The Last Coyote (Harry Bosch, Book 4)


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Someone very powerful…very cunning…and very deadly. His house has been condemned because of earthquake damage. At first Bosch, resists the LAPD shrink, but finally he recognizes that something is troubling him, a force that may have shaped his entire life.

In , when Harry was eleven, his mother was brutally murdered. No one was ever even accused of the crime.


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Harry opens up the decades-old file on the case and is irresistibly drawn into a past he has always avoided. His mother was a prostitute, and even thirty years late the smell of a cover-up is unmistakable.

Someone powerful was able to keep the investigating officers away from key suspects. Even as he confronts his own shame about his mother, Harry relentlessly follows up the old evidence, seeking justice or at least understanding. Out of the broken pieces of the case he discerns a trail that leads upward, toward prominent people who lead public lives high in the Hollywood hills. Like most everybody else, I was living in denial. Isn't that what you people call it? I bet you had insurance. The city inspectors say it's totaled and I can't even go inside.

I think it's fine. Just needs some work. They know me by name at Home Depot now. And I've had contractors do some of it.

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The Last Coyote (Harry Bosch Series #4)

It'll be done soon and I'll appeal the red tag. I've got a lawyer. I think it's good that you have something to keep you occupied. Though I'd much rather it be a sport or a hobby or maybe plans for a trip out of town, I think it's important to keep busy, to keep your mind off the incident.

ISBN 13: 9780312958459

Everybody keeps calling it the incident. It kind of reminds me of how people called it the Vietnam conflict, not the war. But incident I don't know. Listen, Doctor, let's go back a minute. I don't want to take a trip out of town, okay? My job is in homicide. It's what I do. And I'd really like to get back to it. I might be able to do some good, you know.

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He used the shoulder hike to say he didn't know. He stood up and walked to the window and looked down on Hill Street. The sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians. Every time he had been down here they were crowded. He noticed a couple of Caucasian women walking along. They stood out in the sea of Asian faces like raisins in rice.

They passed the window of a Chinese butcher shop and Bosch saw a row of smoked ducks hanging whole, by their necks. Farther up the road he saw the Hollywood Freeway overpass, the dark windows of the old sheriff's jail and the Criminal Courts building behind it. To the left of that he could see the City Hall tower. Black construction tarps hung around the top floors.

It looked like some kind of mourning gesture but he knew the tarps were to hold debris from falling while earthquake repairs were made. Parker Center, police headquarters. These dialogues are not to be about me. They are about you.

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My mission, I believe, is to help the men and women of this department. That's the narrow focus. And by doing that, on a grander scale I help the community, I help the people of this city. The better the cops are that we have out on the street, the better we all are. The safer we all are. When I think about my mission, do you want me to shorten it to a couple sentences like that and rehearse it to the point that it sounds like I'm reading out of the dictionary? Is that what you're looking for here?

He raised his hands in surrender. She looked down at the yellow legal pad on the desk. With her eyes off him, he was able to study her. Carmen Hinojos had tiny brown hands she kept on the desk in front of her. No rings on either hand. She held an expensive-looking pen in her right hand.

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Bosch always thought expensive pens were used by people overly concerned with image. But maybe he was wrong about her. She wore her dark brown hair tied back.

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She wore glasses with thin tortoiseshell frames. She should have had braces when she was a kid but didn't. She looked up from the pad and their eyes locked. It had nothing to do with what happened. The dissolving, as you call it, was almost three months ago. I know this is personal and may be difficult but I think we should talk about this.

The reason is that it will help give me a basis for your emotional state at the time the assault took place. Is that a problem? Saying it out loud seemed to be the first time Bosch acknowledged that Sylvia Moore was gone from his life for good. You know, three months ago we were holding each other in bed while the house was shaking apart on the pad.


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You could say she was gone before the aftershocks ended. All I'm saying is that's when it happened. Right after. She's a teacher up in the Valley and her school got wrecked. The kids were moved to other schools and the district didn't need as many teachers. They offered sabbaticals and she took one. She left town. Bosch hesitated. It was a question he had never really touched on in his private thoughts about the breakup. Hinojos nodded and wrote something on her pad. It bothered Bosch that she would make a note about this. He looked away. He was angry. This was how it was going to be.

The Last Coyote (Harry Bosch, Book 4) The Last Coyote (Harry Bosch, Book 4)
The Last Coyote (Harry Bosch, Book 4) The Last Coyote (Harry Bosch, Book 4)
The Last Coyote (Harry Bosch, Book 4) The Last Coyote (Harry Bosch, Book 4)
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