Bosch

Last season on Bosch...

Any airport out there reading this,

this is Detective Harry Bosch, LAPD.

- Time to jump, cop. - In-air incident.

One passenger dead.

One missing.

I am inbound to Whiteman Airport. Out.

Did you kill someone?

I did. They were trying to kill me.

How many people have you killed?

Why the hell would you ask a question like that?

His name is Gary Wise.

He was my C.I.

- This is not your fault, I. - It feels like it.

What happened?

I think someone saw him talking to Marcos and Arias.

Thing is...

I put 'em together.

Did you work the Skyler murder case?

Somebody in my office said they're investigating it.

No basis for it. It's bullshit.

I've never planted evidence. Never.

I believe you.

Clear, right? Wait!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Crate and Barrel.

This is the perfect opportunity to clear out the dead wood.

- We can't force 'em to retire. - No, but we can move them.

Where?

CAPs. Fucking CAPs. Jumped on cases.

Bunch of "he said, she said."

No. Fuck that!

I'll eat my gun first!

Charlie Hovan.

You under?

14 months.

- What's all the blue? - Districts where you're leading

in our preliminary polling.

You are aware police chiefs have not had much success

as mayoral candidates.

- Somebody's juking the stats. - I'll look into it.

- You really think it's gonna come to that? - What?

Blowing the whistle.

I got a text this morning from someone in the D.A.'s office.

Who's your source?

Now, you know I can't tell you that.

The matter before the court is withdrawn.

Detective Bosch, I wish you the best of luck, sir.

And you're welcome in my courtroom anytime.

Thank you, Your Honor.

Maybe Maddie could come intern

with me, see how the other half lives.

I know what you did.

What's going on? Boyfriend trouble?

- 'Cause I noticed a little tension. - It's not him.

It's you.

Me?

- What'd I do? - Nothing.

- You're just you. - Something curious

came up when we searched Gary Wise's apartment.

We found a Smith & Wesson nine mil,

confiscated in a drug bust.

- How'd it get back on the streets? - Mm. Good question.

It's got to be an inside job.

What did Gary have to do with these people?

Why'd they kill my son?

Your source... what's his name?

Jacques Avril.

Runs a chain of 7-Elevens in the South Bay.

- Does it ring a bell or...? - Ki sa?

- Are you who I think you are? - And who is that?

Jacques Avril, the Butcher of Petionville,

who murdered my mother's brother?

What was his name?

Antoine Hector.

Wasn't me.

That was my father.

Stolen weapons had to be an inside job.

Whoever did it, they're worried about exposure.

- Dirty cops. - Looks like.

Who?

I cut my teeth

trolling the streets of this great city.

A cop is who I am, who I always will be.

But I stand before you today

to announce that I am exploring a run

for mayor of Los Angeles.

- You think you can save me. - You all right?

Don't talk to me. Fuck off.

You think you're the only one that's ever tried.

She O.D.'d! Call 911!

I clocked the "rest in peace" tattoo.

Who's Daisy?

It's her daughter.

She was murdered.

About ten years ago. She was 14.

I'd get fucked up.

She'd get bored, run off.

Then one day,

she went off and, uh, didn't come back.

Police found her body.

But not her killer.

Alicia?

Pop the trunk.

Where is it?

Close by. Close by.

As soon as you let her go.

Fuck that.

I have to know she's safe.

Don't. Don't, don't, please.

Y-You need me!

Hey. You're here early.

Thought I'd get a jump on the day.

Daisy Clayton?

Yup.

How many times you been through those friggin' cards?

One more can't hurt.

Any news?

Not so far.

If you can bear to tear yourself away

from the distant dusty past, I have a live one for you.

Thought Vega and Pierce were up.

They are and they are on it, but they have

a "be there" subpoena on their body parts case.

Billet says you and Edgar need to take the lead.

- Okay. - All right.

Where the fuck are these mooks?

You got some place to be?

Harry.

We caught a case.

I thought Pierce and Vega were up.

Uh, they may have court later.

Text me the address.

See you when you get there.

- You got to go? - In a minute.

Bosch.

Remind you of anything?

The Overlook.

Remember her name?

The actress? No.

Linda Foster.

Tell me what you got so far.

Jogger called it in a couple hours ago.

Dr. Stanley Kent. 42.

Married to Alicia Kent, same address.

- Recovered his phone, too. - Good luck with that,

unless his wife knows his passcode.

My wife knows mine.

Your wife knows your password?

Absolutely. Your husband know yours?

- Seriously? - Crunch it anyway.

The Porsche?

Registered to a business.

K and K Medical Physicists.

What's a medical physicist?

Something heavy made these.

Hey, big dog.

Hey, Harry.

Still working the time of death.

Ballpark?

Eh...

midnight-ish, give or take.

Plastic rings?

No idea.

Like something you'd find in a box of Cracker Jacks.

I'll circle back with you on time of death.

Yep.

Shot twice, in the back of the head.

Fell forward, face first.

Abrasions, cheek, forehead.

No exit wounds.

Small caliber.

Forced to his knees, execution-style.

You guys do an emergency welfare check on the wife?

Not yet.

What's that, Potts, I.D. tag?

St. Agatha's. Flip it over.

Swipe card.

Okay, thanks, Potts.

Go to St. Ag's.

If Kent had an office there, lock it down.

Get a search warrant for everything:

Phone, e-mail, swipe card,

- the whole nine. - What about the wife?

I got it.

Hands up!

Turn around. Turn around.

Knees!

All right.

There you go. There you go.

No tefucking muevas.

Put your hands out. There you go.

There you go. There you go.

All right.

Turn them around.

There it is.

Hold these.

Stand up. Stand up.

Oh. Oh, what do we got here?

What do we got here? Oh.