By James Ellroy
Unique book: 1984
[b]In the 1st Lloyd Hopkins novel, an L.A. murder detective chases a crafty serial killer
Lloyd Hopkins used to be no longer but a cop whilst the Watts riots ripped la aside. A member of the California nationwide protect, he had desires of buying and selling in his khaki uniform for blue—of serving and holding rather than studying to kill. referred to as in to patrol the streets of South important la in the course of the riots, he came upon that safeguarding his urban usually intended laying off blood. Seventeen years later, Hopkins wears plainclothes. He has every thing he had dreamed of as a tender soldier: a spouse, a relatives, and a detective’s fee. however the city’s best murder detective is set to be validated. Twenty girls are lifeless, and to discover their killer this stable cop needs to learn how to imagine just like the madman.
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Additional resources for Blood on the Moon (Lloyd Hopkins, Book 1)
I wonder," and switched on the ignition. Then he said, "Better places, yes, but just to be going on with, as long as we're here—" and postponed reaching for the hand brake a minute to kiss her. * * * At ten forty-five the next morning he sat in his car at one end of that cruise Walsh and Bartlett had been riding on Friday night, and read over the terse history of what jobs they had done between four-thirty and nine. It hadn't been a very exciting tour up to then. On Friday night, he remembered, it had been raining: gray and threatening all day, and the rain starting about three, not a real California storm until later, but one of those dispirited steady thin drizzles.
Lieutenant Mendoza grinned at him. "Cut that out, Walsh, no need. Always a first time for everything. " "Why, you bastard,” said Slaney. " "Yes, Art Hackett's often told me how glad he was to be transferred out from under you," said Mendoza amiably. All in all, Walsh was enormously relieved; despite his rank and his money Mendoza seemed to be a regular guy. That happened in January; a month later, the memory of this little encounter emboldened Walsh to go over Lieutenant Slaney's head and lay a problem before the headquarters man.
Nobody remembered him at an airport or a bus station either. Or any of the places he might have gone to buy a disguise-false whiskers or something. If he dyed his hair, he didn't do it with anything he bought at a drugstore near where he lived or near this—er—Temple. Oh, yes, we've looked in all the indicated places, but maybe he's been too smart for us. " "Aqui está, wait for it—wait. Now what is this, what could it—? " Woods opened his mouth, shut it, and said, "Well, no. " "You don't tell me," said Mendoza slowly.
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