Blood on the Moon (Lloyd Hopkins, Book 1) by James Ellroy

By James Ellroy

Unique ebook: 1984

[b]In the 1st Lloyd Hopkins novel, an L.A. murder detective chases a crafty serial killer
Lloyd Hopkins was once no longer but a cop whilst the Watts riots ripped l. a. aside. A member of the California nationwide defend, he had desires of buying and selling in his khaki uniform for blue—of serving and holding rather than studying to kill. known as in to patrol the streets of South vital l. a. throughout the riots, he came across 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 kinfolk, and a detective’s fee. however the city’s most interesting murder detective is ready to be validated. Twenty girls are useless, and to discover their killer this sturdy cop needs to learn how to imagine just like the madman.

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His hands were blistered. His head pounded. But the sunlight was soft and languid, the air still, and the bellbirds were calling. Then he heard a loud, chaffcutter rattle overhead and looked up. It was a 1942 Kittyhawk fighter. Challis knew the plane, knew the woman who’d restored it. He watched as it banked overhead and turned south-east, presumably for the little aerodrome at Waterloo, and that’s when Challis decided to pack in his Sunday afternoon’s pottering and head there too, thereby placing himself right at the centre of most of what followed that autumn.

If he reached out and touched her now she’d flinch and say, it’s not as easy as that, Hal. She seemed to read his confusion and unhappiness and got to her feet. ’ She almost walked out on him coldly but at the last moment stopped and briefly touched his cheek. She’d left her scotch unfinished. CHAPTER FIVE At one am, with Dwayne Venn questioned and remanded and most of the paperwork done, Ellen packed up and drove home to Penzance Beach, still dressed in her baggy stakeout cargo pants and cotton windcheater.

No. ’ Challis’s nerve endings tingled. ’ ‘White Toyota traytop ute, to be exact. Two men inside. The driver starts shouting at me. What am I doing there? Who else is with me? Have I found some boxes on the beach? Maybe I’ve hidden them? He was quite aggressive. Then he just sped off further down the beach. ’ ‘Shipment of drugs,’ Challis said flatly. ‘There was a gale last night,’ he said. She nodded. ’ ‘That too. Or it’s entirely innocent. ’ Things not feeling right is a common instinct in the police and the press, Challis thought.

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