“If the department lets you.”

“If you do. You know it’s going to be up to you.”

“Perhaps. Do you notice that you speak of your job as if it’s a mission of some sort?”

“That’s about right. Like the Holy Grail.”

He said it with sarcasm. This was getting intolerable and it was only the first session.

“Is it? Do you believe your mission in life is to solve murders, to put bad people in jail?”

He used the shoulder hike to say he didn’t know. He stood up and walked to the window and looked down on Hill Street. The sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians. Every time he had been down here they were crowded. He noticed a couple of Caucasian women walking along. They stood out in the sea of Asian faces like raisins in rice. They passed the window of a Chinese butcher shop and Bosch saw a row of smoked ducks hanging whole, by their necks.

Farther up the road he saw the Hollywood Freeway overpass, the dark windows of the old sheriff’s jail and the Criminal Courts building behind it. To the left of that he could see the City Hall tower. Black construction tarps hung around the top floors. It looked like some kind of mourning gesture but he knew the tarps were to hold debris from falling while earthquake repairs were made. Looking past City Hall, Bosch could see the Glass House. Parker Center, police headquarters.

“Tell me what your mission is,” Hinojos said quietly from behind him. “I’d like to hear you put it in words.”

He sat back down and tried to think of a way to explain himself but finally just shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Well, I want you to think about that. Your mission. What is it really? Think about that.”

“What’s your mission, Doctor?”