Bosch got out with the wooden box that carried the ashes of the Gallagher family. Years before, Siobhan Gallagher had asked Bosch to scatter the ashes of her brother and his family because it didn’t seem right to send them back to her in Ireland, the place Stephen had left so long ago. Bosch said he would do it, but he had waited, deciding not to carry out the final task until he had closed the case and brought justice for the family.

Now was the time.

They walked through the brush to the place where the four rock sculptures stood near the mesquite tree. None of the towers had crumbled since Bosch’s last visit. They stood solidly balanced at four different heights: father, mother, son, and daughter.

Ballard and Bosch had not spoken much during the drive. It had been that way since Key West. But when he had told her of his plan to go to the desert to scatter the ashes, she had immediately asked if she could join him. And now they were there, at the hallowed ground where she knew Bosch had drawn the fire and the drive to take the case to its end—to a place where he had done the wrong thing for the right reason.

They stood in front of the rocks, Bosch holding the box with two hands. A dry wind was coming down out of the north, gently moving the petals on the flowers at their feet. Ballard started with an easy question.

“How’d things go with Maddie?”

Bosch seemed to consider an answer for a while before speaking.

“We talked and she now knows what’s going on with me. She’s not happy that I kept it from her, but I think she understands why I did. She said she wanted to move back home to take care of me but I said no. She’s got her own life to live. I just hope I don’t become a distraction that makes her lose focus on the job.”

Ballard nodded.

“She’s a good cop,” she said. “I think she’ll be fine.”

Bosch offered nothing else. Ballard squatted and picked one of the small white flowers. Holding the stem between her thumb and forefinger, she spun it like a pinwheel.

“Why did McShane pick this spot?” she asked. “Was it random?”

“Probably,” Bosch said. “But we’ll never know. One of the known unknowns, I guess.”

“I thought maybe he would have told you.”

Bosch turned his eyes from the rocks to look down at her.

“No, he didn’t,” he said.

“That’s too bad,” Ballard said. “Did he own up to any of it?”

She stood up next to him and he nodded.

“Yeah. All of it. He told me he did it.”

“Under duress?”

Bosch scoffed.

“He had the gun, not me.”

Ballard understood now how it had gone down.