“Nah, we ain’t here to roust you, Charlie,” Gant said. “We’re here to make things right by you.”

“Yeah, and how’s that?”

Bosch pulled out a chair and sat across from Washburn. He placed a closed cardboard box on the table. Gant and Chu remained standing in the tiny room.

“We got a deal for you,” Gant said. “You take us to the house where you grew up and show us where you put a bullet in the fence post, and we’ll see what we can do about dropping some of these charges you got on you. You know, cooperating witness. Quid pro quo.”

“What, now? It’s dark out, man.”

“We’ve got flashlights, Two Small,” Bosch said.

“I ain’t no cooperating witness, man, and you can keep your quid pro quota shit. I only tol’ you about Story because he’s dead. You can put me back in lockup now.”

He started to get up but Gant clapped him on the shoulder in a way that was friendly but also kept him in the chair.

“Nah, you won’t be cooperating against anybody. Nuttin’ like that. You’ll just be leading us to that bullet. That’s all we want.”

“And that’s all?”

His eyes moved to the box on the table. Gant looked at Bosch who took over.

“And we want you to look at a couple of guns we picked up and see if you can identify the one you found twenty years ago. The gun you gave to Trumont Story.”

Bosch leaned forward and opened the box. They had put two other unloaded 9mm pistols in evidence bags into the box along with the gun turned over by Gail Briscoe. Bosch took them out and put them on the table and then put the box on the floor. Gant then uncuffed Washburn so he could pick each one up and study it without removing it from the plastic bag.

Two Small examined the Beretta from Trumont Story’s house last. He studied both sides and then nodded.

“This one,” he said.

“You sure about that?” Bosch asked.

Washburn ran a finger along the left side of the Beretta.

“Yeah, I guess, except they fixed the scratch mark up. But I can still feel it. That’s the lawnmower blade.”

“I don’t want you guessing. Is that the weapon you found or not?”

“Yeah, man, it’s the piece.”

Bosch took it back and stretched the plastic tightly across the frame where the serial number would have been stamped.

“Look at that. Is that how it was when you found it?”

“Look at what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Charles. The serial number’s gone. Was it that way when you found it?”

“You mean those scratch marks? Yeah, I guess so. The lawnmower did that.”