Michael Connelly, the crime-mystery-thriller author, did it again.
I’d already read twenty-nine of his books. Loved them all. But I hadn’t read The Late Show, published in 2017. Put it off, probably thinking, save it for later, know his formula. It will be good, but let me read other stuff.
But, the book sat there, an unspoken invitation. So, I opened the cover. Kidnapped me within six pages with an-all-too-familiar experience that left me as frustrated as the cops.
The two officers roll up on a call from a seventy-seven year old woman who received a fraud alert e-mail on her credit card, which is missing. Looks like it’s been stolen. Officer Renée Ballard tries to help the aged female in her fraud phone call followup, after the woman is stonewalled.
“The system only works if we catch the guy,” Ballard said. . . .
“I am sorry,” the supervisor said. “I cannot help you without documentation from the courts. It is our protocol.”
“What’s your name?”
“My name is Irfan.”
“Where are you, Irfan?”
“How do you mean?”
“Are you in Mumbai? Delhi? Where?”
“I am in Mumbai, yes.”
“And that’s why you don’t give a shit. Because this guy’s never going to come into your house and steal your wallet in Mumbai. Thanks very much.”
Connelly’s protagonists can be cynical, weary, overworked, take short cuts, but they are trying to fight the good fight against long odds. They are in the arena, and I always respect that.
One thing for sure, they are real, just like Connelly describes “out there” with his authentic, fast-paced detail.