Birthdays for the Dead by Stuart MacBride

Police Procedurals

By Stuart MacBride

The gritty new standalone crime novel from the No. 1 bestselling writer of Shatter the Bones and darkish Blood Detective Constable Ash Henderson has a dismal mystery! 5 years in the past his daughter, Rebecca, went lacking at the eve of her 13th birthday. A yr later the 1st card arrived: home made, with a Polaroid photo caught to front -- Rebecca, strapped to a chair, gagged and terrified. each year one other card: each worse than the final. The tabloids name him The Birthday Boy. He's been snatching women for twelve years, constantly within the run-up to their 13th birthday, sending the households his home made playing cards displaying their daughters being slowly tortured to dying. yet Ash hasn't informed someone approximately Rebecca's birthday playing cards -- all of them imagine she's simply run clear of domestic -- simply because if an individual unearths out, he'll be taken off the research. And he's sacrificed an excessive amount of to renounce prior to his daughter's killer will get what he merits!

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I wish they were doing a post-mortem on you, you bastard,” Frost muttered. He again looked around his unsavoury surroundings. Why was something nagging away? Why was that little bell at the back of his head ringing insistently, warning him something was wrong? He looked around again, slowly this time. But it was no good whatever it was, it wasn’t going to show itself. And why was he worrying? Death was from natural causes, and he had the party to go to. ” asked Shelby, his notebook open. “His mother and brother live in Denton,” Frost told him.

But if he was going to get to the party before the beer ran out... With a wave to the constable, he climbed back into his car. As he settled down in the driving seat, his sodden trouser legs flapped clammily around his ankles, and he felt the cold squelch of his wet socks as he pressed his feet on the pedals. On the back seat, unused and bone dry, his Wellington boots sat on top of a yellowing back number of the Dally Mirror. He reversed, only hitting the kerb once. As he drove past the red-brick building with the creaking enamel sign, he realized he couldn’t see the broken metal grille.

No, Max, Karen’s not here. ” Dawson stared at the phone in disbelief. Had the fool gone mad? ” he shouted. “She was going to the cinema with Debbie, then spending the night with you. ” “I know,” yawned Taylor. “Debbie waited outside the Odeon, but Karen never showed up. ” “You assumed? ” “Well ... ” roared Dawson, his face red with anger. ” He put down the phone and charged up the staircase to Karen’s room. Flinging open the door, he looked in. The curtains were drawn, and the room was quiet and still.

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