Danyal Mehmud? He barely got a word in edgeways.’
Glimpses of the interviewee beneath her black face mask, bandana and oversized sunglasses suggested a blonde woman of indeterminate age. Her baggy long-sleeved shirt, devoid of any identifying logos, successfully concealed her figure and comparison against the interviewer suggested unexceptional height and build.
‘I’m joined by Kay – not her real name – who claims to have been part of the group of counter-protestors involved in yesterday’s demonstration. My first question is why we should listen to you when you are not prepared to reveal your face?’
The protestor’s polished response suggested the question had been anticipated.
‘Unfortunately, we have no choice. We supposedly live in a free and democratic society, but the state routinely tracks and follows those of us who wish to protest peacefully and exercise our right to free speech.’ The protestor’s accent gave Warren no clues about her upbringing, although he freely admitted to still struggling with accents outside the West Midlands where he’d spent his formative years.
‘Members of the British Allegiance Party who marched yesterday say the same thing, but they are willing to show their faces. Why should you be treated any differently?’
‘We are forced to wear face masks to protect ourselves from reprisals, both from the fascists and the authorities. As we saw yesterday, the police are willing to use excessive force on peaceful counter-protestors to allow the BAP to express their hateful views.’
‘Views that are protected by the same right to free speech that you yourself cite.’
‘Hate speech should not be protected speech. In fact, we have lawyers studying transcripts of the BAP’s address with a view to demanding a prosecution on the grounds of inciting racial hatred.’
‘Much has been made of the police discontinuing the patrol outside the Islamic Centre and how that may have left it open to attack. Could you tell us some of the views that you are hearing about that decision?’
The masked protester straightened her shoulders slightly.
‘Many of us think it is symptomatic of the institutionalised racism that still exists within the police and their widely held view that the concerns and well-being of minorities are less important than those of others.’
There were ripples of disgust from the officers watching the TV. Fortunately, the reporter was too professional to let the slur go entirely unchallenged.
‘That’s a rather sweeping statement.’
‘Kay’ shrugged.
‘How do you answer charges that the actions of the protestors in breaking through the police line meant that the officer-in-charge had no choice but to call in as many reinforcements as possible?’
Again ‘Kay’ shrugged. ‘Yet more evidence that the police’s priorities on Saturday were wrong.’
‘Are you suggesting that the police should have allowed protestors to assault the marchers? After all, there is clear footage of protestors throwing stones and bottles at both the police and the BAP.’
‘Kay’ paused, realising the dangerous waters she suddenly found herself in.
‘At last some balanced journalism,’ somebody muttered from the back of the office.
‘No, what I meant was the police had clearly under-resourced yesterday’s operation, even though it was obvious that there was potential for significant trouble…’
‘Caused in part by the actions of some of the counter-protestors,’ interjected the reporter.
‘… caused by the police not taking seriously the concerns of local residents – from all sections of the community – who have repeatedly said that they did not want fascists marching through their town.’ She paused for breath.
‘If the officer in charge of the operation and his or her superiors had taken the threat posed by the BAP to minorities seriously, they would have deployed enough officers to not only adequately police the march but to protect the targets of this group’s hatred. Not just the Islamic Centre but the synagogue, the Afro-Caribbean centre, meeting halls for the Sikh and Hindu communities and pubs and bars associated with the LGBT community among others.’
‘Anywhere else you’d like us to stand outside?’ grumbled the voice from the back again. Warren decided not to turn around but made a note to address the discontent later.
‘That would be an expensive operation at a time when police budgets are under increasing pressure,’ noted the reporter.
‘You can’t put a price on people’s lives,’ the protestor responded primly. ‘I’m sure that with enough motivation Hertfordshire Constabulary could have policed the event proportionately and cost-effectively.’
‘But doesn’t that require the cooperation of all parties involved?’
‘Of course. We made it clear that we would be counter-protesting at the march; yesterday was entirely predictable.’
‘But was it? According to sources involved in yesterday’s counter-protest, steps were made to conceal the true numbers of protestors planning on turning up to the march.’
For the first time, ‘Kay’ seemed to be lost for words.
‘According to an email seen by the BBC, organisers were told to “keep it quiet” and “not let the pigs get a handle on numbers”. In fact, they were deliberately told to “go old school and keep clear of social media” and make arrangements by word-of-mouth.’
‘Hah! Burned!’ came the voice from the back.
Suddenly on the back foot, ‘Kay’ mumbled something about not having seen the email and being unable to comment. The journalist let her stew for a moment before thanking her for her time and returning to the studio.
‘Could have gone worse, I suppose,’ said Sutton.
‘Well, at least we’re trending on Twitter,’ said Gary Hastings, holding up his smartphone.
‘Is that a good thing?’ asked Warren.
Hastings scrolled for a few seconds and winced.
‘No, not really.’
‘Well, let’s leave Twitter to sort itself out.’ Warren raised his voice slightly, and pointedly addressed the back of the room. ‘I shall repeat the Assistant Chief Constable’s instruction, “stay off social media”.’
A few muttered assents, including from the back corner, were enough to satisfy him.
A brief circuit of the room revealed nothing urgent that couldn’t wait until the following morning and so Warren decided to check his email for anything pressing and finally head home.
The blinking red light on his telephone console told him that he had a voicemail waiting for him.
‘DCI Jones, it’s Andy Harrison here. Check your email, we’ve found the murder weapon. I’ve taken a photo and sent it to you.’ The man’s voice sounded more serious than Warren could ever remember. ‘If it’s what I think it is, the shit’s about to hit the fan big time.’
Warren’s gut tightened as he typed his username and password into his computer then clicked straight to the message from Harrison, with its attached image.
Warren felt as if he’d been punched.
Middlesbury was going to burn.
‘It’s