The final command to load the vehicles came in, and Will followed Liam into the back of a large van. It held around fifteen of them. Further sitreps and operational commands would be delivered en route. They’d been cleared to arrest at the first sign of trouble or lack of compliance. As they set off, the tension inside the van was palpable. The officers glanced at one another or chatted quietly. Will saw that they were part of a convoy of around seven vehicles.

Back at the office, his colleagues would be working intently on the finer details of the case, crunching data and staring at computer screens. He missed the streets and this was one way to scratch that itch. Maybe they’d bump into Tyrone Fenton tonight. He hadn’t told Kelly that the reason the shithead had no record was because three years ago Liam had beaten him half to death and got away with it. Will had helped fix the evidence. Fenton’s file had been cleared as a result. The kid never squealed, and Liam ended up behind a desk for a year.

Adrenalin spiked as they neared the entrance to the estate. The high-rises loomed sinister and forbidding. The vehicles stopped abruptly and the back doors were flung open. Will stuck to Liam’s side. They were to patrol on foot and question anybody looking suspicious or loitering where they shouldn’t. Will could see a group of youths in the distance wearing hoods and scarves over their faces, a fashion statement that had been imported from US prisons, along with wearing jeans below the pant line because belts weren’t allowed in jail. It was a sad indictment of society when role models were felons. Artists and hangers-on covered their faces on drill-rap videos for fear of being identified and stereotyped. He’d watched enough of them to know the two went hand in hand: criminal gangs and explicit, violent rap music. Drill culture was infecting youth on an unprecedented level. Sure, there were outreach centres full of do-gooders willing to donate time and money to rehabilitating these young offenders, but it wasn’t enough. Who wanted to trade status, cash and easy women for meditation, penance and volunteer work? No one: that was the answer.