I’ve already mentioned Z Cars, a ground-breaking police series which locked into the strong documentary tradition of British cinema with its use of believable working class characters, regional accents and location filming. No wonder this was where such film makers and writers as Ken Loach, Alan Plater and Troy Kennedy Martin did a lot of their early work.

I have always remembered an especially harrowing episode of the series which grew out of Z Cars, Softly, Softly, in which the police are investigating serious instances of child abuse instigated within the family. In one of the final scenes, after the abusers have been arrested and taken away, a detective is talking to one of the abused children, making sure the child is all right, and in gratitude the child offers to perform a sexual act—it is the only way that child knows to show thanks and gain approval.

The look on the detective’s face—expressing in a moment revulsion, understanding, compassion, and deep, deep sorrow—has lived with me—and, I’m sure, informed some of Resnick’s responses in those parts of Lonely Hearts which deal with a similar theme. Beyond that, it convinced me that the crime story, whether in fiction or film at its best can—and should—deal with the same themes and situations that provide the subject matter for more supposedly serious work.

The importance of Nottingham to the Resnick books should not be underestimated. In the simplest of terms, I chose it as the setting for the novels as, certain areas of London aside, it was the city I knew best. I had lived there for quite long stretches of time, initially as a teacher, then a student, and latterly as a writer. Situated in the less-than-fashionable East Midlands and some 120 miles north of London, it is only medium-size as British cities go [the current population is just in excess of a quarter of a million] and so representative in its mix of income, class and race that it is often chosen by market researchers as one of the key places to try out their wares. That very mix, with low rent and high income residences often cheek by jowl, makes it a good test ground for a writer also. All human life, as a popular British newspaper used to boast of its pages, is here.

When I first moved there in the mid-‘60s, the area was still a center for industry—coal mining, textiles and hosiery, Raleigh bicycles, Players cigarettes. Now most of that industry has either disappeared or down-sized to unrecognizable proportions and it is unclear what, if anything, has taken its place. Nevertheless, in the midst of some severe poverty, poor living conditions and a struggling education system, pockets of wealth and creativity survive and prosper.