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appearance as he searched the support structure from east to west. The storage chest stood about two and a half feet high and offered cover that the open railing did not.
    “Good boy,” I whispered.
    Boo’s tail beat against the floor without making a sound.
    I stretched out on the catwalk, on my side, left arm bent at the elbow, head resting on my palm. With my right hand, I rubbed my ghost dog’s tummy.
    Dogs know we need to give affection as much as they need to receive it. They were the first therapists; they’ve been in practice for thousands of years.
    After perhaps two minutes, Boo brought an end to our therapy session by rolling to his feet, ears pricked, alert.
    I dared to raise my head above the storage chest. I peered down seven feet into the level of the support structure from which I had recently ascended.
    At first I saw no one. Then I spotted the hulk proceeding along the series of east-west beams.
    The eddying water far below cast luminous patterns that turned through the support structure like the prismatic rays from a rotating crystal chandelier in a ballroom. The hulk had no one to dance with, but he didn’t appear to be in a dancing mood, anyway.

CHAPTER 5
    T HE BIG MAN DIDN’T WALK THE BEAMS WITH reticence and caution, as I had done, but with such confidence that his mother must have been a circus aerialist and his father a high-rise construction worker. His powerful arms were at his sides, a gun in one and a flashlight in the other.
    He paused, switched on the flashlight, and searched among the vertical posts, along the horizontal supports.
    On the catwalk, I ducked my head behind the storage chest. A moment later the probing light swept over me, east to west, back again, and then away.
    Although Boo had moved past me and stood with his head through a gap in the railing, watching the giant, he remained visible only to me.
    When the searcher had moved out of sight into the labyrinth of posts and purlins and struts, I rose to my feet. I continued east.
    Padding ahead of me, Boo dematerialized. He appeared solid one moment, then became transparent, faded, vanished.
    I had no idea where he went when he was not with me. Perhaps he enjoyed exploring new places as much as did any living dog, and went off to wander previously unvisited neighborhoods of Magic Beach.
    Boo did not haunt this world in the way that the lingering human dead haunted it. They were by turns forlorn, fearful, angry, bitter. Transgressively, they refused to heed the call to judgment, and made this world their purgatory.
    This suggested to me that the free will they had been given in this life was a heritage they carried with them into the next, which was a reassuring thought.
    Boo seemed to be less a ghost than he was a guardian spirit, always happy and ready to serve, still on the earth not because he had remained behind after death but because he had been sent back. Consequently, perhaps he had the power and permission to move between worlds as he wished.
    I found it comforting to imagine that when I didn’t urgently need him, he was in Heaven’s fields, at play with all the good dogs who had brightened this world with their grace and who had moved on to a place where no dog ever suffered or lived unloved.
    Evidently Boo believed that for the immediate future I could muddle on without him.
    I continued east along the catwalk until, glancing down at the opportune moment, I glimpsed the inflatable dinghy tied to a concrete column far below, bobbing gently on the floodlit swells. Here the hulk had ascended and had begun searching westward.
    At least one-quarter of the pier’s length lay to the east of this position. I paused to brood about that.
    As it turned out, Boo had been right to think that I would be able to puzzle my way through this development without his counsel. The hulk had not searched the last quarter of the support structure because he was confident that I could not have gone that far before he had climbed up here