Danny Evans will never face criminal justice.

But now he has to face you.

The police will believe he came here to end his own life. There will be no questions.

His right arm has been raised for long enough that he will have no feeling and no control. Place the pistol in his hand and assist with pulling the trigger then leave the building the same way you came in.

I will ensure everything else is arranged.

This is my good deed in full.

Your friend.

Richard read to the end and let the paper fall to the floor. He moved in closer, close enough to almost be touching knees with Danny Evans, with the man who had killed his wife, who had taken everything from him. Richard had spent the months that followed obsessing over the details of what had happened that night. The police had been able to piece much of it together, enough for Richard to know that the driver hadn’t stopped and that his wife wasn’t killed instantly. His Angela had been lying on that cold pavement for nine minutes before she was spotted by a passing car and rushed to hospital. It was a painful and panicked end and Richard hadn’t even made it in time to hold her hand. He had gone looking for her on the night, when she hadn’t returned home. The feeling when he turned onto Green Lane, when he saw those blue lights slicing up a filthy black evening and he knew in his heart that it was all for Angela; it was something he would never forget.

She died alone and in pain. But over time the anger in Richard had subsided a little, enough that he could function day to day. He told himself that it was a terrible accident and the driver must have panicked. He pictured him as a young man who had made a mistake, inexperienced at driving and inexperienced in life too, and in that instant he hadn’t known what to do. And once he had made the decision to flee he couldn’t go back, he couldn’t make it good. So he had burned out the car and buried his head in the sand, hoping it would pass him by, but every day he was tortured with what he had done. Richard could have lived with that – just about – and he had almost convinced himself.

But now he knew the truth. He knew a name, Danny Evans, and he knew the man behind that name was a swaggering, arrogant, evil piece of shit who hadn’t had a moment of remorse and who had carried on with his life of being adored. Angela was nothing to him, her death just a source of amusement. And it had been no accident, Danny Evans was a cold-blooded killer.

But so was Richard once.