Back When the Music's Over
Chapters (23)
  1. Prologue
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. Epilogue
  19. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  20. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  21. ALSO BY PETER ROBINSON
  22. CREDITS
  23. ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

“I’m after finding out who did this to her. Then we’ll see about blame.” Gerry took a deep breath. “Mr. O’Byrne, I find your willful ignorance about this whole matter astonishing, not to mention disturbing. Didn’t you read about what happened in Rochdale, Rotherham and the rest? Isn’t it required reading for the social services? Can’t you see what’s going on in front of your eyes? There’s every possibility that Mimsy, and no doubt other young girls, were being groomed. They’re what, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen? Alienated. Neglected. Lonely. Unloved. Some of them with learning difficulties. These men offer them some material comforts, a packet of crisps, a mobile top-up, a free fizzy pop, then friendship, companionship. Then come the demands. The sex with friends, with strangers.” She pointed. “It could be happening right there, less than half a mile down the road on the Strip and you don’t know about it. Now a girl is dead.”

“You’ve no proof that any of this is happening in Wytherton,” said O’Byrne. “It’s all conjecture. And even if there is some truth to it, you can’t blame us. Nor can you blame Mimsy’s death on it. We do our best, but we’re drowning under the flow of shit from these estates. It’s like standing with your finger in the dyke. You lot don’t do anything to help, either. It’s not our job to arrest criminals. It’s yours.”

“It’s your job to protect the children and let us know what’s happening.”

“Nobody wants to get involved in a race war in Wytherton. There’s already plenty of tension around here. The English Defence League and the British National Party are active. Windows have been broken.”

“Including one by Albert Moffat. Is he a member of either of the groups?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Besides, isn’t race war a bit alarmist? Who said anything about that? Surely there are ways of handling these things without starting a race war?”

O’Byrne stopped walking and faced her. “Yes? And how? Tell me how. What do you do, walk in and say, ‘Stop it, fellows, leave our poor little white girls alone’?”

“You could at least report it to your bosses, or to the police. You could at least give the possibility some serious consideration and talk about it.”