Oh no. I’ve reached the end of To Die in June, the latest in the Harry McCoy series by Alan Parks, and I just want to keep on going. Parks has pulled a naughty: while some long-running series include a chapter of the following book to get you going, To Die in June sees McCoy reeling with the knowledge that he has a new nemesis. We know what July’s going to be about.

Is that a spoiler? Well, no, not really. June is the sixth McCoy adventure, set in the depths of 1970s Glaswegian gangland. We know (or hope) there are going to be six more. Parks does no more than give us the blurb for the seventh instalment. So let’s curb our momentum for a moment and consider this audacious new thriller.

McCoy is a detective who doesn’t believe his own hype. He walks almost alone in a city riddled with sectarianism, corruption and violence. Unlike most of his polis colleagues, he looks out for those with addictions and without homes. This means he is seen as an upright copper. But when McCoy goes undercover to flush out police corruption, he recognises that the relationship he observes between corrupt polis and gang kingpin is fairly similar to his own relationship with an opposing gang leader.

This sense of constant recalibration – of trying to work out the right course of action in a world in which compromise is necessary to survive – and a resulting commentary on the nature of actual justice is one of two elements that keep the McCoy series a cut above other Tartan Noir. The other is a sense of place and time that is both romantic and unyielding: romantic because all characters, no matter how grim their circumstances, are portrayed three-dimensionally, unyielding because Parks reminds us that many of the hard men that stalk inner Glasgow choose their careers of extreme violence not out of a necessity caused of poverty, but because they love kicking people’s heads in. The passage in which Paul Cooper fashions a double-blade knife is especially chilling.

That’s balanced by some humour based firmly in the traditions of the Patter, and some audacious special guesting: there’s a character who is not necessarily – but obviously is – Billy Connolly, as well as a ‘surprised Lulu’ who is, presumably, Lulu. Parks gives all the material space to breathe and manages to straddle the fine line between the stripped down simplicity of the Scandi noir authors and detail for the sake of it. Parks is interested both in the characters he creates and the situations he puts them in: we’ve read too many titles recently in which that couldn’t be taken for granted.

This is a taut, fast-paced but nuanced title and an excellent addition to the series.

Thanks to Canongate for the review copy and to Anne Cater for the blog tour invitation.