Friday, March 22, 2013
Cold Granite by Stuart MacBride
“Newcomer Stuart MacBride joins an illustrious roster of Scottish crime writers…by tangling together a half-dozen competing plot lines, MacBride keeps readers off-balance, even those who think they can see the tripwires.”—Houston Chronicle
After a long recuperation from a stab wound, Detective Sergeant Logan McRae’s first night back on duty in Aberdeen, Scotland, takes him to a crime scene where the body of a missing boy has been found on a riverbank. To the horror of even the most experienced cops on the job, all the details point to a ritualistic murder—a serial killer. Then twenty-four hours later, another child goes missing.
The case’s latest developments keep appearing as the next day’s headlines, leading the department to believe one of their own is leaking information. Logan is keen to catch the mole as well as the killer, but even with Police Constable Jackie Watson, assigned to help “ease” him back into the job, it seems impossible.
From the violent world of organized crime to the dark fantasies of a murderer and the naughty games cops play to stay sane, Logan is moving through the Scottish winter in search of a few hard facts. And as the rain turns to snow, as new outrages are discovered, he begins to get his answers: one victim, one deception, and one killer at a time...
Publishers Excerpt: Chapter Two
It was pissing down outside. The rain battered against the blue plastic SOC tent’s walls and roof, clattering in the confined space, fighting against the constant drone of the portable generators, making conversation impossible. Not that anyone was feeling particularly chatty at a quarter past midnight on a Monday morning.
Not with David Reid lying there. On the freezing ground.
At one end of the lopsided tent a four foot stretch of ditch was cordoned off with blue police tape. Dark, greasy water glinted in the spotlights. The rest of the tent was taken up by riverbank, the winter-yellow grass beaten flat and muddy underfoot.
It was crowded in here. There were four constables from Aberdeen’s Identification Bureau, wearing white paper boiler suits: two covering everything with fingerprint powder and sticky tape; one taking photographs; and the fourth videoing the crime scene for posterity. Add to that one decidedly green-looking PC, the duty doctor, a detective sergeant who’d seen better days, and the guest of honour. Little David Brookline Reid. Three months short of his fourth birthday.
They’d had to drag him out of the cold, water-filled ditch before death could be declared. Not that there was any doubt about it. The poor little sod had been dead for a long time. He was lying on his back on a square of blue plastic, exposed for all the world to see, an X-Men T-shirt pulled up around his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing anything else.
The camera flashed again, burning away all detail and colour, leaving an imprint on the retina that refused to go away.
Standing in the corner Detective Sergeant Logan McRae closed his eyes and tried to think what he was going to tell little David Reid’s mother. Her son had been missing for three months. Three months of not knowing. Three months of hoping her child would turn up safe and sound. While all the time he’d been lying dead in a ditch.
Logan ran a hand over his tired face, feeling the stubble scritch beneath his fingers. Christ, he could kill for a cigarette. He wasn’t even supposed to be here!
He pulled out his watch and groaned, his breath coming out in a plume of white fog. Fourteen hours since he’d reported for duty yesterday morning. So much for easing back into the swing of things. Read more at the link above.