‘Look, Danny Cullen? The Patriot League? No. Not for this. Honestly, Joe, not murder. Danny’s a guy looking for a cause. He’s done the usual stuff, dabbling in extreme politics, UKIP, all the Brexit malarkey, now this patriotic shit. He’s not dangerous. In some ways I almost admire him.’

‘You admire him how?’

‘Says what he believes. Not a bad place to start, is it?’

‘And the racist stuff? All that about grooming gangs?’

‘Like I said. It’s what he believes. It’s his perspective. And it’s all about perspective.’

‘Bollocks it is. If it’d been a gang of white men doing the grooming, would you have heard about their colour? Or their religion?’

‘Two wrongs don’t make a right. But the grooming gangs were all Asians, Joe. Asian men. I don’t have an issue with saying so. It’s a good place to start.’

Joe was only just managing to believe what he was hearing.

‘Tommy Robinson was right, then?’

She shifted her weight, making it look like a massive effort on her part.

‘He’s a sad wad, and he almost brought a grooming trial down. But I can put myself in Cullen’s place. He looks around, sees what’s happening to his country. He’s an angry white man. I can understand where he’s coming from.’ She looked at Joe. ‘What? You can’t?’

‘No, I bloody can’t, to be honest.’

‘Fair enough. We got that out in the open, at least. Oh, I didn’t know whether you wanted rice, chapatis or naan, so I got plenty of everything. By the way,’ she said, twisting in her seat and pulling a phone from her front pocket, ‘have you been following things on Twitter?’

‘Not especially.’

‘The case is getting a lot of attention. Weird stuff, an’all.’

‘Like what?’

‘Pro-killer, I think you’d call it. Wait, I’ll show you.’

But before she had a chance to find Twitter her phone rang.

‘I’d better get this.’

She pressed the phone to her ear. Not even uttering a hello. She listened, and by degrees her face became sterner. At the other end someone was doing all the talking. Rita’s mouth hung open. Then:

‘OK. We’re on our way.’

She pocketed the phone, set both arms on the table.

‘Another kill.’

He let his eyes fall shut. ‘Where?’

‘A couple of minutes away,’ he heard her say as she pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Come on.’

Sunday

23

This is me, isn’t it?

Or is it?

It’s been like this since Tuesday night. I understand, then I don’t. I get who I am, who I’ve become. Then I have no idea. Day or night, asleep or awake. It’s overwhelming. Confusing. But I’ve got to do it. I’ve been driven to it. To Jason.