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“Desert star,” Bosch said. “I know a guy, says they’re a sign of god in this fucked-up world. That they’re relentless and resilient against the heat and the cold, against everything that wants to stop them.”
Ballard nodded.
“Like you,” Bosch added.
Ballard looked at him. He said nothing else. It took her a moment to find her voice.
“Thank you, Harry,” she said. “For telling me the truth.”
They stood silently for a long moment before he spoke again.
“You know I’m not coming back to the unit, right?”
“Yes, I know.”
He opened the top of the wooden box and stepped closer to the rock sculptures. He reached in and took a handful of the gray dust. He held his hand out and let it fall through his fingers. He did it three more times and then he turned the box over and let the rest pour out, a gust of wind taking much of it away and across the land.
“Ashes to ashes,” he said. “Isn’t that what they say?”
He then closed the box, turned, and started walking back to the car.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Ballard followed.
They got in the car and drove off, back to the city.
