Unofficial inquiries

As he was approaching the front desk after his cheerless sandwich, Nick heard Ron ending a phone conversation and putting down the receiver.

"Anything interesting, Sarge?" he asked, making the older man turn towards him.

"Hmmm? Nah, probably nothing. Just Frank - you know Frank McGregor? Runs the petrol station? - well, he's just rung to say the young feller who works for him hasn't been in for the past few days."

"Is that all, Sarge? Doesn't sound much to me."

"Aye, I know. That's what I told him - we can't take an interest yet, he's a long way from being a missing person, all that official stuff."

Nick nodded, Ron paused.

"Least, that's what I told him officially. Unofficially, I was wondering if, on your travels, you might call in and have a bit of a chat with him."

"Aw, Sarge - what for?"

"I know, I know," said Ron, trying to placate him. "But me and Frank go way back, been mates since school. He says the guy's very dependable, and this is totally out of character. Probably nothing, but Frank seems worried about him. All you have to do is drop in, and do a bit of listening. Where's the harm?"

Nick nodded. He knew the sarge was, in so many words, asking a favour; he also knew that it would be a very bad idea not to help out. It was a very small station. Best to keep on Ron's good side.

"Right-o, Sarge. I'll make a point of looking in. What's the name of the guy who's not turned up?"

Ron looked at the note he'd scribbled on the desk pad. "Cotter. Adam Cotter."

Nick groaned. Cotter.



Part Two begins here.