Bosch

Uniformed personnel. Atten-huh!

Present arms!

- Honor guard. - Order! Arms!

Uniformed personnel. Order! Arms!

Honor guard. Forward! Arms!

Half right face!

Ready. Aim. Fire!

Aim. Fire!

Aim. Fire!

Honor guard. Atten-huh!

Half left face!

In memory of your son,

and on behalf of a grateful city,

and the Los Angeles Police Department.

Honor guard. Present arms!

Uniformed personnel. Present arms!

Thank you for coming, lieutenant.

Listen, just give me a call if there's anything I can do.

I'll see you later.

Arceneaux.

Sir, I'm very sorry about your loss.

And yours.

Sir?

He was your partner and your friend.

He was. Thank you.

Tell me what happened that night.

What the fuck happened that night?

Sir, I was told not to talk to you

or anyone else about it.

- You're IOD. - Yes, sir.

Injured on duty.

The shock of it, sir.

I guess we're all IOD.

Tell you somethin', though.

Sir.

You can't hide behind this bullshit forever.

Sooner or later you are going to tell me what happened to my son.

GPS data for Tony Allen's car.

You look at the night he was killed?

GPS shows location coordinates, right?

Also creates a marker every time the engine's turned on and off.

Okay.

That night, he stopped for two minutes up on Mulholland,

a mile and a half from where the car and body were found,

three from his house.

Time syncs with his last phone call.

- The one with Layla in Vegas. - Correct.

We have the murder scene.

That's what I'm thinking.

On his way home talkin' to his girlfriend.

He sees something. Hey, baby, gotta go.

Hangs up, pulls over, gets out. Pop, pop.

Two in the back of the head.

I'm thinkin' we should go up there

first thing tomorrow, take a look.

How far back did that go?

Beginning of the lease. Three years.

Mind if I take a look?

Yeah, knock yourself out.

Mrs. Allen.

Top of the mornin' to you.

Mr. Nash.

My lawyer called.

Should be on the probate docket any day.

- When, exactly? - Soon.

Just be patient.

Patience is my middle name.

Hmm.

I miss you.

It's too risky.

We gotta act like they're watching everything we do.

Are they?

If they're not, they will be.

Patience is not my middle name.

Don't I know that.

Have a wonderful day, ma'am.

And you, officer.

Irv. I thought I heard someone come in.

Greg.

Connie in the kitchen?

No, she's upstairs resting.

- How is she? - Better.

Better?

We thought she was having a panic attack earlier.

Couldn't catch her breath, hands were trembling,

said her heart was pounding.

Why didn't anyone call me?

She asked me not to.

Is she okay now?

She took something, calmed her down.

What brings you here?

To my own house?

You know what I mean.

I just came by to grab some things.

Fresh clothes.

Let me get you what you need.

Come on.

I'll be in and out, I won't disturb her.

She doesn't want to see you, Irv.

She was very clear about that.

- Hey. - Hey, Dad.

You gonna come with?

Uh, kimchi's not my thing.

Just try it, Mom.

Look, I did. Once. I'll never do it again.

I blew my nose the entire dinner.

It is not my idea of an elegant dining experience.

Your loss.

Give us a minute, Mads.

Whatever. I have to go to the bathroom, anyway.

Meet you in the break room.

Follow me.

So, what's goin' on?

Don't get your hopes up. Could just be a hunch.

Undercover FBI agent in the Marks organization

disappeared two years ago, Christmas Eve.

They assume Marks had him killed, buried in the desert,

but they've no idea where.

Okay.

We also found traces of old blood in the trunk of Allen's car.

- The agent's? - Maybe. They're working the DNA.

But today, we got the GPS data from that car

going back almost three years.

You think the GPS indicates where the body's buried?

Mm, that's my hunch.

Tony Allen was just a money launderer.

I don't see him as the hitter.

Maybe just the clean up guy?

Marks' cousin, someone he could trust to get rid of a dead body.

Mr. Wolf.

Who?

Harvey Keitel.

"Pulp Fiction." The clean up guy.

You know I don't go to the movies.

At least you know it is a movie.

That's something.

Of course I know it's a movie.

Anyway, tell Griffin about the blood in the car.

Give him the GPS data, let the Feds figure it out.

Even if it doesn't pan out, you've made the effort.

Could be helpful.

Hope so.

You hope so what?

That the traffic isn't too bad. You ready?

It's kind of early to eat, isn't it?

Oh, it's rush hour. By the time we get there, it won't be.

You'll be starving, screaming.

Have fun, you two.

- Bye, Mom. - See you.

Chief.

I need to talk to you.

Omni Hotel, suite 1530.

I'm about to have dinner with my daughter.

I can meet up with you afterwards.

Of course.

Have a nice dinner.

Thank you, sir.

You have to go to work?

Not before we eat.

It's open.

My son was working undercover for Internal Affairs.

Special Operations Division.

I had no idea.

No one did.

He was part of a team putting together a case

against a crew of corrupt vice and narcotics officers.

They'd been ripping off drug dealers, shaking down merchants.

And all of this?

At the moment, the RHD investigation into my son's death

is focused on possible gang retaliation.

Or that George did stumble into an armed robbery,

and his death had nothing to do with his undercover work.

Those both seem plausible.

No, he was found out.

And they murdered him.

Sir, I know one of the leads, Brad Coniff.

He's as good as it comes at his job.

I'm sure he is.

When he's allowed to do it.

But it's campaign season, Bosch.

Dirty cops killing a fellow officer.

Are you saying they'd cover this up?

The mayor and his police chief?

They'll do whatever they can to impede this investigation

until after the election.

And then they'll make sure it goes away quietly.

They'll cut deals with the guilty ones,

no trials, no headlines.

No blow back.

And no way to ever find out the truth.

Well, then, as much as it might make them uncomfortable,

there's no way they're gonna gut RHD's investigation.

I would in their position.

Done worse.

Chief, why am I here?

I want you to work the case.

With RHD?

With me.

I need you, Bosch.