“No,” said Annie. “But we didn’t go in hard, and it wasn’t for no good reason. Besides, I don’t believe the men we’re dealing with are Muslims in any real sense of the word. Muslims don’t do what was done to Mimosa. Muslims don’t rape and kill young girls. Well, they do, actually, some of them, but we’ll leave that aside for the time being. And they don’t exactly have an enlightened attitude towards women, while we’re at it, but if you point that out to some people, they just accuse you of picking on it as an excuse to demonize them because they don’t believe the same things you do. We may be wrong, but we think—I think—that Mimosa and probably some of her friends were being groomed. And we think it’s happening on your patch. Whether you simply ignored it or hadn’t a clue, I have no idea, but I should think they’ve suspended operations for the time being. What I want is justice for Mimosa Moffat, a fifteen-year-old girl from the Wytherton Heights estate who was gang-raped by three men of Pakistani descent, according to DNA evidence, and beaten to death by a person or persons unknown on my patch. If that means upsetting a few people in the community, so be it. Boo-bloody-hoo. Besides, the nearest any of that lot have been to Pakistan is the nearest Karachi Curry House.”

“Irrelevant, DI Cabbot,” said Carver. “Are you on some sort of personal vendetta? Is that what’s preventing you from seeing the bigger picture? Because if—”

“That’s enough, Superintendent Carver,” said Banks. “We take your point, but we do have a murder investigation to carry out. It seems you’re running a slack ship, as far as I can tell. The artist’s impression of Mimosa Moffat—done, by the way, because her face was beaten to a pulp—was circulated throughout the country, including Wytherton. Someone clearly isn’t doing their job right.”

“I resent that.”

“Resent away. How would you suggest we approach the problem?”

“Well, you’ve got all the facilities, and your minds are made up, so you hardly need my advice.”

Banks could tell that Carver was annoyed that he had a difficult area to police, while Homicide and Major Crimes was housed at the more peaceful Eastvale Police HQ and had a mini forensic lab attached. But Banks could hardly help it if Carver was trying to pass off his manor as Fort Apache, the Bronx. “Humor me,” he said. “What about CCTV on the Strip?”

“You can try,” said Carver. “But there isn’t very much. Besides, it was over a week ago. They’ll have recorded over the hard drives or DVDs or whatever they use by now. You might try questioning some of the local shopkeepers.”