Blood Relations

I’ll admit, I approached *Blood Relations* skeptical of yet another ‘troubled detective’ story, but Woollcott’s Belfast is a character unto itself—less a backdrop than a co-conspirator. The murder of Patrick Mullan, a man who spent his career burying truths, becomes the thread unraveling a tapestry of collusion and betrayal. What hooked me wasn’t the whodunit (though the reveal is brutally satisfying) but the *why*: Woollcott forces you to sit with the cost of silence, whether it’s a cop looking the other way or a son inheriting his father’s sins. The dialogue crackles with dark humor, especially between McBride and Lamont, whose partnership feels lived-in, not contrived. Alan Smyth’s performance is *almost* flawless. His voice for Lamont—a world-weary sarcasm laced with exhaustion—is pitch-perfect, and he handles the Irish vernacular without slipping into caricature. My only gripe? His female voices occasionally veer into monotone, lacking the distinctiveness of his male characters. The production, though, is impeccable: the audio levels are balanced, and the rare sound effects (a creaking floorboard, a whiskey glass set down too hard) are used sparingly but effectively. My other critique? The mid-section sags slightly under the weight of backstory, but the payoff in the final act justifies the patience. If you love your crime fiction steeped in moral ambiguity and narrated like a late-night confession, this is your next listen.