The Closers

with Bosch. In L.A. everybody was from somewhere else. Or so it seemed. It was both the strength and the weakness of the city.
    “It is good to be back,” Bosch said.
    “You understand that you are here at my pleasure.”
    It wasn’t a question.
    “Yes sir, I do.”
    “Obviously, I checked you out extensively before approving your return. I had concerns about your… shall we say
style,
but ultimately your talent won the day. You can also thank your partner, Kizmin Rider, for her lobbying effort. She’s a good officer and I trust her. She trusts you.”
    “I have already thanked her but I will do it again.”
    “I know it has been less than three years since you retired but let me assure you, Detective Bosch, that the department you have rejoined is not the department you left.”
    “I understand that.”
    “I hope so. You know about the consent decree?”
    Just after Bosch had left the department the previous chief had been forced to agree to a series of reforms in order to head off a federal takeover of the LAPD following an FBI investigation into wholesale corruption, violence and civil rights violations within the ranks. The current chief had to carry out the agreement or he would end up taking orders from the FBI. From the chief down to the lowliest boot, nobody wanted that.
    “Yes,” Bosch said. “I’ve read about it.”
    “Good. I’m glad you have kept yourself informed. And I am happy to report that despite what you may read in the
Times,
we are making great strides and we want to keep that momentum. We are also trying to update the department in terms of technology. We are pushing forward in community policing. We are doing a lot of good things, Detective Bosch, much of which can be undone in the eyes of the community if we resort to old ways. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
    “I think so.”
    “Your return here is not guaranteed. You are on probation for a year. So consider yourself a rookie again. A boot-the oldest living boot at that. I approved your return-I can also wash you out without so much as a reason anytime in the course of the year. Don’t give me a reason.”
    Bosch didn’t answer. He didn’t think he was supposed to.
    “On Friday we graduate a new class of cadets at the academy. I would like you to be there.”
    “Sir?”
    “I want you to be there. I want you to see the dedication in our young people’s faces. I want to reacquaint you with the traditions of this department. I think it could help you, help you rededicate yourself.”
    “If you want me to be there I will be there.”
    “Good. I will see you there. You will sit under the VIP tent as my guest.”
    He made a note about the invite on a pad of paper next to the blotter. He then put the pen down and raised his hand to point a finger at Bosch. His eyes took on a fierceness.
    “Listen to me, Bosch. Don’t ever break the law to enforce the law. At all times you do your job constitutionally and compassionately. I will accept it no other way. This
city
will accept it no other way. Are we okay on that?”
    “We are okay.”
    “Then we are good to go.”
    Bosch took his cue and stood up. The chief surprised him by also standing and extending his hand. Bosch thought he wanted to shake hands and extended his own. The chief put something in his hand and Bosch looked down to see the gold detective’s shield. He had his old number back. It had not been given away. He almost smiled.
    “Wear it well,” the police chief said. “And proudly.”
    “I will.”
    Now they shook hands, but as they did so the chief didn’t smile.
    “The chorus of forgotten voices,” he said.
    “Excuse me, Chief?”
    “That’s what I think about when I think of the cases down there in Open-Unsolved. It’s a house of horrors. Our greatest shame. All those cases. All those voices. Every one of them is like a stone thrown into a lake. The ripples move out through time and people. Families, friends, neighbors. How can we call ourselves a city when there are so many ripples, when so many voices have been forgotten by this department?”
    Bosch let go of his hand and didn’t say anything. There was no answer for the chief’s question.
    “I changed the name of the unit when I came into the department. Those aren’t cold cases, Detective. They never go cold. Not for some people.”
    “I understand that.”
    “Then go down there and clear cases. That’s what your art is. That’s why we need you and why you are here.