The Scarecrow by Michael Connelly

I wait for a Michael Connelly crime title like I used to await Christmas morning with great expectation and a bit of dizzy joy. Although instead of ripping off the paper cover and devouring it like a chocolate-covered cherry—I take my time reading it—savoring his musical language and getting to know his characters as they and I are engaged with the clever and stimulating plot.

Pursuing a big story in anticipation of his imminent layoff, Los Angeles reporter Jack McEvoy (The Poet 1996) investigates the murder confession of a teen drug dealer and realizes that the youth may be innocent, a discovery that pits him against a serial killer operating below police radar. He teams up with his old flame FBI agent Rachel Walling and both sexual tension and brilliant detecting ensue.

In this effort, Connelly describes a horrendous serial killer chase juxtaposed to his elegy to newspaper reporting and the print medium. The whole growth of the Internet and the tension it presents between old and new methods of communication and data storage as well as a brand new supply of crimes is very well researched and explicated.

Using alternating point of view between villain and reporter, Connelly builds tension expertly, using dramatic irony to its fullest potential. The worst part of reading a Connelly novel is that it inevitably ends. Heavy Sigh.

Leane

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