The Harry Bosch Novels: The Black Echo, The Black Ice, The Concrete Blonde

The Harry Bosch Novels: The Black Echo, The Black Ice, The Concrete Blonde

Michael Connelly

Language: English

Pages: 800

ISBN: 0316154970

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

For the first time in one volume, the three novels that introduced Michael Connelly's great LAPD homicide detective, maverick Hieronymous (Harry) Bosch. The Black Echo (Winner of the Edgar Award for Best First Novel) For Harry Bosch-hero, loner, nighthawk-the body stuffed in a drainpipe off Mulholland Drive isn't just another statistic. This one is personal. Billy Meadows was a fellow Vietnam "tunnel rat," fighting the VC and the fear they used to call the Black Echo. Harry let Meadows down once. He won't do it again. The Black Ice The corpse in the hotel room seems to be that of a missing LAPD narcotics officer. Rumors abound that the cop had crossed over-selling a new drug called Black Ice. Now Harry's making some dangerous connections, leading from the cop to a string of bloody murders, and from Hollywood Boulevard's drug bazaar to Mexico's dusty back alleys. In this lethal game, Harry is likely to be the next victim. The Concrete Blonde When Harry Bosch shot and killed Norman Church, the police were convinced it marked the end of the hunt for the Dollmaker-L.A.'s most bizarre serial killer. But now Church's widow is accusing Harry of killing the wrong man-a charge that rings terrifyingly true when a new victim is discovered with the Dollmaker's macabre signature. For the second time, Harry must hunt the murderer down, before he strikes again. Together, these three novels are the perfect way to discover, or rediscover, the sleuth the New York Times Book Review called a "wonderful, old-fashioned hero who isn't afraid to walk through the flames."


Ice Cold (Rizzoli & Isles, Book 8)

All That Remains (Kay Scarpetta, Book 3)

The Marauders

De Japanse tuin

Plain Murder













role as a watchdog for the public. All he wanted was a story no other reporter had. Bremmer was thinking of that, and maybe the book that would come after, and the TV movie, and the money and ego-feeding fame. That was what motivated him, not the outrage that had made Bosch tell him the story. Bosch knew this and accepted it. It was the way things worked. “Heads never bounce,” he said to himself. He watched the gravediggers finish their job. After a while he got out and walked over. There was

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

skin on the top of the finger joint. He then folded the skin back and dug around with the scalpel in the pink meat, saying, “No …no…nothing. This was post, Harry. You think it could have been one of my people?” “I don’t know,” Bosch said. “Doesn’t look like it. Sakai said he and his sidekick were careful. I know I didn’t do it. How come there’s no damage to the skin?” “That is an interesting point. I don’t know. Somehow the finger was broken without the exterior being damaged. I can’t answer

sinner. Sylvia interrupted his thoughts. “You know, you didn’t really say why you were already here. Sitting in the dark thinking. You had to come here to do that?” “I came to look around, I guess. I was trying to shake something loose, get a feel for your husband. That sound stupid?” “Not to me.” “Good.” “And did you? Did you shake something loose?” “I don’t know yet. Sometimes it takes a little while.” “You know, I asked Irving about you. He said you weren’t on the case. He said you

had come into the North Hollywood Division station and made the report at the front desk. That meant it had probably been written up by a probationary rookie or a burned-out vet who didn’t give a shit. In either case, it was not taken for what it was: a cover-your-ass report. Cerrone said he was Kaminski’s roommate. According to the brief summary, two days before the report was made she had told Cerrone she was going on a blind date, meeting an unnamed man at the Hyatt on the Sunset Strip and

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