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couldn’t help himself. He didn’t usually make allowances, but the kid was properly upset.
    ‘That’s right, Ashley. I’m just the monkey.’
    He grinned across at the WPC, who remained stony faced. She’ll have been on the course then, thought Copeland.
     
    Afterwards he walked thoughtfully back to Pepper’s office.
    ‘How did it go?’
    ‘He’s 31, and she was sixteen when the pictures were taken, tops.’
    ‘Tops?’
    ‘Exactly. She’s saying she was sixteen, but I’ve got my doubts.’
    ‘Have at the bloke then, Rex. Whichever way you cut it you’ve got to be a total slime-ball to post pictures like that, so at the very least you can give the bastard something to think about.’
    ‘There’s a complicating factor.’
    She laughed. ‘He’s a copper.’
    ‘No, thank God, not that. But worse, probably. But he’s of Pakistani heritage, this bloke. Name of Mo Afridi.’
    ‘So what?’
    ‘So nothing, as far as I’m concerned. Just wanted to let you know. And I wondered if we had any contacts in the community, so I can get a feel for this bloke, his family, all that. Just in case it turns out to be something, you know, more systemic.’
    ‘Like Rotherham, you mean? I bloody hope not, for all our sakes. But yes, that’s a good thought. The community in the city is pretty small, to tell the truth, but we do have a WPC in traffic who’s of Pakistani origin, although she’s Carlisle born and bred, like. Funny enough I saw her in the canteen about ten minutes ago. If you’re quick you’ll catch her.’
    ‘Is she, you know, discreet?’
    ‘Abla? Absolutely, she is. She’s a great kid. Send her my best, and let me know how you get on. But either way you follow this one up, Rex. I’ll back your instincts.’
     
    He followed the smell of bacon down to the canteen, and Abla exactly wasn’t hard to spot. He walked over, introduced himself, offered her a brew and was declined, and then he sat down.
    ‘Pepper Wilson sends her regards. Listen, I just wanted to ask you something about a person from the local Pakistani community. Name of Afridi.’
    ‘Oh, aye. Which one?’
    ‘Mo.’
    ‘And given that’s there’s CID interest I assume we’re not talking about a bust brake light on his cab?’ Copeland shook his head. ‘Say no more, marrer. What do you want to know?’
    ‘What’s he like?’
    ‘Are we talking in code now? Are you asking if he’s likely to be on the next plane to Syria, or owt like that?’
    ‘Is he?’
    ‘No way. He and his brothers have never shown any interest in religion, they certainly don’t go the mosque. Not that it necessarily means anything I suppose. But I’d say that Mo and his brothers are more worldly, if you get my drift.’
    ‘Are they popular, in the community?’
    ‘No, not at all. The opposite, I’d say. People always assume that minority communities are always as thick as thieves, if you know what I mean, and of course that’s just wrong. It takes all sorts, doesn’t it? But I’d say the Afridis are pretty unusual in that they have no real ties to the community at all. They moved up here a few years ago, from Birmingham or somewhere, and they haven’t really integrated. They drink, and they seem to hang about with a few of the local low-lifes. My old fella would probably cross the street to avoid them, put it like that. Actually, my dad organised a convoy of cabs to take some of the kids from the Infirmary out for the day in the spring and the Afridis told him where to get off when he asked if they’d take part, I do remember that. He wasn’t best pleased, I can tell you.’
    Copeland nodded, and waited. He was sure that Abla had something else to say.
    ‘Can I ask,’ she said, ‘but is the possible offence of a sexual nature?’
    ‘Yes, it is.’
    ‘Grooming?’
    ‘What makes you ask that?’
    ‘My brother mentioned that he’d seen one of the Afridi brothers with a couple of young white girls a few times. This was a few months back,