First in a series on sex offenders.
After several knocks on the front door, a lean man in his 20s opened it and squinted at us through thick glasses.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“It’s the police.” My partner answered.
The man shrugged, sighed and opened the door. We walked past him into the stale-smelling studio unit and saw a young lady sitting on a sofa with a small child on her lap. I looked down at the sex offender bulletin in my hand. Front and center was a picture of the now very guilty looking man with glasses. I …