Stuart MacBride

“Finnie kicked a packet of washing powder. "Why am I surrounded by morons? Did I tick the wrong bloody box for room…

— Stuart MacBride

“Ah … politics, Sergeant. When the top brass hand you a turd, you polish it and say, “my, what a lovely jobbie!”…

— Stuart MacBride

“Guthrie handed him the mug, a wee pout pulling his pale face out of shape. With his semi-skimmed skin, faint ginger hair,…

— Stuart MacBride

The day was dark as a lawyer's soul.

— Stuart MacBride

“Logan glanced at the clock on the cooker: nearly five minutes fast. The room was bathed in the pale orange glow of…

— Stuart MacBride

“Must be nice to be a seagull. You eat, you sleep, you shag, and if you’re having a bad day you can…

— Stuart MacBride

“Ina stood and shuffled over to the urn on the fireplace. Stroked it with a twisted finger. "How are we supposed to…

— Stuart MacBride

“What about Ding-Dong?" "Detective Inspector Bell couldn't find his arse with both hands if you duct-taped them to it. Come on.”

— Stuart MacBride

“Blah, blah, blah, regret to inform you that DI Gray has tendered his resignation; blah, blah, blah; opportunity to reward performance; blah,…

— Stuart MacBride

“The real me died years ago. I died and I went to hell. This is hell.”

— Stuart MacBride

“Uh-huh. We’re about … five minutes away? Maybe less? … Still can’t believe it: a real murder!”

— Stuart MacBride

“Steel squared her shoulders. "Ladies, and gentlemen, are are no' at home to Mr Fuckup today. Who are we no' at home…

— Stuart MacBride