Michael Connelly: The Crossing

From a low crouch he unlocked the kitchen door and pushed it open. As it swung into the house, he raised his weapon but was greeted with only a still darkness. He reached up and in and flicked the double switches on the inside wall. The lights in the galley kitchen as well as the hallway beyond came on.

Bosch advanced through the kitchen and flicked the same lights off when he got to the opposite end. He didn’t want to be illuminated as he stepped into the hallway and farther into the house.

Bosch moved slowly and cautiously through his home, lighting rooms as he searched them. There was no sign of Ellis. When he got to the last room — his daughter’s bedroom — he turned around and cleared every room and closet again.

Satisfied that his hunch that Ellis might make a move against him was wrong, Bosch started to relax. He turned on the lights in the living room and went to the stereo. He hit the power button and put the needle down on the album already on the turntable. He didn’t even look to see what it was.

He put his gun down on the stereo receiver and, stripping his jacket off, tossed it over to the couch. He was dead tired from the long and strenuous day but too keyed up for sleep. The first strains of trumpet rose from the speakers and Bosch knew it was Wynton Marsalis playing “The Majesty of the Blues,” an old one he had picked up recently on vinyl. The song seemed appropriate to the moment. He opened the slider and stepped out onto the back deck.

He went to the railing and exhaled deeply. The night air was crisp and carried the scent of eucalyptus. Bosch checked his watch and decided it was too late to call Haller and update him. He’d make contact in the morning, probably after seeing how the LAPD and Sheriff’s Department played things out at the press conference that was sure to be scheduled. What the sheriff and chief of police said would surely dictate Haller’s strategy.

He leaned down, put his elbows on the railing, and looked at the freeway at the bottom of the pass. It was after midnight and yet the traffic persisted in both directions. It was always that way. Bosch was unsure that he would ever be able to sleep comfortably in a house without the background sound of the freeway from below.

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.