The Black Ice (Harry Bosch Series #2)

The Black Ice (Harry Bosch Series #2)

by Michael Connelly

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When an LAPD narcotics officer is found with a fatal bullet wound and a suicide note, Detective Harry Bosch follows a bloody trail of drug murders across the Mexico border.

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.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781455550623
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Publication date: 10/15/2013
Series: Harry Bosch Series , #2
Pages: 464
Sales rank: 13,792
Product dimensions: 4.10(w) x 7.40(h) x 1.00(d)

About 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.


Sarasota, Florida

Date of Birth:

July 21, 1956

Place of Birth:

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania


B.A. in Journalism, University of Florida, 1980

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


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.


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.


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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Black Ice (Harry Bosch Series #2) 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 528 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 More than 1 year 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
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Harry is always a good time, hard not just read all the way through, it's definitely a page turner.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A very well written story (As usua!) Thank you for all of the good reading fun I've had and enjoyed!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I realllly like it!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Cambo More than 1 year ago
The Black Ice (Harry Bosch #2) - Michael Connelly This is the second book in the Harry Bosch series and the beginnings of one of the most wonderful police procedural series ever written IMHO. Michael Connelly is somewhere near the very top of the heap when it comes to writing the police procedural genre. And, the guy is no slouch, albeit he has only written something like +25 novels now. Oh well, maybe he will get serious and pick up the pace someday. Ha. Obviously, Connelly has found a fantastic series set, but also worth mentioning is the lead character, Harry Bosch. Michael Connelly has created one of the best known and most popular protagonists of this particular genre. Harry Bosch - where does one begin? Son of a prostitute, now deceased, father, basically unknown. Foster homes, many, with many foster parents who really weren’t into it for the love and the loss that these children must be experiencing. He was always walking around without wondering what it was like to be one with. He was growing up and walking horizontal in a vertical world. Life, nothing in life, could hold or retain value, and if it could, well. then it could not retain this value. His clother were clean but he was dirty or he was clean and his clothes were dirty. His socks did not match, but somewhere he was sure that he had a pair just like it. When one is brought up in such conditions it is improbable that the individual will not profoundly be affected in adulthood. Such is the case with Harry Bosch. He is a loner who does not play well with others and this filters to his work where his wreckless antics that blur the fine lines of what is acceptable and is not acceptable, and his stubborness and general scorn of the system make close friendships tough to have. He smokes way too much, and cannot maintain a longterm relationship with a woman. He tends to drift from woman to woman throughout life. Yes, all of these elements seem to represent a negative, unsavory, unlikable character. But, man is Harry Bosch a kick-ass, likable character. Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch series is like a really good Scotch - it goes down fine. One would hate to give too much of this story away. It is not fair to rob the reader of great reading. However, Narcotics Officer Cal Moore runs across a guy that is also tied into what L.A.P.D. Detective Harry Bosch is working. Harry is sitting at home alone on Christmas Eve, a preference, having a drink and listening to jazz, one of his favorite things to do. He has also been bonding with a coyote lately, when he hears some chatter on the scanner. Cal Moore had been found, an apparent suicide, already labeled, with a suicide note in his back pocket. Wait a minute. Hold your horses. Who already said suicide? Who was called out? Harry was the up detective. This is not right. You don’t tug on Superman’s Cape, you don’t piss into the wind, you don’t pull off the mask of the ole’ Lone Ranger and you don’t shut Harry out of a case. Harry hurries off to the hotel. The Brass is really trying to shut him out of this one. But why? The “why” leads to more murders, Harry going to Mexico and becoming a target himself, and the apparent exporting of a new street drug something called Black Ice. People who like police procedurals will not go wrong with Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch series. It is excellent and The Black Ice is no exception. So, please, read this book. An easy 4-star rating.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
EmScape on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
In Connelly¿s second novel to feature demoted detective Heironymous ¿Harry¿ Bosch, Harry investigates the death of a fellow cop, as well as two other murders that seem strangely connected to the import of a new drug, Black Ice. From L.A. to the Mexican border, Harry follows the clues and uncovers a set of relationships that strangely parallel his own experience. Also, he gets more play than most other middle-aged cops I¿ve known.Harry¿s lone wolf persona and dogged pursuit of the truth, usually not the easy answer, puts him at odds with the bureau¿s higher-ups, which he generally handles by just solving cases. He¿s too valuable for them to bust down, but too much of a loose cannon to be given free rein. More of his personal history is revealed, in drips and drops, which I believe will continue until we know his whole history. This serves to make him a very interesting and dynamic character.The writing is well-paced, but I did have a problem with some of the dialogue. Fairly often, the characters seem incapable of speaking in contractions. This would work if it were consistant, or a feature of just one character, but as it is, I find myself contracting the words as I read them. ¿I will go and see if I cannot find out what he is not telling us¿ for example. I don¿t know anyone who talks like this, much less when it¿s interspersed with cop slang like ¿ten-four¿ and other abbreviations.On the whole, though, I really like reading these books. I will continue my way through this series.
afyfe on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I got this book at the amazing free book exchange (oh how I miss you!). I listened to his book The Scarecrow about a year ago and enjoyed it for a thriller type of book. So Connelly was an author I was keeping my eye out for when I want a good thriller. This book is about a police officer who is found dead and it is assumed to be a suicide. However one of the other members of the police force is having a hard time believing that. He takes on some of the cases that were left from his fallen co worker and starts uncovering things to help his suspicion that it wasn't a suicide. The story takes places in LA as well as just over the border in Mexico as he is trying to find all the answers.I don't think I enjoyed this book as much as the last one I read by him. The first half I kept wondering where things were going and the book seemed to move slowly. The last half all the way to the end got pretty interesting, but there were still some down moments where I felt like the story slowed or even came to a stop. You also aren't sure for most of the book who is a good guy and who is a bad guy which is nice for some mystery but I felt like there was a little too much of that and after a while it just got annoying. Before I recommend this book I would first recommend reading The Scarecrow (or possibly one of his other books). And if you have read that, and liked it, I would say you might like this one, too. I'm also not sure if because I listened to The Scarecrow I liked it more, so maybe try out this book on audio if you can find it. If this were the first book I read by him I wouldn't recommend it to anyone, but since I know he can do better I say give one of his other books a chance first.
miyurose on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
If you like straight-forward police procedurals with no quirks, Michael Connelly is the man for you. Bosch may have a bit of an independent streak and a penchant for lonely, sad women, but he¿s surprisingly normal. When a fellow officer is found dead in a motel room, and Bosch doesn¿t get the call, he knows something is hinky. He eventually finds himself embroiled in drugs, murder, and family matters ¿ on both sides of the border. This series reflects the best of Michael Connelly.
cathymoore on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Maverick LA detective Harry Bosch returns in Connelly's second book in this series. This time Bosch, incapable of doing as he's told, continues to investigate the apparent suicide of a fellow officer, in spite of having been warned off by his superiors. His investigations lead him over the border into Mexico and the murky world of drug smuggling. While i enjoyed this up to a point, part of me wishes Bosch could be slightly more agreeable!
claude_lambert on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
It is telling that most reviewers who did not like the book start by saying; "I am a great fan of Connelly, but..." We don't do that for many authors: it is like Connelly has become a friend of the family. Well, it is not his best book, however close you feel to Connelly. Bosch, the detective, always behaves as he pleases and defies authority, which is pleasant, but in this book his amusing rebellion goes too far: I don't think any real police force would put up with it. In fact, I don't know any professional group who would put up with it, be it the world of fashion, lawyers, or hospitals. We all work within ground rules, even the mavericks of this world. This contributes to the many details which make the story incredible. There is something wrong in the plot with the details of this suicide turned murder. And Bosch's sex life is so random, it is really getting on my nerves.What saves the book is that it is a reflection on why some people turn bad, and in this case, through multiple small touches and symbols, we get close to an answer.
emigre on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Is Harry Bosch an anti-hero or a hero? The things he does in this book are so unlikable at times. Bosch's investigation of a LAPD detective's suicide leads him across a police bureaucratic jungle, seedy bars, then eventually barrios and a drug kingpin's compound in Mexico. The ending is a shocker, as always for Connelly.
ConnieJackson on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
A Thrilling Mystery Tale! This is the second novel of the Harry Bosch series and I enjoyed this book more than Black Echo, the first novel of the series. In Black Ice, there is a new drug on the streets and the plot unfolds giving the reader an insight into the vicious drug dealing world that generates crooked cops, with lots of twists and turns. There are numerous subplots in the story, and about the midway point I was a bit confused, but the author ensured that I didn't stay lost and it all worked out in the end. If you enjoy a great mystery, coupled with a thrilling tale then check this book out or any of the books in the series.
debavp on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This is second in the Harry Bosch series. Not as good as the first, but not off by much.I think Connelly is a truly gifted writer in that he can flesh out the main and secondary characters without drowning you in the details all the while not short changing the the story line.