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puzzled by Brian’s reluctance to lead. “Thought you usually liked to stick your dick right into the action, Detective?”
    Brian smiled. The Lone Ranger ‌–‌another detective cliché he’d managed to convince them of over the years. “I think the new Detective Sergeant is more than capable of investigating this lead while I pursue some others.”
    Price nodded slowly. “Very well. Well, you all know your duties. DC Pennison, when Pukey Peters has stopped spewing, you get back down to Foster Road and get pursuing those leads. And when I say ‘pursuing leads’, I mean pursuing leads and not stopping off at McDonald’s, regardless of how good their limited edition Taste of America burgers are. The rest of you, off you go. See you soon.”
    The officers scooted up from their chairs and disappeared out of the room. Price stormed off, looking frustrated at how quickly he’d drunk his coffee. Brian and Cassy remained.
    “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Cassy smiled teasingly at Brian.
    He reached into his black 2011 diary, even though it was 2012 now, and tore out a little page on which he’d scribbled the boyfriend’s address. “We have this address on record for Danny’s most recent location. Check it out, and have a chat to him.” Brian walked towards the door and threw on his big black jacket.
    “And where d’you think you’re going, anyway?” Cassy asked.
    Brian smirked. “Charity work.”

Chapter Four
    The office blocks where BetterLives was based were one of the newer buildings down by the docks, overlooking the marina. Marina . Who the hell were they kidding? Sure, it looked half-pretty in the day, but McDone knew what it was like at night. A cesspit. You’d be lucky not to get mugged walking from KFC to McDonald’s. Then again, who’d walk from KFC to McDonald’s? You’d be surprised by the youth of Preston.
    He pulled up in one of the newly paved car spaces overlooking the depths of the docks and took a final look at the papers in front of him. “BetterLives: New Fundraising Fair to Bring Smile Back to Preston . “ The smiling, grinning face of their leader, Robert Luther. Apparently, he helped get people working again, aiding the disadvantaged. People seemed to like him. Brian had seen a million versions of him in the past‌–‌smiling for the cameras, probably slipping whisky into his Coke before bed every evening. The fact was Nicola Watson had worked here, which meant she knew people. Potential leads. Maybe even suspects. Someone had to know Nicola Watson, what she did, where she stayed, what food she ate, and all that.
    He left the car and walked towards the entrance of the office blocks, one of those big, circular, all-glass things with blue tinted windows, which a bunch of companies hired out. BetterLives was on the fifth floor, which gave Brian a good chance to get a little bit of exercise in his legs.
    Brian entered the building. The man from the photograph was already standing there, waiting to greet him in the airy reception area. It was like a reception area you’d find on a cruise ship, spacious and open, the opposite of the claustrophobia of Foster Road earlier that day. The man, dressed in a suit, his tie poking from underneath his collar, walked towards Brian. Sign of a man who still had everything done for him. He smiled, but not too cheerily. He knew why Brian was here.
    He extended his hand. “Robert Luther. Pleasure to meet you, Officer…?”
    “Detective Sergeant Brian McDone,” he said. Robert had a standard grip handshake, not too tight or too slack. Clearly practiced a lot.
    “Would you like to follow me to my office? It’s only on the fifth floor, but I can call for a lift, if you want?” Robert’s brown eyes investigated Brian’s waistline. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. An awkward moment of silence passed.
    “I…‌Yeah, sure, whatever.” He followed Robert into the lift, and they ascended to the fifth floor. He could get his