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“A murder case is like a tree. A tall tree. An oak tree. It has been carefully planted and cared for by the state. Watered and trimmed when needed, examined for disease and parasites of any kind. Its root system is constantly monitored as it flourishes underground and clings tightly to the earth. No money is spared in guarding the tree. Its caretakers are granted immense powers to protect and serve it.
The tree’s branches eventually grow and spread wide in splendor. They provide deep shade for those who seek true justice.
The branches spring from a thick and sturdy trunk. Direct evidence, circumstantial evidence, forensic science, motive and opportunity. The tree must stand strong against the winds that challenge it.
And that’s where I come in. I’m the man with the ax. My job is to cut the tree down to the ground and burn its wood to ashes.”
―
The tree’s branches eventually grow and spread wide in splendor. They provide deep shade for those who seek true justice.
The branches spring from a thick and sturdy trunk. Direct evidence, circumstantial evidence, forensic science, motive and opportunity. The tree must stand strong against the winds that challenge it.
And that’s where I come in. I’m the man with the ax. My job is to cut the tree down to the ground and burn its wood to ashes.”
―
“Does this bother you?" he asked.
She turned around and looked at him.
"Does what bother me?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. "I guess that she chose her own penance. She came here and went on missions and took care of children and all of that. Vow of poverty, paid off the mortgage, whatever. But she didn't turn herself in and say, 'I'm responsible.' She didn't tell all those parents how come their kids died."
He gestured to the box.
"She talks about redemption. But she chose all of this. Nothing was taken from her. You know what I mean?”
―
She turned around and looked at him.
"Does what bother me?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. "I guess that she chose her own penance. She came here and went on missions and took care of children and all of that. Vow of poverty, paid off the mortgage, whatever. But she didn't turn herself in and say, 'I'm responsible.' She didn't tell all those parents how come their kids died."
He gestured to the box.
"She talks about redemption. But she chose all of this. Nothing was taken from her. You know what I mean?”
―
“LAUGH NOW CRY LATER”
― The Black Ice
― The Black Ice
“Bosch nodded. He liked that she had referred to the Officer In-volved Shooting team instead of what the unit was called now-FID, as in Force Investigation Division. It showed her old-school allegiance.
"Good," he said. "You shouldn't have any trouble with the OIS. They just take forever because of the paperwork."
"I don't know," Soto said. "Two incidents in less than a year...they might think there's some kind of pattern."
Bosch frowned.
"Twenty-five years ago they would have given you a medal and a raise for a pattern like that," he said.”
―
"Good," he said. "You shouldn't have any trouble with the OIS. They just take forever because of the paperwork."
"I don't know," Soto said. "Two incidents in less than a year...they might think there's some kind of pattern."
Bosch frowned.
"Twenty-five years ago they would have given you a medal and a raise for a pattern like that," he said.”
―
“Nobody bats a thousand. Nobody wins every case. The law is fickle. You're the prince of the city one day, a street sweeper the next. The skill is being able to get back in the Lincoln, buckle up, and drive on.”
― The Proving Ground
― The Proving Ground
“To some its a stage. A place where carefully choreographed drama takes place. To others, a chess match with moves designed and practiced weeks and sometimes months in advance. Where nothing is left to chance. Where the wrong moves have grave consequences and finality. Where the recruited audience sits in silent judgment with their hidden biases and contempt.
I have never thought of it that way. To me it's the Octagon, where mixed martial arts are deployed in brutal combat. Two go in; one comes out the victor. No one is left unbloodied. No one is left unscarred. This is what the courtroom is to me.”
― The Proving Ground
I have never thought of it that way. To me it's the Octagon, where mixed martial arts are deployed in brutal combat. Two go in; one comes out the victor. No one is left unbloodied. No one is left unscarred. This is what the courtroom is to me.”
― The Proving Ground
“We all stood when Judge Ruhlin entered the courtroom, her robe flowing behind her, and took the bench. She told us to be seated and convened court, calling the case...I knew I would be the first one up and tried to control the butterflies. It didn't matter how many times I did this; there was always much at stake, and I would think that something was wrong if the nervousness ever went away.”
― The Proving Ground
― The Proving Ground
“Must be tough," Edson said. "Working homicides."
Bosch said what he always said when people said that to him.
"Sometimes it's not so bad. At least the victims I deal with are out of their misery.”
― The Black Ice
Bosch said what he always said when people said that to him.
"Sometimes it's not so bad. At least the victims I deal with are out of their misery.”
― The Black Ice
“Well, that's the thing about trials. You're never really sure about anything.”
― The Proving Ground
― The Proving Ground
“They sat with it in silence for a while. Bosch ran it all through once more and couldn't knock it down. It was only case theory but it held together. It worked, but it didn't mean that it was the way it had happened. Every case had unanswered questions and loose ends when it came to motives and actions. Bosch always thought that if you started with the assumption that murder is an unrea-sonable action, then how could there ever be a fully reasonable explanation for it? It was that understanding that kept him from watching and being able to enjoy films and television shows about detectives. He found them unrealistic in their delivery of what the general audience wanted: all of the answers.”
―
―
“To do the job, you had to know in your heart that you were up to the task and that you were better, smarter, stronger, meaner, more skilled and more patient than your adversary. You had to flat-out know you were going to win.”
― Book of Rock Volume 1
― Book of Rock Volume 1
“BOSCH DID NOT BEGIN TO FEEL WHOLE again until he reached the smogged outskirts of L.A. He was back in the nastiness again but he knew that it was here that he would heal. He skirted downtown on the freeway and headed up through Cahuenga Pass. Midday traffic was light. Looking up at the hills he saw the charred path of the Christmas-night fire. But he even took some comfort in that. He knew that the heat of the fire would have cracked open the seeds of the wildflowers and by spring the hillside would be a riot of colors. The chaparral would follow and soon there would be no scar on the land at all.”
― The Black Ice
― The Black Ice
“He loved the city most at night. The night hid many of the sorrows. It silenced the city yet brought deep undercurrents to the surface. It was in this dark slip-stream that he believed he moved most freely. Behind the cover of shadows. Like a rider in a limousine, he looked out but no one looked in.
There was a random feel to the dark, the quirkiness of chance played out in the blue neon night. So many ways to live. And to die. You could be riding in the back of a studio's black limo, or just as easily the back of the coroner's blue van. The sound of applause was the same as the buzz of a bullet spinning past your ear in the dark. That randomness. That was L.A.
There was flash fire and flash flood, earthquake, mudslide. There was the drive-by shooter and the crack-stoked burglar. The drunk driver and the always curving road ahead. There were killer cops and cop killers. There was the husband of the woman you were sleeping with. And there was the woman. At any moment on any night there were people being raped, violated, maimed. Murdered and loved. There was always a baby at his mother's breast. And, sometimes, a baby alone in a Dumpster.
Somewhere.”
― The Black Ice
There was a random feel to the dark, the quirkiness of chance played out in the blue neon night. So many ways to live. And to die. You could be riding in the back of a studio's black limo, or just as easily the back of the coroner's blue van. The sound of applause was the same as the buzz of a bullet spinning past your ear in the dark. That randomness. That was L.A.
There was flash fire and flash flood, earthquake, mudslide. There was the drive-by shooter and the crack-stoked burglar. The drunk driver and the always curving road ahead. There were killer cops and cop killers. There was the husband of the woman you were sleeping with. And there was the woman. At any moment on any night there were people being raped, violated, maimed. Murdered and loved. There was always a baby at his mother's breast. And, sometimes, a baby alone in a Dumpster.
Somewhere.”
― The Black Ice
“He had a deep hollow that he somehow filled by standing as a David against the Goliaths of the world, whether in the form of the power and might of the state or a billion-dollar corporation.”
―
―
