Bosch

Anything?

- Nothing. - 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.

We can tag her car with a tracker,

set up a six-unit tail.

We'll take care of the warrant.

- Full-court press. You tell

Mr. Anderson, his story is pure premature speculation.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

You should get one.

I'll just keep you close.

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.

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.

Overkill, but that'll do.

Go fuck yourself.

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.

Is Heather still in the car?

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.

Fuck.

Unit Four, red and brown

SUV coming your way.

It's Charlie Dax.

Eastbound, down the alley.

Charlie Dax.

Saw him last time I was here.

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.

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.

Copy.

We'll stay on her. Unit Four, go to position two.

North on Glade.

Reece, do you copy?

Go ahead. Your location?

Angel City Landscape on Terra Bella.

Do not approach subject.

Stay put.

Where's Heather Strout?

Still in the bar.

Backup will be to you in ten.

Stay put for backup, she said.

She didn't say where.

Respirators work with cesium?

You read the guidelines?

Yeah, I skimmed them.

Mask won't work, no.

Okay. You or me?

Charlie Dax?

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!

You have no authority over me.

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?

Heather Strout.

Fuck.

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?

Two dead detectives,

killed in the line of duty.