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Last season on "Bosch"...

Freeze!

Detective, how many
people have you killed?

- I don't know.
- The department exonerated you.

It was a good shooting.

Have you been to see her yet?

Harry, Vegas is a four-hour drive.

Hey, Maddie.

30 seconds in, you're already
accusing me of being a bad parent.

- That's a cold plate, partner.
- You put it in correctly?

Yeah, man, light him up.

This is my vehicle. Those are my plates.

- Shit! Hey!
- Let's start off with an easy one.

Who's the dead guy in the van?

When Officer Pierce and Irving Junior

pulled over this Waits character,

apparently, Irving
deliberately punched in

the wrong plate number.

Even if I don't use my
influence on your behalf,

just the fact you're
my son, others will,

and that can be tricky for both of us.

I hear you've tentatively

identified the Laurel Canyon victim.

His name was Arthur
Delacroix. He was 12 years old.

Waits confessed to killing him.

O'Shea's planning to run for mayor.

So this Waits case? Pure
political Viagra for him.

Mr. Waits is gonna direct
us to the crime scenes,

and we will be on top of his every move.

Maybe we should loosen his shackles.

- We don't need a lawsuit here.
- No fuckin' way.

Bosch, just do it!

Shit!

- Harry, don't!
- Shots fired! Officer down!

My partner is in foot pursuit

and his direction of travel is unknown.

We're in the L.A. river at 6th street.

- Tell me you got it.
- I got it, yeah,

- but he took the card.
- Who took the card?

- O'Shea.
- You keep the video under wraps,

I win the election, you're
the next chief of police.

I'm the monument.

Me! Me!

- I'm tired of your bullshit.
- Why don't you do something about it.

Don't walk away from...

How could you let him
get to you like that?

He put his hands on me first.

How did it go? Did you talk to him yet?

What did he say? What's gonna happen?

Gonna be okay, baby. I
talked to the man himself.

So you talked to him this morning?

Last night.

He's gonna talk to Lucky?

He said he'd take care of it.

How do you know? Are you sure?

He said he'd take care of
it, he'll take care of it...

Can you make sure? Tony?

Tony!

Gotta go, baby. I'll call you later.

- Thank you for stopping.
- Need help?

I don't have my phone.

Do you think you could call me a tow?

- What happened?
- I don't know.

It just quit.

No problem. I'll call Triple A.

Thank you.

Hey, Maddie. I'm in
the middle of shaving.

Call you back in five?

- Okay. Dad?
- Yeah?

Lose the sideburns.
You look like a hobo.

A hobo? Where'd you hear that word?

It's retro. From the Great Recession.

- And the mustache, too.
- And the mustache?

I kind of like it.

Seventies porn star? Hello?

Yeah. Okay. Call you back.

- Bye.
- Bye.

Better?

Awesome. You look way younger.

Listen. I'm just on my way out the door.

I know. I was calling to wish you luck.

Thanks. That's really thoughtful of you.

- Have a good day, Dad.
- You, too.

Bye.

- Hey, Harry, how's it hanging?
- Hey, Barrel.

- Seen Edgar?
- Just got here.

- Lieutenant's looking for him.
- I'll let him know.

- Coffee? I'm gonna grab one.
- No, thanks.

- Hey, Harry.
- J. Edgar.

- Billets is looking for you.
- So I hear.

Listen, you're ever interested
in selling your place,

- I got a buyer.
- Not interested.

- Serious inquiry.
- Non-starter.

I mean, I wouldn't live
up there, but some folks

like sticking a finger
in Mother Nature's eye.

Hi, Jerry Edgar, I'm
calling for Charisse.

You'd think I went out for
a pack of fucking cigarettes.

Oh, you assholes. Fuck you guys.

Boom!

Welcome back, partner.

- Had you going, didn't we.
- Yeah, you did.

- Hey, buddy.
- Hey, buddy.

You couldn't do better than that?

Drugs clouded my mental acuity.

But, hey, I am back, sharp as ever.

- That's a low bar.
- Harry Bosch?

Now I feel like I'm at home.

Chilton Hardy, career sex offender.

Serial rapist, graduated
to serial rape murder.

Jerry and Ig have been working the case.

We think he's good
for about a dozen more.

- California, Nevada.
- We got a line on this guy?

Ig's got a line on Hardy's
father. Panorama City.

We're headed out there now to
talk to him. See what he knows.

Panorama City. Doesn't
get any better than that.

I want you to go with them.

- We can handle it, Lieutenant.
- They can handle it, Lieutenant.

Tag along, Bosch.

First day back. Get your feet wet.

Oh, I am loving the enthusiasm, guys.

- Bosch?
- Yes?

You're gonna need these.

Try to hang onto them this time.

Thanks.

I'm looking for the panorama.

I just don't see it.

This was all orange trees.

After the war, tore out the
groves, put in tract homes for GI's.

American Dream.

Every man a house, a car,
and a garage to put it in.

Edgar and I will handle the interview.

Counting on it.

I haven't seen Chilton in years.

Don't know where he
is, don't give a shit.

He in some kind of trouble again?

We just wanna talk to your son.

His name came up in an investigation.

I'm gonna take a look around.

Don't you need a warrant? He ain't here.

- Can he just do that?
- Apparently.

When was the last time
you talked to your son?

Last time he got out of the joint.

Must have been going on eight years ago.

What'd he want?

Money.

I told him to go suck
on somebody else's tit.

Where'd he call from?

Tucson, maybe.

I don't know why he
turned out the way he did.

I blame his mother.

Find what you were looking for?

- I told you he wasn't here.
- You haven't told us where he is.

How many times I got to
tell you? I don't know.

- I think you do.
- Harassing a sick old man.

- How sick are you, Mr. Hardy?
- Excuse me?

I say, how sick are you?

Real sick, you dumb shit. Look around!

- Oxygen, wheelchair bound.
- That's right.

- Shit!
- Damn it!

Chilton Hardy. Hook
him up. He's all yours.

Freeze, asshole. You're under arrest.

Shit! Damn it!

Keys!

Hold still, asshole.

Cuffs.

- Fuck you.
- Shut up, asshole.

Damn, Harry. You're
pretty good for an old man.

You been taking PEDs?

You gotta get in shape, J. Edgar.

Work on your cardio.

You gotta get some different shoes.

Can't run in those roach killers.

How often do I have to run?

- Get up.
- Serious.

Stand up.

Damn it.

Ow!

Ow.

Think you can handle him now?

Friendly fella, your ex-partner.

Ex?

- Mank.
- Captain.

- Detective Bosch.
- Captain.

First day back, Billets tells me

you already bagged a bad guy.

No. That was Edgar and Ferras.

I was just along for the ride.

Good man, Mank. Friend of yours.

Lucky he saw Captain
Pounds grab you first, huh?

And wasn't afraid to say so.

You think maybe you over-reacted?

No, sir. I don't.

All right, Bosch.

You do your job, keep
your cool. We'll get along.

- That seemed to go well.
- Oh, yeah.

Officer Friendly.

All right. Not warm and fuzzy.

But on the plus side, not Pounds.

Where'd Pounds land, anyway?

You're not gonna believe it, Harry.

- Art Theft Detail.
- You're right. I don't believe it.

- Fuck does he know about art?
- He knows what he likes.

You're the worst.

- Harry.
- He give it up yet?

Just letting him marinate.

Probably find his old man buried
underneath the floorboards.

I expect so. Grab some lunch?

Something I got to do.

- I'd like you both to be there.
- Short notice.

The optics would enhance the value
of your endorsements enormously.

I preach on Sunday.

The perfect venue. Right
after morning services.

And with your family
ties to Greater Page

and the West Adams neighborhood...

I'll save a pew down
front for both of you.

And your wives.

I trust there will be a full house.

You don't have to worry about that.

When I preach, standing room only.

Thank you both so much.

To the next mayor of Los Angeles.

Here, here.

Who signed Raynard Waits out
of custody at the jail that day?

I did.

Who was the ranking LAPD
officer at the scene?

I was.

- By whose authority?
- Deputy Chief Irving.

- Chief Irving put you in charge.
- Yes.

Made you responsible for Waits'
custody on this so-called field trip?

Yes.

- And security.
- Yes.

When you arrived at
the abandoned factory,

- who loosened Waits' shackles?
- I did.

Under protest.

I was ordered to do so
by the District Attorney.

Just answer the question
put to you, Detective.

- Who ordered Detective Moore to re-cuff Mr. Waits?
- I did.

And when Detective Moore
did that, what happened?

Waits seized his weapon and shot him.

- Shot and wounded Detective Moore.
- Yes.

And then shot and killed Deputy
District Attorney Lou Escobar.

Yes.

Ask you something, Wash?

Chief?

Who you gonna vote for
next election for Mayor?

- You do vote.
- Yes, sir. You still endorsing O'Shea?

- Told him I was.
- I'm for him if you are.

I want you to vote your conscience.

He still gonna make you Chief?

- Says he is.
- Then I'm voting for him.

- Doesn't mean he will.
- I'll just have to roll the dice on that.

Yeah. Me, too.

What do you hear from his Grand Jury?

My friend got transferred.

Officer Pierce?

- Hey, sweetheart.
- Hey. How was your day?

I helped catch a bad guy.

You didn't shoot him, did you?

- No.
- Good.

'Cause I did not want to see you
on the Internet. "Killer Cop."

Did you get those LPs I sent you?

Yeah. I really love the Grace Kelly one.

She's playing here next
week. I might go see her.

I could come out and go with you.

Well, you could come out,
but you couldn't go with me.

- You're not twenty one.
- Ugh. That sucks.

Yeah, it does. How are things?

Okay. A little weird actually.

Reggie left all of a sudden on
a business trip to Hong Kong.

- Everything all right?
- I guess.

I asked Mom when he'd be back,

and she was like, "I don't know."

Is she there? Can I talk to her?

- She's at the casino.
- You're there all alone?

- Dad, I'm fifteen.
- When's she coming home?

She said by midnight. Do
you want her to call you?

- Midnight?
- Dad, chillax.

It's normal. Like every night.

Do you want her to call you or not?

No, I'm gonna crash.
It's been a long day.

Just tell her I called.

Okay, when're you coming out to Vegas?

Soon. Promise.

When are you coming to LA?

Soon. Promise.

And everything's okay
with your mom and Reggie?

- As far as I know.
- 'Kay.

Talk soon. I love you.

I love you, too. Bye.

Six-L-Thirty-Four.

Six-L-Thirty-Four, go.

I have a vehicle illegally
parked and cited two days ago.

Requesting OPG tow my location,

16500 Mulholland,

silver Bentley, California license.

Six-L-thirty-four, copy that.

Oh.

- Six-L-Thirty-Four.
- Six-L-Thirty-Four, go.

Yeah, I'm gonna need a supervisor here.

Bosch.

Hey, you know Fire
Station 109, up Mulholland?

- Yeah. Off Laurel Canyon.
- Yeah, that's the one.

A patrol just found a
body in the trunk of a car.

Looks like it's been
there a couple days.

So I'm thinking it's
nice and ripe by now.

Billets is on her way.
She asked me to call you.

It's all hands on deck, Harry.

You want me to call Edgar and Ferras?

- No, I'll call Edgar.
- Ferras?

Forget Ferras.

You wrote the ticket Sunday.

Somebody called in a complaint.

What brought you back here today?

Another complaint the
car was still here.

I came to ticket and
tow. And I smelled it.

Why didn't you glove
up? You knew what it was.

I should have. I know,
I fucked up, all right?

Yeah, you did. You also
trampled all over my crime scene.

SID's gonna have to photo
and print your boots.

I oughta make you take 'em off
and give 'em to me right now.

You want me to unlace 'em? You
just say the word, detective.

Work the perimeter.
Take the crime scene log.

- Think you can do that?
- Yeah, I think I can do that.

Those six months really
mellowed you out, Harry.

There's a limit to
what you can let slide.

Even these days.

The Neanderthal who called it in?

You mean Officer Powers?

We're gonna have to print
his shoes to eliminate him.

- Dipshit.
- I missed you, Harry.

What I said.

We have footprints leading
away from the driver's side.

We have tire tracks
from a second vehicle.

No blood. Dollars to doughnuts,

killed somewhere else, dumped
in his trunk, and driven here.

Look at you. You're getting a feel
for this homicide thing, Lieutenant.

- Might just work out for you.
- Bosch.

- Why didn't you call me?
- That's on the watch commander.

Lieutenant? Is this how it's gonna be?

Detective Ferras? Go find some uniforms

and walk the shoulders
a mile in each direction.

See if the bad guys tossed
anything on their way outta Dodge.

Take Officer Powers with you.

You can make an effort, you know.

He's the one with the
chip on his shoulder.

I'm gonna find him a new partner.

- You're back with Edgar.
- Hey.

- Don't I get a say in this?
- Fuck you.

Where's Kiz? I haven't seen
her. Is she on vacation?

She transferred two months ago.

Pacific Division.

How long? Ballpark?

Based on the condition of the body?

Three days, maybe.

Sometime Saturday night?

It's been warm, so the decomp's intense.

- Oh!
- What a pussy.

Smell is particulate. You
know that, right, Lieutenant?

That's pure rotten dead
guy we're breathing.

All yours, gentlemen.

No obvious exit wounds.

Small caliber, probably.

His wallet.

Hotel bill. Anthony Allen.

Spent the week in Vegas at the Mirage,

checked out this past Saturday.

They comped his room. Hit
the minibar pretty hard.

- Valet parking.
- So he had a car.

This one or a rental.

Looks like five, six hundred bucks here.

That's a legit Rolex.

Ain't no knock off, brother,
that's the real deal.

Scares me you know that.

Fancy address. Hidden Highlands.

Car's leased to Anthony Allen,
El Presidente, TNA Productions.

- Cahuenga Boulevard.
- TNA Productions?

- It's porn.
- We don't know that.

Could be his initials. Tony N. Allen?

What's the N stand for? Nookie?

I'll call the dealer,

see if it has a GPS tracker on it.

These high end leases,
they like to keep tabs.

Classic mob hit, Harry.
Small caliber, no robbery,

victim's body in the
trunk of his own car.

Plus porno.

Let's not jump to conclusions.

Bottle of Maker's Mark.
It's a double tap twenty-two.

Young lady, when you
inventory the wallet,

I'm gonna need copies of that snap.

Okay.

- Did you find his phone?
- Nope.

- Thanks.
- Smells like O.C. to me.

- Trunk music.
- Trunk music, exactly.

I'll reach out to Vice. See
if they got anything on him.

Divide and conquer. I'll
call my guy at Major Crimes.

- Okay, thanks.
- Anything from O.C.?

- They told me to call Vice.
- I'm on hold with Vice.

- Detective?
- Hold up.

Yeah?

Anthony Allen is a pornographer.

TNA Productions.

We thought he might be. Mobbed up?

We don't have anything on that.

Have you called Major Crimes?

They said to call you. Anything else?

He shoots his movies outside L.A.County

so his performers don't
have to use condoms.

Good to know.

You might call the Health Department.

They might have an
extensive file on this guy.

- Okay. Thanks.
- LAPD.

One hand doesn't know what
the other hand's doing.

Welcome to my world.
When you're finished here,

go notify the next of kin.

- Do we know who that is, yet?
- Veronica Allen.

- The widow.
- All right.

I'll send Crate and Barrel to get
a search warrant for the offices.

They'll meet you there once
you've talked to Mrs. Allen.

Time to feed the beast.

That is pretty. What is it?

Oh, I don't know. Just musing.

How'd your lunch go yesterday?

Lunch was civil. On the surface.

- When do you go public?
- Sunday.

- Greater Page Temple.
- Oh.

You and Reverend Ott.

Matching black bookends.

Good optics, so I'm told.

- You're invited, too.
- Oh.

Well, I was looking for an excuse to
get a new Sunday go to meeting hat.

Well, this would be it.

And the Mayor and Chief Tenzer?

Publicly disappointed. Privately pissed.

- Will they retaliate?
- If they win.

And if O'Shea wins?

He'll either bury the Grand Jury report,

or use it to bury me.

- You have the video.
- He'll be Mayor.

And after his Grand Jury
lays the blame on the LAPD.

What are you hearing
from the Courthouse?

- Not a damn thing.
- I thought you had a source.

It dried up. I don't even know
if George has testified yet.

What's that for?

I've been meaning to thank you.

For getting our son off the street.

Command track is where he belongs.

Yeah, following in
his father's footsteps.

I like that.

And I sleep better at night.

- Happy hour.
- Happy happy hour.

Extra happy hour.

- You want another?
- No, I'm good.

Well, I'm gonna have
one. Hey, sweetheart.

One more of these?

And the check.

Oh, oh, that's good.

Just like that.

- Oh, yeah. Just like that.
- Makin' memories.

Uh, huh. I think this one's gonna
be this year's Christmas card.

- What the fuck? Who are you?
- LAPD.

Oh, God. Oh, no.

This is the part where you
can get dressed, Yum-Yum.

- Thank you very much.
- Anytime.

- Oh, shit.
- Sorry, baby.

Fuck.

Oh, shit. Timothy Jackson.

Alta Avenue. Santa Monica?

- You gonna arrest me?
- We should.

- How much do you want?
- That just upped the ante.

With the Solicitation
and now the Bribery?

We just went from a misdemeanor
to a felony right there.

Yeah, maybe we call your wife.

Get her email, we can send her these.

How much, God damn it?

- How much has he got in there?
- Look like five brand-new Benjamins.

Take it.

Oh, we will. Thank you.

I'm also thinking some sort
of like monthly storage fee.

- Storage fee?
- Oh, yeah, yeah.

To protect these babies? You
know, up there in the cloud.

That is a smart move. You
always gotta back up your pics.

- See you soon, Sugar.
- Stay out of trouble.

- Why do you need that?
- Insurance.

Case you get to thinking
about filing a complaint.

- I won't.
- We know.

Have a nice day, sir.

- Here.
- I'm gonna hit the head.

All right. I'm gonna
pull the car around.

All right.

Yeah.

No, he did good.

Yeah. Didn't flinch.

Spends the week in Vegas.

Checks out of his hotel Saturday.

Drives or flies back to L.A.

Is killed Saturday night.

Maybe he was killed in Vegas.

They drove him back to L.A.?

Yeah, the killers. In
the trunk of his own car.

- Why would they do that?
- Keep the body out of Vegas.

To have it investigated by a couple
of dumb-ass LA homicide detectives

instead of some razor sharp Vegas dicks.

Shit, I don't know, Harry, I'm just
running through some permutations.

Here's another. Where's his luggage?

- Week in Vegas. Oughta have luggage.
- Killers stole it.

So they stole his dirty laundry
and left his wallet and Rolex?

Okay. He stopped by his house,

dropped his bags, and went out again.

- Should've stayed home.
- Yeah.

- Yes, sir.
- We're here to see Veronica Allen.

Everything okay?

Just let her know we're
here, will you, Mr. Nash.

Detective Nash. I was on the job.

I thought you looked familiar.

You, too. Bosch, right?

- Yeah.
- Carl Nash.

- Yeah.
- Yeah, I remember you.

This is my partner, Jerry Edgar.

- Van Nuys, mostly.
- I talked to you about a case.

- That family from Sherman Oaks.
- Right.

- Yeah.
- You in charge here?

Yeah, I run security for the property.

I got a couple LAPD guys on staff.

- Retired?
- Some.

Some moonlighters. It's
a state of the art set-up.

Cameras everywhere, total coverage.

Remote control. You can
punch in on a pimple.

- You know rich people.
- No, I don't.

Hey, can you make that call for me?

Yeah, let me do that.

I'm gonna have to escort you up.

Company policy. You can
follow me. Yeah? All right.

Hey.

Have you seen Tony Allen recently?

Been awhile. Week before last?

- He's out of town a lot.
- How about last Saturday night?

- I was off.
- Check the tapes?

They're not tapes anymore.

I could. But if you had a warrant.

Let me make that call.

Whatever happened to
professional courtesy?

Cameras everywhere.

I'll bet they got
cameras on the damn birds.

- What're they so afraid of?
- Beats me.

Maybe losing what they got?

So this guy was Homicide?
How'd he end up here?

Got jammed up by IA,
on some petty bullshit.

Had to resign. Went from working murders

to working the gate for
a bunch of rich people.

Talk about losing what you got.

- Thanks, Carl.
- It's good to see you, Harry.

Tony went to Las Vegas
frequently for business.

Did he always drive?

He didn't like to fly.

Oh, who does these days?

What kind of business
was your husband in?

- Movie producer.
- TNA Productions?

- Just like it sounds.
- Softcore?

- Hard.
- Why Vegas? Why so often?

Casting.

He liked strippers for his films.

- Fresh faces.
- They got strippers in L.A.

And he liked to gamble.

Did you see him on Saturday?

I didn't even know he was back.

His plans were always open-ended.

Is it possible he might have
come by while you were out?

- Dropped his bags.
- No, I was here all night. Why?

I didn't find any luggage.

It must have been stolen. He
always packed a suitcase for Vegas.

- A black Tumi.
- We didn't find his cell phone, either.

- I assume he had one.
- Of course.

We're gonna need that
number, pull his records.

When's the last time you spoke with him?

He called mid-week to tell
me he was extending his stay.

I assumed he was shacked
up with his new girlfriend.

- Your husband had a girlfriend?
- Always.

- One after the other.
- You have a name?

Sorry. We didn't really talk about it.

How'd you know it was a new one?

He would always stay longer
when he had a new lollipop.

- Until he got tired of her.
- It bother you?

We've been married a long time.

The gambling. He ever
get in over his head?

- Owe the wrong people money?
- No.

Tony was a very cautious man.
He always knew when to walk away.

- Favorite casino?
- The Mirage.

- He stay there, too?
- Mm-hmm.

What about a favorite strip club?

All of them.

So many strippers, so little time.

That was how we met.

He was casting his next film.

I gave him a lap dance
and he fell in love.

I did one porno for him.

And then he married me and
took me away from all that.

To this.

Not exactly torn up about it.

Maybe a bit too cool
about the girlfriends?

Maybe a bit.

- Hey, you guys done?
- For now.

Still need to look at the
footage from Saturday night.

- And the gate log.
- We'll make it all available.

- Soon as you have the warrant.
- Can't just take a quick look off the record?

Sorry, Harry, no can
do. I'd lose my job.

If I knew I'd tell you. Like
I said, I was off that night.

Understood. We'll be back
tomorrow with a warrant.

We'll have it all ready for you.

What's this all about, anyway?

Tony Allen's body was
found earlier today.

He was murdered,
probably Saturday night.

No shit.

- And she's a suspect?
- You were a homicide detective.

- You know the show.
- Right, right.

Nearest and dearest,
until proven otherwise.

Hey, uh, you want me
to keep an eye on her?

- See who comes and goes?
- This whole state-of-the-art setup you got,

- hardly seems necessary...
- You and me, we're old school, right?

- Right.
- The camera may see more than the naked eye,

but the camera can't
interpret what it sees.

- Takes a detective to do that.
- Right.

Can't hurt. Thanks.

Appreciate it.

Nash.

Have a good evening.

- Maybe there isn't one.
- Maybe.

Holy mackerel. How'd you do that?

I used to work in Narcotics.

Call Asset Forfeiture.

Right, thanks. See you in a few.

Crate and Barrel got the warrant.

They're waiting for us.

Lieutenant?

How much?

Fuck.

Counted it twice.

- I'll tell him.
- What was that about?

They found a shitload
of cash in Allen's car.

- Secret compartment.
- What's a shitload?

Two hundred and forty-five
thousand dollars.

- That's a shitload.
- Yeah.

Here we go.

LAPD. We're with them.

There's a TNA guy standing
by if you need him.

- Chechen fella.
- Chechen?

- That's what he said.
- He was here, working late.

- This shit is 24/7.
- Porn never sleeps.

Speaking of sleep,
we'll take it from here.

You are a gentleman and a scholar.

- Enjoy.
- Nu-huh.

If we're lucky, this thumb drive
has the encryption info we need.

- Yeah?
- CCU will be able to access his computer.

- And if we're not lucky?
- We're fucked. Harris.

"Victim of the Night." R rated.

Mr. and Mrs. Allen did
have some mainstream dreams.

Hard to leave that porn money behind.

For him.

She just did this one and quit.

Yep, so she says.

So she says.

Well, look at there.

That's a camera.

You can see, nothing all weekend

but Mexican lady, empties wastebasket.

Any other surveillance cameras?
Besides the one in his office?

Mr. A would not allow other cameras.

Worried about leakage.

- Leakage?
- Internet.

Unauthorized use material. Piracy.

Terrible.

Nothing Monday.

Now we are Tuesday.

Now we are tonight. This is you.

Go to Saturday night.

What time did you leave here that night?

Late. Eleven-thirty. Was editing.

You didn't see Mr. Allen?

Told you, no.

Got to Saturday night. Eleven-thirty.

Wait. Stop. Go back.

Play it real time from there.

Holy shit. They're debugging the place.

Okay, stop.

Zoom in?

- See the time stamp?
- Mm-hmm. Four-fifteen, Sunday morning.

- That's the wee hours.
- Let it play.

Pros. In and out in under a minute.

Allen's murdered
sometime Saturday night.

Four a.m. Sunday,
somebody sweeps his office?

Maybe there's video in other buildings.

Let's check the streets.

www.addic7ed.com

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