But the lone figure did not move toward the light switch. He stood stock-still in the door’s opening as if letting his eyes adjust to the dark. He then moved forward three steps into the barn. Bosch wasn’t ready for this. His attack position was on the switch. He was now too far away from his target.

A light suddenly came on in the barn, but it was not from overhead. The person who had entered was carrying a flashlight. And Bosch now thought it might be a woman.

She was past Bosch’s position now, and the flashlight was held out in front of her body and away. Bosch could not see her face from his angle but he could tell by size and demeanor that it was neither Drummond nor Cosgrove. It was definitely a woman.

The beam swept across the barn and then jerked back to the body on the ground. The woman rushed forward to put the light on the dead man’s face. Banks lay on his back with his eyes wide open and the horrible entry wound to the right temple. His left hand was extended out at an odd angle toward the support column. His discarded watch was lying in the straw next to it.

The woman crouched next to Banks and shifted the light as she played it across his body. In doing so she revealed first the gun in her other hand and then her face. Bosch lowered the pitchfork and stepped out of cover.

“Detective Mendenhall.”

Mendenhall swiveled right and brought the gun’s bead on Bosch. He raised his hands, still holding the pitchfork.

“It’s me.”

He realized he must appear to her as some sort of send-up of the famous American Gothic painting, with the pitchfork-carrying farmer and his wife—minus the wife. He let go of the pitchfork and let it drop to the straw.

Mendenhall lowered her weapon and stood up.

“Bosch, what’s going on here?”

Bosch noted that she had dispensed with her own demand for rank and respect. Rather than answer he moved toward the door and looked out. He could see the lights of the château through the trees, but no sign of Cosgrove or Drummond. He stepped out and went to his rental car, using the key fob to pop the trunk.

Mendenhall followed him out.

“Detective Bosch, I said, what is going on?”

Bosch lifted one of the cardboard boxes out of the trunk and lowered it to the ground.

“Keep your voice down,” he said. “What are you doing here? You followed me up here over O’Toole’s complaint?”

Bosch found the gun box and opened it.

“Not exactly.”

“Then, why?”

He retrieved the Kimber and checked its action.

“I wanted to know something.”

“Know what?”

He holstered the gun, then took the extra magazine out of the box and put it in his pocket.