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Logan McRae #6.5
DI Steel's Bad Heir Day
Short story. Follows Dark Blood. From Partners in Crime
Why is DI Steel in an even worse mood than usual?Is it because it’s Christmas? Or maybe it's because the missing persons case she’s just caught looks like a hoax from a mile off? Or is it because she’s just been left a huge amount of money…?One thing’s for certain: Steel’s having a bad day, and she’s hell bent on making sure Constable Guthrie has one too.
Why is DI Steel in an even worse mood than usual?Is it because it’s Christmas? Or maybe it's because the missing persons case she’s just caught looks like a hoax from a mile off? Or is it because she’s just been left a huge amount of money…?One thing’s for certain: Steel’s having a bad day, and she’s hell bent on making sure Constable Guthrie has one too.
Kindle Edition
First published November 12, 2012
3 people are currently reading
323 people want to read
About the author
Stuart MacBride
87 books2,723 followersAka Stuart B. MacBride
The life and times of a bearded write-ist.
Stuart MacBride (that's me) was born in Dumbarton -- which is Glasgow as far as I'm concerned -- moving up to Aberdeen at the tender age of two, when fashions were questionable. Nothing much happened for years and years and years: learned to play the recorder, then forgot how when they changed from little coloured dots to proper musical notes (why the hell couldn't they have taught us the notes in the first bloody place? I could have been performing my earth-shattering rendition of 'Three Blind Mice' at the Albert Hall by now!); appeared in some bizarre World War Two musical production; did my best to avoid eating haggis and generally ran about the place a lot.
Next up was an elongated spell in Westhill -- a small suburb seven miles west of Aberdeen -- where I embarked upon a mediocre academic career, hindered by a complete inability to spell and an attention span the length of a gnat's doodad.
And so to UNIVERSITY, far too young, naive and stupid to be away from the family home, sharing a subterranean flat in one of the seedier bits of Edinburgh with a mad Irishman, and four other bizarre individuals. The highlight of walking to the art school in the mornings (yes: we were students, but we still did mornings) was trying not to tread in the fresh bloodstains outside our front door, and dodging the undercover CID officers trying to buy drugs. Lovely place.
But university and I did not see eye to eye, so off I went to work offshore. Like many all-male environments, working offshore was the intellectual equivalent of Animal House, only without the clever bits. Swearing, smoking, eating, more swearing, pornography, swearing, drinking endless plastic cups of tea... and did I mention the swearing? But it was more money than I'd seen in my life! There's something about being handed a wadge of cash as you clamber off the minibus from the heliport, having spent the last two weeks offshore and the last two hours in an orange, rubber romper suit / body bag, then blowing most of it in the pubs and clubs of Aberdeen. And being young enough to get away without a hangover.
Then came a spell of working for myself as a graphic designer, which went the way of all flesh and into the heady world of studio management for a nation-wide marketing company. Then some more freelance design work, a handful of voiceovers for local radio and video production companies and a bash at being an actor (with a small 'a'), giving it up when it became clear there was no way I was ever going to be good enough to earn a decent living.
It was about this time I fell into bad company -- a blonde from Fife who conned me into marrying her -- and started producing websites for a friend's fledgling Internet company. From there it was a roller coaster ride (in that it made a lot of people feel decidedly unwell) from web designer to web manager, lead programmer, team lead and other assorted technical bollocks with three different companies, eventually ending up as a project manager for a global IT company.
But there was always the writing (well, that's not true, the writing only started two chapters above this one). I fell victim to that most dreadful of things: peer pressure. Two friends were writing novels and I thought, 'why not? I could do that'.
Took a few years though...
The life and times of a bearded write-ist.
Stuart MacBride (that's me) was born in Dumbarton -- which is Glasgow as far as I'm concerned -- moving up to Aberdeen at the tender age of two, when fashions were questionable. Nothing much happened for years and years and years: learned to play the recorder, then forgot how when they changed from little coloured dots to proper musical notes (why the hell couldn't they have taught us the notes in the first bloody place? I could have been performing my earth-shattering rendition of 'Three Blind Mice' at the Albert Hall by now!); appeared in some bizarre World War Two musical production; did my best to avoid eating haggis and generally ran about the place a lot.
Next up was an elongated spell in Westhill -- a small suburb seven miles west of Aberdeen -- where I embarked upon a mediocre academic career, hindered by a complete inability to spell and an attention span the length of a gnat's doodad.
And so to UNIVERSITY, far too young, naive and stupid to be away from the family home, sharing a subterranean flat in one of the seedier bits of Edinburgh with a mad Irishman, and four other bizarre individuals. The highlight of walking to the art school in the mornings (yes: we were students, but we still did mornings) was trying not to tread in the fresh bloodstains outside our front door, and dodging the undercover CID officers trying to buy drugs. Lovely place.
But university and I did not see eye to eye, so off I went to work offshore. Like many all-male environments, working offshore was the intellectual equivalent of Animal House, only without the clever bits. Swearing, smoking, eating, more swearing, pornography, swearing, drinking endless plastic cups of tea... and did I mention the swearing? But it was more money than I'd seen in my life! There's something about being handed a wadge of cash as you clamber off the minibus from the heliport, having spent the last two weeks offshore and the last two hours in an orange, rubber romper suit / body bag, then blowing most of it in the pubs and clubs of Aberdeen. And being young enough to get away without a hangover.
Then came a spell of working for myself as a graphic designer, which went the way of all flesh and into the heady world of studio management for a nation-wide marketing company. Then some more freelance design work, a handful of voiceovers for local radio and video production companies and a bash at being an actor (with a small 'a'), giving it up when it became clear there was no way I was ever going to be good enough to earn a decent living.
It was about this time I fell into bad company -- a blonde from Fife who conned me into marrying her -- and started producing websites for a friend's fledgling Internet company. From there it was a roller coaster ride (in that it made a lot of people feel decidedly unwell) from web designer to web manager, lead programmer, team lead and other assorted technical bollocks with three different companies, eventually ending up as a project manager for a global IT company.
But there was always the writing (well, that's not true, the writing only started two chapters above this one). I fell victim to that most dreadful of things: peer pressure. Two friends were writing novels and I thought, 'why not? I could do that'.
Took a few years though...
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
November 14, 2018
Often, I find short stories to be a case of hit or miss. I’m even more tentative when it comes to any series I consider to be one of my favourites. Such stories can add so much more to the overall series, or they can be a handful of pages that add nothing much at all. Thus, I went in with a feeling of trepidation.
The trepidation soon passed.
I cannot begin to explain how much I laughed at this one. I was so engrossed in the story that I walked around Asda reading this, earning many strange looks and a handful of questions pertaining to the noises I was making. Explaining what was so funny – well, that was something else entirely. Honestly, I cannot begin to explain how amusing this story was. Every turn of the page seemed to have me chuckling away at something new. I’m fairly certain I was close to hyperventilating at one point – such was my amusement. Yes, MacBride always brings about some kind of chuckle; this was something else entirely, though.
Considering the very small number of pages here, this was a wonderful little tale.
The trepidation soon passed.
I cannot begin to explain how much I laughed at this one. I was so engrossed in the story that I walked around Asda reading this, earning many strange looks and a handful of questions pertaining to the noises I was making. Explaining what was so funny – well, that was something else entirely. Honestly, I cannot begin to explain how amusing this story was. Every turn of the page seemed to have me chuckling away at something new. I’m fairly certain I was close to hyperventilating at one point – such was my amusement. Yes, MacBride always brings about some kind of chuckle; this was something else entirely, though.
Considering the very small number of pages here, this was a wonderful little tale.
October 21, 2025
This short story has DI Steel in a predicament that MacBride solves impeccably. I am in between the Logan’s novels, so this short story fed my addiction to this wonderful series.
December 15, 2020
This short story is set at Christmas time in Aberdeen. A missing person's case, an unwanted legacy and PC Guthrie combine to thwart Steel's plans of wrapping her gifts before getting blootered and taking her daughter to the Panto.
October 17, 2022
I've only given 3 stars because it seems too short a story to give any more. If it was part of a whole novel it would be about a chapter's worth. I like DI Steel and I'm happy to read her little side tale (and any of the other characters too from the main Logan MacRae series) so that I don't feel ike I'm missing any of the story... but they're just little snippets and I wouldn't have lost any of the momentum if I skipped this.
October 8, 2018
A short story about DI Steel manically preparing for Christmas and getting a surprise after an old crook dies. She has to make a difficult decision, which she does and it seems to turn out quite well.
Charming and fun as long as you are comfortable with the swearing and the abusive way everyone talks to one another.
It is publised in two collections: Partners in Crime (with Stramash) and also 22 Dead Bodies and Other Stories where you can find Stramash, the title novella and 45% Hangover.
Charming and fun as long as you are comfortable with the swearing and the abusive way everyone talks to one another.
It is publised in two collections: Partners in Crime (with Stramash) and also 22 Dead Bodies and Other Stories where you can find Stramash, the title novella and 45% Hangover.
November 27, 2025
I love Steele!
September 19, 2024
Ένα short novel που σίγουρα δεν έχει και πολύ μεγάλη σχέση με όσα μας έχει συνηθίσει η σειρά μέχρι σήμερα, αλλά που είναι άκρως διασκεδαστικό, αστείο κι απολαυστικό. Δεν ξέρω κατά πόσο θα το ενέτασσα πραγματικά σε αυτό το μακάβριο κλίμα που έχει δημιουργήσει η σειρά, και που πιθανολογώ πως συντηρεί και μελλοντικά, αλλά αυτό δεν αναιρεί πως το απόλαυσα γι' αυτό που είναι, εντελώς ανεξάρτητα, άσχετα απ' το ότι το βαθμολογώ ως μέρος του όλου.
February 20, 2021
Excellent. Made me laugh. So well written.
March 22, 2022
Fun little story but nothing that exciting. Feel free to pass it up, it doesn't add anything to the rest of the books.
July 23, 2023
Fun short story with Steel
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March 12, 2024Read as part of partners in crime
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews