The Last Coyote

case?”
    “Marjorie Lowe.” He waited a moment for a reaction from McKittrick’s face and got none. “You remember it? She was found in the trash in an alley off-”
    “Vista. Behind Hollywood Boulevard between Vista and Gower. I remember them all, Bosch. Cleared or not, I remember every goddamn one of them.”
    But you don’t remember me, Bosch thought but didn’t say.
    “Yeah, that’s the one. Between Vista and Gower.”
    “What about it?”
    “It was never cleared.”
    “I know that,” McKittrick said, his voice rising. “I worked sixty-three cases during seven years on the homicide table. I worked Hollywood, Wilshire, then RHD. Cleared fifty-six. I’ll put that up against anybody. Today they’re lucky if they clear half of ’em. I’ll put it up against you blind.”
    “And you’d win. That’s a good record. This isn’t about you, Jake. It’s about the case.”
    “Don’t call me Jake. I don’t know you. Never seen you before in my life. I-wait a minute.”
    Bosch stared at him, astonished that he might actually remember the pool. But then he realized that McKittrick had stopped because of his wife’s approach along the dock. She was carrying a plastic cooler. McKittrick waited silently for her to put it down on the dock near the boat and he hoisted it aboard.
    “Oh, Detective Bosch, you’ll be way too hot in that,” Mrs. McKittrick said. “Do you want to come back up and borrow a pair of Jake’s shorts and a white T-shirt?”
    Bosch looked at McKittrick, then up at her.
    “No, thanks, ma’am, I’m fine.”
    “You are going fishing, aren’t you?”
    “Well, I haven’t exactly been invited and I-”
    “Oh, Jake, invite him fishing. You’re always looking for somebody to go out with you. Besides, you can catch up on all that blood-and-guts stuff you used to love in Hollywood.”
    McKittrick looked up at her and Bosch could see the horses fighting against the restraints. He was able to get it under control.
    “Mary, thanks for the sandwiches,” he said calmly. “Now, could you go back up to the house and leave us be?”
    She threw him a frown and shook her head as if he were a spoiled boy. She went back the way she had come without another word. The two of them left on the boat let some time go by before Bosch finally spoke and tried to recover the situation.
    “Look, I’m not here for any reason other than to ask you a few questions about this case. I’m not trying to suggest there was anything wrong with the way it was handled. I’m just taking another look at it. That’s all.”
    “You left something out.”
    “What’s that?”
    “That you’re full of shit.”
    Bosch could feel the horses rearing up in himself. He was angry at this man’s questioning his motives, even though he was right to do so. He was on the verge of shedding the nice-guy skin and going at him. But he knew better. He knew that for McKittrick to act this way, there must be a reason. Something about the old case was like a pebble in his shoe. He had worked it over to the side where it didn’t hurt when he walked. But it was still in there. Bosch had to make him want to take it out. He swallowed his own anger and tried to stay level.
    “Why am I full of shit?” he said.
    McKittrick’s back was to him. The former cop was reaching down under the steering console. Bosch couldn’t see what he was trying to do, except he guessed he was maybe looking for a hidden set of boat keys.
    “Why are you full of shit?” McKittrick answered as he turned around. “I’ll tell you why. Because you come here flashing that bullshit badge around when we both know you don’t have a badge.”
    McKittrick was pointing a Beretta twenty-two at Bosch. It was small but it would do the job at this distance, and Bosch had to believe that McKittrick knew how to use it.
    “Jesus, man, what’s the problem with you?”
    “I had no problem until you showed up.”
    Bosch held his hands chest-high in a nonthreatening pose.
    “Just take it easy.”
    “You take it easy. Put your fucking hands down. I want to see that badge again. Take it out and toss it over here. Slowly.”
    Bosch complied, all the while trying to look around the docks without turning his head more than a few inches. He didn’t see anyone. He was alone. And unarmed. He threw the badge wallet down on the deck near McKittrick’s feet.
    “Now I want you to walk around the bridge to the bow up there. Stand against the bow rail where I can see you. I