“I’m sorry for what happened to you, but what do you expect? They’re animals. They got no respect for their own women, so you can’t expect them to have any for ours. I told you before, you can’t trust the bastards, now maybe you’ll start to see what I mean. It was them all along, wasn’t it?”

Annie looked at Gerry again, worried she might show her revulsion about being thought of as one “of ours.” But she didn’t. She just said, “I see,” and rubbed her shoulder. Annie found herself wondering whether Albert was laying it on so thick to divert them from any suspicions that he might have been involved.

“How can I help you this time?” Albert went on. He beamed at both of them, the picture of youthful innocence.

“The last time we talked,” Annie said, “you told us you didn’t know about Mimosa’s association with Sunny and his crowd until recently.”

“That’s right. Day before she went missing, if I remember right.”

“And you hadn’t told your family or any of your mates about it?”

“No. I didn’t want them taking the piss out of me for having a sister who hung out with Pakis. Besides, it’s none of their business.”

“And you really had no idea before then that Sunny and his friends were exploiting Mimosa, along with a number of other young girls from the estate?”

“No. How could I know that?”

“Did you ever get the impression that she was frightened at all? Being made to do anything against her will?”

“No. She’d always brazen it out, would Mimsy.”

“OK,” said Annie. “Can we go back to that Tuesday night, the twenty-first of July?”

“The night it . . . you know?”

“Yes. The night it happened. Now, you told us before you were at Paul Warner’s—”

Albert stubbed out his cigarette. “Yeah, like I told you. We had a few bevvies in the Hope and Anchor, then went back to Paul’s for a few more. You can ask him.”

“We have, Albert, and he says you were there.”

“Well, then?”

“You stayed there until what time?”

“Well, I woke up there the next morning with a fuck of a headache. I can’t remember what time it was, but it was late.”

“You didn’t go out again after going back to Paul’s from the Hope and Anchor? Neither of you?”

“No. I’ve told you all this. We just chatted about stuff, you know, watched DVDs, played some music.”

“Do you remember much about the evening?”

“To be honest,” said Albert, “I’d had a few jars earlier as well, before the Hope and Anchor. I was pretty far gone by my third Special Brew.”

“So you don’t remember much?”

“No. Just waking up on the couch, like, with a—”

“Yes, said Annie. “With a fuck of a headache.”