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Stuart MacBride’s Number One bestselling crime series opens with this award-winning debut. DS Logan McRae and the police in Aberdeen hunt a child killer who stalks the frozen streets.
Winter in Aberdeen: murder, mayhem and terrible weather…
It’s DS Logan McRae’s first day back on the job after a year off on the sick, and it couldn’t get much worse. Three-year-old David Reid’s body is discovered in a ditch, strangled, mutilated and a long time dead. And he’s only the first. There’s a serial killer stalking the Granite City and the local media are baying for blood.
Soon the dead are piling up in the morgue almost as fast as the snow on the streets, and Logan knows time is running out. More children are going missing. More are going to die. And if Logan isn’t careful, he could end up joining them…
Laz. I can’t.’ Sighing, Logan pulled away from the lights, heading back into town. ‘Listen, Laz, I’m about done here, you want to meet up for a drink? There’s still places open down the docks. . . I’m buying?’ Logan said he didn’t think so and hung up. Traffic was light all the way across town. He abandoned his car outside his flat and slouched up the stairs. The place was cold, so he cranked up the heating and sat in the dark, watching the lights twinkling outside the windows, feeling sorry
photo from the wall, feeling hollow inside. Catching the man who had abused her and disposed of her body as if it was nothing more than household rubbish, had left him feeling dirty by association. Ashamed to be human. Insch settled himself down on the edge of the table and helped Logan stack up the statements. ‘Wonder if we’ll ever know who she was?’ Logan scrubbed at his face with his hands, feeling the first rasp of stubble under his fingers. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Anyway,’ Insch dumped
a huge flashgun onto the top of the camera, smacking it with the side of his hand until it emitted a high-pitched whine. ‘OK, back up ladies and gentlemen. . .’ Hard, blue-white light crackled in the confined space, followed by the clatter-whirr of the camera and the whine of the flash. Again and again and again. . . Billy was almost finished when Logan’s phone went off. Cursing, he dragged it out of his pocket. It was Insch, looking for an update. ‘Sorry, sir.’ Logan had to raise his voice
muttered before remembering Logan was in the car. ‘Sorry sir.’ ‘Don’t worry about it. . .’ He drifted back into silence, thinking about Charles Reid and the trip to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary last night. It hadn’t really been Charles Reid’s fault. Someone phones your daughter up and asks how she feels about her three-year-old son’s murdered body turning up in a ditch. Not surprising he took a swing at the first target that presented itself. Whoever sold the story to the P&J: they were to blame.
enough at first hand to know they weren’t getting anywhere fast. Making them go through all that stuff in the waste containers hadn’t helped, but at least now they knew they hadn’t missed anything. At the rate they were going it’d be Monday at the earliest before they’d worked their way through all three steadings-worth of animal corpses. Providing the superintendent authorized the overtime. Logan’s mini incident room was empty by the time he got there. The lab results had come back on the vomit