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Ah.

Here you go.

Horace Tapscott.

Hmm.

Guessing...

saxophone?

Piano and
social justice.

Hm. Sounds
progressive.

Not exactly your
Blue Note groove.

I'm trying to find
something you might like.

I don't even have a turntable.

You know, when the
Central Avenue clubs closed,

Tapscott
formed the Pan African

People's Arkestra.
It single-handedly

kept the Leimert Park
music scene

alive for years.

Hmm.

My father listens
to jazz, Harry.

Me, I'm more Ozomatli
or Los Lobos. No offense.

I'm not your father,
and I dig Los Lobos.

- Hmm.
- No offense.

Excuse me.

The other woman?

Girl.

Keep telling yourself that.

Dinner was fantastic.

I got time to drive you home.

Opposite directions,
and it's late.

I have a crazy day
tomorrow.

You got a crazy day
every day.

Here's my Uber.

Go home to your girl.

Watch the right side.
Slow down. Slow down.

I want to-- I don't want
to drive like an old person.

Well, these hillside streets
can be a little tricky,

but you're doing great.

You're doing really great.

You were even later
last night.

- Eyes on the road.
- It was, like, 3 a.m.

I heard you come in.

Okay, so what, you wanna
put me on a curfew now?

Can I?

Focus on the next thing,
not what's in front of you.

The back of the turn,
not the beginning.

You know, Anita Benitez
does not have a Facebook page.

Yeah, well,
DAs deal with bad people.

They tend to keep
a low profile.

Eyes on the road,

Maddie.

Keep right. Keep right.

Hands at 10 and 2.

Perfect.

You're doing great.

You can relax now.

I love you, too.
See you tonight.

Oh, hey. Uh...

Harry, right?

Yeah.

Phil Gentry.

I was hoping
I'd run into you.

- Hey, Maddie.
- Hey.

So is Maddie
liking volleyball?

I hear she's
an absolute stud.

She's having fun.

Yeah, my Becca's the setter.

They're good friends.
She convinced her to try out.

You know, listen,
I just want you to know

that all the parents here,
we really admire what you do.

We've never had a--
a cop who was a dad before.

I mean--
I mean a dad who was a--

Something I can do for you?

Yeah, well, um...

I was maybe doing 50

on that stretch of Third

over by Larchmont,
but everybody does.

It's a 35 zone.

Yeah, and I back off,

but this motorcycle cop was
running this speed trap there,

and, uh...

and I was just wondering,

um...

Thank you.

Want you to take
the lead on this.

And remember,
it's a murder scene

until we prove it's not.

Landlord.

Victim is male,

50-ish...

white.

Jesus.

Looks like he landed
head first.

See but don't assume.

I.D.?

Rhodes is talking
to the landlord now.

Public easement--
easy access,

but screened
from the street.

Security camera
pointed the wrong way.

Yeah. What a surprise.

I'll go door-to-door.

- Officer Rhodes.
- Detective.

What fresh hell we got here?

Well, the vic lives
right upstairs.

And, uh...

looks to be
a straight shot.

Last name Gunn.

You told this asshole
you'd look out for him?

I didn't want
to go off on him

in front of Maddie
and her friends.

There. Taken care of.

You better warn Maddie
that her best friend's dad

is gonna have a warrant on
his ass in about 30 days.

- They're not best friends.
- Just saying.

That was possibly
the most useless autopsy

we've been to in a while.

When are you going to learn?

What the fuck
am I supposed to do?

Dress down on morgue days.
Dress like me.

- Bosch.
- Robertson.

We just rolled on a jumper,
and what do you know?

The guy's got a flag
on his rap: call Harry Bosch.

What's the name?

Gunn. Edward James.

Where is he?

His apartment.
It's on 42--

On our way.

What was that?

Summer of '08.

Victims were
two working girls

who used the same
escort website.

Killed
in a similar fashion--

abducted, tortured,

bodies dumped in alleys.

Seven years
we've been partners,

never once have you talked
about Edward Gunn.

Not a case
we worked together.

You've got him flagged,
Harry.

Anyway, we had Gunn
good for both murders

and possibly some others
we didn't even know about,

but O'Shea was getting
ready to run for DA.

Didn't have the balls
to file

because it wasn't
a 100% sure thing.

You've been keeping tabs
on a serial killer

- and didn't tell me.
- Never came up.

And the other night?

Gunn showed up in
the Rampart drunk tank.

I dropped by to see

if he wanted to clear
his conscience, confess.

He was dead drunk.

Went back the next morning,
he was gone.

- Somebody bailed him out.
- Who?

I do not know.

- Gentlemen.
- Hey.

Kid here thinks
it's a suicide.

There's a note.
And it looks like he downed

a heavy dose of liquid
courage to get up the nerve.

I keep telling him,
don't jump to conclusions.

Look small, find large.
Look large, find small.

- I'm partnered with Yoda.
- Hey, Yoda, my ass.

Why don't you give 'em a tour
so we can finish up here?

Is that a "murse"?

It's my homicide kit.
Don't give me shit.

My wife gave it to me
when I made rank.

Handsome.

Yeah, yeah.

What's your history
with this guy?

Case that got away.

That itch that can't
ever be scratched, eh?

I know the feeling.

Point of impact?

Kinda close
to the building, no?

Yep.

What's up?

Depleted quart
of Gentleman Jim.

There's your confession,
Harry.

"I'm sorry."

That's remorse,
not a confession.

Could've gotten drunk
and fell over the balcony.

That's what my partner says.

Pierce!

Now what?

Bosch?

Hey.

You see something else
you want to share?

No, I'm good.

Have fun.

Always.

Where are we on Meadows?

Autopsy confirmed his I.D.

and that he was a habitual
abuser of opioids.

Patrol's looking for the tagger
as a possible witness,

and I gotta write a warrant
for the storage bin.

How's Bosch?

He's pretty focused
on the Holland trial prep.

And you know how he gets.

Don't dance with me,
Jerry.

It's not what I meant
and you know it.

Come on, this O'Shea thing.

Harry's got a bulls-eye
on his back again.

I think he's
well aware of that.

I worry that he likes it
in his present mood.

What mood is that?

Cranky, cantankerous.

I can't speak to his moods.

You could.

I guess I have to respect
that you won't.

Detective, hey.

Found my shake
on that tagger.

Thomas Niese. Goes by
Sharkey on the street.

A long rap
of juvie hijinks.

Ah, great, Edge.
Thank you.

Hey.

Buy me a 40?

How old are you?

I got money.

Come on, buy me a 40.
We can take it and chill.

Don't touch that.

I said don't touch that.

Dude.

Hey. No, no,
not while I'm driving.

Really? That's what
you're worried about?

An open container?

Where are we going?

Make a right here.

Right up there
on the curb

behind the dumpster.

Here?

Yeah.

Can we do this
in the back?

Okay. Sure.

- Expensive car.
- Uh-huh.

Good taste.

- Oh! What the--
- Motherfucker!

Jesus Christ.
What the fuck is this?

Let's go, let's go.

Get a new flaptop,
motherfucker.

This one sucks.

Come on, let's go.

Mr. Holland,
open the door.

- I got my lawyer coming.
- Yeah, okay, good.

You break one fucking
thing in this house,

I'm suing you,

and I'm suing
the fucking LAPD.

Go ahead because
everyone else does.

Oh, that's
your idea of wit?

Yes, it is.

Hey, hey, buddy,
I'm telling you,

you put one scratch
on anything--

Don't worry Mr. Holland.
We'll be careful.

Shut-- Get that thing
out of my freaking face.

Okay. Lovely. There's that.

Tell me about this statement
from Mr. Holland, detective.

We were packed up.
Leaving. Camera was off.

I was last one out
because I needed

to give him a copy
of the search warrant,

and I did so at the door.

Mr. Fowkkes,
did you witness this?

No, I was on a, uh,
phone call, Your Honor,

- in another room.
- Mr. Holland asked me

if we had found
what we were looking for.

I said no, and,
as we walking outside,

he said,
"And you won't, either."

Sounds like he was
professing his innocence.

Those were his words,

but that wasn't
his tone of voice.

Tone of voice?
Your Honor, really?

Let him finish.
What was his tone?

Taunting. At that point,

Mr. Holland wasn't
officially a suspect,

so I took a wild shot.

I said,
"You did it, didn't you?"

He smiled and said, "And I'll
get away with it, too."

Your Honor, no one else heard
this alleged conversation

- except Detective Bosch.
- And that's not all.

- He said one more thing.
- Go on.

Mr. Holland
looked at me and said,

"I am a god in this town,
detective,

and you don't fuck
with the gods."

Preposterous.

Your Honor, Detective Bosch
has a long history

of investigative misconduct--

Your Honor, a defendant's
own voluntary

out-of-court statements
are a hearsay exception

and can be used
against him at trial.

She's right, Mr. Fowkkes.

Detective Bosch fabricated
this entire conversation.

And you're welcome
to attack the credibility
of the witness.

The jury will sort it out.
It's called a trial.

No, no, no, no, no.
Do not do the "unringing
the bell" trope.

No. Do not go there,
not in my court.

Your motion to suppress

the testimony
of Detective Bosch

is denied.

Death report on Gunn.

Be sure to tell Bosch
I omitted the part

where he fucked up the
crime scene with his prints.

No way.

On a glass
with whiskey in it.

Harry always gloves up.

Apparently, not always.

I saw him glove up,
Jimmy.

Lab don't lie, J. Edgar.

I should probably
tell Billets,

but, you know,
I'm not that kind of guy.

Robertson's write-up
on Gunn.

Pretty thin.
Guess an elephant hunter

doesn't want
to waste too much time

with small game.

Says you left prints
at the scene.

Robertson's full of shit.
Never happened.

Look at my screen, Harry.

It's not
just Jimmy saying it.

It's latent prints.

Ah, shit.

I took off my glove
to work my phone screen--

the picture I sent to O'Shea
of the suicide note.

I must have moved the glass
to get a clear shot.

Is he being all
self-righteous about this?

Yeah.

But he left it out of the
report, so there's that.

You headed back downtown?

Annabelle Crowe.
Dress rehearsal.

How's our Meadows warrant?

Oh. I'm on it. Almost done.

You're not writing a novel.

The jury's gonna wonder

why you waited a year
to call the police.

I was embarrassed, okay?

Andrew Holland is an important
person in my business.

Is that why you
didn't show the bruises
on your neck to anyone?

Why you erased
his voicemail message?

I just kept thinking,
like...

What if I had it wrong?
You know.

You hear
about Hollywood people,

weird sex, I don't know.

Maybe I was just
being a prude,

not chill enough about it.

Okay. Dinner, drinks, back
to Andrew Holland's house.

It all seemed
perfectly normal.

Yes.

We did some Molly,
fooled around.

Clothes came off.

- Consensual.
- Yeah.

But he didn't like me
touching him.

He wanted
to control everything.

After a while,
he moved behind me.

I felt his hands
around my neck.

He squeezed.

I couldn't breathe.

Did you tell him to stop?

I tried. I couldn't.

I couldn't speak.

I tried to get
out from under him,

but he was too strong.

And then he was--

he was moving inside me,

and it was all I could do
to just--

And then?

Nothing.

I blacked out.

I woke up alone in his bed
naked on top of the covers.

I could hear
the shower running.

I found my clothes
in a bag--

in a black plastic
garbage bag--

by the bedroom door.

My purse
had been emptied out.

I saw my phone,
but I couldn't find my keys.

I started to get dressed,
and I heard the shower stop.

I grabbed the whole bag,

and I ran out the door,
down the driveway,

through the front gate,
and...

I hid in the shadows
and got dressed.

And I walked until I
had cell phone reception

so I could call a cab.

And why not the police
right then?

He had already left me
a voicemail on my cell,

worried about where I'd gone,
saying I'd forgotten my keys,

and saying he was sorry

that things had gotten
carried away, and he--

he thought
I was really into it.

He just wanted
to satisfy me.

Did he explain
why he had to take a shower

after he'd choked you out?

What did you think
the garbage bag meant?

The empty purse?

I don't know.

He was getting rid
of the evidence.

He thought you were dead.

Bosch.

Let her tell it her way.

I tried to forget about it.

But when I read
about him being arrested

for the murder
of Donatella Spear,

I thought--

If I had said something,
she might still be alive.

No she wouldn't.

A guy like this...

keeps stretching
till he snaps.

You're just lucky
it wasn't you.

How'd he seem?

Bosch? Wound up.

Really anxious to talk
to that knucklehead.

Bosch said Gunn
was too drunk to talk.

Yeah, he was out.
I felt bad.

When I called him,
Gunn was conscious.

Otherwise, I wouldn't
have called him
at home at that hour.

You've called Bosch
on Gunn before?

Oh, yeah.

Going back at least three,
four times on my watch.

- J. Edgar.
- Hey.

Coroner ruled
Gunn's death a homicide.

Somebody held him
by the ankles

and dropped him on his head.

Congratulations.

Means I probably won't
be able to protect Harry

from his fuck-up
with the prints.

It's gonna come up.

No doubt.

Ladies.

Whoa. Good God, man,
don't drink that.

You out of your mind?

Ugh.

This is Crate's brew.

This shit tastes

like it's fashioned
from pencil shavings.

Gugh. Here.

Take that. Ugh.

All right, Jerry,

do not tell anyone.

Green Mountain Kenyan.

I have to hide it
from the hoi polloi.

Okay.

So that, my friend,

will set the world
right on its axis.

And your bowels
will thank me later.

Probably like that.

Yeah, but if you
turned it around--

if it was like this,
if this means anything...

Why do you keep
looking at that?

Gunn's now a murder.

Drop seemed odd.

You still worrying
over my prints, Jerry?

You're not?

How was Crowe?

I don't know.
There's something
she's holding back.

About Holland or herself?

Somewhere
in the intersection.

Benitez agree with you?

She thinks I'm hung up on
all the ones that got away.

Perceptive.

Fuck you.

All right.
Every police officer

brings different
needs and values--

values and perceptions
to the workplace.

So special--

Yes. Come in.

You got a minute,
Lieutenant?

Oh, sure. Come. Sit down.

Let me know
if Harry looks over

or starts to come in.

What's going on?

Hey.

You all right?

Why? Do I seem off?

A little more opaque
than the usual.

Sorry. I got a lot going on.

We both do.

Are we good?

Oh. I'm gonna take
another hard look

at Annabelle Crowe.

I never doubted you would.

Then we're good.

Shit.

That's what I keep saying.

Still, it doesn't
exactly add up

to Harry's come off the chain
and become an avenging angel.

He's been a different person

since he solved
his mom's murder.

Her killer got away with it.

Edward Gunn got away
with two, at least.

And Veronica Allen walked.

Harry's a lot of things,
but he is not a cold blooded--

I agree with you.
I agree.

But he's lying
about his prints

and I don't know
what else.

Shit.

Robertson
is a good detective.

A lot like Harry.

He's old school,
dogged.

- I know.
- I mean, ask yourself this,

right? If Harry
found your prints

- at the murder scene--
- Here he comes.

You see what I'm saying?

I do.

Come in.

Hey.

Gotta go pick up my daughter.

Okay. LT signed off
on the warrant,

so I'll swing by court
in the morning

and meet you at The Bin.

Okay. I'm out.

You have a good night.

Rick Jackson
was Harry's partner

on the original
Gunn investigation.

He works Pacific now.

Four years with Bosch
burned him out.

- He fled to the beach.
- Seriously,

we can compare scars.

You're gonna have to
work this sub-rosa.

Stay ahead of Robertson.

Find out what the fuck
is going on.

Hey, light?

Good night.

Good night. I'm tired.

Later, bro.

You were right.

Check it out.

It's like Gunn was
clawing at the opening

to keep from getting
taken through it.

Not on the wall by the door

leading out
where he went over.

- Because he--
- Where, presumably,

he'd be fighting even
harder to stay inside,

unless he couldn't.
What was his tox level?

Borderline.

Uh, I mean
.09 or something.

It's not likely
he passed out.

Yeah.

But he could have
been made to

between here and there.

You bring the murder book?

You learned carotid restraint
control at the Academy, right?

A pain in the ass
to get right.

You get it wrong,
it turns into a choke hold.

People die.
Some of the time,

we saw abrasion patterns
on suspects backs,

like this.

Think about the way
we brace the hold--

one arm around the neck,

the other one
across the back.

So you can
control the pressure
on the neck arteries

- with the angle of your arm.
- Mm-hmm.

Now, these half circles
are abrasions

caused by the bands
and bezels

of those chunky
chrono wristwatches

us O.G. cops
tend to favor.

A cop made Gunn pass out?

Then dragged him
to the balcony

and dropped him head first.

Not definitively.

Military teaches it,
mixed martial arts.

Anyone can find a how-to
on the internet.

Or a cop of a certain age.

Yeah.

My age.

Jesus.

Cross Los Angeles Street,

suddenly I'm in Calcutta.

Dark side of gentrification.

How much you wanna bet
those million-dollar lofts

got windows
facing the other way?

Patty, my partner
Harry Bosch.

Hi, Patty.
Sorry I'm late.

DWP is digging
random holes on Temple

trying to see how far back
they can hold things up.

You should get a traffic app
for your phone, detective.

Then we could watch
his head explode.

We go in here.

So, Patty,
how secure are these?

Well, they need ID to get in,

but we tell them
not to leave anything
too valuable.

They have to come back
every week

to renew.
And demand is high.

There's never enough.

Let's see, Meadows--
1901.

Oh, you're just in time.

We were about
to empty his bin

and give it
to somebody else.

There.

- Thank you.
- Mm-hmm.

Lieutenant Grace Billets?

Sir.

Hi. Grace Billets.

Oh.

Grace Billets.

Grace, have a seat,
please.

Thanks.

You want a water
or something?

Uh, no, thanks.

Okay, let's get to it.

We have 45 minutes,

so please be concise
as you can.

- I'll try.
- First off, an easy one.

Mm-hmm.

Briefly tell us about yourself

and why you think you should
be promoted to captain.

Well, my dad was a cop.

My uncle
worked Valley Division.

I was born here.

I grew up in this city,
and I still live here,

so I think that being
a legacy and a resident

gives me a pretty clear
perspective

on community policing.

A person's whole life

reduced to what fits
in a garbage can.

This his foot locker?

No.

That's a Pelican case.

That's what you use

when you get
out of the service,

not when you go in as a boot.

Hunting trophy.

There's a false bottom.

He did multiple tours--

Iraq...

Afghanistan.

Went back as a hired gun, too.

The girl?

They seem
so sure of themselves.

You have to be.

Because after that,
you're never so sure again.

I ever tell you how I got
rid of the tats on my hands?

No.

H-O-L-D.

F-A-S-T.

Hold fast. To what?

Life, brother.

Everything.

Anything you could grab on to
to keep from going under.

Shit, I was just a kid.

Saw it on tuna guys
down in Pedro.

Ex-Navy.

Some kind of sailor thing?

Yeah.

So anyways,
a couple years later,

I enlisted in the Army.

My sergeant at basic
saw it and flipped out.

Said there's no way
he was gonna have

a squid tattoo
on one of his soldiers,

so he makes me go out behind
the back of the barracks

and punch this
cinderblock wall

till my knuckles
were like hamburger.

When they scabbed over,

he made me go back out...

do it again...

and again.

That's crazy.

I was all in with it.

That's how sure we were.

Stress can be a huge factor.

Frustration with the slow
churn of justice.

But if you tell people exactly
what they need to do and why,

the majority
respond very positively

and often exceed
expectations.

Last question
is situational.

Mm-hmm.

A lieutenant under
your direct command

has had an inappropriate
sexual relationship

with one of her detectives.

This detective comes to you

and says that an unhappy
end to the affair

is now affecting her caseload
and her path to promotion.

How would you handle this?

Hey.

I've got so much math tonight.

How was practice?

Awesome.

I learned
how to hit a pipe.

Excuse me?

It's a back row attack.

Short set
behind the middle.

Totally fakes out
the blockers.

Oh, yeah, right.

Hey, when can I
drive this one?

As soon as you
get a badge.

Oh.

El Pollo Brasso
or In-N-Out?

Mom's worried I'm not
eating healthy with you.

Chicken is healthy.

I was thinking
a Double-Double
with animal fries.

Oh. In-N-Out.

All major food groups.

Just so you know--

That favor you did
for Becca's dad?

Yeah, what about it?

Completely changed the way
the cool girls treat me now.

How did they
treat you before?

Oh, you know:
new school, fresh meat.

Why didn't you
tell me that?

Never came up.

But anyways,
it's much better now.

You know, sometimes
it sucks to be a cop's kid,

and sometimes it rocks.

You know, Maddie,

it shouldn't matter
what the cool girls think.

Yeah, I know. It shouldn't.

He's my Inspector Javert,

relentless in his pursuit
of false justice.

The full weight of a corrupt
system brought to bear on me

by its woefully inept
agent provocateur.

Les Miz.

Sterling Hayden
in The Godfather.

Character name?

Captain McCluskey.

- Dudley Smith.
- L.A. Confidential.

He's your
Porfiry Petrovich.

Crime and Punishment.

Wrong.

Raskolnikov was
guilty of that crime,

not unjustly accused.

It's so unfair.

That's what makes it
so compelling.

The blameless protagonist--

yours truly--

swept up
in a pulp-novel fiction

spun by this self-appointed
accuser and executioner.

But he will get his hard
reversal in the final act,

when all mysteries
are revealed.

Son of a whore.

Come on.

Literally.

His mother was killed
by one of her clients.

Vengeance boils
in Harry Bosch's blood.

It all gives me
the chills.

But like any good villain,
Bosch sees this world

through the narrow filter
of his broken childhood.

He wants to save his mother.

He wants to punish
her killer.

He sees in me all
the things that roil him:

success and sexuality

and-- and a healthy disregard
for his tenuous authority.

Are you thinking this
could be your next film?

It's so trope-y.
Who'd believe it?

I would.

I don't think it's trope-y.

You just want to be in it.

As long as I don't
have to fuck the cop.

Nah.

He fucks himself.

Beware, beware.

God sees.

Harry.

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