"You, a cop, volunteering to give blood to a defense attorney. I don't think they would've let you back into the clubhouse if they knew about that."

Now Bosch smiled and nodded.

"I guess I didn't think about that."

And just like that, both our smiles disappeared and the awkwardness of being strangers returned. Eventually Bosch checked his watch.

"The warrant teams are meeting in twenty minutes. I gotta roll."

"Okay."

"I'll see you around, Counselor."

"I'll see you around, Detective."

He went down the steps and I stayed where I was. I heard his car start up, then pull away and go down the hill.

Fifty-five

I stayed out on the deck after that and looked out at the city as the light moved across it. Many different thoughts filtered through my head and flew off into the sky like the clouds up there, remotely beautiful and untouchable. Distant. I was left feeling that I would never see Bosch again. That he would have his side of the mountain and I would have mine and that's all there would be. stayed out on the deck after that and looked out at the city as the light moved across it. Many different thoughts filtered through my head and flew off into the sky like the clouds up there, remotely beautiful and untouchable. Distant. I was left feeling that I would never see Bosch again. That he would have his side of the mountain and I would have mine and that's all there would be.

After a while I heard the door open and steps on the deck. I felt my daughter's presence by my side and I put my hand on her shoulder.

"What are you doing, Dad?"

"Just looking."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"What did that policeman want?"

"Just to talk. He's a friend of mine."

We were both silent for a moment before she moved on.

"I wish Mom had stayed with us last night," she said.

I looked down at her and squeezed the back of her neck.

"One thing at a time, Hay," I said. "We got her to have pancakes with us last night, didn't we?"

She thought about it and gave me the nod. She agreed. Pancakes were a start.

"I'm going to be late if we don't go," she said. "One more time and I'll get a conduct slip."

I nodded.

"Too bad. The sun's just about to hit the ocean."

"Come on, Dad. That happens every day."

I nodded.

"Somewhere, at least."

I went in for the keys, then locked up, and we went down the steps to the garage. By the time I backed the Lincoln out and had it pointed down the hill, I could see the sun was spinning gold on the Pacific.

Acknowledgments In no particular order, the author wishes to thank the following individuals for contributions to the research and writing of this story that ranged from small to incredibly selfless and gigantic: Daniel Daly, Roger Mills, Dennis Wojciechowski, Asya Muchnick, Bill Ma.s.sey, S. John Drexel, Dennis McMillan, Pamela Marshall, Linda Connelly, Jane Davis, Shannon Byrne, Michael Pietsch, John Wilkinson, David Ogden, John Houghton, Michael Krikorian, Michael Roche, Greg Stout, Judith Champagne, Rick Jackson, David Lambkin, Tim Marcia, Juan Rodriguez, and Philip Spitzer.

This is a work of fiction. Any errors in the law, evidence, and courtroom tactics are wholly those of the author.

About the Author Michael Connelly is the author of the bestselling Harry Bosch series of novels as well as the #1 is the author of the bestselling Harry Bosch series of novels as well as the #1 New York Times New York Times bestseller bestseller The Lincoln Lawyer, The Lincoln Lawyer, featuring Mickey Haller. He is a former newspaper reporter who has won numerous awards for his journalism and his novels. He spends his time in California and Florida. featuring Mickey Haller. He is a former newspaper reporter who has won numerous awards for his journalism and his novels. He spends his time in California and Florida.

Look for Michael Connelly's explosive new thriller in which Detective Harry Bosch must face the unknown...

Nine Dragons Please turn this page for a preview.

And don't miss his other novels featuring Harry Bosch, available now.

The Black Echo The Black Ice The Concrete Blonde The Last Coyote Trunk Music Angels Flight A Darkness More than Night City of Bones Lost Light The Narrows The Closers Echo Park The Overlook

PART ONE

Homicide Special

One

From across the aisle Harry Bosch looked into his partner's cubicle and watched him conduct his daily ritual of straightening the corners on his stacks of files, clearing the paperwork from the center of his desk, and finally placing his rinsed-out coffee cup in a desk drawer. Bosch checked his watch and saw it was only three-forty. It seemed that each day Ignacio Ferras began the ritual a minute or two earlier than the day before. It was only Tuesday, the second day of the week, and already he was edging toward the early exit. This routine was always prompted by a phone call from home. There was a wife waiting there with a brand-new set of twins. She watched the clock like the owner of a candy store watches the fat kids. She needed the break and she needed her husband home to deliver it. Even across the aisle from his partner, and with the four-foot sound walls separating work s.p.a.ces in the new squad room, Bosch could usually hear both sides of the call. It always began with, "When are you coming home?"

Everything in final order at his work station, Ferras looked over at Bosch.

"Harry, I'm going to take off," he said. "Beat some of the traffic. I have a lot of calls out but they all have my cell. No need waiting around for that."

Ferras rubbed his shoulder as he spoke. This was also part of the routine. It was his unspoken way of reminding Bosch that he had taken a bullet a couple of years before and had earned the early exit.

Bosch just nodded. He didn't really care if his partner left early, just as long as he'd be there when they finally got a call out. It had been four weeks since they'd drawn a fresh kill and they were well into the August heat. Bosch could feel the call coming. As certain as the Santa Ana winds each August, Bosch knew a call was coming.

Ferras stood up and locked his desk. He was taking his jacket off the back of the chair when Bosch saw Larry Gandle step out of his office on the far side of the squad room and head toward them. As the senior man in the partnership, Bosch had been given the first choice of cubicles a month earlier when Robbery-Homicide Division moved over from the decrepit Parker Center to the new Police Administration Building. Most detective threes took the pods facing the windows that looked out on City Hall. Bosch had chosen the opposite. He had given his partner the view and took the pod that let him watch what was happening in the squad room. Now he saw the approaching lieutenant and he instinctively knew that his partner wasn't going home early.

Gandle was holding a piece of paper torn from a notepad and had an extra hop in his step. That told Bosch the wait was over. The call out was here. Bosch started to rise.

"Bosch and Ferras, you're up," Gandle said when he got to them. "Need you to take a case for South Bureau."

Bosch saw his partner's shoulders slump. He ignored it and reached out for the paper Gandle was holding. He looked at the address written on it. South Normandie. He'd been there before.

"It's a liquor store," Gandle said. "One man down behind the counter, patrol is holding a witness. You two good to go?"

"We're good," Bosch said before his partner could complain.

But that didn't work.

"Lieutenant, this is Homicide Special," Ferras said, turning and pointing to the boar's head mounted over the squad room door. "Why are we taking a rob job at a liquor store? You know it was a banger and the South guys could wrap it up-or at least put a name on the shooter-before midnight."

Ferras had a point. Homicide Special was for the difficult and complex cases. It was an elite squad that went after the tough cases with the relentless skill of a boar rooting in the mud for a truffle. A liquor store holdup in gang territory hardly qualified.

Gandle, whose balding pate and dour expression made him a perfect administrator, spread his hands in a gesture offering a complete lack of sympathy.

"I told everybody in the staff meeting last week. We've got South's back this week. They've got a skeleton crew while everybody else is in homicide school this week. They caught three cases over the weekend and one this morning. So there goes the skeleton crew. You guys are up and the rob job is yours. That's it. Any other questions? Patrol is waiting down there with a witness."

"We're good, Loo," Bosch said, ending the discussion.

"I'll wait to hear from you then."

Gandle headed back to his office. Bosch pulled his coat off the back of his chair, put it on, and opened the middle drawer of his desk. He took out a fresh notebook and pen and stuck them in his side pocket. The truth was he didn't care what kind of case it was. He wanted a fresh kill.

Ferras stood with his hands on his hips, looking up at the clock on the wall over the bulletin boards.

"s.h.i.t," Ferras said. "Every time."

"What do you mean, 'every time'?" Bosch said. "We haven't caught a case in a month."

"Yeah, well, I was getting used to that."

"Well, if you don't want to work murders, there's always a nine-to-five table like auto theft."

"Yeah, right."

"Then let's go."

Bosch stepped out of the cubicle into the aisle and headed toward the door. Ferras followed, pulling his phone out so he could call his wife and give her the bad news. On the way out of the squad room, both men reached up and patted the boar on the nose for good luck.

Two

Bosch didn't need to lecture Ferras on the way to South L.A. His silence was his lecture. His young partner seemed to wither under the pressure of what was not said and finally opened up.

"This is driving me crazy," he said.

"What is?" Bosch asked.

"The twins. There's so much work, so much crying. It's a domino effect. One wakes up and that starts the other one up. Neither of us is getting any sleep and my wife is..."

"What?"

"I don't know, going crazy. Calling me all the time, asking when I'm coming home. So I come home and then it's my turn and I get the boys and I get no break. It's work, kids, work, kids, work, kids every day."

"What about a nanny?"

"We can't afford a nanny. Not with the way things are, and we don't even get overtime anymore."

Bosch didn't know what to say. His daughter was a month away from her thirteenth birthday and almost ten thousand miles away from him. He had never been directly involved in raising her. He basically saw her for four weeks a year-two one-week visits in Hong Kong and then a two-week span in the summer when she came to L.A. and stayed with him. It was only when she came to California that she was under his full-time supervision and control, and he knew that wasn't good enough for him to consider himself a valid parent.

"Look, I don't know what to tell you," he said. "You know I've got your back. I'll do what I can when I can."

"I know, Harry. I appreciate that. It's just the first year with twins, you know? 'Sposed to get a lot easier."

"Just maintain your focus when we have something to focus on. Like right now. That's all I want."

"You got it. You always have."

Bosch nodded and that was enough said.

The address Gandle gave them was in the seventieth block of South Normandie Avenue. This was just a few blocks from the infamous corner of Florence and Normandie where some of the most horrible images of the 1992 riots had been captured by news helicopters and broadcast to the world. It seemed to be the lasting image of Los Angeles to many.