Birthdays for the Dead by Stuart MacBride

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 gloomy 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: do-it-yourself, with a Polaroid photo caught to front -- Rebecca, strapped to a chair, gagged and terrified. each year one other card: every one 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 do-it-yourself playing cards exhibiting their daughters being slowly tortured to demise. yet Ash hasn't informed somebody approximately Rebecca's birthday playing cards -- all of them imagine she's simply run clear of domestic -- simply because if someone reveals 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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Slagle stood in back of Shorty Gates, one arm wrapped around the little worm’s neck. “You ain’t gonna go to your partner. ” He continued to hold the short man. Barnes, his arms feeling like they were made of lead, walked through the batwings and to the bartender who still held his Greener, only now pointed at the ground. ” The barman grinned. “Reckon there ain’t a man here who don’t figger it that way. ” Lingo nodded, staggered a step to the side. He was so tired he could hardly stand. “I figure on shuckin’ the shells from Gates’s an’ Mayben’s guns while I’m at it.

After I left you last night I got to thinkin’. Miles Colter ain’t the kind o’ man to stay to himself for this long at a time; he’s a right friendly sort. ’Sides that, seems like he’d’a come in town for a drink. He likes his evenin’ toddy. ” He took a forkful of potato, swabbed it in the runny egg yolk, put it in his mouth, and chewed. While obviously pondering the problem, he finally nodded. “Yep, he’d need supplies. ” Lingo shook his head. ” Slagle nodded. “Figger you’re right. ” When they finished eating, Sam paid the bill, and to Lingo’s disgust, Sam said they’d walk, it was only a little over a mile.

That he wouldn’t do until he got what he wanted. He walked past the table, noticed the bottle still sitting there, poured himself another drink, and sat. He stared into the amber fluid. He didn’t like the idea of Emily Colter running around loose in this country. She might talk to anyone, raise suspicions, start a manhunt, hell, anything; and those two dumb bastards he’d sent after her? He relished the idea of blowing them into the next world. He rubbed his hand across the little hideout gun in his shirt sleeve.

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