But instead he stood. ‘Anyway, better go, got to look fabulous for tonight.’

‘I don’t mind taking him down, ma’am,’ said a voice behind her, and Sasha turned to see Lolly Chambers in the doorway. Her icy-blonde hair, which was usually hitched up in a ponytail at work, tumbled attractively across her shoulders, and she had applied more lipstick, and blusher to her ski-jump nose and high cheekbones.

‘Thank you, DC Chambers,’ said Sasha. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’

‘I’ll sign it if you want.’ Abs said amiably, and when Sasha looked confused, he nodded at her notebook. ‘If you want my autograph.’

She snapped the notebook closed. ‘That’s very kind of you, Abs, but it won’t be necessary.’

‘Nice to meet you, Silver Lady.’ Abs shook her hand again and walked out of the door. Lolly shot Sasha a look, as if to say OMG, and then followed him out.

‘Abs.’ Sasha came into the corridor, and he turned. ‘If you do think of anything about Andrew Dean that would help us, anything at all, here’s my number.’ She gave him a card. ‘Call me any time.’

‘Sure thing.’ He tucked it in the breast pocket of his jacket and grinned. ‘We can have some bantz.’

Sasha gave him a big smile in return. ‘That, too.’

She watched him saunter away with Lolly. Wide shoulders rolling, slim hips sliding, he walked with the studied confidence of a man who knew that the eyes of the world were most likely watching him, and when she glanced into the open doors of the offices that lined the corridor, she saw that everyone was.

‘Who on earth was that?’ asked Vaughn, coming up behind her.

‘Danny Cruikshank. Abs from Laid In Essex!’ He looked at her as if she was speaking Latin. ‘I’ll explain later,’ she said.

‘You still okay for that drink after work?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ she said, remembering her promise of earlier. ‘Just a quick one.’

8

Times were tough, there was no doubt about it. Abs was getting ever more worried that he wouldn’t be able to make ends meet, and because he was the kind of guy who stuck his head in the sand, he didn’t even know how much money he had left in his account.

At the height of his fame, when the money was rolling in, he didn’t stop to think about saving for a rainy day – who did at his age? – and he spent like there was no tomorrow. He splashed out on an expensive seafront apartment, a classic car, and thousands of pounds worth of clothes, most of which he hadn’t even worn. He loved to impress his celebrity mates when they were out on the town together, the comedians and TV presenters and rap stars, by paying for everything. It was stupid, really, because a lot of those famous people earned far more than he did, and none of them returned his calls any more.

He also made a number of bad investments following dodgy advice. The investments made a huge loss and the accountant was gone now. The classic car had turned out to be a money pit, and as fashions had changed, he’d bagged up most of the clothes and taken them to Oxfam. All he had left now was his beloved seafront apartment. He was clinging on to that, but the mortgage was crippling.