#

New Scotland Yard, Victoria Embankment, London

Tennant waited while the Number Ten switchboard put the call through. A guttural Geordie voice broke through the crackling.

‘Steven, it’s Ben here,’ said the Home Secretary. ‘Just calling for an update before I see the PM. What’ve you got?’

The day’s Community Tension Report had landed on Tennant’s desk three hours earlier. It had made grim reading. In Leicester, a sixty-four-year-old man had been knifed outside the public library while collecting for a charity for injured soldiers. In Hull, a mosque had been set on fire overnight by a gang who daubed racist slogans on the pavement. And there had been street fights yesterday evening in Watford between gangs of young Asian and white men.

‘Community relations are deteriorating faster than we might have anticipated, Home Secretary,’ said Tennant. ‘We’ve got four times as much activity as normal from social media from the extreme right wing and hard-line Islamists. And that’s reflected on the streets. In the last twenty-four hours, we’ve had a tripling of racially motivated crimes.’

Thomas sighed down the line.

‘Aren’t you being a little apocalyptic?’

‘Wish I was, Home Secretary.’

Another pause. ‘We’ve also got this rabble outside the Deputy Prime Minister’s house. No chance you can get them moved on?’

‘I realise she’s angry, but the assessment is that it’s lawful – irritating, perhaps, but not illegal,’ said Tennant.

‘I wonder if that would be the response if it was the hard right protesting against a Muslim politician. But it’s your call.’ He rang off.

The protest outside Lesley Hogarth’s house had doubled following an interview she had given on the radio. She had made a similar point to the Home Secretary’s about double standards, but her language had been inflammatory. ‘Yet if it were protests about the Muslims, then the police would no doubt move them on.’

Funny how the foolish addition of a ‘the’ in a sentence made it so much more offensive, Tennant had thought. Normally, he would have put it down to a foolish slip of the tongue, but Hogarth knew exactly what she was doing.

#

Tennant was leaning back in his chair in full uniform, feet on the desk, phone cupped to his cheek, when Gabriel walked in. She dragged a chair over with her foot, piled her papers on the floor next to her and sat down. He ended the call and pulled out a plastic tray of sushi from a paper bag.

‘Not got time to eat – drinks at some ghastly fundraiser tonight. Tuck in if you want.’ Gabriel gave the sushi rolls a discerning stare and curled her upper lip.

‘No, really, sir, I wouldn’t want to deprive you.’

‘Don’t blame you,’ said Tennant. ‘I keep reading that fish are consuming plastic. This tastes like it’s made of the stuff.’ He toyed with the sushi before pushing the tray away. ‘How are the team holding up?’

‘Stretched, but manageable,’ she said. She cut to the point. ‘Are we getting the extra resources tomorrow?’