The Harry Bosch Novels, Volume 3: A Darkness More than Night, City of Bones, Lost Light
For the first time in one volume, the three novels that take Harry Bosch through his most perilous cases yet, and to the edge of the abyss.
A Darkness More than Night
It was a case some cops could live with: the torture and killing of a man who spread horrors of his own. Former FBI profiler Terry McCaleb is called in to decipher the grisly crime scene. Shockingly, the suspect he pinpoints is LAPD detective Harry Bosch. But while Bosch may have had a good reason to commit murder, he has an even better one for staying alive-and for finding a suspect of his own.
City of Bones
A dog finds a bone in the Hollywood Hills and unearths a murder committed more than twenty years earlier. It's a cold case, but Bosch can't let it go. As the investigation takes him deeper into the past, a beautiful rookie cop brings him alive in the present-until a stunningly blown mission and a brutal showdown leave Bosch on the brink of an unimaginable decision.
For years, the unsolved murder of Angella Benton has haunted him. Bosch was taken off the young production assistant's case when her death was linked with the violent theft of two million dollars from a movie set. Both files were never closed. Now retired from the LAPD, Bosch is determined to find justice for Angella. And even in the faces of a powerful and ruthless opponent, he will not back down, with or without a badge.
Together, these three riveting, relentlessly paced novels take us even deeper into the complex hero USA Today has called "one of the most fascinating characters in the mystery world," and show once more that Michael Connelly is "the most talented of crime writers" (The New Yorker).
you want to cut in line, right?” McCaleb smiled and hoped she was smiling as well on the other end of the line. “Sort of. But I think it’s a quickie. It’s just one thing I want.” “Then out with it. What?” “I need an iconography baseline. I’m following a hunch on something.” “Okay. Doesn’t sound too involving. What’s the symbol?” “An owl.” “An owl? Just an owl?” “More specifically, a plastic owl. But an owl just the same. I want to know if it’s turned up before and what it means.” “Well,
was a slow ballad and easier for me to play. But it was also a beautiful composition. It was sad and steadfast and uplifting all at the same time. The song wasn’t even a minute and a half long but to me it said all that ever needed to be said about being alone in the world. Sometimes I believed that if I could learn to play this one song well, then that would be enough for me. I would not be wanting. Today it felt like a funeral dirge. I thought about Martha Gessler the whole time I played. I
“You dented the shit out of the door,” the second one yelled. “How the fuck can you tell?” Lindell shot back. Here we go, I thought. I looked past the approaching behemoths and could see a four-inch crease in the front passenger door of the Volkswagen. Lindell’s door was still open and in contact with it, the obvious culprit. “You think it’s a joke?” said the first heavy. “How about if we put a dent in your face?” Lindell reached behind his back and in one swift move his hand came out from
clear night and the lights of the freeway far below seemed to sparkle like a diamond necklace. I could hear a woman’s laughter carrying up the hillside from somewhere down below. I started thinking about Danny Cross and the song she had gently sung to her husband. In love and in loss the night is always sacred. It’s only a wonderful world if you can make it that way. There are no street signs pointing to Paradise Road. I decided that when all of this was over I would go to Vegas and not turn
embarrassed after just saying she didn’t keep track of her former coworker. “I guess because I knew him. Yeah, here.” She turned the magazine around. There was a two-page opening spread on the story under a headline that said, “The Night Kings.” There was an accompanying photo of four young men posed side by side behind a dark mahogany bar. Behind them were shelves of colored bottles lit from beneath. “Can I see that?” She closed it and handed it across the desk to me. “You can have it. Like