Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Without Whom
- Saturday
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Sunday
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Monday
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Tuesday
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Wednesday
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Thursday
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Read on for an exclusive short story by Stuart MacBride
- By Stuart MacBride
- About the Author
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
Where the hell are you, McRae? We said 3 pm! I brought biscuits & everything!!!!!
Arse. Three. Ah well, never mind.
Logan poked out a reply with his thumbs:
Don’t be such a girl. Got caught up on murder enquiry.
Better leave it till later. Make it 17:15-ish?
‘Did you know Roy was in Operation Desert Storm? Right behind enemy lines, fighting the Republican Guard. His squad was pinned down by sniper fire, then the mortar rounds started falling. They lost their commanding officer and half of the team. Roy caught a bit of shrapnel in the eye. Half-blind, bleeding heavily, he carried one of his mates three miles back to base camp, under fire the whole way.’
Logan looked up from his phone. ‘He told DCI Steel he was caught in a roadside bomb.’
‘Look, the point is, he was a hero. He was damaged fighting for his country, and he was out on the streets. And he was getting better.’ A glower. ‘Until Professor Skid Marks got involved.’
The last text was from Dr Graham:
Gt the SIA rslts bk frm Dundee
Vktm ws lcl
Gv me a phn & ill tlk U thru thm
What the hell did ‘SIA’ mean? The woman was a nightmare.
Goulding left the window and settled behind the desk. ‘How’s Samantha getting on? ’
Logan thumbed out an answer:
I’ll give you a call when I’m back in the station.
How’s the facial reconstruction coming?
He hit send. ‘Just great. We went clubbing in Brechin last night. Going to the Maldives in July – do a bit of scuba diving.’
‘I see. . .’ He steepled his fingers. ‘I’ve arranged for a Mental Health Officer to see Robert Whyte at four this afternoon. I’d be very surprised if he isn’t in a secure ward by the end of the day.’
A nutjob, but not the right nutjob.
Logan stuck his phone back in his pocket. ‘I think we’re getting a cat.’
‘That’s good. From a therapeutic point of view it’s probably a bit more effective than discussing all your problems with an imaginary person.’
For God’s sake. He slumped in his seat, both hands covering his eyes. ‘Here we go again. . .’
‘I’m just saying it’s not entirely healthy. And you know talking therapy works. Look at all the progress we’ve made over the last two years: we cured your vegetarianism, didn’t we? You’re drinking less, you’ve lost weight, and you’re a lot less irritable.’
‘Leave it, OK? ’ Jesus, nag, nag, nag.
‘Logan, I’m serious: it’s really not healthy to keep—’
‘Take the bloody hint.’ He dropped his hands from his face and jabbed a finger in Goulding’s direction. ‘I can still do you for assaulting Professor Marks.’
Silence.