Riot Act Read Online Free PDF

the dark green metallic paint was so deep you felt you could reach into it right up to the elbow.
     
    As I drew nearer he straightened up, leaning down to pick up a battered briefcase that had been resting against his grey-slacked legs. I had time to weigh him up before we got within hailing distance. Social worker, or council official, probably. Only the Merc didn’t quite fit the bill.
     
    “Miss Fox, is it?”
     
    I nodded, hesitating on the pavement by Pauline’s driveway. He fumbled in his anorak pocket and produced a slightly dog-eared business card, which he handed over to me. Eric O’Bryan, it said, with Community Juvenile Officer in smaller print underneath, and an official-looking crest.
     
    “You’re with the police?” I said. I wouldn’t have pegged him as that.
     
    “Not quite,” he said. “Associated with, but not part of, if you see what I mean. I work with them on occasion, in a sort of mediatory capacity. Do you mind if I have a word?”
     
    I shrugged, and leaned on the lichen-encrusted concrete gatepost. “Feel free.”
     
    He looked uncomfortable, as though aware of the net curtains fluttering at the windows across the road. “Erm, no, I meant somewhere – less public.”
     
    I eyed him for a moment, but he didn’t strike me as the axe-murdering type, so I nodded and led him up the short driveway. I got the outside door open, then stopped him going in to the porch. “You’d better let me go and get the dog out of the way first,” I said. “He’s big, and he’s mean, and he’s not mine, so I wouldn’t like to guarantee that he’ll do as I tell him. Especially not when he’s hungry.”
     
    O’Bryan swallowed and nodded quickly, clutching his briefcase like that was going to save him from Friday’s savage jaws. By this time, the animal in question had gone into what sounded like a slathering barking frenzy on the other side of the door.
     
    I shouted to him through the panelling, and gradually the din subsided into woeful whining. Only then did I risk pushing the door open, getting my knee through first so that Friday couldn’t ram his powerful snout into the gap.
     
    Once I’d actually got into the hallway, the dog decided that he did remember me after all. He went through a big show of sucking up, standing on my feet and butting against my legs.
     
    “Come on, you,” I said when he’d calmed down enough, grabbing hold of his collar. “Kitchen.”
     
    I dragged his unwilling bulk into the other room in a scrabble of claws on the lino, pulling the door shut behind him, then went to let O’Bryan into the house. He checked me over dubiously when I opened the door, anxiously looking past me, as though I should have been losing blood through numerous bite holes and gashes.
     
    “So, Mr O’Bryan,” I said once he was ensconced on the sofa in Pauline’s living room, “what is it you feel the need to talk to me about in private?”
     
    “Well, bit of a sticky subject this, no doubt,” he said. He put his head on one side, rubbing absently at his chin as if trying to gauge in advance my response to his next words. “Not to put too fine a point on it, well, it’s about young Roger.”
     
    I stared at him blankly for a moment. “Roger?” I repeated.
     
    Whatever reaction he’d been expecting, that clearly wasn’t it. He looked at me in surprise. “Roger Mayor,” he prompted. “The young lad who was arrested last night. I have got it right, haven’t I? You were there?”
     
    “Oh, right,” I said, feeling foolish. “Sorry, I didn’t know his name. When they put him into the back of a police car last night he was doing his best impersonation of a deaf mute.”
     
    O’Bryan snorted. “Yes, well, they soon learn that keeping their mouth shut is their best option, I’m afraid. Keep quiet, say nothing, and wait for their parents or social services to come and get them out.”
     
    “So that’s all that happened to him, is it?” I demanded, aware