Angels Flight (Harry Bosch Series #6)

Angels Flight (Harry Bosch Series #6)

4.2 160
by Michael Connelly, Peter Giles

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A brand new recording of this Michael Connelly classic - available unabridged from Hachette Audio for the first time ever!

An activist attorney is killed in a cute little L.A. trolley called Angels Flight, far from Harry Bosch's Hollywood turf. But the case is so explosive—and the dead man's enemies inside the L.A.P.D. are so numerous—that it falls to


A brand new recording of this Michael Connelly classic - available unabridged from Hachette Audio for the first time ever!

An activist attorney is killed in a cute little L.A. trolley called Angels Flight, far from Harry Bosch's Hollywood turf. But the case is so explosive—and the dead man's enemies inside the L.A.P.D. are so numerous—that it falls to Harry to solve it. Now the streets are superheating. Harry's year-old Vegas marriage is unraveling. And the hunt for a killer is leading Harry to another high-profile L.A. murder case, one where every cop had a motive. The question is, did any have the guts?

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Audio
Connelly’s novel follows series hero Harry Bosch’s investigation into the murder of an African-American defense attorney who made a career of courtroom victories at the expense of the Los Angeles Police Department. This installment in the series is especially dark, and narrator Peter Giles’s reads in a voice that echoes with the dry croaking of a lifelong smoker—something that establishes a noirlike mood from the get-go. The narrator ably matches Bosch’s downbeat mood, shifting from anger at having to deal with racism, not just in his city but within the ranks of the LAPD, to weariness, sadness, and frustration at his inability to stop the disintegration of his marriage. Giles sands some of the roughness from his voice and pitches it slightly higher for the book’s female characters, like the detective’s soon-to-be-separated wife and his partner, Kiz Rider. But there’s still an edge rough enough to remind us we’re not listening to an Agatha Christie cozy. A Grand Central paperback. (June)
Andrew LeCount
The Barnes & Noble Review

Fallen Angels

With Angels Flight, Michael Connelly, the New York Times bestselling author of Blood Work and The Poet, returns to the bread-and-butter character -- the tough, no-holds-barred LAPD detective Harry Bosch -- who has virtually catapulted Connelly to the top of the gritty, police-procedural-thriller heap. Loaded with electrifying sequences, intriguing "NYPD Blue"-like big-city politics and procedures, and a killer plot stacked with high-speed twists and turns that'll keep you guessing until its very end, Angels Flight is an intense and terrific read.

Although Angels Flight was my first Connelly experience, I guarantee that it will not be my last. This novel really impressed me. Set in Los Angeles, the town where high-profile trials such as the O. J. Simpson and Rodney King affairs have captivated and scarred the nation in the '90s, Angels Flight serves up a compelling and highly sensitive double-murder investigation that has L.A.'s disgruntled black community setting its sights on the LAPD. When a controversial black lawyer (à la Johnny Cochran), who has made an extremely lucrative career defending the rights of the city's slugs while prosecuting the beleaguered police force, is found murdered, the media immediately point their fingers at the LAPD, and rioting is once again in the air. Was it actually a cop with a killer vendetta? It's up to Harry Bosch to uncover the sick and shocking truth.

Howard Elias, a savior in the eyes of Los Angeles's black community, is a devil to the city's law-enforcement agencies. Notorious for fanning the fires of high-profile civil-rights cases in which cops are depicted as evil incarnate, out to keep the poor black man down, Elias sets fear and anger coursing through any cop's veins. Now, on the eve of an extremely volatile trial that has the police once again jammed between a rock and a hard place, Elias is dead, brutally shot on the deserted late-night Angels Flight train.

Nothing sits right for Harry Bosch and his team. First they're selected out of rotation to head up the Elias murder. Then they're forced to work with an internal affairs group that's headed by a "prick" named Chastain; on more than one occasion, Chastain has investigated Bosch for procedural wrongdoing. Then there's Deputy Chief Irving, who appears to be more interested in damage control than he is in uncovering the truth. Although the acrimony among the investigators is an inch thick at the start, they agree on one issue: A suspect -- or a patsy -- had better be named soon, or there's going to be some serious hell to pay.

Thus begins the whirlwind of action, intrigue, and blistering suspense that is forged so masterfully by the talented Connelly. The plot may sound straightforward, even clichéd, but the reader is in for a chilling surprise. Each page reveals another potential suspect, startling discovery, death, or seemingly unmovable obstacle or distraction. During one 30- or 40-page sequence, the reader is bounced around so much that the publisher should include a warning label alerting those prone to motion sickness to keep their Dramamine nearby. Take nothing at face value: Friends may be enemies; enemies may be friends. The plot really keeps you guessing. If you enjoy hard-boiled police procedurals or just expertly written roller-coaster rides of suspense, give Angels Flight a read. You won't be disappointed.

--Andrew LeCount

Philip Oakes
Exciting, authentic, grimly satisfying. -- Literary Review
Christoph Klock
You will turn pages as fast as you can. Thenwhen you finishyou will be a bit wiser about the human condition. If you have read earlier Harry Bosch novelsAngels Flight is a must-read now. If you have missed the earlier booksyou might want to start with The Black Echo and The Black Ice"keepers" available in paperback. —The Mystery
Marilyn Stasio
Bosch is a wonderful old-fashioned hero who isn't afraid to walk through the flames — and suffer the pain for the rest of us.
New York Times Book Review
USA Today
Michael Connelly is one of those masters...who can keep driving the story forward in runaway locomotive style.
Pam Lambert
Although Angels rarely takes wing, it's still a flight well worth taking.
People Magazine
Rick McMahan
...Harry’s life is in upheaval. For those of us who thought Harry’s marriage to Eleanor Wish would end his personal unhappiness, we were wrong. From the outset of Angels Flight, Eleanor is gone and Harry, as well as the reader, struggle with why she’s left. In the end, we are left, like Harry, wondering where Eleanor is and what will happen to Harry Bosch. Once again Michael Connelly has written an excellent tale.
Over My Dead
Connelly is often called the heir-apparent to Raymond Chandler....[He] brings a newsman's ear to the language of the streets...
Library Journal
A black lawyer famed for his antidiscrimination suits against the LAPD is murdered before a big trial, and guess who gets to investigate? Connelly's hotshot Harry Bosch, of course.
Talk Magazine
Conelly's latest thriller about Harry Bosch, the irascible and erusite homicide detedtive, was the most compelling crime book of the year.

Talk Magazine's 10 Best Books of 1999

Product Details

Hachette Audio
Publication date:
Harry Bosch Series , #6
Edition description:
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
5.38(w) x 5.62(h) x 1.53(d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

The word sounded alien in his mouth, as if spoken by someone else. There was an urgency in his own voice that Bosch didn't recognize. The simple hello he had whispered into the telephone was full of hope, almost desperation. But the voice that came back to him was not the one he needed to hear.

"Detective Bosch?"

For a moment Bosch felt foolish. He wondered if the caller had recognized the faltering of his voice.

"This is Lieutenant Michael Tulin. Is this Bosch?"

The name meant nothing to Bosch and his momentary concern about how he sounded was ripped away as an awful dread stole quickly into his mind.

"This is Bosch. What is it? What's wrong?"

"Hold please for Deputy Chief Irving."

"What is--"

The caller clicked off and there was only silence. Bosch remembered who Tulin was now—Irving's adjutant. Bosch stood still and waited. He looked around the kitchen, only the dim oven light on. With one hand he held the phone hard against his ear, the other he instinctively brought up to his stomach, where fear and dread were twisting together. He looked at the glowing numbers on the stove clock. It was almost two, five minutes past the last time he had looked at it. This isn't right, he thought as he waited. They don't do this by phone. They come to your door. They tell you this face to face.

Finally, Irving picked up on the other end of the line.

"Detective Bosch?"

"Where is she? What happened?"

Another moment of excruciating silence went by as Bosch waited. His eyes were closed now.

"Excuse me?"

"Just tell me, what happened to her? I mean . . . is she alive?"

"Detective, I'm not sure what it is you are talking about. I'm calling because I need to muster your team as soon as possible. I need you for a special assignment."

Bosch opened his eyes. He looked through the kitchen window into the dark canyon below his house. His eyes followed the slope of the hill down toward the freeway and then up again to the slash of Hollywood lights he could see through the cut of the Cahuenga Pass. He wondered if each light was someone awake and waiting for something or someone that wasn't going to come. Bosch saw his own reflection in the window. He looked weary. He could make out the deep circles etched beneath his eyes, even in the dark glass.

"I have an assignment, Detective," Irving repeated impatiently. "Are you able to work or are you—"

"I can work. I just was mixed up there for a moment."

"Well, I'm sorry if I woke you. But you should be used to it."

"Yes. It's no problem."

Bosch didn't tell him that he hadn't been awakened by the call. That he had been roaming around in his dark house waiting.

"Then get it going, Detective. We'll have coffee down here at the scene."

"What scene?"

"We'll talk about it when you get here. I don't want to delay this any further. Call your team. Have them come to Grand Street between Third and Fourth. The top of Angels Flight. Do you know where I'm talking about?"

"Bunker Hill? I don't—"

"It will be explained when you get here. Seek me out when you are here. If I am at the bottom come down to me before you speak with anyone."

"What about Lieutenant Billets? She should—"

"She will be informed about what is happening. We're wasting time. This is not a request. It is a command. Get your people together and get down here. Am I making myself clear to you?"

"You're clear."

"Then I will be expecting you."

Irving hung up without waiting for a reply. Bosch stood with the phone still at his ear for a few moments, wondering what was going on. Angels Flight was the short inclined railroad that carried people up Bunker Hill in downtown—far outside the boundaries of the Hollywood Division homicide table. If Irving had a body down there at Angels Flight the investigation would at least initially fall under the jurisdiction of Central Division. If central detectives couldn't handle it because of caseload or personnel problems, or if the case was deemed too important or media sensitive for them, then it would be bumped to the bulls, the Robbery-Homicide Division. The fact that a deputy chief of police was involved in the case before dawn on a Saturday skewed things toward the latter possibility. The fact that he was calling Bosch and his team in instead of the RHD bulls was the puzzle. Whatever it was that Irving had working at Angels Flight didn't make sense.

Bosch glanced once more down into the dark canyon, pulled the phone away from his ear and clicked it off. He wished he had a cigarette but he had made it this far through the night without one. He wouldn't break now.

He turned his back and leaned on the counter.  He looked down at the phone in his hand, turned it back on and hit the speed dial button that would connect him with Kizmin Rider's apartment. He would call Jerry Edgar after he talked to her. Bosch felt a sense of relief come over him that he was reluctant to acknowledge. He might not yet know what awaited him at Angels Flight, but it would certainly take his thoughts away from Eleanor Wish.

Rider's alert voice answered after two rings.

"Kiz, it's Harry," he said. "We've got work."


Chapter Two

Bosch agreed to meet his two partners at the Hollywood Division station to pick up cars before they headed downtown to Angels Flight. On the way down the hill to the station he had punched in KFWB on his Jeep's radio and picked up a breaking news report on a homicide investigation underway at the site of the historical funicular railroad. The newsman on the scene reported that two bodies had been found inside one of the train cars and that several members of the Robbery-Homicide squad were on the scene. But that was the extent of the reporter's information as he also noted that the police had placed an unusually wide cordon of yellow tape around the crime scene, prohibiting him from getting a closer look. At the station Bosch communicated this bit of thin information to Edgar and Rider while they signed three slickbacks out of the motor pool.

"So it looks like we're gonna be playing sloppy seconds to RHD," Edgar concluded, showing his annoyance at being rousted from sleep to spend probably the whole weekend doing gopher work for the RHD bulls. "Our guts, their glory. And we aren't even on call this weekend. Why didn't Irving call out Rice's got-damned team if he needed a Hollywood team?"

Edgar had a point. Team One - Bosch, Edgar and Rider - wasn't even up on call rotation this weekend. If Irving followed proper call out procedure he would have called Terry Rice, who headed up Team Three, which was currently on top of the rotation. But Bosch already figured that Irving wasn't following any procedures, not if the deputy chief had called him directly before checking with his supervisor, Lt. Grace Billets.

"Well, Jerry," Bosch said, more than used to his partner's whining, "you'll probably get the chance to personally ask the deputy chief those questions in a little while."

"Yeah, right, I ask him one of those and I'll find my ass down in Harbor the next ten years. Fuck that."

"Hey, Harbor Division's an easy gig," Rider said, just to rag Edgar a bit. She knew Edgar lived in the Valley and that a transfer to Harbor Division would mean a miserable ninety-minute commute each way—the pure definition of Freeway Therapy, the brass's method of unofficially punishing malcontents and problem cops. "They only pull six, seven homicides a year down there."

"That's nice but count me the fuck out."

"Okay, okay," Bosch said. "Let's just get going and we'll worry about all of that stuff later. Don't get lost."    

Bosch took Hollywood Boulevard to the 101 and coasted down the freeway in minimal traffic to downtown. Halfway there he checked the mirror and saw his partners cruising in the lanes behind him. Even in the dark and with other traffic he could pick them out. He hated the new detective cars. They were painted black and white and looked exactly like patrol cruisers with the exception that they did not carry the emergency lights across the roof. It had been the former chief's idea to replace unmarked detective cars with the so-called slickbacks. The whole thing had been a scam perpetrated to fulfill his promises to put more cops on the street. By changing unmarked cars into clearly marked cars, he was giving the public the erroneous impression that there were more cops patrolling the streets. He also counted the detectives using slickbacks when he addressed community groups and proudly reported that he had increased the number of cops on the street by hundreds.

Meantime, detectives trying to do their jobs drove around like targets.  More than once Bosch and his team had sought to serve an arrest warrant or had attempted to quietly come into a neighborhood in the course of an investigation only to have their presence signaled by their own cars. It was stupid and dangerous but it was the chief's edict and it was carried out throughout the department's divisional detective bureaus, even after the chief was not asked back for a second five-year term. Bosch, like many of the department's detectives, hoped the new chief would soon order the detective cars back to normal. Meanwhile, he no longer drove the car assigned to him home from work. It had been a nice detective supervisor's perk having a take-home car but he didn't want the marked car sitting in front of his house. Not in L.A. You never knew what menace that could bring to your door.

They got to Grand Street by two-forty-five. As Bosch pulled to a stop he saw an unusually large number of police and related vehicles parked along the curb at California Plaza. He noted the crime scene and coroner's vans, several patrol cars and several more detective sedans—not the slickbacks, but the unmarked cars still used by the RHD bulls. While he waited for Rider and Edgar to pull up he opened his briefcase, took out the cellular phone and called his home. After five rings the machine picked up the call and he heard his own voice telling him to leave a message. He was about to click off but decided to leave a message.

"Eleanor, its me. I've got a call out . . . but page me or call me on the cell phone when you get in so I know you're okay . . . Um, okay, that's it. Bye - oh, it's about two-forty-five right now. Saturday morning. Bye."

Edgar and Rider had walked up to his door. He put the phone away and got out with his briefcase. Edgar, the tallest, held up the yellow crime scene tape and they crossed under, gave their names and badge numbers to a uniform officer with the crime scene attendance list, and then walked across California Plaza.

The plaza was the centerpiece of Bunker Hill, a stone courtyard formed by the conjoining of two marble office towers, a high-rise apartment building and the Modern Museum of Art. There was a huge fountain and reflecting pool at its center, though the pumps and lights were off at this hour, leaving the water still and black.

Past the fountain was the beaux-arts revival-styled station and wheelhouse at the top of Angels Flight. It was next to this small structure that most of the investigators and patrol officers milled about as if waiting for something. Bosch looked for the gleaming shaven skull that belonged to Deputy Chief Irving but didn't see it. He and his partners stepped into the crowd and moved toward the lone rail car sitting at the top of the tracks. Along the way he recognized many of the faces of Robbery-Homicide detectives. They were men he had worked with years earlier when he had been part of the elite squad. A few of them nodded to him or called him by name. Bosch saw Francis Sheehan, his former partner, standing off by himself, smoking a cigarette. Bosch broke from his partners and stepped over.

"Frankie," he said. "What's going on?"

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

"Got called out. Irving called us out."

"Shit. Sorry, partner, I wouldn't wish this one on my enemy."

"Why, what's going—"

"You better talk to the man first. He's putting the big blanket on this one."

Bosch hesitated. Sheehan looked worn down but Bosch hadn't seen him in months. He had no idea what had put the dark circles under his hound dog eyes or when they had been cut into his face. For a moment Bosch remembered the reflection of his own face that he had seen earlier.

"You okay, Francis?"

"Never better."

"Okay, I'll talk to you."

Bosch rejoined Edgar and Rider who were standing near the rail car. Edgar nodded slightly to Bosch's left.

 "Hey, Harry, you see that?" he said in a low voice. "That's Sustain Chastain and that bunch over there. What are those pricks doin' here?"

Bosch turned and saw the grouping of men from Internal Affairs.

"Got no idea," he said.

Chastain and Bosch locked eyes for a moment but Bosch didn't hold it. It wasn't worth the waste of energy to get worked up over just seeing the IAD man. Instead, he focused on trying to put the whole scene together. His curiosity level was at maximum. The number of RHD bulls hanging around, the IAD shines, a deputy chief on the scene—he had to find out what was going on.

With Edgar and Rider behind him in single file, Bosch worked his way to the rail car. Portable lights had been set up inside and the car was lit up like somebody's living room. Inside, two crime scene techs were at work. This told Bosch that he was quite late arriving at the scene. The crime scene techs didn't move in until after the coroner's techs had completed their initial procedures - declaring victims dead, photographing the bodies in situ, searching them for wounds, weapons and identification.

Bosch stepped to the rear of the car and looked through the open door. The technicians were at work around two bodies. A woman was sprawled on one of the stepped seats about midway through the car. She was wearing gray leggings and a white thigh-length T-shirt. A large flower of blood had blossomed on her chest where she had been hit dead center with a single bullet. Her head was snapped back against the sill of the window behind her seat. She had dark hair and features, her lineage obviously stretching somewhere south of the border. On the seat next to her body was a plastic bag filled with many items Bosch couldn't see. A folded newspaper protruded from the top of it.

On the steps near the rear door to the car was the facedown body of a black man wearing a dark gray suit. From his viewpoint Bosch could not see the man's face and only one wound was visible—a through and through gunshot wound at the center of the victim's right hand. Bosch knew it was what would later be called a defensive wound in the autopsy report. The man had held his hand up in a futile attempt to ward off gunfire. Bosch had seen it often enough over the years and it always made him think about the desperate actions people take at the end. Putting a hand up to stop a bullet was one of the most desperate.

Though the techs were stepping in and out of his line of sight, Bosch could look straight down through the inclined train car and down the track to Hill Street about three hundred feet below. A duplicate train car was down there at the bottom of the hill and Bosch could see more detectives milling about by the turnstiles and the closed doors of the Grand Central Market across the street.

Bosch had ridden the incline railroad as a kid and had studied how it worked. He still remembered. The two matching cars were counter-balanced. When one went up the side by side tracks the other went down, and vice versa. They passed each other at the midpoint. He remembered riding on Angels Flight long before Bunker Hill had been reborn as a slick business center of glass and marble towers, classy condominiums and apartments, museums and fountains referred to as water gardens. Back then the hill had been a place of once grand Victorian homes turned into tired looking rooming houses. Harry and his mother had taken Angels Flight up the hill to look for a place to live.

"Finally, Detective Bosch."

Bosch turned around. Deputy Chief Irving stood in the open door of the little station house.

"All of you," he said, signaling Bosch and his team inside.

They entered a cramped room dominated by the large old cable wheels that once moved the train cars up and down the incline. Bosch remembered reading that when Angels Flight was rehabilitated a few years earlier after a quarter century of disuse, the cables and wheels had been replaced with an electric system monitored by computer.

On one side of the wheel display was just enough room for a small lunch table with two folding chairs. On the other side was the computer for operating the trains, a stool for the operator and a stack of cardboard boxes, the top one open and showing stacks of pamphlets on the history of Angels Flight.

Standing against the far wall, in the shadow behind the old iron wheels, his arms folded and his craggy sun-reddened face looking down at the floor, was a man Bosch recognized. Bosch had once worked for Captain John Garwood, commander of the Robbery-Homicide Division. He knew by the look on his face that he was very put out about something. Garwood didn't look up at them and the three detectives said nothing.

Irving went to a telephone on the lunch table and picked up the loose handset. As he began talking he motioned to Bosch to close the door.

"Excuse me, sir," Irving said. "It was the team from Hollywood. They are all here and we are ready to proceed."

He listened for a few moments, said good-bye and hung up the phone. The reverence in his voice and his use of the word sir told Bosch that Irving had been talking to the chief of police. It was one more curiosity about the case.

"All right, then," Irving said, turning around and facing the three detectives. "I am sorry to roust you people, especially out of rotation. However, I have spoken with Lieutenant Billets and as of now you have been cut free of the Hollywood rotation until we get this handled."

"What exactly is this that we are handling?" Bosch asked.

"A delicate situation. The homicides of two citizens."

Bosch wished he would get to the point.

"Chief, I see enough RHD people around here to investigate the Bobby Kennedy case all over again," he said, glancing at Garwood. "And that's not to mention the IAD shines hovering around the edges. What exactly are we doing here? What do you want?"

"Simple," Irving said. "I am turning the investigation over to you. It is your case now, Detective Bosch. The Robbery-Homicide detectives will be withdrawing as soon as you people are brought up to speed. As you can see, you are coming in late. That's unfortunate but I think you will be able to overcome it. I know what you can do."

Bosch stared at him blankly for a long moment, then glanced at Garwood again. The captain had not moved and continued to stare at the floor. Bosch asked the only question that could bring understanding to this strange situation.

"That man and woman on the train car, who are they?"

Irving nodded.

"Were is probably the more correct word. Were. The woman's name was Catalina Perez. Who exactly she was and what she was doing on Angels Flight we do not know yet. It probably does not matter. It appears that she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that will be for you to officially determine. Anyway, the man in there, he is different. That was Howard Elias."

"The lawyer?"

Irving nodded. Bosch heard Edgar draw in a breath and hold it.

"This is for real?"


Bosch looked past Irving and through the ticket window. He could see into the train car. The techs were still at work, getting ready to shut off the lights so they could laser the inside of the car. His eyes fell to the hand with the bullet wound through it. Howard Elias. Bosch thought about all of the suspects there would be. Many of them standing around outside at that very moment, watching.

"Shit," Edgar said. "Don't suppose we could take a pass on this one, could we, Chief?"

"Watch your language, Detective," Irving snapped, the muscles of his jaw bulging as he grew angry. "That is not acceptable here."

"Look, Chief, all I'm sayin' is if you're looking for somebody to play department Uncle Tom, it ain't going to be - "

"That has nothing to do with this," Irving said, cutting him off. "Whether you like it or not, you have been assigned to this case. I expect each of you to do it professionally and thoroughly. Most of all, I expect results, as does the Chief of Police. Other matters mean nothing. Absolutely nothing."

After a brief silence, during which Irving's eyes went from Edgar to Rider and then to Bosch, the deputy chief continued.

"In this department there is only one race," he said. "Not black or white. Just the blue race."

Meet the Author

Michael Connelly is the #1 bestselling author of the Harry Bosch series of novels and the Mickey Haller series and legal thrillers, as well as The Poet, Blood Work, Void Moon, Chasing the Dime, and The Scarecrow. He is a former newspaper reporter who has won numerous awards for his journalism and his novels. He spends his time in California and Florida

Brief Biography

Sarasota, Florida
Date of Birth:
July 21, 1956
Place of Birth:
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
B.A. in Journalism, University of Florida, 1980

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Angels Flight 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 160 reviews.
ReadersFavorite More than 1 year ago
Reviewed by Stephen Brayton for Readers' Favorite A lawyer who makes his living by bringing lawsuits against the Los Angeles police department and a bystander are shot on one of the Angels Flight trolley cars. Detective Hieronymus Bosch and his team get called out of rotation to run the investigation. The city is, again, starting to heat up, as the lawyer, Howard Elias, was black. Even from the beginning, Bosch discovers no end of suspects. Besides the seemingly endless string of potentially vindictive cops, Elias had a girlfriend and, also, was involved in pornography - both print and online. Elias' philandering brings in a motive for his wife and son. Bosch has to wade through the evidence while at the same time not get sucked into office politics. One of the cases Elias was working on centered around a black man accused of killing a white child. Bosch finds indications that Elias knew the real killer's identity. The case, however, is not the only thing affecting Bosch's emotions. He also has to deal with his failing marriage of just over a year because his wife is addicted to gambling. Connelly's Bosch mysteries are guaranteed to include excellent police procedure, intrigue, police politics, and that one special clue that breaks open the investigation, even when the case looks solved. Angels Flight is no exception. When those in charge named the killer, I knew the story had more to offer. I knew Bosch had yet to conclude the case. I've enjoyed Connelly mysteries for many years. There's never a disappointing moment and each chapter brought something new that kept me guessing. Connelly's style is such that I felt as if I stood next to Bosch throughout the entire few days, seeing what he saw and feeling his emotions. Every Bosch novel is a winner and I look forward to the next one.
SlapShot62 More than 1 year ago
The Bosch series just continues to get better with each book. I thought Angels Flight started out just a little slow, but once the pace picked up, it really got rolling. Connelly is a master at this genre, developing believeable plot and side storylines and producing characters with depth. I have no intention of stopping here - gonna keep reading all the Bosch books in order.
1dachsmom More than 1 year ago
Great book.  Have read almost all of Michael Connelly's books - make sure you don't miss this one --- it's excellent. 
kadie13 More than 1 year ago
I thoroughtly enjoyed this book. Another Connelly great one. I didn't see the end coming. I would recommend this book as a great read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
If you love detective stories Harry Bosch is one of the BEST! Angles Flight is great but I highly recommend if you read this series begin with the first one. I started with number 10 and had to go back and read all of them. I am now on 11. (They are so good I read number 10 about two months ago).
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Bosch continues as my favorite detectives ever!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I am an avid reader of this series, and have read almost all of the available books. This one is fast flowing, easy to read, believable, and most importantly, definitely a five-star rating! In my opinion...maybe the best one yet! Highly recommend!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I love the Harry Bosch series and this book is no exception. Michael Connellly is a brilliant author and one if my favorites!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Lots of twists and turns
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
BirdmanJG More than 1 year ago
It was well written. Keeps moving at a good pace. I like Connelly's books.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
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SSinCO More than 1 year ago
I am currently reading all of Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch series in order, and I LOVE them. I am a big mystery/detective story fan, and I have tried so many different series from different authors, but I finally found the one for me! What can I say? I often find myself not really liking the main characters in novels, but I truly like Harry; he is a good guy - not perfect, but he works hard, isn't a womanizer, and isn't overly macho. All of the stories are well-written, realistic, contain surprises and twists, and keep me hooked until the very end. My favorites have been The Black Echo (#1), The Concrete Blonde (#3), Trunk Music (#5), City of Bones (#8), The Narrows (#10), although again - I enjoyed all of them. If you like detective mystery novels, you won't be disappointed with Michael Connelly and Harry Bosch.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Lots of twist and turns.  Feel the book gave enough background that if you hadn't read the others you could have followed the characters.  I was with it right up to the end, would have liked justice for the child.  Peaked you're interest?  Read and find out.  
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