Dying Eyes by Ryan Casey Page A

idea what the press are gonna say about us? They’re gonna absolutely destroy us. Nice job, McDone. Nice job.”
    He’d just tried to do the right thing. He’d just tried to get this thing done with, for his family.
    “I can only say I’m sorry for my misjudgment, Detective Inspector, and can assure you it won’t happen again. What would you like me to do next?” He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the words. He’d been kicked off cases before. He knew what the buildup felt like. Price eyeing him up, contemplating his fate.
    “Go home. Get your feet up. Have a fucking bath. You’re on a thin line, Brian. A very, very thin line. Don’t make me get the Chief Superintendent involved. Then get yourself back in work tomorrow and back down to Foster Road. And properly investigating. I mean properly . None of this hunch bullshit, and all of it by the book, you understand? There must be about fifty zillion pimps and prozzie rings down there that you’ve neglected to investigate so far.”
    McDone let out a small sigh of relief at remaining on the case. He thought he smelt something. Probably himself. Two beads of sweat dribbled down the side of his chubby neck. His damp shirt clung to his chest.
    “Thanks for the second chance, Detective Inspector. I won’t let you down again.”
    “No, you won’t,” Price said smugly. “Final straw, McDone. No more messing up. Keep your private life well away from this place. I don’t want a repeat of last time. I like you, contrary to what you might think. Don’t fuck that up.”
    McDone nodded. A smile crept across his face as he left the office. Price actually liked people?
    Outside of the room, Robert Luther put on his coat and chatted with Michael Walters, the short, balding assistant Brian met when he’d visited BetterLives. Walters did a double take at McDone then walked towards him.
    Here we go. He didn’t need to deal with another dickhead today.
    “DS McDone.” Walters held out his hand as he balanced his jacket over his arm. “Michael Walters. We met the other day‌–‌”
    “Yeah, I remember.” McDone grabbed Walters’ hand and shook it. It flopped like a limp, lifeless fish.
    “I expect a full and frank apology from the police in tomorrow’s papers for their smear campaign towards Robert Luther and BetterLives. We want to help with the investigation. Don’t abuse that trust.”
    “Just doing my job.” McDone held his smile and waited for Walters to speak again.
    Walters pulled his hand away and turned back towards his boss. He sauntered back down the corridor. “Good luck with the investigation, Officer. We’ve got a media storm to tame.”
    Walters patted Luther on his back and led him out into the roars of the press. At least the press had something to talk about for the day.
    “Shall we grab a drink?”
    Cassy stood behind him. She buttoned up her red checkered jacket and slipped her bag over her shoulder.
    McDone smiled. “A date with a lovely lady like yourself? Who am I to refuse?”

Chapter Thirteen
    The beer’s stale, dull taste kissed Brian’s lips. God, he hated beer.
    “I’ve not been in here for ages,” Cassy said, edging forward on her barstool.
    “I’ve not been in a pub for ages,” Brian said, taking a swig of beer. The pub was pretty empty for late afternoon. The chubby, baldheaded bartender was already wiping down the surfaces, as if he wasn’t expecting much business. A couple of scraggy looking locals whispered to one another in the corner of the room, half-pints in hand. “If you want to see the recession, go to the pub,” DC Kelly had told him. He wasn’t sure what he meant at the time, but now he thought he understood.
    Cassy frowned. “You aren’t trying to tell me you’re not a drinker anymore, are you, Brian?”
    Brian looked down at his shaking hand. Play it cool. “I’m just a drinker of finer spirits these days. The kind I can enjoy in better company.” He poked a thumb into his chest