One of the early episodes in the life and hard times of Connelly's L.A. policeman, Hieronymous Bosch, The Black Echo is about as good as they come in modern-day American crime fiction. Bosch, as contrary as a snaggletoothed saw, is as usual at odds with his superiors in the LAPD. Already in trouble with Internal Affairs, he is now in the process of putting the FBI's noses out of joint as he investigates a tunnel break-in at a bank. The lead-up to this is the discovery of the body of an old army acquaintance of his, a fellow "tunnel-rat" from their far from happy days in Vietnam. Uncovering layers of conspiracy as he goes, Harry, aided by female agent Eleanor Wish, doggedly refuses to be diverted from his purpose. In the end he gets there, but not before having to confront old ghosts in the sewers beneath the city. By my count Connelly has written three Harry Bosch novels since this one, and one before it. They form as good a body of work as anyone writing in that genre.