He realized that he should have entered the house the way his daughter always did after school. That is, immediately stopping at the refrigerator upon entering through the kitchen door. In his case a nice cold beer would have tasted perfect right about now.
He heard the voice behind him before he heard anything else.
“Bosch.”
He turned slowly, and there was a figure shrouded in the darkness of the back corner of the deck, where even the faint moonlight was blocked by the roof’s eave. Bosch realized he had walked right past him when he stepped onto the deck. The shadows in the corner were too deep to see a face but he knew the voice.
“Ellis,” Bosch said. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
The figure stepped forward. First the pointed gun entered the dim moonlight, then Ellis. Bosch looked past him into the living room where he could see the Kimber left on the stereo receiver. It would do him no good now.
“What do you think I want?” Ellis said. “Did you think I would just run without paying you a visit?”
“I didn’t think you were that stupid,” Bosch said. “I thought you were the smart one.”
“Stupid? I’m not the one who came home alone.”
“You should have gone to Mexico while you had the head start.”
“Mexico is so obvious, Bosch. I have other plans. Just have to finish up a little bit of business here.”
“That’s right, you’re a no-loose-ends sort of guy.”
“I couldn’t risk that you wouldn’t give it up. We checked you out, Bosch. Retired and relentless are two things that don’t mesh together very well. I couldn’t risk that you’d keep looking for me. The department will give it up. Bringing me back for trial is not something that’s going to make anybody’s priority list at the PAB. But you... I figured I needed to end it right here before going.”
Ellis took another step toward Bosch, closing the distance for the shot. He fully emerged from the darkness. Bosch could see his face. The skin was drawn tight around eyes that had a wet glint at their black center. Bosch realized it might be the last face he ever saw.
“Going where?” he asked.
Harry raised his hands slowly, out to his sides, as if to underscore his vulnerability. To let Ellis know he had won and allow him the moment.
There was a pause and then Ellis answered.
“Belize. There’s a beach there. And a place I can’t be traced to.”
Bosch knew then that he had a chance. Ellis wanted to talk, to gloat, even.
“Tell me about Alexandra Parks,” he said.
Ellis smirked. He knew Bosch’s play.
“I don’t think I want to give you that,” he said. “You need to take that one with you.”
Ellis calibrated the aim of his weapon, bringing the muzzle up in case Bosch was wearing a vest. From this close he couldn’t miss with a face shot.
Bosch looked over his killer’s shoulder once more into the living room and at the gun he had left behind. A fatal mistake.
Then he saw movement in the house. Mendenhall was in the living room, moving toward the open door of the deck. Between the music inside and the freeway outside, Ellis would not hear her. She was closing on him, gun raised in a two-handed grip and ready.
Bosch looked at Ellis.
“Then let me ask you something else,” he said. “You and Long watched me. You know about my daughter. What would have happened if she were here tonight when you came?”
Bosch could see a smile form in the shadows of his killer’s face.
“What would have happened is she would have been dead before you got here,” Ellis said. “I would’ve let you find her.”
Bosch held his eyes. He thought of the crime scene photos of Alexandra Parks. The brutality inflicted on her. He wanted to make a move toward Ellis, to go for his throat. But he would be expecting that.
Instead, he stood still. He saw that Mendenhall was on the threshold between the house and the deck. He knew that as soon as she stepped onto one of the wooden planks, Ellis would know she was there. Bosch slightly changed his stance to try to cover her advance.
“Why don’t you just do it now?” he said.
Mendenhall took the last two steps up behind Ellis and then, without pause, there was the sharp sound of a shot that seemed to echo right through Bosch’s chest.
Ellis dropped to the deck without firing a shot. Bosch felt a fine mist of blood hit him full in the face.
For a moment he and Mendenhall stood there facing each other. Then Mendenhall dropped to her knees next to Ellis and quickly cuffed his hands behind his back, following policy and procedure even though it was clear he was not a threat to anyone. She then took out her phone and hit a speed-dial number. While she waited for the call to go through, she looked up at Bosch, who had not moved more than an inch since Ellis had pointed the gun at him.
“You okay?” she asked. “I was worried about a through-and-through shot hitting you.”
Bosch bent over for a moment, putting his hands on his knees.
“I’m good,” Bosch said. “That was close. I was seeing the end of things, you know what I mean?”
“I think so,” Mendenhall said.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Uh, how about you go in and find a seat. Let’s keep the deck clear. I’m calling everybody out.”
Just then her call was answered and she identified herself and gave the house’s address. In a voice as calm as the one she’d use to order a pizza, she asked for a rescue ambulance and a supervisor. She stressed that the scene was secured and then disconnected. Bosch knew she had been talking to the communications center and had been circumspect in the details she offered because she didn’t want to draw the media. There were police scanners in every newsroom in the city.
Mendenhall next made a call to her boss, Ellington, and informed him in more detail of what had just occurred. When she was finished with that call she came inside the house to where Bosch was sitting on the couch in the living room.
“You turned off the music,” she said.
“Yeah, I thought I should,” he said.
“What was that?”
“Wynton Marsalis. ‘The Majesty of the Blues.’”
“It covered me, you know. Ellis didn’t hear me come up on him.”
“If I ever meet Wynton, I’ll thank him. That’s twice now, you know.”
“What’s twice?”
“That you’ve saved my life.”
She shrugged.
“To protect and serve — you know the deal.”
“It’s more than that. What made you come back?”
“Your tip about the burnt-orange Camaro. There’s one parked around the bend. I go by it on my way down the hill and think, That’s him, he’s waiting for Bosch. So I came back.”
“And the door? I’m pretty sure I locked it.”
“Internal Affairs one-oh-one. I’ve planted a lot of bugs in my time. I know my way around a lock with a pick.”
“Impressive, Mendenhall. But you know you’ll probably pay for this — in the department. Doesn’t matter that he was bent. You killed a cop.”
“I had no choice,” she said. “It was a good shooting and I’m not worried.”
“It was right as rain but there still will be blowback.”
Bosch knew that department policy held that deadly force was justified if it was used to prevent imminent death or great bodily harm to an officer or a citizen. Mendenhall was not required to identify herself or give Ellis the opportunity to drop his weapon. Her coming up behind him and putting a round into his brain was within policy. She would be quickly cleared by the internal-shooting review board and then the District Attorney’s Office. It would be in the opinion of her peers and the innuendo and gossip that would follow her in the department that she might not fare so well.