LAPD Detective Hieronymous "Harry" Bosch is back and, after this author's rather disappointing last Bosch-less novel, The Poet, it's good to re-make the acquaintance of an old, if soured, friend.
Bosch, for those who haven't already come across him, is a loner; a stubborn and embittered man who distrusts authority figures and is forever in trouble with his superiors. Add to this the fact that his mother was murdered when he was a child, resulting in his being incarcerated in a variety of orphanages and foster homes, and it is easy to see why he nurtures a chip as big as a block on his shoulder.
Just back on the homicide table in the Hollywood station after a bout of indiscipline, he is called out to investigate the finding of a body in the trunk of a Rolls-Royce near his home. The victim, shot in the back of the head by a .22 special, is one Tony Aliso, small-time film producer, inveterate Las Vegas gambler and, as it subsequently turns out, a launderer of hot money for the Mob.
At first the supposition is that it is a contract killing - "trunk music" is the term used by gangsters for just such a manner of dispatching troublesome opponents - but when the supposed mob hitman turns out to be an undercover FBI agent, things begin to turn murky.
Aliso's wife, Veronica, who had starred in one of his earlier, more ambitious movies, does not seem overly concerned at her husband's abrupt demise. When she denies any knowledge of her spouse's crooked activities and of his energetic womanising, Bosch puts her in the frame as a possible suspect. However, he becomes distracted when, on a visit to Las Vegas, he rediscovers an old flame, ex-FBl agent and recent gaolbird Eleanor Wish.
Of course she turns out to be involved in the case, as does local Mafia boss Joseph Marconi - known as Joey Marks - along with various bit players, tough guys and expendable muscle men. The plot is as complicated as one has come to expect from Connelly, with surprise following surprise - although the final bit of business does strain coincidence rather beyond its breaking point.
One of this author's great strengths is the manner in which he painstakingly builds his plot, following his detectives as they silt and analyse the various bits and pieces of evidence. He is obviously familiar with police procedure, and this authenticity of detail lends realism to what is at times a far-out storyline, of place is also sure and, when the scene shifts to Las Vegas, we are introduced to it as follows: "Las Vegas was like one of the hookers on Sun set Boulevard in Hollywood. Even happily married men at least glanced their way, if only for a second, just to get an idea what was out there, maybe give them something to think about. Las Vegas was alike that. There was a visceral attraction here. The bold promise of money and sex. But the first was broken promise, a mirage, and the second was fraught with danger, expense, physical and mental risk. It was where the real gambling took place in this town."
Although not as compelling as Connelly's masterpiece, The Concrete Blonde, Trunk Music is still very, very good indeed. The one complaint I have is concerning the fact that Bosch gets himself married at the end of it. Does this mean that he will now metamorphose into a warm and understanding human being, thus losing the edge that his soured view of the human condition gives him in his dealings with the scumbags and killers he comes up against?
One hopes not. One of the defining features of all the great detectives is their solitariness and ability not to be hurt by family ties. They stand, as they must, out on the periphery, in their way just as removed from the social fabric as the misfits and outsiders they pursue. The mean streets are no place for happy, well-adjusted people, whether of the good or bad persuasion. {CORRECTION} 97920800009
