
‘Try the Yank factories,’ murmured a detective at the back of the room, a sour-faced man by the name of Tourrain. He was referring to the rubber and electrical plants that had brought employment to the region and needed a large workforce to keep the production lines running. ‘Plenty of Arabs there, working for peanuts and happy as rats in a sewer.’ He grinned nastily, showing a set of stained teeth. ‘Best place for them.’
‘And what makes you so superior?’ Rocco countered sharply. He disliked the casual racism prevalent among so-called intelligent people, and was disappointed to find it present in a largely rural police force. He’d seen it undermine communities before, raising barriers where none were needed and making police work more difficult and hazardous.
‘Gentlemen.’ Massin spoke sharply, bringing order with what seemed to be a degree of relief. ‘Let’s be aware of them, that’s all. Where there is deprivation and competition for jobs, there is usually trouble. I don’t want any unrest in this division, no matter what the cause. Patrols should keep an eye out for gatherings, and especially for work gangs, which are usually collected from prearranged points each morning by gang bosses. If you see them, check papers, check permits, but keep it low-key. We don’t want firebombs and water cannon on our streets. Understood?’
‘Have we actually got a water cannon?’ asked Desmoulins with pointed innocence. The comment raised a laugh around the room, lowering the tension. But it was a valid point. Levels of equipment were not always spread evenly across the various divisions, and some of the quieter parts of the country fared less well when it came to budget allocations. So far, though, water cannon had not been a feature of policing in the Amiens division.
