“How’s the case coming along?” I say as I bring the coffee into his office. I have to move several documents and manuscripts to find space on the desk to set it down. “Oh just great!” A hard edge of sarcasm cuts me like a knife. I can’t help but feel bad. He started this business because he loved the movie Ace Ventura, but you need an extra license or something to be classified as a detective. He also didn’t realise investigative work would be hard.

“Why can’t she just say where she’s going so I can follow her?” He buries his head in some photos. The pictures show a woman about 35 at a coffee shop; first unaware, then gradually getting closer to the camera until the final photo she’s abusing the photographer behind the lens.