The Drop(121)

Bosch stood up straight and cast his eyes back out at the view. The reds were turning purple. It was getting dark.

“Sure, why not?” he said. “But if you have to become him to get rid of him, what’s the difference?”

Rider banged her palms lightly on the railing, a signal that she had said enough and was finished with this conversation.

“I’m going to go, Harry. I have to get back.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks for the water.”

“Yeah.”

He heard her steps on the wood planking as she moved toward the sliding door.

“So was what you said to me the other day bullshit, Kiz?” he asked, his back still turned to her. “Was that just part of the play?”

The steps stopped, but she didn’t say anything.

“When I called you and told you about Hardy. You talked about the noble work we do. You said, ‘This is why we do this.’ Was that just a line, Kiz?”

It was a while before she spoke. Bosch knew she was looking at him and waiting for him to turn and look at her. But he couldn’t do it.

“No,” she finally said. “It wasn’t just a line. It was the truth. And someday you may appreciate that I do what I need to do so that you can do what you need to do.”

She waited for his response but he said nothing.

He heard the door slide open and then close. She was gone. Bosch looked out at the fading light and waited a moment before speaking.

“I don’t think so,” he said.