(crickets chirping)
(indistinct police radio chatter)
(phones ringing)
Could've waited till morning.
No, it couldn't.
What'd she shoplift?
Perfume.
She's in here.
I didn't take anything from that fucking store.
You're not being charged.
So can I go?
Tell me about the compound.
They flew you south, Imperial Valley?
I could really use a bump.
Soon as we're done here, the doctor'll give you something.
Suboxone?
Shit, I might as well snort a Splenda.
You see anything from the plane? Any landmarks?
(exhales)
It's a shithole.
In the middle of nowhere.
Mountains? Desert?
Desert.
There was a... stretch of water as we were coming down.
Like a lake?
I guess.
After you landed?
-They drove us up into the hills. -How long a drive?
Who knows? It felt like forever.
The compound... how many shills?
-Couple of dozen, maybe. -The guys running it?
Five or six.
Armed?
Oh, yeah.
(exhales) What'd it look like?
Broke-down cars...
tents...
an old bus... a double-wide.
-Double-wide? -Clubhouse.
Where they drink, play cards.
And where you could fuck your way to extra Oxy.
If you were so inclined.
Anything else?
-(exhales) -Close your eyes.
Sometimes it helps bring back an image.
Mm.
Sorry, I...
That's all I got.
(exhales)
Try again.
(dog barking)
God, it stinks in here.
Rise and shine, assholes.
Come on.
Early start today.
-(men groaning) -CARTER: Wakey, wakey!
Get the fuck up.
(whispering): Oh, fuck.
I thought I dreamed you.
Still here.
I remembered something.
We were driving past...
this trippy concrete mountain.
Bright colors...
stripes...
Jesus slogans.
"God is love."
There's a big-ass cross on the top.
We'll check it out.
Maybe I dreamed it.
(engine idling)
(animal chitters)
Reilly, grab your shit.
End of the line.
-What's this? -You're going home.
(van doors close)
(engine starts)
♪ ♪
♪ 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 ♪ -♪ I 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 ♪ -♪ I got a feeling ♪
♪ That I can't let go ♪
♪ Can't let go ♪
♪ Like me. ♪
(engines powering up)
(seat belt squeaks)
(engine roaring)
CLAYTON: That's it.
Salvation Mountain?
-Salvation Mountain. -(exhales)
South of the Salton Sea.
-Is that the lake? -It is.
I have a call into the DEA for sat photos.
Hopefully you'll be able to pick out the compound.
Okay.
(horns honking)
I'm not falling on my sword over this.
You sound so blasé.
(scoffs)
It's juking the stats.
Not uncommon.
What? I don't condone it.
I... I do what I can.
It's not the way the criminal justice system
is supposed to work.
Welcome to the real world.
Oh, God. I am late.
(groans)
(whispering): Oh, my God.
You okay?
It's not true, you know.
Okay.
I'm sorry about the party.
Yeah, I, uh...
Look, I hope nothing happened that...
-made you want to leave. -No.
No.
I should have said goodbye when I left.
That was rude.
I had fun.
Until you didn't.
Thanks for inviting me.
Well, I'll, uh... I'll see you later.
(sighs)
(line ringing)
BOSCH (on recording): This is Bosch. Leave a message.
(beep)
Dad.
Where are you?
(engine rumbling)
(propellers whirring)
(engine roaring)
(speaks indistinctly)
Tell me this is bullshit.
Fucking cop.
Time to jump, cop.
Unbuckle your belt.
No fucking way!
Get the fuck up!
(grunting)
(screaming)
Kill me, you kill yourself.
I'm a fucking cop, asshole.
Take us back to L.A.
Any airport out-out there reading this?
MAN (over radio): This is Imperial County Airport.
Go ahead.
This is Detective Harry Bosch, LAPD,
badge number 2-niner-niner-7.
In-air incident, one passenger dead, one missing, Salton Sea.
Contact Hollywood Division watch command,
advise, I am inbound to Whiteman Airport. Out.
EDGAR (over phone): DEA came through with sat photos.
Okay, you sure it's the place?
You can see the compound clear as day.
(sighs) I got to tell the brass, J. Edgar.
Admit we fucked up.
Well-- before you pull that trigger, let me get down there,
coordinate with the locals.
I can't keep it secret any longer.
We need full resources on this now.
But we don't know if Harry's compromised.
Yeah, we don't know anything. That's my point.
EDGAR: L.T.
Look, time's up. I'm sorry.
Hang on.
Um, air traffic just called.
Seems Detective Harry Bosch is on a plane
incoming to Whiteman Airport,
requesting units and a supervisor.
Okay, forget what I just said. Uh, Harry is on his way in.
Meet me at Whiteman Airport.
Roger that.
Thanks, Mank.
You know what? Um...
Keep this under your hat until further notice.
Keep...
MAN: I don't know, I don't know. They'll be here
-in half an hour. -Fuck me.
How much longer?
At least two more trips. Why?
Our guy at Whiteman just called. Twin Otter's on approach.
One passenger dead, another tossed into the sea.
What the fuck happened?
I don't fucking know.
But the fucking cop called it in.
We got to move.
-Now? -We just gonna leave all this shit?
We're gonna do what we have to.
Everything we've been working for?
Surviving this, that's everything.
(engine starts)
-Detective Edgar. -Agent Hovan, Lieutenant Billets.
Now you're interested.
Fentanyl. The magic word.
(sirens wailing)
BOSCH: Get out.
I searched.
We need to clear the plane. Anyone else inside?
Nobody alive.
Harry.
BILLETS: You okay?
Got to wash my hands.
Blips and squirrel shit, right?
Mea culpa.
Would love to debrief.
Yeah, well, he's got to do his walkthrough with FID first.
I can wait. I'll get my people out here, talk to the pilot,
go through the plane.
Soon as you're able.
Tell FID I need a few minutes.
Call I got to make.
You got it.
Judgment call.
I would've done the same.
Thanks, brother.
(phone ringing)
Dad, are you okay?
-Where are you? -I'm fine.
Sorry, I didn't have a phone.
For two days? I thought...
What happened?
Lot to explain. Talk tonight?
Mads? Mads?
Did you bust the bad guys?
I did.
Then I guess it was worth it.
Yeah.
Tell you the whole story tonight.
I got to go.
I...
Spencer is in the wind.
Not surprising.
House is empty, cars are gone.
Work?
Called in sick for the last two days.
So did his wife.
They'll keep him incommunicado until the hearing's over.
If they stashed him, he could be anywhere.
He's somewhere the Cronyns control.
Flying let them dip in and out.
Kept the Russians at arm's length.
The Armenians, too.
And you.
And us. We had no idea.
They were talking about moving their operations to Glamis.
Getting out of the pill shill racket.
Fentanyl's where the money's at now.
-Catch anybody at that camp? -No.
But they left all their fixings behind.
That's gonna hurt.
I'm sure they're not too happy about that.
Did you catch a bead on the head man?
Called him Walsh.
English accent.
Pilot, I think.
Said he flew black ops back in the day.
Central America.
You know him?
There's a CIA contract guy, a Brit.
Flew arms to the Contras.
Then the cartels hired him in the mid-'90s, went rogue.
Killed one of El Chapo's lieutenants,
-took over his routes. -Ambitious.
Suicidal.
No one's seen Walsh in years.
We figured he got popped.
Nah. He's walking upright.
But when you do find him,
I want a piece.
(door closes)
-Hey. -Hey, yourself.
Hey. How's Bosch?
Safe. So, ballistics back?
Hart's gun didn't match either pharmacy weapon.
-Shit. -But DNA from one of the ski masks does.
Well, get back up there, lock Hart into a statement.
Well, he's not talking but he hasn't lawyered up either.
All right, be persuasive.
Crate.
Passing the hat for a surprise going-away soiree
for my erstwhile partner.
Ooh. What, big blowout at the academy?
Boardner's. Friends and family.
Okay, so, what, like, 20, 30 bucks?
Uh, I was thinking more like a C-note.
(sighs) A hundred?
On account of you stuck us in CAPs.
Thank you.
They had a previous encounter.
What kind of encounter?
A run-in. It's documented.
Body cam.
That could tip the scales.
Look, if you don't file,
you'll take some short-term heat from the activists, to be sure.
But they're not going to abandon you.
And in the future, you'll benefit.
How so?
From your reputation as a fair and a measured advocate
for the people of Los Angeles.
And those people include cops.
(door opens)
(door closes)
(phone ringing)
Yeah?
Where have you been?
Working my pharmacy homicide.
Did you know Anderson was chasing this down?
That's why I've been trying to get in touch with you.
That hatchet job blew my cover.
Almost cost me my fucking life.
Well, I'm glad you're all right.
Was it Cronyn that tipped him?
Well, if it was, it backfired. Works in our favor.
I'm gonna need you to explain that to me, Counselor,
'cause from where I sit,
their plan to destroy my life is a rip-roaring success.
The piece goes right to your reputation.
Now I can argue you deserve your day in court
to answer these allegations.
We have standing?
CHANDLER: We will.
Practice your outrage.
I don't need to practice.
Uh, did you get my messages about Spencer?
Can we prove the Cronyns leveraged him?
Well, first we have to find the man.
Hector's running down all the Cronyns' properties.
Then we need to convince him to testify
and explain how Olmer's DNA came to be on the handkerchief.
Yeah, I'll have to get back to you on that.
Bosch.
BOSCH: Yeah.
The part about you almost getting killed.
Hyperbole, I hope?
Listen, I'm at home now, so...
I'm sure your daughter's relieved.
Go be with her. Good night.
To your golden years.
Stick it in your ear.
(chuckling)
Salud.
So, tell me, what are you gonna do in your dotage?
Why do I have to do anything?
Oh, you know. Fixed income. Alimony for three ex-wives.
Unfortunate time-share situation in Corpus Christi.
(grumbles) Hurricane fucking Harvey.
I've just seen guys go down this road. You know?
A few months of carefree fishing and bowling.
Puttering around the house. Sleeping late.
Siestas in the Barcalounger.
And then, suddenly, whew, reality dawns.
Panic ensues.
-(chuckles) Part-time job? -You guys good over here?
Fuck that, I am not wearing a blue vest at Walmart.
Oh, no, heaven forfend, no.
Crossing guard.
You're just a bright bowl of optimism, Mank.
I'm sure you've done the math.
Britney. Uno mas.
You're late.
You okay?
Waited up for you.
I had plans.
Yeah, well, we said we were gonna talk.
It's late. I'm going to bed.
Look, Mads, I'm sorry I worried you. I am.
I hate like hell that I did.
I wanted to call, but I couldn't.
I couldn't risk it.
I understand.
Is that from a fight?
Yeah.
Did you kill someone?
I did.
They were trying to kill me.
Gave me no choice.
How many people have you killed?
Why the hell would you ask a question like that?
Because that's how many times I've almost lost you.
So, what's happening with your case?
Last-minute plea bargain.
Tribe thought some of the jurors were iffy
about the-the gun, so...
How long?
Eight years.
Doesn't seem like enough.
He's going to prison. She gets some justice.
That's all you can hope for, sometimes.
That's what everyone keeps saying.
And you changed the subject.
(ice clinking)
(sighs)
(indistinct chatter)
Sir.
Chief.
Captain Cooper. Sit.
I got a call last night from the Imperial Valley Sheriff.
Chief, if I could put this into some context...
There will be, down the road, a formal inquiry into
Detectives Bosch and Edgar's misadventures in the desert.
But this isn't it.
Tell me where we are now.
Well, we have one of the pharmacy killers
in custody in Bakersfield.
And we're dredging the Salton Sea for the other.
And Bosch?
Pilot corroborates his version of the events, sir.
So far, FID sees nothing out of policy.
Except how he happened to be on that plane to begin with.
There's that.
And Garcia Clinic and the pill mill operation?
-Closed down. -COOPER: DEA has jurisdiction.
Our people will shadow.
Okay.
So let's talk about who knew what, when.
Okay, Bosch and Edgar made a field decision
to pursue homicide suspects into the desert.
Failing to notify the local authorities.
They were waiting to see which locals would be impacted.
-But they did have a time frame. -Which was?
When it became clear that Bosch was late reporting,
Edgar called me.
And before I could inform my captain, Bosch called in.
He was safe and on his way back.
Captain?
It's all accurate, sir.
-They'll both get days. -They're expecting that.
Now... quit the bullshit
and tell me what the fuck really happened.
(sighs)
(phone ringing)
-Bosch. -SANCHEZ: Detective.
It's Sanchez, DOC Corcoran.
-Oh, yeah, thanks for getting back to me. -SANCHEZ: No problem.
I love having my boss up my ass on my day off.
Yeah, listen, uh, you mentioned before that Lucas Olmer
had a hard time
hanging onto that pen when he signed that confession.
Yeah, he was real sick.
He was weak. Kept dropping it.
Lawyer help him with that?
Well, he didn't hold it for him, if that's what you're asking.
He dried his hands so he could get a grip.
Why'd Cronyn dry Olmer's hands?
Well, Olmer was sweaty, feverish.
What'd he use? Paper towel? Tissue?
-Handkerchief. -His own?
Pulled it out of his pocket.
-What'd he do with it after? -What do you mean?
I mean, did he put it back in his pocket,
or did he put it in a paper bag?
How'd you know about the bag?
You said he had MRSA. I would've burned it.
Fucking A.
Thanks, Sanchez.
Need a hand?
I got it, thank you. Been waiting?
Wanted to follow up on Bo Jonas. You heard from him?
Should've called. Saved you a trip.
Let me help you with the door.
You know what? I should take this home.
Perishables. I don't know what I was thinking.
We have a witness who ID'd Jonas.
-Oh. -Thank you.
Near the scene, when Gary was shot.
You think Bo was involved?
I think he's in hiding. I think he's scared.
Think someone's helping him.
If I do hear anything...
Appreciate it. All these for you?
No, no, no, no. Sunday.
We encourage fellowship after service.
Hungry for the Word, stick around for the doughnuts.
(chuckles) Something like that.
I'll try to keep my ear low to the ground, brother Edgar.
You have my number.
That I do.
(sighs)
PIERCE: You really think we'd drive all the way up here
if we couldn't put a case on you?
Same build as you. Left-handed.
HART: Lot of southpaws around.
We're trending.
He speaks.
After popping Esquivel, Lefty here and his partner
carjacked a man in a parking garage in East Hollywood.
Killed him, dumped the car and the body in South L.A.
Sad story.
Someone saw them walk away from the Buick.
Gave us a good description.
Who's that supposed to be?
You tell us.
No idea.
How about him?
The fuck if I know.
Eyewitness says it's you.
Showed him a six-pack, he picked you.
He's wrong.
Do-rag?
Ski mask Lefty wore.
Dropped it in the alley behind the pharmacy.
So?
Your DNA's all over it.
Not just a gun rap now, Hart. Double homicide.
Your turn to talk.
-Got a minute? -Sure. What's up?
Scott Anderson did his homework.
Mm-hmm. Down to the granular details.
"DNA analysis of an untested piece of evidence.
Skin cell match."
How does he know about the skin cells?
-Obviously has a source. -Obviously.
Who?
Cronyn.
What's the upside for Cronyn? Provoking Harry Bosch
before his client is exonerated?
Well, then who?
Maybe this is a conversation you should have with my supervisor.
We're just talking.
Don't scratch for it like a dog, Alex.
I want to know how this got in the paper.
Wasn't me.
(sighs)
I had to ask.
I know you've been digging
into how that pendant wound up at Borders'.
Doing my due diligence.
And I admire your tenacity.
I just want to make sure our work here has been by the book.
Not motivated by personal animus or history.
You've got nothing to worry about.
Good.
I believe he's got Bo Jonas
stashed in the back of that church.
Sanctuary.
I do want to know what Jonas knows.
I could use some spiritual enlightenment, my brother.
I'll take you up on that, my brother. Tomorrow?
Raise the devil.
-Let's hope he's home. -You don't want to bust him?
Not worth the paperwork, but I want him to think we might.
(laughing): Reilly!
The fuck are you doing here, man?
Oh, shit.
Oh, this is critical, man.
Goddamn, I can't even believe this.
Believe it.
What do you want?
We're looking for Elizabeth Clayton.
Well, maybe she doesn't want to be found.
What makes you think I know where she's at?
Yesterday, someone picked her up in Tehachapi.
I've never even heard of that place.
We got video. Your car,
you behind the wheel.
(sighs) Fuck.
Dr. Rohat.
-Where? -Van Nuys.
-Pain clinic? -Yeah.
They call him Chemical Ali, he's a one-stop shop.
You front her cash?
No.
She don't pay with cash with him.
(siren wailing in distance)
(buzzer sounds)
ROHAT (over intercom): We're closed.
Police. Open the door.
ROHAT: Do you have I.D.?
(door buzzes)
-Uh, wh-what is this about? -Chemical Ali?
Dr. Rohat, actually.
We're looking for Elizabeth Clayton.
Uh, I-I don't know anyone by that name.
-(clattering) -Hey! Excuse me!
This is a medical facility. Do I need to call my attorney?
-Hey! -Go ahead.
Oh, Jesus.
Elizabeth.
(groaning)
-Reilly? -Remember me?
What did you give her?
I can't discuss patient care with you.
(screaming)
-Harry! -How much?
-Huh? How much?! -I'm her doctor.
She's my patient, she's fine!
-EDGAR: Harry! -You fuck her? You fuck her for your fee?
-You piece of shit. -It's always consensual! Aah!
-Reilly? -(Rohat grunts) -Hey, hey.
-Are you here to take me home? -Yeah, I'm gonna take you home.
-Mm. -All right.
I got your badge numbers.
Bosch and Edgar. Hollywood. Looking forward to your call.
(door opens)
(door closes)
(engine starts)
Your ICE guy came through.
The retainer I've paid him over the years,
I would fucking hope so.
What in the fuck are we gonna do in Canada?
Freeze our balls off.
Live to fight another day.
(sighs)
That cop's still a problem.
My problem, mostly.
Mm-hmm.
Still.
SHERIFF: Forget him.
We're this close to exit time. Why risk it?
(sighs)
(horn blowing in distance)
(car horn honks in distance)
She's in for a hell of a night.
-I better go say goodbye. -Probably best now.
Before she starts chewing her fingernails off.
Hey.
This a lockdown place?
Charlie Company.
They help vets.
Gonna help you.
What's your real name?
Bosch. Harry Bosch.
You some kind of narc, Harry Bosch?
Just want to see you get straight.
Thanks.
You can go now.
Look, give this a chance.
For Daisy.
Daisy.
-Thanks, brother. -Tomorrow, huh?
(sighs)
She's got to want to save herself.
♪ ♪ t to want to save herself.