Category Archives: Michael Connelly

All the Cards Were Comin’ From the Bottom of the Pack*

Card GamesIt’s just a friendly game of cards. A nice way to have a social evening with friends or loved ones. Or perhaps it’s a way to pass the time on a long trip or in the hospital room. What could be the harm in that, right? Wrong.

As crime fiction clearly shows us, cards may seem innocent enough, but the stakes can be deadly. And even when the result isn’t murder, card games really can be dangerous. Just consider these examples from the genre, and you’ll see what I mean.

In Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Solitary Cyclist, Sherlock Holmes gets a visit, and a very interesting problem, from Violet Smith. She’s been engaged as a live-in piano teacher at Chiltern Grange. The arrangement with her employer is that she spends the week in the country with her young charge, and the weekends in London with her mother. All went well enough at first. But then something odd happened. Violet began to notice a strange man on a bike following her on the way to and from the train station. He doesn’t approach her or attempt to speak to her, but it still makes her nervous. And she’s curious about who the man is and what he wants. Holmes and Dr. Watson agree to investigate, and they make the trip to the country. In the end, they find that it all has to do with a card game.

Agatha Christie mentions cards quite a lot in her stories. Popular among those card games is bridge. In Cards on the Table, for instance, an eccentric man named Mr. Shaitana invites eight people to a dinner party. Four (including Hercule Poirot) are sleuths. The other four are people Shaitana suspects have got away with murder. After dinner, all of the guests settle in for bridge. One of those guests, Mrs. Lorrimer, is particularly glad about that. Here’s what she says:
 

‘I simply will not go out to dinner now if there’s no bridge afterwards! I just fall asleep. I’m ashamed of myself, but there it is.’
 

At some point during the game, someone stabs Mr. Shaitana. The only possible suspects are the four people who were playing in the same room with him. Poirot and the other sleuths now have to look into the backgrounds of each one to see who the murderer is. What’s interesting is that any one of them could have committed the crime. I know, I know, fans of The Hollow.

When many people think of card games, they think of poker. Different forms of poker are played all over the world, in places like Monte Carlo, Bangkok, Hong Kong, and of course, on river boats. One place you see a lot of poker is, of course, Las Vegas. There are lots of novels and short stories that feature Las Vegas card games; I’ll just mention a few. In Michael Connelly’s Trunk Music, LAPD homicide detective Harry Bosch investigates the murder of second-rate filmmaker Tony Aliso, who’s killed execution style, with the body found in the trunk of his car. The trail in this case leads to Las Vegas, and to a seedy casino. It also leads to Eleanor Wish, former FBI agent who has left the force and become a professional card player/gambler. Fans of this series will remember that she met Bosch in The Black Echo. When they reunite in Trunk Music, they develop a relationship that ends in marriage and a daughter, Madeleine ‘Maddy.’

Forensic accountant Ava Lee encounters her share of cards and card games in Ian Hamilton’s The Disciple of Las Vegas. In that novel, wealthy Philippines banker Tony Ordonez hires Lee’s employer to track down and return $50 million he lost in a bogus land deal. Lee is an expert at finding lost money, so she gets to work on the case. She soon finds that the trail leads to Las Vegas, and to poker champion David Douglas. He’s played against the best all over the world, and Lee is fairly certain that he knows more about what happened to the money than he’s saying.

In George V. Higgins’ Cogan’s Trade, New England Mob enforcer Jackie Cogan gets a new assignment. Someone’s been hijacking Mob-run card games, and the Powers That Be in the organization are not happy about it. So they hire Cogan to find out who’s responsible and ‘take care of matters.’ Needless to say, those card games do not end up being friendly pastimes.

And there’s Dead Man’s Hand, a collection of short stories edited by Otto Prenzler. This collection features stories by Michael Connelly, Walter Mosley, Laura Lippman, and Sue DeNymme, has as its theme card playing (especially poker) and gambling.

And of course, I couldn’t have a post about card-playing without mentioning John D. MacDonal’s Travis McGee. He refers to himself as a ‘salvage consultant,’ and his specialty is returning money property that his clients have had stolen from them. McGee isn’t a professional card-player, but he’s been lucky at least once. He lives on a boat, The Busted Flush, that he won in a poker game…

Card games such as Bridge, poker and canasta can be a lot of fun. And even in today’s world of electronic games, they can be great opportunities to spend time with family and friends. But if you do play this weekend, be careful. A friendly game doesn’t always stay that way.

This post was inspired in part by a plot point in a novel that I’m beta-reading for a friend. For obvious reasons I can’t give title or author. But if you’re reading this, you know who you are. I’m really enjoying the story!

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from AC/DC’s  The Jack.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, George V. Higgins, Ian Hamilton, Laura Lippman, Michael Connelly, Otto Penzler, Sue DeNymme, Walter Mosley

My Hometown*

Fictional and Real SettingsIf you’re kind enough to read this blog regularly, you’ll know that my Joel Williams novels take place in the fictional US town of Tilton (Pennsylvania). It’s a small town that hosts Tilton University, where Williams teaches. As a writer, there’s a lot to like about creating a completely fictional town.

For one thing (and I admit, I like this), the writer can create whatever sort of place she or he wants. Who’s to say there isn’t an organic market on a certain corner? Or that the library isn’t five blocks away from one of the local churches? Or…or…or…  Along with this goes the freedom the writer has to make up street names, businesses and so on.

I’m in very good company, too. Fans of Martin Walker’s Benoît ‘Bruno’ Courrèges series will know that Bruno is Chief of Police in the fictional small town of St. Denis, in the Périgord. Throughout the course of the series, readers get to know several of the people who live in St. Denis. We learn about the different businesses, the street names, and so on. St. Denis has become, you might say, real.

So has Louise Penny’s Three Pines, a fictional small town in rural Québec. If you’ve read Penny’s Chief Inspector Armand Gamache series, you’ll know that Gamache is with the Sûreté du Québec. Beginning with Still Life, in which he and his team investigate a murder in Three Pines, Gamache spends a great deal of time there. In fact, he and his wife Reine-Marie retire to Three Pines. And it’s easy to see why. As the series has gone on, Penny has painted a vivid picture of a peaceful (well, sometimes) small town. Fans know who the ‘regulars’ are, and where one eats, shops, worships, and so on. The town has become so real to readers that a lot of people look up Three Pines on maps. But it isn’t there, of course.

D.S. Nelson’s Blake Heatherington series also takes place in a fictional town – the village of Tuesbury. Heatherington is a retired milliner who still does occasional work to order; he’s converted his shed into a workshop, and tries to keep his business discreet, so that the council doesn’t have to hear of it officially. Heatherington is also an amateur detective. His insights prove very useful, since he’s lived in Tuesbury for a very long time and more or less knows everyone there. Through Heatherington’s eyes, we get to know the other local residents. Nelson also paints a verbal portrait of Tuesbury’s businesses, street names, topography, and so on. It’s a modern English small town, and Nelson shows us clearly what life is like there.

There are plenty of other authors, too, who have created fictional settings for their stories (I know, I know, fans of Ruth Rendell’s Reg Wexford novels and of Craig Johnson’s Walt Longmire novels). And there’s a lot to be said for doing that. But you don’t get a free pass when you create a fictional town. For one thing, the setting has to be credible. Tilton, for instance, is a university town. It’s not huge. There are no skyscrapers, underground trains, or nearby airports. It simply wouldn’t make sense to have them there.

The setting has to be believable in other ways, too. Things such as geography and climate have to be authentic. Winters are cold and snowy in the part of Québec where Louise Penny’s Three Pines is located, and that’s depicted faithfully. To take an extreme example, you wouldn’t be likely to find palm trees or olives growing naturally there.

It’s also important to be authentic in terms of cultural realities. Speech styles, customs, and other aspects of life have to be depicted faithfully, too. To give one example, the custom of market day that we see in Martin Walker’s novels isn’t followed in the same way in the US. Towns such as Tilton would more likely have a farmer’s market. It’s a similar tradition (but not identical), where local farmers, bakers and artisans gather once or twice a week (it’s sometimes less frequent than that). People then come to choose fresh produce, meat and so on. All of this is easy enough to create if the writer’s from the area where the fictional town is located. It’s more difficult otherwise. In those cases, the writer would have to do plenty of research, live in an area for a long time, or find some other way to make sure those subtle (but important) details are realistic.

Some authors choose to set their stories in actual places. As a matter of fact, that’s the case for the standalone I’m currently writing. When you set a story in an actual place, you are spared the time that it takes to create street names, locations of shops, and the rest of it. So in that sense, your work’s done for you.

But setting a story in an actual place brings with it other kinds of work. Anyone who lives in or near the place where a novel is set will know that setting and local culture. So the writer has to be accurate about place names, businesses and landmarks. That takes research (or, again, living in a place). In that sense, the writer can take fewer liberties.

Colin Dexter, for instance, set his Inspector Morse series in Oxford. I’ll admit I’ve never lived there. But people who know the place have vouched for the authenticity of Dexter’s stories. Angela Savage’s Jayne Keeney stories are set in different parts of Thailand. The Half Child, for instance, takes place mostly in Pattaya. Again, I’ve never lived in that part of Southeast Asia, but Savage has. And her familiarity is reflected in the stories. What’s more, she’s done the research needed to ‘fill in the gaps’ we all have in our knowledge. There are many, many other authors who’ve chosen to set their novels and series in actual places. Michael Connelly, Christine Poulson, Anthony Bidulka and Sara Paretsky are just a few entries on that list.

No matter which choice the author makes, there’s no such thing as a free pass when it comes to depicting the setting and context. Do you have a preference when you read? If you do, do you like fictional or real locations better? If you’re a writer, which have you chosen and why?

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a Bruce Springsteen song.

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Filed under Angela Savage, Anthony Bidulka, Christine Poulson, Colin Dexter, Craig Johnson, D.S. Nelson, Louise Penny, Martin Walker, Michael Connelly, Ruth Rendell, Sara Paretsky

I’ve Come to Look For America*

FireworksWhen you travel in the US, you see one thing very clearly: America is composed of a lot of very different communities. Of course, many other countries are quite diverse, and have all sorts of different smaller communities within them. Those smaller communities add depth, texture and complexity to the fabric of the country and (in my opinion) make it richer. And fortunately, there’s plenty of good crime fiction that gives readers a look at those communities. There’s not nearly enough space here to mention all of the smaller communities that make up America. Here are just a few that have added to the national tapestry.

The Native Americans were here first, and several crime fiction series and novels offer insight into their experiences. You’ll probably already likely know about the work of Tony Hillerman, whose Joe Leaphorn/Jim Chee novels focus on life in the Navajo Nation. These novels give a fascinating perspective on the Southwest US, among other things. But Hillerman is hardly the only writer who explores the Native American experience. So does Stan Jones, whose Nathan Active novels take place in Alaska. Active is an Alaska State Trooper, and a member of the Inupiaq Nation. Although he was raised in Anchorage, Active now lives and works in the small town of Chukchi. This series does feature crime and its investigation. But it’s also a look at life among the Native Americans who live in Alaska. There’s also Margaret Coel’s Vicky Holden/Father John O’Malley series. Those novels take place mostly on Wyoming’s Wind River Reservation, among the Arapaho people. Holden is a member of that community; she’s also an attorney. As she and Fr. O’Malley investigate, readers learn a lot about life among the Arapaho. There are plenty of other crime novels and series that take place among, or that feature, Native Americans (I know, I know, fans of Craig Johnson’s Walt Longmire series). To understand the United States, it’s important to have at least some understanding of the people who were here first.

Another fascinating community of the modern US is the Cajun community of (mostly) Louisiana. You’ll know from your history that they’re the descendants of Acadians, who migrated to what was then French territory after being expelled from what are today Canada’s Maritime Provinces. Cajun music, food, lifestyle and language have had a powerful impact on Louisiana. And that influence has spread as people have discovered that rich resource. James Lee Burke has shown millions of readers life among the Cajuns through his Dave Robicheaux novels. As fans will know, Robicheaux is a cop with the New Iberia (Louisiana) Police. He himself is a Cajun; and he certainly interacts with many other Cajuns in the course of his work. So readers get a really interesting perspective on that community.

I don’t think it’s possible to accurately discuss the American experience without discussing the Black experience. Perhaps the most important, and basic, thing about that experience is that it’s been fundamentally different to the White experience. Understanding that fact, and gaining a perspective on Black America, is important (at least I think it is) to understanding the modern USA. Walter Mosely has written a few series that explore the Black experience. His Ezekiel ‘Easy’ Rawlins novels take place in Los Angeles in the years just after World War II, and leading up to and through the Civil Rights movement of the early 1960s. In those novels, we follow Rawlins, who starts out as an informal PI, but later gets his license. Another of his series features Leonid McGill, a modern-day New York PI. What’s interesting is that a comparison of this series shows that the Black experience is not identical across the country. What’s more, it’s not identical over time. You could say the same thing about Attica Locke’s work. Her novels explore both the Houston area and Louisiana, both in the present day and the recent (and not at all recent) past. Throughout those stories, we see the complexity as well as the evolution of the Black community.

No less rich and complex is the US Latino community. In fact, I think it’s fair to say that there really isn’t one Latino community. Still, for the sake of space, there are crime writers who’ve explored the Latino experience in America. One is Manuel Ramos. His Denver-based attorney Luis Móntez was at one time involved in the Chicano activist movement. When we meet him in The Ballad of Rocky Ruiz, he has to return to that past when he learns that several other former activists – members of El Movimiento – are dying. The key seems to be their history and their possible involvement years ago in the death of one of their own, Rocky Ruiz. Steven Torres’ Precinct Puerto Rico series features Luis Gonzalo, a small-town Puerto Rico Sheriff. There are plenty of other novels, too, that depict different Latino communities.

Just about every major American city has a Chinatown of one sort or another. The Chinese community in the US has become a unique blend of traditional Chinese culture, language and lifestyle with elements of the surrounding culture. And the list of ways in which that Chinese culture has influenced the US would go on for far too long. Both S.J. Rozan and Henry Chang explore life in New York’s Chinatown. And Michael Connelly’s 9 Dragons takes a look at life in Los Angeles’ Chinatown.

There are plenty of other smaller communities in the US, too. For instance, Linda Castillo explores the Amish community in her Kate Burkholder novels. And Mette Ivie Harrison depicts life in the Mormon (Latter Day Saints) community in The Bishop’s Wife. All of these communities are unique and distinctive.

But here’s the thing. They are also all American. So although every community’s experience is different, there’s also a shared history. Stitching all of this together to form a national identity is an extremely complicated, sometimes horribly messy, and always fascinating process. After 239 years, it’s still a work in progress. It’ll be exciting and interesting to see where the journey takes us next. Happy Independence Day/Fourth of July to those who celebrate it!

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel’s America.

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Filed under Attica Locke, Craig Johnson, Henry Chang, James Lee Burke, Linda Castillo, Manuel Ramos, Margaret Coel, Mette Ivie Harrison, Michael Connelly, S.J. Rozan, Stan Jones, Steven Torres, Tony Hillerman, Walter Mosley

And Who Was Wrong? And Who Was Right? It Didn’t Matter in the Thick of the Fight*

MemorialDay2015Most people will likely say that they don’t like war. War is ugly, dirty, bloody and brutal, and no-one leaves unscathed, even if one makes it home from the war. And there’ve been conscientious objectors to armed conflict for a very long time.

But some wars give rise to especially strong controversy, and feelings run very high about them. Yet, those who serve their country in the military have to participate in those wars, whether they want to or no, whether they think their country should be involved or no.

Among the modern wars generating perhaps the most controversy has been the Vietnam War. Emotions about that war still are still strong; and at the time, conflicts between those who opposed involvement in the war and those who supported it sometimes turned deadly.

Caught in the middle, as you might say, were members of the military. Whatever their own feelings about the war, they were expected to go. And those who came back often received far from a hero’s welcome. Add this to the not-very-surprising struggles they had with the trauma of surviving a bloody conflict, and it’s not surprising that many Vietnam veterans have had serious difficulties.

The controversy over the war in Vietnam has also, not surprisingly, found its way into crime fiction. Here are just a few examples. I know you’ll think of many, many more than I could, anyway.

Derek B. Miller’s Norwegian By Night treats this theme. Sheldon Hororwitz is an octogenarian, originally from New York, who’s gone to live in Oslo to be nearer his granddaughter Rhea and her Norwegian husband Lars. One plot thread of this novel concerns Horowitz looking back on his life and, especially, on the death of his son Saul in Vietnam. Horowitz feels a great deal of guilt about Saul’s death, because as he sees it, he’s responsible. He persuaded his son to go, telling him that it was his responsibility to support his country – to show how loyal he was, to put it another way. During his first stint there, Saul experienced some horrible things that made him question everything about the war. But he went back for a second tour; this time he didn’t come home. Among many other things, this profoundly affects Horowitz’ feelings about Rhea. And it impacts what he does when he gets mixed up in a case of murder.

Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch comes face to face with his memories of service in Vietnam in The Black Echo. In that novel, the body of an unidentified man is found stuffed in a drainpipe. The dead man turns out to be Billy Meadows, whom Bosch knew when both served in the war in Vietnam. Both men were ‘tunnel rats,’ responsible for finding and destroying the Viet Cong’s underground bunkers and supplies. Like many veterans, Meadows struggled with heroin addiction, so at first, his death is put down to an accidental overdose. But Bosch still feels the connection from the war, and starts asking questions. It turns out that Meadows’ death is more than just a junkie who overdosed. It’s connected to a large bank heist and to wartime events. In both Bosch and Meadows, we see how people came back from Vietnam physically alive, but bearing a lot of scars from service. Fans of James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheaux will know that he also is a Vietnam veteran. Like Bosch, he saw more than his share of ugliness in the war, and it still haunts him.

Service in Vietnam was hard enough for those who volunteered for military service before the war began. It was even harder for those who were conscripted. Many people were so opposed to the war that they chose not to fight. Instead, they went to Canada, rather than be drafted. Vicki Delany treats this theme in In the Shadow of the Glacier. Moonlight ‘Molly’ Smith is a fledgling constable for the Trafalgar, BC Police. She gets her first ‘trial by fire’ when she discovers the body of controversial developer Reginald Montgomery. Once it’s clear that Montgomery was murdered, Smith and her superior, Sergeant John Winters, investigate. In one plot thread of this novel, the town of Trafalgar is faced with a dilemma. Ex-pat American Larry O’Reilly has recently died. He came to Canada to avoid being drafted in the war in Vietnam and felt strongly that those who acted according to their consciences should be honoured. So in his will, he’s bequeathed a large sum of money to the town on condition that the money be used to create such a memorial. On the one hand, many citizens, including Smith’s mother Lucy ‘Lucky’ want to do as O’Reilly wanted and create a Peace Garden. Others (and Montgomery was among these) oppose the idea. They’re afraid that it might be too controversial (and therefore, bad for business), since many Americans viewed those who went to Canada as traitors. It’s not an easy question, and still causes a lot of hurt on both sides. And it’s a source of real tension in the story.

And then there’s George Pelecanos’ Hard Revolution, which serves as a prequel to his Derek Strange series. In this novel, Strange is a rookie cop in 1968 Washington, DC, a town on the point of revolution sparked by racial tension and controversy over the war in Vietnam. Burning, rioting and so on are convulsing the city; and it seems as though society is coming apart at the proverbial seams. Strange is a Black cop in a dangerous situation, and it gets even worse when his older brother Dennis gets drawn into a scheme to rob a local shop. Meanwhile, another person Strange knows, Dominic Martini, gets involved with a group of White thugs in the drunken murder of a young Black man and a planned bank robbery. The two events play out against the turbulent times, and Strange has to do his best to negotiate all of the high emotion as he tries to do his job. Both Dennis Strange and Dominic Martini have served tours in Vietnam, and it’s scarred both of them. Here’s what Martini has to say about his return from service:
 

‘In bars, he no longer talked about Vietnam. It didn’t help him with women and sometimes it spurred unwelcome comments from men. When he mentioned his tour of duty, it seemed to lead to no good.’
 

Many Vietnam veterans had a similar experience.

Today (or tomorrow, depending on when you read this) the US observes Memorial Day, a time to remember those who gave their lives in service to their country. I can’t imagine what it’s like to do that in any case, let alone in the case of an unpopular war. Whatever your feelings about Vietnam, I think it’s important to honour the memories of those who died there.
 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is from Billy Joel’s Goodnight Saigon.

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Filed under Derek B. Miller, George Pelecanos, James Lee Burke, Michael Connelly, Vicki Delany

There’s a Pawn Shop on a Corner*

Pawn ShopsMany people have times in their lives when they’ve run low on money and need a loan. One place people go is, of course, to a bank. But a bank loan isn’t always feasible – not if you have no credit (or poor credit). Besides, banks require information that some people would rather not provide, particularly if they want to stay ‘off the grid.’ So there are plenty of people who look for other ways to raise money quickly.

One solution is the pawn shop. Pawn shops have been around for a very long time, and still provide an important service. Some are disreputable, and even dangerous. But lots of them are simply businesses, like any other small business. And they can provide important clues to detectives who are trying to form a portrait of a murder victim. After all, financial situations can be powerful motives, or at least valuable clues, as to the story behind a killing. What’s more, they can be fascinating in their own right, considering all of the interesting merchandise they may sell.

For a long time, it was a cause for deep shame (and still is, in some cases) if a wealthy family was in need of money. Such people often didn’t want to risk others knowing about their situation, so they wouldn’t go to banks for a loan. Instead, they’d go to places such as pawn shops. That’s the sort of client who might have visited the pawn shop of Jabez Wilson, whom we meet in Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Adventure of the Red-Headed League. Wilson visits Sherlock Holmes because he’s had a very strange experience. He saw and responded to an advertisement for a job doing easy work. The only requirement was that the successful candidate must have red hair. At first, the job worked out well; Wilson was asked to copy the Encyclopaedia Britannica, which was easy enough, and he was paid. But one day, he went to work as usual only to find the doors locked and a sign announcing the disbanding of the Red-Headed League. Holmes and Dr. Watson investigate this league, and find that the whole thing was really a cover for a plot to rob a nearby bank.

In Agatha Christie’s Lord Edgware Dies (AKA Thirteen at Dinner), famous actress Jane Wilkinson asks Hercule Poirot to persuade her husband, the 4th Baron Edgware, to grant her a divorce so she can marry the Duke of Merton. Poirot reluctantly agrees to at least speak to Edgware, and he and Captain Hastings make a visit. Edgware tells them that he has no objections to a divorce; surprised by this, Poirot and Hastings pass the news on to their client. That night, Edgware is stabbed. His wife is the obvious suspect, and it doesn’t help her case that someone who looked just like her came to the house and gave her name at the door just before the murder. But Jane says she was at a party in another part of London, and there are plenty of people who will swear she was there. As Poirot, Hastings, and Chief Inspector Japp look for other suspects, they concentrate on Ronald Marsh, Edgware’s nephew and the heir to both title and fortune. It turns out that he was in real financial trouble and his uncle refused to help. When his alibi proves false, Marsh says that he was desperate for money, and that his cousin Geraldine, the victim’s daughter, gave him her pearls to pawn. The pawn shop proprietor supports Marsh, too. It’s an interesting look at the way someone might raise money quickly at that time.

Aaron Elkins’ Loot introduces us to Boston pawn shop owner Simeon Pawlovsky. One day an unusually valuable object comes his way. Someone drops off what could be a rare painting at the shop. Pawlovsky wants a sense of how much it’s worth, so he calls his friend, art expert Benjamin ‘Ben’ Revere. Revere visits the shop and takes a look at the painting. Much to his surprise, it looks like a priceless Velázquez, one of several paintings that were ‘taken for safekeeping’ by the Nazis. Revere wants to do more research on the work, and at first, wants to take it with him. Pawlovsky refuses, even though it’s quite dangerous for him to keep something so valuable in his shop. Reluctantly, Revere agrees to do his research and come back later. When he does, he discovers Pawlovsky’s body. He feels guilty about what might be his role in the man’s death; besides, he wants to know who killed his friend. So he decides that if he can trace the painting forward, from the time the Nazis took it to the time it showed up in the shop, he can find out who the murderer is. The trail leads to Europe and some very dangerous people…

Michael Connelly’s The Black Echo is the first outing for his Harry Bosch, who’s with the LAPD. When the body of an unknown man is found in a drainpipe, it’s assumed the victim is a junkie who died of an overdose. But Bosch finds out to his shock that the dead man is Billy Meadows, a friend from Bosch’s stint in Vietnam. He looks back over the case to find out who would have wanted to kill Meadows. One of the clues that was missed in the first, cursory investigation is a pawn ticket that was in the dead man’s pocket. He traces that ticket to the pawn shop of a Mr. Obina, who has his own story to tell. His shop was broken into, and he’s been waiting for someone – anyone – to come and take a report and investigate. Bosch does what he can to get someone out there quickly; in return, Obina tells him that the bracelet corresponding to the pawn ticket was stolen in the robbery. It turns out that the theft of the bracelet is closely related to Meadows’ murder.

Private detective Dandelion ‘Dandy’ Gilver finds a pawn shop useful in Catriona McPherson’s Dandy Gilver and the Proper Treatment of Bloodstains. Walburga ‘Lollie’ Balfour hires Gilver when she begins to suspect that her husband may be trying to kill her. Gilver takes a job at the Balfour home as a maid and begins her investigation. One night, Lollie’s husband Philip ‘Pip’ is murdered. The police take over the case, and Gilver provides what help she can. There are several possibilities when it comes to suspects, because to say the least, the victim was not popular. His will opens up other possibilities. In the process of following up leads, she decides to learn more about Phyllis, the housemaid. One day, Gilver follows Phyllis as she goes on her ‘day out.’ Surprisingly, Phyllis goes to a pawn shop. At first, Gilver thinks that Phyllis has got hold of some family treasure or other and is pawning it to line her pockets. But as it turns out, she has another reason for going…

Pawn shops can be really interesting places in and of themselves, and there are often a lot of personal stories that go with the merchandise. Little wonder they have their place in crime fiction. I’ve had my say. Your turn.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Bob Merrill’s Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

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Filed under Aaron Elkins, Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, Catriona McPherson, Michael Connelly