She laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle that reminds him what a great voice she has. “God knows!” she says. Then the laughter dies and she is suddenly serious. “I guess I thought it would piss my mother off. But the joke was on me. I don’t think she even noticed.”

“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.