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Автор Стюарт Макбрайд
STUART
MACBRIDE
Shatter the
Bones
Contents
Without Whom
six days later
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
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
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
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
By Stuart MacBride
Copyright
About the Publisher
Without Whom
As always, a lot of people very generously helped with the research for this book – anything I’ve got right is their fault, everything I’ve got wrong is mine.
I want to say a big thank you to Professor Dave Barclay at the Robert Gordon University, Dr Lorna Dawson and David Miller at the Macaulay, and Dr James Grieve at the University of Aberdeen whose help has been invaluable. The ever-wonderful Ishbell Gall went above and beyond (as usual).
Hats off to Lee Carr, Xavier Jones-Barlow, Christopher MacBride, Julie Bultitude, Allan ‘Ubby’ Davidson, John Dennis, Dave Goulding, and Alex Clark for all their trailer-tastic help. Mark McHardie, Chris Croly, and Andrew Morrisson for advice and snippets.
Allan and Donna Buchan for support and curry.
My groovy editors Jane Johnson and Sarah Hodgson, and everyone at HarperCollins, especially Alice Moss, Amy Neilson, Julia Wisdom, Wendy Neale and Damon Greeney; and everyone in the Glasgow DC crew. My agent Philip Graystoke Patterson, Isabella, Luke, and the rest of Marjacq scripts. Andrea Best, Susanne Grünbeck, Gregor Weber, and Andreas Jäger.
Several police officers were incredibly helpful; I can’t name them, but I
And saving the best for last – as always – Fiona and Grendel.
six days later
Chapter 1
‘Three minutes. ’
‘Fuck.
’ DS Logan McRae leant on the horn, its harsh‘Christ, not again. ’ DC Rennie switched the car radio off and ran a hand through his spiky-gelled mop of blond hair. Checked his watch again. ‘We’re not going to make it, are we?’
Another blast on the horn.
‘Finally!’ The moron in the Toyota Prius edged closer to the kerb and Logan floored the accelerator, sending the CID pool car roaring around the outside, hands wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel his left palm ached. ‘Time?’
‘Two minutes forty. ’ Rennie grabbed the handle above the passenger door as Logan threw the manky Vauxhall around the Hazlehead roundabout. A screech of tyres, the pinging clunk of a plastic hub-cap parting company with one of the wheels. ‘Aaagh…’
