Briscoe sat back in his chair. Her lack of emotion vexed him. He was no stranger to bending the law, knowing that there were times when ethics had to be put aside for the greater good, but this privileged brown woman was beneath him, and asking for her help was akin to walking on ground-up glass. But he had little choice in the matter: the order had come from above. The police and crime commissioner himself had called him to a private meeting.

‘By calling in your father’s…associates,’ he said. ‘The Jury, the Jirga. And by telling them to control the streets. They have done it before. They have been doing it for years. Why can’t they do it now?’

Up until that moment, Jia had assumed that the Establishment regarded the Jirga as a myth; that it was known about and actually worked in conjunction with Yorkshire’s police forces took her by surprise. She hadn’t realised how far her father’s network had spread. She decided it would be unwise to let Briscoe know this. ‘Allow people to underestimate you,’ Akbar Khan had advised her. ‘Sabar and salaat. Sabar and salaat – see how “patience” is mentioned before “prayer”?’

‘My father is dead,’ she said to the police chief. ‘And here you are, asking my family to do the job you are paid for? We are an ordinary family, sir. I’m not sure what influence you think we have –’

‘Ordinary, my arse!’ he snapped. ‘Just because I can’t do anything about the Jirga doesn’t mean I’m blind to its existence!’ His anger was obvious now, but he hadn’t risen to his position without the necessary skills, and he quickly pulled his temper back. ‘Look,’ he began, ‘I know you’re a good woman. You’re a smart, sensible, successful woman…’

‘Patronising me won’t help any,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘This thing is out of control, though. And there are enough brown kids in jail from the last time the situation boiled over. They’re only just picking up the pieces of their lives.’ He paused, thinking he was fighting a losing battle, and slumped back in his seat. ‘My son-in-law, he’s one of you. I have no issue with your people. Hell, my grandkids aren’t two shades from you!’

His words had little effect on her. ‘Mr Briscoe…Chief Constable, I’m afraid I have another meeting to attend, so if you’ll excuse me.’ She stood up to show him to the door. He sighed, almost relieved that it was over. He could tell his daughter that he had done his best.