(indistinct chatter)
MAXWELL: Anything?
-EDGAR: Nothing. -MAXWELL: Lobby cams?
Phony. Just for show.
Coroner ballparks Craver's death 36 hours ago, roughly.
Day and a half.
Day and a half ago, Waylon Strout was in handcuffs.
His brother was in a body bag.
Before he put himself in that bag,
Travis Strout was on his way from somewhere, maybe here.
From here to Northridge?
Three Oh Eights make Craver for a snitch.
Travis Strout kills him.
Why he got so froggy when we saw him at the house.
Timeline's tight.
Heather Strout's lawyered up.
We got to charge her or let her go.
-Kick her loose. -Cesium's still out there.
She maybe knows who's got it, she'll make contact.
EDGAR: We can tag her car with a tracker,
set up a six-unit tail.
We'll take care of the warrant.
-Full-court press. -IRVING: You tell
Mr. Anderson, his story is pure premature speculation.
(footsteps approaching)
The Times?
Laura Cooke.
Relentless.
How much longer do you think you can keep this thing secret?
Another day or two, if we're lucky.
(sighs)
I wish you'd stayed in Oakland.
Didn't feel right-- me there, you here.
Well...
when this is over...
Yes. I told you.
You sure?
I am. Sounds perfect.
Once your city is safe.
My city?
Yes, Irv. Your city.
(sighs)
(helicopter blades whirring)
♪ ♪
-♪ I got a feeling that I can't let go ♪ -♪ Can't let go ♪
♪ I got a feeling that I can't let go ♪
-♪ I got a feeling that I can't let go ♪ -♪ Can't let go ♪
-♪ I got a feeling that I can't let go ♪
-♪ Can't let go, can't let go ♪
♪ Got a feeling that I can't let go ♪
-♪ I got a feeling that I can't let go ♪ -♪ Can't let go, can't let go ♪
♪ Can't let go ♪
♪ ♪
♪ Like me. ♪
(helicopter blades whirring)
BRENNER: Every passing hour,
the odds of a dirty bomb detonating
in the Greater Los Angeles Area escalate.
We're on countywide tactical alert.
Teams 12 on, 12 off.
LAPD is coordinating
with the sheriff's and FBI on suspicious packages or objects.
(whispering): Shouldn't your detectives be here?
Working a case.
I thought we got Kent's killer.
That sovereign citizen
-whackjob. -New body dropped last night.
-Related? -It's too early to say.
BRENNER: First pass grid search
has covered 80% of L.A. County.
It's always that last 20% that kills you.
What are you, James Bond?
Personal protection device.
Ordered this baby online.
Top shelf.
They gave us those nifty plastic rings.
You think I'm gonna trust one of those janky bubble gum sensors?
(laughs) You should get one.
I'll just keep you close.
(chuckles) If I start to beep, run.
Red dots indicate targets from the map in the suspect's home.
Blue dots are federal buildings,
and yellow, notable tourist sites.
Fuck me.
That's a shitload of targets.
Yes, Your Honor, it is.
I sure as hell don't want my legacy to be another 9/11.
Here she comes.
You have a place to stay?
If I can just go home and get some clothes?
Make a list. Someone'll bring it to you.
I don't want some stranger going through my things.
Little late for that. Sign here.
(scoffs)
I want to see Travis.
Sorry. It's not possible.
We told the coroner where you wanted the body sent.
How can you be so cruel?
Get your car registered, officially,
or LAPD will impound it.
We're gonna need a real signature.
(car horn honking)
Overkill, but that'll do.
Go fuck yourself.
(engine starts)
-(engine starts) -Let's roll.
You're right. It should be in the summary, and it's not.
My dad lets me read his case summaries.
He always says, "Look for what's not there."
Wise man, your dad.
It's a good catch, Maddie.
Thanks.
Why didn't you take this to Miller?
I did.
BOSCH (over radio): Is Heather still in the car?
REECE: Yeah.
Agent on site reports half a dozen customers inside,
no one known to us.
Copy that. Standing by.
Anything new on your dirty cops?
Charlie Hovan called me.
He's been chasing some Jamaican drug dealers...
who've had a couple of detectives on payroll for years.
Marcos and Arias? How's he know?
-He's got a C.I. in with the Jakes. -No shit?
Wife's got company.
(phone whooshes)
Fuck.
REECE: Unit Four, red and brown
SUV coming your way.
BOSCH: It's Charlie Dax.
Eastbound, down the alley.
Charlie Dax.
Saw him last time I was here.
REECE: Bosch, red and brown SUV.
We've got eyes on it. Parked at the back door.
Possible I.D. of driver: Charlie Dax.
Copy that.
Heather Strout's going inside.
(engine starts)
BOSCH: She's out.
Fuck. Is that a gun?
Sorry to hear about Travis.
He made his stand.
He's a hero.
God asks us to let go of things
in order to make space.
For better days.
-And we prepare. -And we prepare.
She's headed back inside.
We're gonna follow the SUV.
(engine starts)
REECE: Copy.
We'll stay on her. Unit Four, go to position two.
North on Glade.
♪ ♪
(brakes squeaking)
Reece, do you copy?
Go ahead. Your location?
Angel City Landscape on Terra Bella.
REECE: Do not approach subject.
Stay put.
Where's Heather Strout?
REECE: Still in the bar.
Backup will be to you in ten.
Stay put for backup, she said.
She didn't say where.
♪ ♪
(squeaking)
Respirators work with cesium?
You read the guidelines?
Yeah, I skimmed them.
Mask won't work, no.
(birds chirping)
Okay. You or me?
Charlie Dax?
♪ ♪
-(engine starts) -Shit.
♪ ♪
He's headed southwest.
♪ ♪
Freeze! Let me see your hands!
Don't shoot.
LAPD!
Get on your knees.
Get down.
This is bullshit.
You have no authority over me. None!
(indistinct radio chatter)
DAX: You have no authority over me.
EDGAR: Yet here you are in handcuffs.
Keep telling yourself that, brother.
I'm not your brother.
This is an illegal, illegitimate arrest.
You're a free inhabitant.
A minute?
So, let's talk freely.
-Freely? -Yeah, freely.
Why the fuck'd you run?
After you guys killed Travis?
I saw him, thought, "Fuck, I'm next."
You gave your sister-in-law a gun.
Who?
(exhales) Heather Strout.
(whispers): Fuck.
(scoffs softly) Yep.
We know a lot about all of you.
You jackboots murdered her husband.
Left her at the mercy of the Federales.
Mr. Dax has a gun dealer's license.
Shouldn't need one, this were a free country.
No rap sheet.
-Also fucking correct. -Mm. Till now.
Illegal transfer of a weapon.
Resisting arrest. Assaulting a federal agent.
-This is bullshit. -And COINTEL
wants a word with him.
You're a witness.
Don't let them take me.
This is an illegal arrest!
A fucking rendition!
Where is it, huh? Where's the cesium?!
-Huh? -Don't let them do this, man!
Walk away, Cliff.
You're not gonna get anything out of him.
-Let me take a crack at him. -Sorry, no can do.
-Protocol. -See you back at the house.
-Later. -Okay, so where to?
How'd I get so lucky?
COOKE: Two dead detectives,
killed in the line of duty.
Hero cops... who turn out to be dirty.
Allegedly.
Quite a story.
All yours.
Why me?
-I trust you to be objective. -Save your spin.
Scott Anderson is working on a story
about a murder which hasn't been made public yet,
that could be connected to the shoot-out with the sovereigns.
Off the record?
We have a credible threat to public safety.
An inaccurate Times article
will only exacerbate the situation.
On the record?
I want to find the killers of my detectives.
And you can run with what I've given you.
Enlist the public's help.
So I can quote you?
You can quote a highly placed,
-unnamed source at PAB. -You said "on the record."
You said "on the record."
(scoffs softly)
In return?
An exclusive follow-up.
With I.A.
(exhales)
Do we have a deal?
I'll break the bad news to Scott.
-Got it. Thanks. -(engine turns off)
REECE: House belongs to a woman named
Louise Hansen.
Sovereign?
Fellow traveler.
REECE: I don't get these folks.
True believers.
They're dangerous.
Wonder what it's like to see the world that way.
Have a... theory that explains everything.
Can't imagine. Must be nice.
Yeah, me, either.
So Eleanor Wish was your ex?
She was.
Ever cross paths?
Just... heard the stories.
True stories or the company line?
(chuckles softly)
Both.
I'm sorry.
For what happened to her.
As am I.
Some things can't be explained.
You look like shit, man.
I haven't been home, couple of days.
So...
I.A. closing in.
And before Marcos and Arias can be arrested? Bang, bang.
Take 'em off the board.
They would have flipped.
Jacques Avril.
(sighs): Can't prove it...
but I know it in my bones.
Marcos and Arias shoot your C.I.?
Couple Jamaicans.
That work for Jacques Avril.
Can you talk to your Jamaican C.I.?
You know how that is.
They only confirm what you already know.
If I knew for a fact, I wouldn't be asking.
(sighs) I don't mind the sofa.
Oh, stay as long as you need.
-Thanks. -Yeah.
Um, Bobby set that up.
-Smart kid. -Mm-hmm.
When the true story of this time is written,
Travis'll go down as a martyr of the movement.
Hmm.
(car approaching)
(tapping keyboard)
(helicopter approaching)
(helicopter blades whirring in distance)
Dad?
Oh.
(groans)
Morning.
(whispers): Shit.
What time is it?
6:30.
Kind of early for work.
There's a lot to do.
You gonna tell me what's going on?
Did you tell Chandler about that shady plea deal?
-She seemed pleased. -Good.
Job suits you.
You're a grinder like your mama.
Like you, you mean.
Like both of us.
(whispers): Dad.
Okay.
A week ago, a doctor was murdered,
and radioactive material
was stolen from a hospital.
Why?
Domestic terrorism.
Dirty bomb, maybe.
Nothing good.
Trying to find the killers
and the missing nuclear material.
God.
You are gonna find them.
We will.
Well, then I'm going to work.
Not gonna let the terrorists win.
What we said after 9/11.
And you were right.
Nothing big like that has happened since.
Not yet.
Be careful.
Always.
And Mads?
Between us, yeah?
Of course.
Love you.
(door closes)
Oh, Pierce and Vega have been busy.
Kent's phone records.
Office, home, cell.
(exhales) Patrol just called in a body.
Wilcox and Franklin. Weird burns and blisters.
Buy us 30 minutes with the Feds before they send the circus in?
I'll try.
He looks fried.
Like he fell in a vat of hot grease.
Check his torso.
You got a pen?
Jesus.
I.D.?
Alberto Gonzalves.
Mexican transit paper. Country of origin, El Salvador.
Long way from there to here.
He walked every mile of it.
Rodriguez, see if you can track down any family,
here or in El Salvador. Clear the area.
DOE and FBI hazmat's gonna be here any minute.
Yes, sir.
That thing busted?
(chuckles softly)
You should really read the stuff they send us.
Unless we're talking Chernobyl,
a dead body does not emit radiation.
Hollywood Recycling.
I haven't seen Alberto since the day before yesterday.
I've been worried.
He's here every day.
Where does he live?
Broke down VW Vanagon. Two-tone blue.
My first boyfriend had one.
Perfect for drive-in movies.
Broke down where?
Up the hill, off Outpost.
Near the reservoir.
Within walking distance.
Thank you.
You're welcome.
♪ ♪
There it is.
♪ ♪
(radiation detector beeping)
(beeping quickens)
Back it up, Harry.
(beeping slows)
(line ringing)
Reece, we found the cesium.
Further.
REECE: This sector was the first one cleared.
He must've found the pig and opened it after that.
We got lucky.
Could have been a lot worse.
What're they looking for?
Trace radiation.
The fuck didn't you call us
-soon as you found the body? -BOSCH: Had a lead.
Wanted to find the cesium
before another citizen tripped over it.
A sovereign?
Immigrant. Undocumented.
Nothing to do with the murder of Stanley Kent?
EDGAR: Stumbled across something
that looked valuable, brought it home.
All right. We'll take it from here.
You and Edgar need to go to the hospital. Now.
Fuck that. We're fine.
It's not negotiable.
The lenient sentence was appropriate.
He's a petty criminal.
CHANDLER: A career petty criminal.
And this was felony possession. Looking at serious time.
And what he got was a slap on the wrist,
reduced by time served to ten months.
My client had information on an unrelated murder
the people were anxious
-to close. -Your plea deal
was never disclosed to Dante Crow's attorney.
The court acknowledged it. Wasn't our responsibility.
Where are you going with this?
CHANDLER: The D.A. makes
a lenient plea bargain with your client,
the key witness against Dante Crow,
and then withholds that information
-from Crow's attorney. -(phone vibrates)
It goes where it goes.
Yes, I'm sure that it does.
Are you okay?
Will you excuse me?
Uh, sure.
WOMAN (over P.A.): Dr. Rothman to Radiology.
(indistinct chatter)
The sign says radiation.
Got the all clear. I'm just waiting on the nurse.
(sighs) I brought you clothes.
I kind of dig this.
Are you okay?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Doc says I'd get more radiation flying
-to New York City. -Can I hug you?
(chuckles) Yeah, of course. Of course.
Oh, no.
Now you're gonna glow in the dark.
Funny. Not.
Seriously, you okay?
Yeah. I'm gonna kind of miss my old boots, though.
What about Jerry?
(chuckles): Jerry.
Jerry's pissed. He's-he's really pissed.
They made him pitch his three-piece suit and a pair
of $400 To Boot New York dress shoes, so...
So...
you found it?
We found it.
(indistinct chatter)
(chatter continues)
(siren wailing in distance)
That for us?
Everything we got.
Pad out your murder book.
BOSCH: Murder books, plural.
Kent and Craver, both still open.
-Travis Strout killed Kent. -We don't know that yet.
Most likely Craver, too, but hey,
you want to chase your tails?
Have at it. Big picture?
Cesium's recovered.
Terrorist cell's busted.
Catastrophe averted.
Another victory in the war on terror.
Thanks.
The Strouts go to all that trouble for the cesium,
and then just drop it on the side of the road?
Maybe they didn't have it.
What if Kent hid the pig
on his way to the Overlook?
-Why would he do that? -Insurance.
Afraid they wouldn't let his wife go
once they got their hands on it.
He won't give it up, they dump him.
Why kill Kent, but not his wife?
Like I said, shit went sideways at the Overlook.
The wife is a loose end.
They'd circle back for her regardless.
Unless cesium wasn't the objective.
So, they just tossed it?
Never even had it.
(phone vibrating)
Never date cops-- that's my rule.
-Which you've broken how many times? -Never.
(chuckles) So...
aside from the Strouts, who'd want Stanley Kent dead?
Back to basics.
Where we should have started.
Who benefits?
(clears throat)
-Yo, Harry. -Yeah?
I am sending a boot out for some civilized caffeine.
I cannot stomach another ounce of this K-cup acid.
I could use one. Thanks, Mank.
Yeah.
Uh, where's your partner? Should I get him one, too?
No, he is gone for the day. Hot date.
-Bennett? -He thinks nobody knows.
I have a rule.
Never date cops.
Only date cops.
Who else is gonna put up with this shit?
Is this another all-nighter?
Long as it takes.
All right, I'll make it a double.
Thanks, brother.
(engine turns off)
(door opens, closes)
Ah, cheri.
Oh.
Hi.
I got your note.
I'll make kafe.
Bon kafe sor Ayiti.
-Okay. -Mm-hmm.
People don't know.
Who the man is.
What he's done.
We know.
In the community.
Outsiders, they don't.
If they do, they don't care.
Past is forgotten.
I can't touch Jacques Avril unless he breaks the law here.
Devan pot tounen dèyè kay.
The front door becomes the back of the house?
Things can change.
The mighty can fall.
The wicked will be punished.
Espere sa.
I hope so.
Mm-hmm.
(tapping keyboard)
♪ ♪
(line ringing)
MAN: Langworthy Investigations.
Mr. Langworthy, Detective Harry Bosch, LAPD.
EDGAR: Marcos and Arias.
Your crew do business with them?
WINSTON: Not I, personally.
What do you hear about who killed them?
Nothing.
Nobody talking.
Nobody surprise.
Crooked cops, man.
Chickens come home for roost.
You do business with a man named Jacques Avril?
Tell him.
Fluff and fold.
Him wash all my cash.
What else?
Haitian.
Owns a convenience store.
And a nightclub.
I've seen you there.
With Marcos and Arias.
Strictly social thing, that version.
Hmm.
You know this man?
No, sir.
Gary Wise.
He was a friend of mine.
Killed in a drive-by.
Marcos and Arias set it up.
First I hear of that.
Hmm.
The shooters were Jamaicans.
Working for Jacques Avril.
Wouldn't know.
Me no work for Avril.
Work for me.
I think it's time I met him.
Yeah, I'll try a thing.
See what me can do.
Thought she was stepping out on him.
Trailed her for two months and nothing.
This is all I got-- photos,
daily routine, phone bills.
-BOSCH: Is this the Ace Hotel? -Yeah.
Uh, waiting for somebody who never showed up.
-When'd Kent hire you? -Last spring.
Uh, there's some, uh, late-night calls
to a burner that, uh, caught my eye.
BOSCH: How'd you know it was a burner?
Well, pre-paid number. You know,
looked up the subscriber. Fake name.
Think she was having an affair?
Couldn't prove it.
Told him, you know, be happy I couldn't.
-Forgive and forget. -Think it was over?
No.
But I couldn't keep taking his money and coming up empty.
Honest man.
Yeah.
Ask you a question?
-Yeah. -Was she having an affair?
I haven't ruled it out.
Hmm. She have something to do with it?
What's her motive?
Love or money.
Or both.
-Yeah, usually. -Yeah, usually.
(door opens)
-Hey. -Hey.
-(door closes) -I wake you?
I was reading.
You hear that?
What?
I don't hear anything.
Silence.
They're gone.
The helicopters are gone.
For the moment.
♪ ♪