At Burbank Airport I parked in the long-term lot, got my bag out and took the tram to the terminal. At the Southwest counter I used a credit card to buy a round-trip ticket to Las Vegas on a flight leaving in less than an hour. I kept the return open. I then proceeded through the security checkpoint, waiting in line like everybody else. I put my bag on the conveyor and dropped my watch, car keys and the camera’s memory card into a plastic bowl so I would not set off the metal detector. I realized I had left my cell in the Mercedes and then thought, just as well, they might use it to triangulate my location.

Near the departure gate I stopped and bought a ten-dollar phone card and took it to a nearby bank of pay phones. I read the instructions on the phone card twice. Not because they were complicated but because I was hesitant. Finally, I picked up the receiver and called long distance. It was a number I knew by heart but had not called in almost a year.

She answered after only two rings but I could tell I had woken her up. I almost hung up, knowing that even if she had caller ID she would not be able to tell it had been me. But after her second hello I finally spoke.

“Eleanor, it’s me, Harry. Did I wake you up?”

“It’s okay. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Were you playing late?”

“Till about five and then we went for breakfast. I feel like I just got to bed. What time is it?”

I told her it was after ten and she groaned. I felt the confidence go out of my plan. I also got stuck wondering who the ‘we’ she referred to was but didn’t ask. I was supposed to be long past that.

“Harry, what is it?” she said into the silence. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t get to sleep till about the same time, too.”

More silence slipped into the wire. I noticed that they were boarding my flight.

“Is that why you called me? To tell me your sleeping habits?”

“No, I, uh . . . well, I sort of need some help. Over there in Vegas.”

“Help? What do you mean? You mean like on a case? You told me you retired.”

“I did. I am. But there’s this thing I’m working on. . . . Anyway, I was wondering if you could meet me at the airport in about an hour. I’m flying in.”

There was silence while she registered this request and all that it might mean. As I waited my chest felt heavy and tight. I was thinking about the single-bullet theory when she finally spoke.

“I can be there. Where am I taking you?”