L.A. confidential

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This article was published 23/11/2024 (361 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

LAPD cold case detective Renée Ballard is surfing when scoundrels break into her car and steal her badge, her gun and her official ID — don’t you just hate it when that happens?

Much more than annoying for the hero of Michael Connelly’s 39th superb L.A. police procedural: her enemies among the police patriarchy could fire Ballard, even charge her, for losing her essential gear.

And so kicks off a devious and not-quite-legal quest to recover her badge that leads Ballard to three — count ‘em, three — plots blending beach and freeway and Hollywood lore that make L.A. a living entity in Connelly’s murder mysteries.

Regular readers will recall that Ballard is officially a pariah, her gobsmacking arrest and conviction record notwithstanding, after she reported a senior officer for sexual assault. Misogyny is definitely high on the subtle social messages Connelly has seamlessly inserted into the narrative.

Being on the outs with senior management made Ballard a natural to fall into cahoots with Connelly’s longtime protagonist, homicide detective Harry Bosch.

Harry is here, have no fear that he won’t appear, but this is Ballard’s world now, and when the publisher labels The Waiting “A Ballard and Bosch Novel,” the latter party isn’t retired-and-ill Harry but his daughter Maddie, now a young beat cop yearning to be a detective.

Maddie volunteers to put in her free time with the cold case unit. What could possibly go wrong?

Three plots for us, Connelly offers, and gratefully we tag along. Having a wall map of L.A. to follow is a great help, but not mandatory.

Ballard relentlessly tracks down her gear, and how she does that will not be divulged here. Is it all legal? Better you don’t ask.

Someone wants her badge, someone who may want it to help carry out great evil — no, no more information, that’s the first plot.

The second is a cold case involving a ghastly rapist who eventually became a murderer and was never caught. As often happens in cold cases, DNA points fingers decades later — not at the villain (the DNA belongs to someone too young to be the rapist), but at a very close relative such as his father.

Hang on, that surname is familiar… gosh, he couldn’t be the son of the man who holds exceptionally high public office…

That should be enough to beguile your book club, and you’ll get no more.

Finally, the third plot, and Maddie’s time to shine on a real-life cold case. If you’ve never heard of The Black Dahlia, resist the urge to Google — just sit back and be both horrified and fascinated.

Connelly is a master of subtlety — Americans elect so many senior public jobs that saner nations embrace in the public service. Suffice to say that political rivals lusting after higher office can quash an investigation that would serve justice but also make a nemesis look good. How to make the truth public without being fired, or worse, is as vital a part of sleuthing as ferreting out evidence for a conviction — and sometimes far more dangerous for the sleuths.

The Waiting is basically a typical nifty Connelly adventure: utterly captivating plots, appealing characters, underlying social messages and hints for the hawk-eyed reader of the best street food in L.A.

Retired Free Press reporter Nick Martin clutches his pearls wishing Michael Connelly would have his police detectives riding bicycles and taking public transit to chase villains on the freeway instead of endless driving.