Dark Blood. Stuart MacBride

      ‘Hold on, maybe this’ll help…’ PC Guthrie yanked open the curtains, unleashing a cloud of dust. Pale grey morning light oozed in through the grubby bay window. If anything, it just made the place look worse.

      Once upon a time the velvet curtains were probably a rich red, but now they were the colour of dried blood. The wallpaper was a collection of faded roses and vines, the room’s corners infested with the familiar black spider webs of mildew. Standard lamps with tasselled edging, a sagging couch, a nest of tables, a mantelpiece weighed down with dusty porcelain figurines.

      The sour taint of ancient cat pee.

      Steel wrinkled her nose. ‘No’ exactly Better Homes and Gardens, is it?’

      Logan had to agree. The whole place looked like the contents of a bring and buy sale, circa 1975. ‘Could do with a bit of a clean.’

      Richard Knox stood in the middle of the worn carpet, one hand on the back of a rickety armchair, and smiled. ‘I think it’s perfect…’

      It was a rundown detached house in Cornhill, with an overgrown front garden, sagging gutters, moss-covered roof, and peeling paintwork.

      A pair of black-and-white photographs hung on the wall above the fireplace, one of a dour-looking man in an old-fashioned suit, the other a severe woman with a fifties haircut and scowl.

      ‘I never met me real grandfather.’ Knox stared up at them. ‘The Lord took him when me mother was still a little girl. But Granny Murray was a terror, you know? Always banging on about Jesus this, and Bible that.’ Knox smiled. ‘Wish I’d listened to her when I had the chance, like. Bet things would’ve turned out very different for us if I’d found God before the Devil found me.’

      Creepy little bastard. Ever since they’d arrived at the manky old house he’d been practically glowing.

      They followed him from room to room, opening the curtains, upsetting the dust and mould, ending up in a double bedroom at the back of the house overlooking a long back garden choked with bushes and weeds. The large bed drooped in the middle, its quilted cover pockmarked and cat-clawed. Knox settled on the edge, clutching the same old battered carrier bag to his chest.

      A woman’s head poked around the door: John Lennon glasses, chubby cheeks, short curly ginger hair. A hamster in a lumberjack shirt who’d introduced herself as PC Somethingorother from the Offender Management Unit. ‘Seems OK to me, location-wise, but I’m still not happy about Richard staying here. Might be a bit risky with it belonging to a relation and all.’

      DSI Danby shook his head. ‘You don’t have to worry about that. Euphemia Murray remarried after Knox’s grandfather died. Even if someone gets hold of his mother’s maiden name, it won’t be the same as the old woman’s.’

      Knox smiled. ‘Outlived two husbands, didn’t she? You have to admire that.’

      The DSI pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘Before we leave you in the capable hands of Constable Irvine and her team, we have to go through the terms of your SOPO.’

      Knox groaned, then flopped back on the quilt, provoking another puff of dust from the ancient fabric. ‘Do we have to? I mean—’

      ‘Yes we do.’ Danby handed the paperwork to Logan. ‘Do the honours will you, Sergeant?’

      Logan cleared his throat. ‘Sexual Offences Prevention Order for Richard Albert Knox, Thirty-Five Cairnview Terrace, Aberdeen. Applied for by Chief Constable Brian Anderson and approved by Sheriff McNab. This order is valid for five years from today’s date and lays out—’

      ‘How about,’ said Danby, ‘we skip the bumph and get to the conditions?’

      ‘Oh, right … er… You will not go within two hundred yards of any retirement home or recreation centre where older men might congregate. You will not contact any other registered sex offender.’

      Knox gave a theatrical sigh. ‘You know, the power of God can change a man. There’s no sinner so desperate that he cannot be redeemed.’

      DI Steel laughed, thumbs jabbing away at the keypad on her mobile phone. ‘Aye, right.’

      ‘You will not consume alcohol outside of your place of residence.’

      ‘Pffffff… I’m surprised you got that one past a judge.’

      ‘You will not accost any member of the public—’

      Frown. ‘What?’

      Danby’s voice rumbled out from the corner. ‘It means if you’re alone with anyone, and you make them feel uncomfortable, we can lock you up for five years.’

      ‘That’s not fair! I can’t control if someone feels uncomfortable, can I?’ Knox waved a hand at him. ‘Anyway, what about confession? Have to be alone with me priest, don’t I?’

      Danby scowled. ‘You’re a Protestant, you don’t have confession.’

      ‘Well … what about the people watching us then? Me keepers?’

      PC Hamster fiddled with her glasses. ‘You don’t have to worry about that, Richard, there’s going to be two of them at all times. We’ve got a specialist team from Sacro who’re going to keep an eye on things. You’ll be fine.’

      ‘You will not drive any vehicle without a member of your supervisory team present.’

      Knox shrugged and collapsed backwards until he was lying down, staring at the ceiling, his legs dangling over the side of the bed. The mattress creaked.

      ‘When I was little, I remember hearing them in here. Granny Murray and Grandad Joe. They must have been in their sixties or seventies, but they still did it every Friday night, regular as clockwork. You could hear the squeak of the springs from me room…’

      He swung his legs, making the mattress groan in time to the motions.

      ‘The pair of them going at it in here while I was in the next room. Don’t think she really enjoyed it like, but it was her duty, you know? Keep the old man’s urges satisfied.’

      ‘Right.’ DI Steel pushed herself away from the wall and slipped her mobile back in her pocket. ‘I’ve had enough of Creepy Sod Theatre for one morning. We done here?’

      Logan checked. ‘Two more: you shall not visit any gay bars, clubs, or associations. And you will not obstruct the efforts of any supervising agency. That’s the lot. Do you understand these restrictions?’

      The weedy little man flopped an arm over his eyes. ‘I suppose.’

      Logan passed the paperwork back to Danby. ‘You want a lift back to the station?’

      ‘What?’ Knox sat up. ‘You’re not leaving us, are you Graeme? You were right quiet on the plane. I was hoping you’d join us for dinner: you know, get a nice curry and some poppadoms? We can catch up a bit, like. Reminisce about the good old days. You, me, and Billy Adams…’

      Danby stiffened, then turned to look out of the bedroom window. ‘A lift would be good.’

      ‘So,’ Steel cracked open the passenger window and flicked a disk of chewed gum at a passing taxi, ‘you want to tell us why a detective superintendent traipses halfway up the country to babysit a manky wee rapist like Richard Knox?’

      Danby shrugged, his huge shoulders going up and down as he stared at the passing scenery. ‘Maybe I just fancied a jolly to Aberdeen.’

      ‘Aye, and maybe my arse is made of Toblerone.’

      Sitting in the back with the DSI, Logan tried not to picture that.

      They’d let PC Guthrie drive. He joined the queue of traffic waiting to turn left onto Westburn Road, juddering to a halt inches from the back end of a bendy bus.

      A park ran along the side of the