clip their little wings
Vinnie McCutcheon’s head was found in an oil-drum, which was unlucky. Not for Vinnie, as such, since he was dead already, but for whoever killed him.
You have to think that a head lodged at the bottom of an oil-drum filled with the dogged garbage of everyday life would never turn up, especially at an unlicensed dump by a woodland edge in the Campsie Fells, never cleared and never attended, festered three feet deep with the sludge of rotting sanitary matter, pallets, cardboard, plastic ginger bottles, shapeless mystery fragments, batteries, bloated slugs
and discarded rubber flowers of love.
But, turn up, Vinnie did. A traveller family, stopping by, thought they would improve the area by upending the drum to inspect its contents and – hey-ho – Vinnie rolled out to say hello, ten miles from home and winking with his less perky eye. Bad luck, Vinnie-killer – you could never have thought it would come to this.
Mired in the world of errant wives, missing persons fleeing mundane bills, businesses pursuing dishonest staff and petty personal transgressions, Stevie McCabe is suddenly asked to investigate the affairs of a local Labour MP.
Although he knows his client is lying, the commission gets his attention, especially because his unrequited lust for the owner of a jazz club has somehow turned into an asylum appeal for one of her singers and most especially because an old friend he can barely remember is asking him for a pro-bono investigation of the lurid death of his junkie brother.
Through the peeling tower blocks and smart sandstone tenements of the city, from university to squalid bed and breakfast hotels, McCabe pursues the trails of the dead junkie and the questionable MP, knowing that they should be unconnected, yet knowing, too, that the strict limits of coincidence are being bent and broken by the ways in which the stories intertwine.
CLIP THEIR LITTLE WINGS, the first Stevie McCabe novel
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Click below to sample Clip Their Little Wings