“You don’t talk much about your past. Your family.”

Sally-Ann smiles. “You really don’t want to hear about that particular shitshow.”

And there’s something so incredibly sad about the smile that he decides to change the subject. “So you studied art but somehow ended up . . . ?”

“Working in a glorified call center? Doesn’t everybody?” She laughs. “I realized art was going to be pretty much useless to me, so I went back to college and studied IT. Computers are the future. Art is history. Besides, you went to Oxford, didn’t you? What did you read?”

“Mathematics and philosophy.”

“Exactly. I imagine that’s the ideal combo for joining the police force.”

He grants it’s a fair point, but he isn’t going to get drawn into his own reasons for joining the force. If he’s honest, he’s not that sure about them himself. He tries to steer the conversation away from him. A thought occurs to him. “What can you tell me about Lowry?”

Sally-Ann frowns. “Lowry?”

“It’s work related,” he says.

“This is supposed to be a night out. We’re not at work.”

“Humor me. After this, I promise, no more work.”

She sighs but answers him. “Fine. Not a great deal. Laurence Stephen Lowry, mostly famous for his paintings of industrial scenes. Sometimes considered a naïve artist because of his characteristic matchstick figures. How am I doing?”

“Did he paint portraits as well?”

“I’m sure he painted hundreds of them.”

Tyler pulls out his mobile and shows her the photo he took of the painting at the crime scene. “Do you know it?”

Sally-Ann squints at the photo; her brow furrows and she shakes her head. “I’m hardly an expert, but yeah, it could be a Lowry, I guess. What’s all this about?”

Even if he could tell her he’s not sure he knows. “Never mind,” he says, slipping his mobile back into his pocket. “Come on then, drink up.” He drains the rest of his pint.

Sally-Ann assumes he means to leave. She looks crestfallen.

“I guess I did promise you dancing.”

Her face lights up.

—

The club is packed.

Sally-Ann leaves him at the bar and immediately heads off onto the dance floor. He watches her throw herself round the room, totally out of time with the music yet wholly relaxed. She soon catches the eye of a brunette girl wrapped in plastic who gyrates and wiggles ever closer. The girl is squeezed into a PVC dress that’s too small for her and that ends just past her hips. She’s tall but hunched over, struggling to stand in four-inch heels. It gives her the look of a newborn foal learning the use of its legs.

Tyler drains his pint and orders another. The rest of the SYPLGBTSN are here and before long he’s once again dodging the advances of the Family Liaison guy. The only thing left to do is get pissed.

“Drink?” says Sally-Ann, squeezing his arm.