Peter Robinson - When the Music's Over

‘That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think? The local police have it under control. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘No?’

Annie opened a folder on her desk and lifted a sheet of paper, as if to read from it. ‘First of all, something’s been puzzling me about you ever since we last talked. Maybe you can help. You seem to be a fairly intelligent lad. What is it with these racist views you seem to be espousing and encouraging? Are you involved with the English Defence League or the British National Party?’

Warner leaned back in his chair and stretched. ‘No matter what you or the Guardian might think, intelligence isn’t the private property of the left wing. And no,’ he went on, with a smile, ‘I’m not affiliated with either of those organisations. I suppose at first glance they may seem to offer swift and positive solutions to a number of problems, but if you look a bit closer you can see they’ll never progress beyond basic thuggery. There are other, more reasoned and less violent routes likely to lead to success.’

‘UKIP?’

‘One possibility, if they truly had the courage of their convictions.’

‘And what are the problems you see?’

Warner clasped his hands on his lap. ‘It’s as I told you before. Unhindered immigration is bleeding our country dry, membership in Europe is a millstone around our necks and kowtowing to the bloody Scots and Welsh and Irish is sapping our national identity. Sometimes it seems almost a crime to stand up and say you’re English.’

‘Well, that just about covers it,’ said Annie. ‘Though some would say immigrants contribute more to the economy than they take from it.’

‘That’s what they’d have you believe. You’ve all been brainwashed.’

‘By whom?’

‘The lefties. And before you get on to it, I’ve got nothing against the NHS or the benefits system, or the welfare state in general. As long as they’re for the benefit of our own.’

‘By that you mean white people?’

‘It’s not really an issue of colour, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. I mean English people.’

‘I take it these views didn’t go over too well when you were studying politics in Warwick?’

‘The universities are run by lefties, just like the BBC. You wouldn’t get any of them to listen to a reasonable, balanced argument from the right.’

‘These men we’ve brought in,’ Annie went on. ‘The British Pakistanis. Their grandparents came here after Partition, mostly to work in the cotton and woollen mills up north. Their parents were born here, they grew up here. Doesn’t that make them British?’

‘It takes a bit more than that.’

‘So they need to behave a bit more like us?’

‘Basically.’

‘Binge-drinking, football hooliganism, casual racism, and the rest?’

‘That’s a fringe element. Why am I here? Obviously not to talk politics.’

‘Right,’ said Annie. ‘When we talked before, I asked you about last Tuesday, and you said that you and Albert went back to your place after you’d been in the Hope and Anchor. About ten wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And after you’d had a few drinks and watched some DVDs, Albert crashed on your sofa for the night?’

‘That’s right. Yes. You already know all this.’

‘Bear with us, Paul. You went to sleep, or passed out, in your own bed, at about three in the morning, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Both at the same time?’

‘What?’

‘Did you both fall asleep at the same time?’

‘Probably not. I mean, not precisely. Why?’

‘Who fell asleep first?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Don’t you remember letting down the sofa bed?’

‘Not really.’

‘And why would you stay up after he fell asleep?’

‘I’m not saying I did. What’s this all about?’

‘Do you remember hearing Albert snoring or anything?’

‘No. I can’t say I do.’

‘But you’re certain he was there the whole time? He didn’t go out or anything?’

‘No.’

‘Would you have noticed it? If you were asleep and he was awake, say?’

‘Well, of course not, if I was asleep. I’m a sound sleeper. The sign of an untroubled conscience.’

‘I hear that most serial killers have no problems falling asleep. Or maybe it’s just the booze.’

Warner just smirked.

‘So he could have stayed awake until you passed out, then gone out?’ Annie pressed on.

‘He could have, I suppose. But why would he?’

‘Did you know that he had the use of a van that night?’

‘He did some delivery driving on the side. His boss lived in Stockton. It was a casual arrangement. He parked round the back when he kept the van overnight.’

‘You say that Albert could have gone out, if you were the one who bit the dust first, so to speak?’

‘I said it’s possible. Yes. But he was pissed. He wouldn’t have been able to drive.’

‘What if he wasn’t as pissed as you thought he was?’

‘You mean he might have been putting it on?’

‘Possibly.’

Paul shrugged. ‘Then I don’t know. I didn’t think so. I mean, we both had a fair bit to drink, and I certainly wouldn’t have thought of driving.’

‘We’d like to examine your van, Paul. Is that OK?’

‘But why? It can’t have been on your CCTV, or whatever you’ve got.’

‘How do you know that?’ Annie asked.

‘Well, I... I mean...’

‘How do you know that Albert didn’t drive it after you passed out? He wouldn’t use Jim Nuttall’s van, would he, surely? I mean he’d know we’d connect him to that eventually. But why not use your Citroën?’

‘Albert’s not that bright. Besides, if you could connect him to this Nuttall character, you could certainly connect him to me.’

‘Maybe so. But one way or another that van you’ve both told us was parked in the lane at the back of your flat did show up on CCTV near Bradham Lane that night. A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?’

‘Maybe Nuttall did it?’

‘Not very plausible, Paul. He’d have to take a taxi all the way from Stockton, which he didn’t. We checked.’

‘Maybe he got a mate to drop him off. I don’t know. There must be some mistake.’

‘I agree. Let’s move on. Last time we talked, you told us you said you had only a passing acquaintance with Mimosa. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you like her?’

‘Well enough, I suppose. I mean, I didn’t know her well enough to really say that. She was so much younger than me.’

‘Not that much. You’re what, twenty-three? Mimsy was fifteen? Very attractive, too, from what I hear. Sexy.’

‘She was still too young for me. I prefer women my own age.’

‘Got a girlfriend at the moment, Paul?’

‘Not that it’s any of your business, but no.’

‘Did you know that Mimosa and her best friend Carol were among a group of local underage girls who’d been groomed by a gang of Asians from the Strip? That they’d been coerced, persuaded or forced into prostitution?’

‘God, no! How... I mean...’

‘Nobody told you?’

‘Well, obviously not. I mean, you asked me about grooming last time you talked to me, said it was something you suspected, but I never thought... Mimsy... no.’

‘Some people behave recklessly, especially if they get fired up with an idea. Was Albert fired up with an idea that night?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Let’s say you’d been talking about Mimosa and her Pakistani groomers, for example. Might Albert have got riled up? Got a bee in his bonnet? She was his sister, after all. And they were Pakistanis.’