The Drop (A Harry Bosch Novel)
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Harry Bosch has been given three years before he must retire from the LAPD, and he wants cases more fiercely than ever. In one morning, he gets two.
DNA from a 1989 rape and murder matches a 29-year-old convicted rapist. Was he an eight-year-old killer or has something gone terribly wrong in the new Regional Crime Lab? The latter possibility could compromise all of the lab's DNA cases currently in court.
Then Bosch and his partner are called to a death scene fraught with internal politics. Councilman Irvin Irving's son jumped or was pushed from a window at the Chateau Marmont. Irving, Bosch's longtime nemesis, has demanded that Harry handle the investigation.
Relentlessly pursuing both cases, Bosch makes two chilling discoveries: a killer operating unknown in the city for as many as three decades, and a political conspiracy that goes back into the dark history of the police department.
your second shot at parole, I hear,” Bosch said. “That’s right,” Coleman said, a slight tone of curiosity and concern in his voice. “Well, I don’t know if you know how it works but the same two board members who heard your first hearing two years ago come back for your second. So you got two guys coming who already turned you down once. That means you’re going to need help, Rufus.” “I already got the Lord on my side.” He leaned forward and turned his head from side to side so Bosch could get
imbibed when out. “I’m going to turn on some music and get a couple glasses. I’ll be right back.” Back inside, he turned on the DVD player but wasn’t sure what was in the slot. Soon he heard Frank Morgan’s saxophone and he knew all was good. He quickly moved down the hallway and did a quick cleanup of his bedroom and bathroom, grabbing fresh sheets from the closet and making the bed. He then went into the kitchen and grabbed two wineglasses before returning to the deck. “I was wondering what
Bosch walked Hannah Stone out to her car. She had followed him up the hill from the restaurant earlier. She had told him she could not spend the night and he was okay about that. At the car, they held each other in a long embrace. Bosch felt good. The time with her in his bedroom had been wonderful. He had waited a long time for someone like Hannah. “Call me when you get home, okay?” “I’ll be all right.” “I know but call me anyway. I want to know you’re home safe.” “Okay.” They looked at
talk with you, sir. Can we come in?” “What is it?” “We’re down from the LAPD and we are looking for someone. We think you might be able to help us. Can we come in, sir?” “Who?” “Sir, we can’t do this out on the street. Can we come in to discuss this?” The man’s eyes lowered a moment as he considered things. They were cold and distant. Bosch saw where his son’s eyes had come from. Slowly, the old man reached through the opening and unlocked the screen door. Bosch opened it and then waited
high. He wondered if Hardy was inflating his kills as part of one last manipulation. Say anything, give anything, just to get out the door alive. All he had to do was survive this moment and he could slip into the next transformation, from unknown and uncharted killer to figure of public fascination and fear. A name that would inspire dread. Bosch knew it was part of the fulfillment process with their kind. Hardy had probably lived in anticipation of the time he would become known. Men like him