Logan McRae Crime Series Books 7 and 8: Shatter the Bones, Close to the Bone. Stuart MacBride

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      ‘Why would they kill her when she’s worth a fortune on the paedophile livestock exchange?’

      ‘Ah … You think she’d be better off dead than being passed around, sold on, abused?’

      Logan didn’t look around. ‘Don’t you?’

      That artificial voice crackled out of the laptop’s speakers again.

      ‘This is not a hoax. You have four days left. If you raise enough money, they will live. If you do not, they will die. Do not let Jenny and Alison down.’

      The umbrella’s owner dragged it out of the bush and struggled with the mechanism. It stayed resolutely inside-out. He jammed the broken brolly back into the bush, stuck two fingers up to it, then marched off into the downpour.

      Logan turned his back on the rain.

      The other trouble is: we’re setting a precedent here.’ Goulding sat back, arms crossed. ‘They snatched two people everyone will recognize. They demand money from the public, but don’t say how much it’ll take to keep their victims alive. Everyone chips in, and they walk away with what: four, five million by the time Thursday morning comes around?’

      ‘I know, what’s to stop someone else from doing the same thing next week?’

      ‘How did your lasagne taste?’

      ‘Yeah …’ Logan bit his bottom lip. ‘Good. Meaty. Like I remembered it.’

      ‘Not like human flesh?’

      Warm saliva filled his mouth. Stomach lurching two steps to the right. A warm dizzy fog behind his eyes. Logan swallowed hard. Looked away. ‘No. Nothing like human flesh.’

      Furry. Warm and furry. She’s lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling, watching it twist to the left a bit, then jump back to where it was and twist again, and again, and again, and again …

      Jenny McGregor blinks. It just sets the room spinning faster.

      Mummy’s face appears, big and pink above her. Nose all red at the end, like a cherry, eyes all pink. Mouth a wobbly line. ‘There, there, shhhh … It’ll be all right, I promise … Shhhh …’

      A cool hand strokes her head.

      ‘Thirsty …’

      A plastic bottle presses against her lips and wet dribbles down her chin. Jenny swallows. Some of it goes down the wrong way. Splutter. Choke. Cough. Barbed wire in her throat.

      Mummy helps her sit up.

      ‘Are you OK?’

      She can see the bandages wrapped around each foot. Big lumps of white, with faint yellow-and-pink stains. Pins and needles stab and jab and tickle her little toes … Which is silly, because she doesn’t have little toes any more. She saw them go into the envelope with the shiny CD circle.

      This little piggy went to market,

      This little piggy stayed at home,

      This little piggy had roast beef,

      This little piggy had none.

      And these little piggies are gone …

      The monsters are back. They’re standing in the corner of the swirly room, with their names stuck to their chests and their metal voices. Maybe they’ve come for more toes?

      ‘I’m just saying, OK? I don’t see why I have to be “Sylvester”.’

      ‘Jesus, not again …’ The one called TOM shakes his smooth plastic face from side to side.

      ‘I want to be “Tom”.’

      Tough: I’m Tom.’ He settles back against the wall and crosses his white papery arms. ‘Anyway, could be worse: you could be “Christopher”, that’s like being “Mr Shit”.’

      ‘Hey!’ COLIN hits him in the arm. ‘He was a great Doctor!’

      ‘My arse. Doing a runner after only one series. Only seems better cos they threw all that money into special effects.’

      ‘Yeah.’ SYLVESTER nods. ‘Sylvester McCoy would’ve been a great Doctor if they’d given him a decent bloody budget.’

      Silence.

      ‘You are so fucking gay!’

      ‘Yeah, more Gaylord than Timelord.’

      ‘Fuck the pair of you …’

      The door opens and everyone stops talking. They stand up straight like pale white soldiers. DAVID walks into the room.

      He looks around, breath hissing in and out. Then the same, dead, robot voice as all the other monsters. ‘Has she been given her antibiotic yet?’

      COLIN looks at the other two, then takes a step back. ‘I was … erm … just about to start—’

      ‘Well get on with it.’ He steps up so close that Jenny can almost see the horns under his crime-person suit. But she can see his tail: long and red, with a forky bit on the end, swishing back and forward – like an angry cat.

      COLIN picks up his little plastic box and hurries over. Opens it up. Pulls out another needle. Fills it with milk. ‘I …’ He glances at DAVID, then kneels down at the side of the bed.

      Mummy flinches back. ‘Don’t hurt her!’

      COLIN reaches out and strokes Jenny’s hair with his rubbery purple fingers. ‘It’s OK. I just … I have to give you a little injection to stop you getting sick. Is that all right? I can’t give you tablets in case you throw them back up.’

      Jenny looks at him. His face looks like a dead person. Like Daddy in the box. Like the goldfish on the bathroom floor.

      She reaches for him, little fingers grasping his sleeve. ‘Please, don’t … don’t take my toes away …’

      ‘Fuck …’ COLIN rests his head against the stripy mattress. ‘I won’t, OK? You’re going to be fine. It’s just a little scratch.’ He holds it against her skin. ‘Sorry …’

      She barely feels the jaggy needle as it goes in. Doesn’t feel the bee’s sting. ‘I want to go home …’

      ‘I know you do, sweetheart. I know you do.’ COLIN stares at the floor for a bit, then stands. Makes himself look bigger by putting his shoulders back, bringing his head up. He turns, and walks across the swirling room to DAVID. Then slumps. ‘I can’t do this any more.’

      Mummy strokes her forehead. ‘Shhhh … It’ll all be over soon, and we’ll go home. Don’t be scared.’

      ‘You know fine what you signed up for, Colin.’

      ‘It … It’s different, OK?’

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