"Something like that, yeah."

He asked for identification and I showed him the laminated wallet copy of my license that had been sent to me from Sacramento. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at my formal first name.

"Hieronymus Bosch. Like that crazy painter, huh?"

It was rare that someone recognized the name. That told me something about Buddy Lockridge.

"Some say he was crazy. Some think he accurately foretold the future."

The license seemed to appease him and he said we could talk in his boat or we could walk over to the chan- dlery to get a cup of coffee. I wanted to get a look inside his home and boat-it was basic investigative strategy -but didn't want to be obvious about it so I told him I could use some caffeine.

The chandlery was a ship's store that was a five-minute walk down the dock. We small-talked as we walked over and I mostly listened to Buddy complain about his portrayal in the movie that had been inspired by McCaleb's heart transplant and his search for his donor's killer.

"They paid you, didn't they?" I asked when he was finished.

"Yes, but that's not the point."

"Yes it is. Put your money in the bank and forget about the rest. It's just a movie."

There were some tables and benches outside the chandlery and we took our coffees there. Lockridge started asking questions before I got the chance. I let him run his line out a little bit. My view was that he was a very important piece of my investigation, since he knew Terry McCaleb and was one of two witnesses to his death. I wanted him to feel comfortable with me so I let him ask away.

"So what's your pedigree?" he asked. "Were you a cop?"

"Almost thirty years. With the LAPD. Half of the time I worked homicides."

"Murders, huh? Did you know Terror?"

"What?"

"I mean, Terry. I called him Terror."

"How come?"

"I don't know. I just did. I give everyone nicknames. Terry had seen firsthand the terror of the world, you know what I mean? I called him Terror."