The Black Ice

( 501 )

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 ...
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The Black Ice (Harry Bosch Series #2)

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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.

In this fast-paced sequel to The Black Echo, LAPD detective Harry Bosch continues to investigate the drug-trafficking underworlds of inner-city Los Angeles and the wastelands of Mexico. When he discovers the body of a fellow police officer in a sleazy hotel, Harry gets entangled in a brutal web of violence and drugs.

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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.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781455550623
  • Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
  • Publication date: 10/15/2013
  • Series: Harry Bosch Series , #2
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 464
  • Sales rank: 52,994
  • Product dimensions: 4.10 (w) x 7.40 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Michael  Connelly

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.

Biography

Best known for his dark police procedurals featuring the tough, complex and emotionally scarred LAPD detective, Hieronymous "Harry" Bosch, Michael Connelly has been called "infernally ingenious" (The New York Times), "one of those masters...who can keep driving the story forward in runaway locomotive style" (USA Today) and "the top rank of a new generation of crime writers" (The Los Angeles Times).

Consistently exquisite prose and engrossing storylines play an integral role in his swelling success. However, Connelly believes that solid character development is the most important key. As he explained to MagnaCumMurder.com, "I think books with weak or translucent plots can survive if the character being drawn along the path is rich, interesting and multi-faceted. The opposite is not true."

A native of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Connelly attended the University of Florida; there he discovered the works of Raymond Chandler -- author of many classic Los Angeles-based noir dramas such as The Big Sleep, The Long Goodbye, and Farewell, My Lovely. The cases of Philip Marlowe inspired Connelly to be a crime novelist -- and by studying journalism, he put himself in the perfect position. "I went into journalism to learn the craft of writing and to get close to the world I wanted to write about -- police and criminals, the criminal justice system," he told MagnaCumMurder.com.

After graduation, Connelly worked the crime beat for two Florida newspapers. When a story he and a colleague wrote about the disastrous 1985 crash of Delta Flight 191 was short-listed for the Pulitzer, Connelly landed a gig in Marlowe's backyard, covering crime for one of the nation's largest newspapers -- The Los Angeles Times. Three years later, Harry Bosch was introduced in The Black Echo, which earned Connelly the Edgar Award for Best First Novel. Connelly has since won every major mystery honor, including the Anthony (The Poet, Blood Work) and the Macavity Award (Blood Work).

While Connelly has written stand-alone novels that don't feature his tragic protagonist Harry Bosch, he is best identified by his rigid, contentious and fiery -- but also immensely skilled and compassionate -- detective. According to The Boston Globe, the Bosch series "raises the hard-boiled detective novel to a new level...adding substance and depth to modern crime fiction."

Called "one of the most compelling, complex protagonists in recent crime fiction" (Newsweek) and "a terrific...wonderful, old-fashioned hero who isn't afraid to walk through the flames -- and suffer the pain for the rest of us" (The New York Times Book Review), Bosch faces unforgettable horrors every day -- either on the street or in his own mind. "Bosch is making up for wrongs done to him when he rights wrongs as a homicide detective," Connelly explained in an interview with his publisher. "In a way, he is an avenging angel."

Bosch is clearly a product of his deadly, unforgiving environment. "The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote that when you look into the darkness of the abyss the abyss looks into you. Probably no other line or thought more inspires or informs my work," said Connelly in the same interview. With each passing novel, Bosch looks deeper and deeper into the abyss; and readers continue to return to see just how far he will gaze.

Good To Know

  • Michael Connelly received a huge career boost in 1994 when then President Bill Clinton was photographed walking out of a Washington bookstore with a copy of The Concrete Blonde under his arm. Connelly remarked to USA Today, "In the six years I've been writing books, that is the biggest thrill I've had."

  • Real events have always inspired Connelly's plots. His novel Blood Work was inspired by a friend who underwent transplant surgery and was coping with survivor's guilt, knowing someone had died in order for him to live. The book was later developed into a feature film starring Clint Eastwood, Angelica Huston, and Jeff Daniels.

  • One of Connelly's writing professors at the University of Florida was cult novelist Harry Crews.

  • Connelly named his most famous character after the 15th Century Dutch painter, Hieronymous Bosch. As he told Bookends UK in an interview, Bosch "created richly detailed landscapes of debauchery and violence and human defilement. There is a ‘world gone mad' feel to many of his works, including one called ‘Hell' -- of which a print hangs on the wall over the computer where I write." Some interesting outtakes from our interview with Connelly:

    "I wrote a mystery story as a class paper in high school. It was called The Perfect Murder. The protagonist's named was McEvoy, a name I later used for the protagonist in The Poet. Being a witness to a crime when I was 16 was what made me interested in crime novels and mystery stories."

    "I wrote my first real murder story as a journalist for the Daytona Beach News Journal in 1980. It was about a body found in the woods. Later, the murder was linked to a serial killer who was later caught and executed for his crimes."

    "Everything I want people to know about me is in my books."

  • Read More Show Less
      1. Hometown:
        Sarasota, Florida
      1. Date of Birth:
        July 21, 1956
      2. Place of Birth:
        Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
      1. Education:
        B.A. in Journalism, University of Florida, 1980
      2. Website:

    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.

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    Customer Reviews

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    See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 502 Customer Reviews
    • Posted August 5, 2010

      more from this reviewer

      I Also Recommend:

      The Black Ice

      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).

      17 out of 18 people found this review helpful.

      Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
    • Posted August 21, 2011

      I Also Recommend:

      Very good

      This is one of my favourite books by Michael Connelly. It's hard to put down!

      12 out of 12 people found this review helpful.

      Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
    • Posted February 21, 2010

      more from this reviewer

      The Bosch Series Picks Up Steam

      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.

      8 out of 8 people found this review helpful.

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    • Posted July 22, 2012

      more from this reviewer

      I Also Recommend:

      This is the second Harry Bosch novel I've read, and I have to sa

      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!

      4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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    • Posted July 11, 2009

      more from this reviewer

      They can't ALL be great

      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.

      4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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    • Posted October 31, 2011

      Excellend read. Plot keeps you involved to the very end.

      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.

      3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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    • Posted October 6, 2011

      enjoyed the read

      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.

      3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted September 28, 2012

      It's HARRY!

      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..

      2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted March 10, 2013

      love that Harry Bosch

      Another winner for Miachael Connelly

      1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted January 25, 2013

      Love this series and Michael Connelly

      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.

      1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted January 25, 2014

      THAT MOMENT

      When you stick your prick in her ohh yeah thats the stuff start orgasming babe

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    • Anonymous

      Posted November 27, 2013

      Warrior Den

      0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted September 6, 2013

      First Harry Bosch book I've read - it won't be the last! Excelle

      First Harry Bosch book I've read - it won't be the last! Excellent development of characters and story, with a surprise ending.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted September 2, 2013

      Molly's boy question:

      Hey! Molly again with yet ANOTHER question! I am going to list all the reasons I think Nick likes me: <p> 1. After he was done eating lunch, he got out of his seat and sat next to me for the last 10-15 mins of lunch. 2. Whenever he cracks a joke, or is being funny, he looks at me. 3. He starts our conversations at least 68% of the time. 4. I dont see him flirt with any other girls. 5. When asked who he would take to 8th grade semiformal dance which is at the end of the year, he said: "I can only picture myself taking Molly. I kinda like her." 6. He defended me in 7th grade on field day. 7. He walked me to Spanish class on friday.(we are in the same class) 8. He looks into my eyes or at me often.(he looks at me mostly with sidelong glances. I think he's trying to play it cool but IDK.) Please go to next page if you cant see the next writing: <p> On my opinion, I think he likes me, but what about you guys? What do yu think? Please reply as fast a possible. Thank you.

      0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted September 2, 2013

      To Molly

      "He likes you a lot if a boy treats you that way and with respect her likes you"

      0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted August 31, 2013

      BURSTSTAR SLEEPS

      Goes to sleep

      0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    • Posted August 29, 2013

      highly recommend

      As usual, Michael Connelly shows he is one of the greatest mystery writers today. Will be reading all of his novels. Don't miss them!

      0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted August 23, 2013

      Highly recommended

      I am hooked on the Harry Bosch Series and have gone back and started at the beginning. This one is a thriller! You never know until the end what the end will really be. Always a surprise.

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    • Posted August 22, 2013

      A well-crafted Bosch romp.

      Connelly know his lead character well and guides the reader throughout another Bosch 'twist-and-turn' tale.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted August 10, 2013

      Bbbbbb

      Hiiiiii

      0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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