“Nobody had to tell me,” McShane said. “I saw you out there today, trying to look like a tourist in your cop clothes. I know tourists and I know cops.”

“I’m not a cop. Not anymore.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means this is over. There are others and they know I’m here. They’ll follow. You’re done … McShane.”

The use of his real name put a momentary alarm in his eyes, but then it was quickly gone, replaced by the confidence of knowing he had the gun and the upper hand.

“Turn around. All the way around.”

Bosch was wearing black jeans and a maroon dress shirt. He hadn’t planned on working under cover of night when he had packed for the trip. He turned, keeping his hands up, showing he had no weapon. He came all the way around and they were looking at each other again.

“Let’s see your ankles,” McShane said.

Bosch nodded. McShane was playing it smart, not coming close to Bosch, in case he was hiding a weapon. Bosch reached down and pulled the legs of his pants up, careful to keep the screwdriver from falling out of his sleeve. He showed that he wore no ankle holster.

“No weapon,” McShane said. “You came to kill me and you didn’t bring a weapon?”

“I didn’t come to kill you,” Bosch said.

“Then what? Why are you here?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what, motherfucker? Stop talking in riddles.”

“That you killed the Gallagher family.”

“Jesus Christ … you’re from L.A. Well, you came a long way for nothing, old man. To end up at the end of an anchor chain in forty feet of water.”

“Is that what happened to Henry Jordan and his wife? You wrapped them in chains, put them in the water? How about Dan Cassidy? Is he down there, too?”

Now Bosch saw a momentary look of surprise on McShane’s face.

“Like I said, there are people who know all about you,” Bosch said. “And they’re coming right behind me. This time you don’t get away.”

“Really? You think?”

“I know. So you have a choice. Tell me about the Gallaghers and we go back to L.A. Or you make your move here and try to run.”

McShane laughed.

“Boy, I guess that’s what you call a no-brainer,” he said.

“I doubt you’ll get much further than Marathon,” Bosch said.

“Yeah? Well, you got some balls, old man, I’ll give you that. But I also got news for you, I’m not going back. And what makes you think I’d even try to drive out of here?”

“Because before I came here, I visited your boat. Calamity Jane? It’s not going anywhere with water in its fuel tanks.”

“You’d better be bluffing, you fuck.”