Dark Blood

drifted down from a slate-grey sky, cold and damp. The rear car park was virtually empty, just a pair of battered patrol cars — front bumpers buckled, side panels a mix of scrapes, dents and rust; a grubby white van with the council logo on the side; a brand-new Volvo estate; and Logan’s manky brown Fiat. ‘Deep down Knox doesn’t really believe he’s done anything wrong.’

Irvine pointed a key fob at the council van. Stopped. Gave the fob a jiggle. Tried again. Swore. Marched over and rammed the key in the door lock. ‘Bloody thing.’

Logan shifted a stack of paperwork from the passenger seat into the footwell, then clambered in. He hauled on his seatbelt as Irvine started the van up. A rumbling diesel rattle, the gearstick vibrating like an over-sized sex toy.

She wrestled with the wheel and the van inched out of the car park. ‘God I miss power steering…’

They circled the Bucksburn roundabout, heading along the dual carriageway back towards town.

‘So,’ Irvine dragged the steering wheel to the left, juddering them around one of Aberdeen City Council’s world-beating collection of potholes, ‘what’s the story? You with us full time now? Just paying a flying visit? Seeing how the other half lives?’

Logan shrugged. ‘Let’s just say I’m not flavour of the month with my guv’nor.’

‘Ah,’ her voice was monotone, ‘so you’re here as punishment.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘No, no, it’s OK. I mean, what sort of loser wants to spend all day dealing with rapists, flashers, and paedophiles, right?’

‘It was Steel’s idea, I’m just-’

‘Slumming it with the Diddy Men?’

‘It’s not-’

She grinned at him. ‘I’m pulling your leg. It’s OK, I like what I do. Might sound weird, but I get a lot of satisfaction out of keeping people’s kids, and wives, and girlfriends-’

‘And grandads.’

‘-and grandads safe. Someone has to do it, right? And I happen to be good at it.’

‘No pervert left behind.’

Irvine shrugged. ‘Something like that, yeah.’

‘How’s it going, Richard?’ Constable Irvine settled on the dusty couch, dumped her bag on the floor, and dug out a bundle of badly photocopied forms, held together with a pair of green treasury tags. The blotchy cover read ‘ACCUTE-2007 SCORING GUIDE’.

The dusty lounge was silent for a moment, just the tick…tick…tick of the carriage clock and the creak of floorboards from a room above.

Logan leant back against the windowsill. The place still had that oppressive, throat-clogging taint of mildew, the air cold enough to make his breath steam.

Knox had taken the armchair nearest the broken electric fire. Knees together, arms wrapped around that same tatty carrier bag from Asda. He sniffed. ‘OK, I suppose.’

‘Good. That’s good.’

More silence.

Knox coughed.

Logan checked his watch. God this was exciting.

Finally the front door banged and someone shouted, ‘Hello?’

PC Irvine called back, ‘In here.’

A short, beefy man poked his head into the room. ‘Sorry I’m late. Benny tried tae dee hisself in again last nicht. You ken fit he’s like.’

Irvine nodded. ‘Slit his wrists again?’

‘No, thought he’d gie hanging a go. Neck’s one big bruise this morning.’ The newcomer stepped forward and held his hand out for Logan to shake. ‘Paul Leggett. I’m Barbara’s partner. Well, not partner-partner, we work together, like.’ He grinned. ‘You the boy told that fat prick fae Newcastle tae awa bile his heid?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Good stuff.’ PC Leggett slapped his hands together then settled in the seat opposite Knox, looking him up and down for almost a whole minute before asking much the same question Irvine had. ‘Fit like ‘i day, Richard?’

Knox straightened the seam on his trousers. ‘If it’s all right with you, I’d like to get this over with.’

‘Fair enough.’

Irvine flipped to the first page of the treasury-tagged sheets. From where Logan was standing, he could see a little printed table, headed ‘VICTIM ACCESS’. She cleared her throat. ‘So, Richard, have you been out and about yet? Or are you sticking to home for now?’

He shrugged, the plastic bag in his arms rustling as he moved. ‘Home.’

Irvine scrawled a zero in the box at the bottom of the sheet, then turned to the next page. ‘Must be a bit claustrophobic, just rattling about in the house on your own…’

‘Not on me own, am I? Got Harry and Mandy to keep us company. ‘Sides,’ he picked at a loose thread on the armchair, ‘house is a hell of a lot bigger than me cell back at Frankland.’

‘Hmm…’ Irvine made a note. ‘And is there anyone you’d like to spend more time with. You know, if you could?’

‘God. I’d like to spend more time with God.’

Sitting on the other side of the room, Paul raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

Knox sighed. ‘I’ve been through all these tests before, like. Used to do them two, three times a week with this fat bird from Social Services when I got out of prison. “Is there anyone you’d like to spend more time with?”, “Has anything made you angry since we last met?”, “How did you handle it?” Same questions every time.’

Irvine shifted in her seat. ‘I’m only trying to help, Richard.’

‘Next up’s “Sexual Preoccupations”.’ Knox clutched his carrier bag tighter. ‘Am I masturbating within normal limits? Am I having deviant sexual fantasies?’

She nodded. ‘How important is sex to you these days?’

He slumped back in his seat, then ran a hand over his eyes. ‘I can save you the trouble of quizzing us. My score’s going to be “Moderate”. Should be “Low”, but you probably think I’m being all defensive about it.’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘Wouldn’t you be? Someone comes into your home and reads out questions like you’re on some sick game show?’

PC Irvine’s partner laughed. ‘Like Blankety Blank for perverts? Wankety Wank?’

Knox looked at him for a moment, then smiled. ‘I’ll have a “P” please Bob.’

Wrong show.

Logan shifted on the windowsill. Knox was right — this was a waste of everyone’s time. He’d just tell them what they wanted to hear. Work the system. Screw with the results.

Worthless.

Knox gave a small, humourless laugh. ‘You know, it’s funny really. All this time and I’m finally at peace. Let God into me heart, chased away me demons. And we’re still going through the same questions they was asking us in prison.’ The weedy little man went back to picking at the arm of his chair. ‘God’s forgiven us, surely that’s what matters. The minister told us all about His forgiveness and love, like. We’re all made in His image, aren’t we? Even someone like me.’ A smile crept across Knox’s pointy face. ‘God is just like me.’

Now there was a creepy thought.

Logan checked his watch. Nearly half two. If they didn’t get moving soon, by the time he got back to Bucksburn and picked up his car the Friday afternoon rush-hour would be grinding everything to a halt. And there was no way he was doing any more unpaid overtime for Steel, Finnie, or anyone else.

Logan waited in the hall with PC Paul Leggett, while Irvine was upstairs checking on the two people from