Op Turkey had attracted a wave of interest nationwide, with many headlines referring to Enoch Powell’s ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech from 1968 warning that Britain in a mere couple of generations would be facing a bloodbath on her streets. The incendiary language was fucking unhelpful, but it had been brought upon them by a senior officer. The vast majority of streets in Britain were safe. Ormond had authorised an increased police presence on the estate, and Kelly had no choice but to allow him to wade in. All she could do was separate her inquiries from those of general law and order, and leave him to it. He’d already warned her to keep her nose clean. But she did call Sharon Bradley to assure her that the police presence was not sinister. After a tirade of abuse, involving Kelly apologising a lot, Sharon calmed down and told her what the residents had seen yesterday, including the fact that two officers had knocked on the door of Jackson Akers and gone inside. Kelly quizzed her about the young man, who Sharon seemed to have a soft spot for.

After that, she logged on to the police database and entered Neil Ormond’s details. His career profile popped up and she went through it carefully. The radio crackled in the background and she heard running commentary from the estate. The unrest had rumbled on and several more barricades had popped up, with a number of females refusing to move until police gave guarantees of safety. People had brought food and drink to the makeshift barriers, and they’d became quasi camps. So far the mood was amicable. But that wasn’t Kelly’s concern: that was for the realm of tactical force and public order. Hopefully it’d keep Ormond occupied and off her back. And it if worked, then a collaborative Beacon Estate could only be good for her inquiries.

Ormond had begun his career almost forty years ago, in Birmingham in 1979. He’d been a bobby for seven years with no significant issues to note. In 1986 he’d transferred to Glasgow and been promoted quickly. By 1995, he was a chief inspector, and he moved to Penrith in 2000. It was a distinguished service history and there were links to various medals and awards he’d won. She clicked on some of them, hoping to find something more. The local press tended to turn up at various public events supported by the police to fill their column space. She rifled through various charity occasions and studied the faces of the philanthropists smiling into the camera. Ormond was there to shake the hands of several of them. He was quite handsome in his younger years, she noted: tall and commanding, with piercing eyes.

And then her blood froze.