When she’d worked for the Met in London, Kelly could stay up all night figuring out who, where, when and why, but now she had found a renewed love of sleep, thanks to Johnny. They divided their time between his place and hers and when they were apart, she always slept badly.

She could feel her eyes drooping and the wine kicking in, and she reckoned she’d drop off quite nicely. She prayed that Penrith had a quiet night. If it didn’t, she’d be the first to hear about it. She normally tried to ignore press reports, but the town was awash with them, speculating and frowning upon the sharp downturn in society’s morals in the twenty-first century.

That was all bollocks as far as Kelly was concerned. People had been knifing each other since time began; the only thing that changed was access to information. Reporters stuck phones and microphones in her face all the time at crime scenes, but this was major news. The capital was seeing the highest knife crime rates since records began and the provinces weren’t far behind. But no one, anywhere, had any solutions. The government said they were funding police to tackle it. The police said they had no resources. Community groups blamed the police. Politicians blamed the opposition. Parents blamed each other. Kids blamed adults. Schools blamed class sizes and lack of respect. Pupils blamed teachers. Everybody and nobody was to blame.

But still people kept on getting stabbed.

Kelly dried herself and put on a huge bathrobe. She heard music playing downstairs and felt lucky to be alive. She had survived so far, and she marvelled that fate had dealt her a fair hand up until now. As she rubbed moisturiser into her face and neck, and examined her new wrinkles, she reflected on the chances of someone born on the Beacon Estate escaping and making a different life. It happened, obviously, but not enough. It seemed that kids were tethered to their environment for life and no one gave two craps. If lads from the estate did turn out to be responsible for the stabbings, how would society deal with them? Throw them away and fend off the blame?

Probably.

She had no idea what the ingredients were for happiness, but she was sure, from the monthly stats that flowed into her office, that on the Beacon Estate, right now, somebody was getting raped, someone’s house was being broken into, a child was being filmed for a cheap porno, and a baby was being neglected. If she dwelled on it too much, she’d break.

She went downstairs and sat on the sofa next to Johnny. He’d got a fire going.

‘Is Josie OK?’

‘She’s staying at Callum’s.’

‘Again? Do his parents mind?’

‘They say they’d rather that than they sneak around.’

‘Fair enough.’

They’d both met Callum’s parents and they were good people.