×

Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.

For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.

The Black Ice (Harry Bosch Series #2)
     

The Black Ice (Harry Bosch Series #2)

4.0 504
by Michael Connelly
 

See All Formats & Editions

Narcotics officer Cal Moore's orders were to look into the city's latest drug killing. Instead, he ends up in a motel room with a fatal bullet wound to the head and a suicide note stuffed in his back pocket. Working the case, LAPD detective Harry Bosch is reminded of the primal police rule he learned long ago: Don't look for the facts, but the glue that holds them

Overview

Narcotics officer Cal Moore's orders were to look into the city's latest drug killing. Instead, he ends up in a motel room with a fatal bullet wound to the head and a suicide note stuffed in his back pocket. Working the case, LAPD detective Harry Bosch is reminded of the primal police rule he learned long ago: Don't look for the facts, but the glue that holds them together. Soon Harry's making some very dangerous connections, starting with a dead cop and leading to a bloody string of murders that wind from Hollywood Boulevard to the back alleys south of the border. Now this battle-scarred veteran will find himself in the center of a complex and deadly game-one in which he may be the next and likeliest victim.

Editorial Reviews

San Diego Union-Tribute
"Hard-bitten...complex and convincing."
Virginia-Pilot and the Ledger Star
"Gripping...one of the finest police-procedural novels...Miss it at your peril."
From the Publisher
"Strong and sure...this novel establishes Connelly as a writer with superior talent for storytelling."—Publishers Weekly"

Hard-bitten...complex and convincing."—San Diego Union-Tribute"

Gripping...one of the finest police-procedural novels...Miss it at your peril."—Virginia-Pilot and the Ledger Star

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
LAPD detective Hieronymous ``Harry'' Bosch, protagonist of the highly praised mystery The Black Echo , returns in a procedural thriller set in and around the drug-trafficking underworlds of inner-city Los Angeles and the wastelands of Mexico. When Bosch arrives at a sleazy hotel room where a fellow officer has committed suicide, he senses that something is awry. Noncommittal superior officers, a diffident widow and tales linking the dead man to a newly created street drug called ``black ice'' (heroin, crack and PCP rolled into one) send Bosch down a winding trail of forensic impossibilities, brutally violent drug traffickers and an ultimately shocking case of mistaken identity. Award-winning Connelly's second fictional effort is strong and sure. His pacing could be better--too often he conveys the same information twice--but his plot and characters more than make up for a slow start. This novel establishes him as a writer with a superior talent for storytelling. (June)
Wes Lukowsky
Plan ahead before you read this buzz saw of a novel. Don't start unless you have the next day off. A couple of cool beverages will also be needed, as will a sandwich or two. Hey, it's a long book, and once you start, you "will" finish. Harry Bosch, who made his debut in the acclaimed "Black Echo" , is a smart, determined LAPD homicide detective who's driven by an inner sense of justice. This time out he arrives early on the scene of a fellow officer's suicide; then he's told it's not his case: back off. Fat chance. Harry senses the officer may have gone over to the bad guys and was killed when he tried to tiptoe back to the right side of the tracks. At every turn, Harry is confronted by dirty cops struggling to save their collective butts by lying and misdirecting the investigation. The key turns out to be black ice, a deadly new synthetic drug. Author Connelly, a "Los Angeles Times" reporter, knows crime, cops, and criminals. Most of all, he knows that dangerous no-man's-land where the three intersect. A powerful novel in a series that seems destined for wide popularity.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781455550623
Publisher:
Grand Central Publishing
Publication date:
10/15/2013
Series:
Harry Bosch Series , #2
Pages:
464
Sales rank:
13,725
Product dimensions:
4.10(w) x 7.40(h) x 1.00(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Black Ice


By Michael Connelly

Grand Central Publishing

Copyright © 2013 Michael Connelly
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4555-5062-3



CHAPTER 1

THE SMOKE CARRIED UP FROM THE Cahuenga Pass and flattened beneath a layer of cool crossing air. From where Harry Bosch watched, the smoke looked like a gray anvil rising up the pass. The late afternoon sun gave the gray a pinkish tint at its highest point, tapering down to deep black at its root, which was a brushfire moving up the hillside on the east side of the cut. He switched his scanner to the Los Angeles County mutual aid frequency and listened as firefighter battalion chiefs reported to a command post that nine houses were already gone on one street and those on the next street were in the path. The fire was moving toward the open hillsides of Griffith Park, where it might make a run for hours before being controlled. Harry could hear the desperation in the voices of the men on the scanner.

Bosch watched the squadron of helicopters, like dragonflies from this distance, dodging in and out of the smoke, dropping their payloads of water and pink fire retardant on burning homes and trees. It reminded him of the dustoffs in Vietnam. The noise. The uncertain bobbing and weaving of the overburdened craft. He saw the water crushing through flaming roofs and steam immediately rising.

He looked away from the fire and down into the dried brush that carpeted the hillside and surrounded the pylons that held his own home to the hillside on the west side of the pass. He saw daisies and wildflowers in the chaparral below. But not the coyote he had seen in recent weeks hunting in the arroyo below his house. He had thrown down pieces of chicken to the scavenger on occasion, but the animal never accepted the food while Bosch watched. Only after Bosch went back in off the porch would the animal creep out and take the offerings. Harry had christened the coyote Timido. Sometimes late at night he heard the coyote's howl echoing up the pass.

He looked back out at the fire just as there was a loud explosion and a concentrated ball of black smoke rotated up within the gray anvil. There was excited chatter on the scanner and a battalion chief reported that a propane tank from a barbecue had ignited.

Harry watched the darker smoke dissipate in the larger cloud and then switched the scanner back to the LAPD tactical frequencies. He was on call. Christmas duty. He listened for a half minute but heard nothing other than routine radio traffic. It appeared to be a quiet Christmas in Hollywood.

He looked at his watch and took the scanner inside. He pulled the pan out of the oven and slid his Christmas dinner, a roasted breast of chicken, onto a plate. Next he took the lid off a pot of steamed rice and peas and dumped a large portion onto the plate. He took his meal out to the table in the dining room, where there was already a glass of red wine waiting, next to the three cards that had come in the mail earlier in the week but that he had left unopened. He had Coltrane's arrangement of 'Song of the Underground Railroad' on the CD player.

As he ate and drank he opened the cards, studied them briefly and thought of their senders. This was the ritual of a man who was alone, he knew, but it didn't bother him. He'd spent many Christmases alone.

The first card was from a former partner who had retired on book and movie money and moved to Ensenada. It said what Anderson's cards always said: 'Harry, when you coming down?' The next one was also from Mexico, from the guide Harry had spent six weeks living and fishing and practicing Spanish with the previous summer in Bahia San Felipe. Bosch had been recovering from a bullet wound in the shoulder. The sun and sea air helped him mend. In his holiday greeting, written in Spanish, Jorge Barrera also invited Bosch's return.

The last card Bosch opened slowly and carefully, also knowing who it was from before seeing the signature. It was postmarked Tehachapi. And so he knew. It was handprinted on off-white paper from the prison's recycling mill and the Nativity scene was slightly smeared. It was from a woman he had spent one night with but thought about on more nights than he could remember. She, too, wanted him to visit. But they both knew he never would.

He sipped some wine and lit a cigarette. Coltrane was now into the live recording of 'Spiritual' captured at the Village Vanguard in New York when Harry was just a kid. But then the radio scanner—still playing softly on a table next to the television—caught his attention. Police scanners had played for so long as the background music of his life that he could ignore the chatter, concentrate on the sound of a saxophone, and still pick up the words and codes that were unusual. What he heard was a voice saying, 'One-K-Twelve, Staff Two needs your twenty.'

Bosch got up and walked over to the scanner, as if looking at it would make its broadcast more clear. He waited ten seconds for a reply to the request. Twenty seconds.

'Staff Two, location is the Hideaway, Western south of Franklin. Room seven. Uh, Staff Two should bring a mask.'

Bosch waited for more but that was it. The location given, Western and Franklin, was within Hollywood Division's boundaries. One-K-Twelve was a radio designation for a homicide detective out of the downtown headquarters' Parker Center. The Robbery-Homicide Division. And Staff Two was the designation for an assistant chief of police. There were only three ACs in the department and Bosch was unsure which one was Staff Two. But it didn't matter. The question was, what would one of the highest-ranking men in the department be rolling out for on Christmas night?

A second question bothered Harry even more. If RHD was already on the call, why hadn't he—the on-call detective in Hollywood Division—been notified first? He went to the kitchen, dumped his plate in the sink, dialed the station on Wilcox and asked for the watch commander. A lieutenant named Kleinman picked up. Bosch didn't know him. He was new, a transfer out of Foothill Division.

'What's going on?' Bosch asked. 'I'm hearing on the scanner about a body at Western and Franklin and nobody's told me a thing. And that's funny 'cause I'm on call out today.'

'Don't worry 'bout it,' Kleinman said. 'The hats have got it all squared away.'

Kleinman must be an oldtimer, Bosch figured. He hadn't heard that expression in years. Members of RHD wore straw bowlers in the 1940s. In the fifties it was gray fedoras. Hats went out of style after that—uniformed officers called RHD detectives 'suits' now, not 'hats'—but not homicide special cops. They still thought they were the tops, up there high like a cat's ass. Bosch had hated that arrogance even when he'd been one of them. One good thing about working Hollywood, the city's sewer. Nobody had any airs. It was police work, plain and simple.

'What's the call?' Bosch asked.

Kleinman hesitated a few seconds and then said, 'We've got a body in a motel room on Franklin. It's looking suicide. But RHD is going to take it—I mean, they've already taken it. We're out of it. That's from on high, Bosch.'

Bosch said nothing. He thought a moment. RHD coming out on a Christmas suicide. It didn't make much—then it flashed to him.

Calexico Moore.

'How old is this thing?' he asked. 'I heard them tell Staff Two to bring a mask.'

'It's ripe. They said it'd be a real potato head. Problem is, there isn't much head left. Looks like he smoked both barrels of a shotgun. At least, that's what I'm picking up on the RHD freek.'

Bosch's scanner did not pick up the RHD frequency. That was why he had not heard any of the early radio traffic on the call. The suits had apparently switched freeks only to notify Staff Two's driver of the address. If not for that, Bosch would not have heard about the call until the following morning when he came into the station. This angered him but he kept his voice steady. He wanted to get what he could from Kleinman.

'It's Moore, isn't it?'

'Looks like it,' Kleinman said. 'His shield is on the bureau there. Wallet. But like I said, nobody's going to make a visual ID from the body. So nothing is for sure.'

'How did this all go down?'

'Look, Bosch, I'm busy here, you know what I mean? This doesn't concern you. RHD has it.'

'No, you're wrong, man. It does concern me. I should've gotten first call from you. I want to know how it went down so I understand why I didn't.'

'Awright, Bosch, it went like this. We get a call out from the owner of the dump says he's got a stiff in the bathroom of room seven. We send a unit out and they call back and say, yeah, we got the stiff. But they called back on a land line—no radio—'cause they saw the badge and the wallet on the bureau and knew it was Moore. Or, at least, thought it was him. We'll see. Anyway, I called Captain Grupa at home and he called the AC. The hats were called in and you were not. That's the way it goes. So if you have a beef, it's with Grupa or maybe the AC, not me. I'm clean.'

Bosch didn't say anything. He knew that sometimes when he was quiet, the person he needed information from would eventually fill the silence.

'It's out of our hands now,' Kleinman said. 'Shit, the TV and Times are out there. Daily News. They figure it's Moore, like everybody else. It's a big mess. You'd think the fire up on the hill would be enough to keep them occupied. No way. They're out there lined up on Western. I gotta send another car over for media control. So, Bosch, you should be happy you aren't involved. It's Christmas, for Chrissake.'

But that wasn't good enough. Bosch should have been called and then it should have been his decision when to call out RHD. Someone had taken him out of the process altogether and that still burned him. He said good-bye and lit another cigarette. He got his gun out of the cabinet above the sink and hooked it to the belt on his blue jeans. Then he put on a light-tan sport coat over the Army green sweater he was wearing.

It was dark outside now and through the sliding glass door he could see the fire line across the pass. It burned brightly on the black silhouette of the hill. It was a crooked devil's grin moving to the crest.

From out in the darkness below his house he heard the coyote. Howling at the rising moon or the fire, or maybe just at himself for being alone and in the dark.

CHAPTER 2

BOSCH DROVE DOWN OUT OF THE HILLS into Hollywood, traveling mostly on deserted streets until he reached the Boulevard. On the sidewalks there were the usual groupings of runaways and transients. There were strolling prostitutes—he saw one with a red Santa hat on. Business is business, even on Christmas night. There were elegantly made up women sitting on bus benches who were not really women and not really waiting for buses. The tinsel and Christmas lights strung across the Boulevard at each intersection added a surreal touch to the neon glitz and grime. Like a whore with too much makeup, he thought—if there was such a thing.

But it wasn't the scene that depressed Bosch. It was Cal Moore. Bosch had been expecting this for nearly a week, since the moment he heard that Moore had failed to show up for roll call. For most of the cops at Hollywood Division it wasn't a question of whether Moore was dead. It was just a question of how long before his body turned up.

Moore had been a sergeant heading up the division's street narcotics unit. It was a night job and his unit worked the Boulevard exclusively. It was known in the division that Moore had separated from his wife and replaced her with whiskey. Bosch had found that out firsthand the one time he had spent time with the narc. He had also learned that there might be something more than just marital problems and early burnout plaguing him. Moore had spoken obliquely of Internal Affairs and a personnel investigation.

It all added up to a heavy dose of Christmas depression. As soon as Bosch heard they were starting a search for Cal Moore, he knew. The man was dead.

And so did everyone else in the department, though nobody said this out loud. Not even the media said it. At first the department tried to handle it quietly. Discreet questions at Moore's apartment in Los Feliz. A few helicopter runs over the nearby hills in Griffith Park. But then a TV reporter was tipped and all the other stations and the newspapers followed the story for the ride. The media dutifully reported on the progress of the search for the missing cop, Moore's photograph was pinned to the bulletin board in the Parker Center press room and the weight of the department made the standard pleas to the public. It was drama. Or, at least, it was good video; horseback searches, air searches, the police chief holding up the photo of the darkly handsome and serious-looking sergeant. But nobody said they were looking for a dead man.

Bosch stopped the car for the light at Vine and watched a man wearing a sandwich board cross the street. His stride was quick and jerky and his knees continuously popped the cardboard sign up in the air. Bosch saw there was a satellite photograph of Mars pasted on the board with a large section of it circled. Written in large letters below was REPENT! THE FACE OF THE LORD WATCHES US! Bosch had seen the same photograph on the cover of a tabloid while standing in line at a Lucky store, but the tabloid had claimed that the face was that of Elvis.

The light changed and he continued on toward Western. He thought of Moore. Outside of one evening spent drinking with him at a jazz bar near the Boulevard, he had not had much interaction with Moore. When Bosch had been transferred to Hollywood Division from RHD the year before, there had been hesitant handshakes and glad-to-know-yous from everyone in the division. But people generally kept their distance. It was understandable, since he had been rolled out of RHD on an IAD beef, and Bosch didn't mind. Moore was one of those who didn't go out of his way to do much more than nod when they passed in the hall or saw each other at staff meetings. Which was also understandable since the homicide table where Bosch worked was in the first-floor detective bureau and Moore's squad, the Hollywood BANG—short for Boulevard Anti-Narcotics Group—was on the second floor of the station. Still, there had been the one encounter. For Bosch it had been a meeting to pick up some background information for a case he was working. For Moore it had been an opportunity to have many beers and many whiskeys.

Moore's BANG squad had the kind of slick, media-grabbing name the department favored but in reality was just five cops working out of a converted storage room and roaming Hollywood Boulevard at night, dragging in anybody with a joint or better in his pocket. BANG was a numbers squad, created to make as many arrests as possible in order to help justify requests for more manpower, equipment and, most of all, overtime in the following year's budget. It did not matter that the DA's office handed out probation deals on most of the cases and kicked the rest. What mattered were those arrest statistics. And if Channel 2 or 4 or a Times reporter from the Westside insert wanted to ride along one night and do a story on the BANG squad, all the better. There were numbers squads in every division.

At Western Bosch turned north and ahead he could see the flashing blue and yellow lights of the patrol cars and the lightning-bright strobes of TV cameras. In Hollywood such a display usually signaled the violent end of a life or the premiere of a movie. But Bosch knew nothing premiered in this part of town except thirteen-year-old hookers.

Bosch pulled to the curb a half block from the Hideaway and lit a cigarette. Some things about Hollywood never changed. They just came up with new names for them. The place had been a run-down dump thirty years ago when it was called the El Rio. It was a run-down dump now. Bosch had never been there but he had grown up in Hollywood and remembered. He had stayed in enough places like it. With his mother. When she was still alive.

The Hideaway was a 1940s-era courtyard motel that during the day would be nicely shaded by a large banyan tree which stood in its center. At night, the motel's fourteen rooms receded into a darkness only the glow of red neon invaded. Harry noticed that the E in the sign announcing MONTHLY RATES was out.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Black Ice by Michael Connelly. Copyright © 2013 Michael Connelly. Excerpted by permission of Grand Central Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Michael Connelly is a former journalist and author of the bestselling series of Harry Bosch novels and the bestselling novels Chasing the Dime, The Poet, Blood Work, and Void Moon. Connelly has won numerous awards for his journalism and novels, including an Edgar Award. He lives in Florida.

Brief Biography

Hometown:
Sarasota, Florida
Date of Birth:
July 21, 1956
Place of Birth:
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Education:
B.A. in Journalism, University of Florida, 1980
Website:
http://www.michaelconnelly.com

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Post to your social network

     

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews

Black Ice (Harry Bosch Series #2) 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 504 reviews.
McCarthy92 More than 1 year ago
This is the second novel I have read by Michael Connelly (I plan to read all of his works in order). I will not talk a lot about plot because I feel like excellent crime novels such as this one should not be spoiled. All I will say is this, Connelly has a great style, themes, plot, and his famous character, Harry Bosch, is one of the greatest detectives in literature. I read this novel while I was watching the second and third seasons of my favorite TV show, The Wire, and I actually saw a couple of similarities in the plot and I thought that it would have been nice to see Michael write for the Wire along with his peers George Pelecanos, Richard Price, and Dennis Lehane. Connelly and the three authors I have just named are, in my opinion, the finest crime writers today and of all time (you cannot forget James Ellroy, Dashiell Hammett, and Raymond Chandler).
Balina More than 1 year ago
This is one of my favourite books by Michael Connelly. It's hard to put down!
SlapShot62 More than 1 year ago
Just recently started reading Connelly and the Bosch series. The Black Echo seemed to start out slow for me and gradually became quite a thrill ride to the very end. The Black Ice, however, grabs you from the beginning and does not let go. There is rich character development, including Det Bosch and others in the LAPD, a solid if not spectacular plot and unexpected developments throughout. This is one of those books that defines "page turner," as you get hooked and stay hooked. Not too long ago I read a review that suggested The Black Ice was somewhat flat compared to books #1 (The Black Echo) and #3 (The Concrete Blonde) in the series. From my perspective, the ride started gradually out of the gate with The Black Echo and has steadily, and at times quickly, gathered a full head of steam. I'm jumping right into the Concrete Blonde because I can't wait to see where Connelly takes Bosch in the subsequent books.
banjoplatypus More than 1 year ago
This is the second Harry Bosch novel I've read, and I have to say I'm really starting to like this guy! I won't reveal any of the plot, but I will say that much of the action occurs in parts of the US and Mexico that I am completely unfamiliar with (I'm from Texas). As a result, I pulled up a map several times to trace Bosch's locations -- which turned out to be a little fun! I'm glad I started this series in the correct order, because Connelly does make references to events in The Black Echo. In short, this is a well-written, fast-moving story that is a fun read and a great second dive into the adventures of Harry Bosch. I can't wait for the Concrete Blonde!
dmow172005 More than 1 year ago
Great Read. Harry is a very interesting character. The book provides some understanding of police work, and a look at the problems that remained after the Viet Nam war.
Goonboy2 More than 1 year ago
A bad Michael Connelly novel is still a good book. Sandwiched between his first - THE BLACK ECHO and third - THE CONCRETE BLONDE, Connelly's second book is a bit of a let down. Bosch is a little more cantankerous, a little more rebellious, a little less loveable than in the rest of the series. While the story has some merit it wasn't the page-turner I have come to expect from Connelly. Characters were poorly developed and often did not interact in a pleasing way. For example, Harry's interaction with fellow law enforcement officers is often antagonistic for no good reason. And his relationship with women is less than noble. Those readers not already familiar with Harry may find him to be too caustic for their tastes. I did and I love Harry Bosch. Neophyte Harry Bosch aficionados should look elsewhere. Almost all of the others in the series are more entertaining. And if you like Harry, you will probably like Connelly's non-Bosch books as well, especially those featuring Rachel Walling or Jack McEvoy. After you have read the rest, come back to THE BLACK ICE.
EINY More than 1 year ago
Michael Connelly continues the Harry Bosch series with this excellent story. A must read for detective fans. Harry is a brilliant detective with an uncanny ability to solve his cases.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
You can't get better then this. Excellent Series, right up there in with the old 87 th Precinct of so long ago. Just grittier. Makes me want to start over with the #1 and keep reading..
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Another winner for Miachael Connelly
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I'm new to the Harry Bosch series, but it is fast becoming a favorite. If you like mystery and intrig you can't go wrong. I'm moving to #3 and can't wait.
Anonymous 12 months ago
My second book , and i truly liked it alot he is one of the best mystery around worth the money what a read make sure u have nothing important to do because u are going to be tied up readin
JimJF More than 1 year ago
Very informative regarding locale and a good amount of intrigue. Very well written
insanepoet65 More than 1 year ago
This is my second Harry Bosch novel read. I am not sure if they need to be done in order, but that is the way I am going about the series. The Black Ice involves the death of a narcotics police officer. At first ruled a suicide, but then changed up to homicide investigation. It is one that the top brass wanted swept under the rug and forgotten. Harry Bosch has a hard time keeping his nose out of the investigation, even when ordered off the case. As luck would have it, another case he is working happens to cross paths with the death of the officer. Now, this was a good book, not a great one, but a good one and one that will keep your attention. I did have some problems with it, but that is probably just me. Part of mt problem was Bosch’s interactions with other police officers. He was almost combative, even if it was verbally. His interaction with the women in his life was iffy at best. And for the love of God, I did not need to know every time this guy decided to get a smoke. That being said, the writing was sharp, almost reminiscent of a film noir style, but from the third person. Connelly gave me a sense of the grit and grime that lives and breathes in LA, and it was enough to keep me going despite my afore mentioned misgivings.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Nothing more to say, but enjoy!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Carstairs38 More than 1 year ago
Designer Drugs and a Murdered Cop I really had intended to get back to the Harry Bosch books before now. But I slipped a different book into the Michael Connelly slot in my audio book rotation a few months back, so I’m just now getting to The Black Ice, the second book starring this popular detective. While I still think I prefer Mickey Haller better, I did enjoy this book. It’s Christmas night when the body of narcotics police officer Cal Moore is found in a hotel room. Cal had been missing for several days, and no one was honestly surprised when he turned up dead. It’s an obvious suicide, even detective Harry Bosch thinks so after his brief look at the crime scene before he is ushered out by top brass in the LAPD. The only thing that doesn’t really make sense is the note Cal left behind, “I found out who I was.” The next day, Bosch gets a new case that makes him question whether Moore really committed suicide or not, however. Then he learns that Moore was secretly working on a case Bosch had asked for his help on involving a designer drug called black ice. Suddenly, Bosch is beginning to wonder if Moore was really murdered. Can he overcome department politics to uncover the truth? The story started well, and we quickly began to see a wide web that tied multiple things together. How Bosch would prove it all was the real mystery of the book. I must admit I found that part a little long and drawn out at times, and a few of the twists seemed more like clichés, especially the police department politics. Granted, the clichés in the cozies I read don’t bother me. Go figure, right? Still, there were enough twists to hold my interest, and the climax was very satisfying. I do like Harry Bosch as a character. I wish he weren’t such a loner, but it does mean most of the characters we spend much time with are new to this book. They were all well developed as well, making it easy to care about the outcome of the story. Since this is a police procedural, the language and description of violence is significantly more I’m used to reading. I knew that going in, so this is worth noting only in passing. Since I’ve already listened to all the Mickey Haller books, I knew that that character and Harry Bosch were half-brothers. I thought that was something that Michael Connelly had come up with after he’d created the Mickey Haller character, but we actually get a scene in this book where Bosch is remembering meeting his father. Turns out, that this wasn’t something he came up with late in the process but had set up before he wrote the first book with Mickey Haller as the main character. The Black Ice is a good second novel. It’s certainly made me look forward to moving on with the Harry Bosch series.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I loved the first book in this series, and loved the second one just as much. Cant wait to see what happens next!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
ShortyPW More than 1 year ago
I am totally hooked on the Harry Bosch series, it's one of a few mystery writers that makes you think you have it all figured out and then you find out how completely wrong you were.. Love it.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I'm your only and huge, best fan!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago