smile in his voice.
    “Three years, huh?”
    “Yeah. What’s it been for you, two and a half?”
    “Just about.”
    “Well, there you go. Think about it. We could use you here in cold cases. We’ve got seven thousand open-unsolveds. Take your pick, man.”
    I didn’t say anything. Out of the blue, I was struck with the idea of going back. In that moment I was blind to the negatives. I only thought about what it would be like to carry the badge again.
    “Then again, maybe you’re having too much fun being retired. You need anything else, Harry?”
    “Uh, no, that was it. Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”
    “Anytime. And think about the three-year plan. We could sure use you, whether it’s here or back in Hollywood or wherever.”
    “Yeah, thanks. Maybe I will. I’m going to think about it.”
    I closed the phone and sat there surrounded by another man’s obsessions but thinking about my own. I thought about going back. I thought about seven thousand unanswered voices from the grave. That was more than the number