‘Three years ago I worked for an insurance company. My job was to make sure they weren’t paying out for fraudulent claims, but it very soon became a role of making sure they weren’t paying out at all. It got worse and worse, until I’d finally had enough and walked. None of that matters to you, I know that, but I’m trying to make amends for some of what went on. That’s really what I meant by a good deed. I want my conscience to be clear.’

‘Your conscience? Why didn’t you just hand what you have to the police at the time?’

The man shook his head. ‘We did. They weren’t interested. They said it wasn’t proof of anything. We got hold of some phone records that were the key to our whole investigation. The car that hit your wife was stolen, but you know that. The man who owned that car is a bit of a hardman, not someone you would choose to steal from. Anyway, he had some contacts in telecommunications and he got us some good information. Then he leaned on some local lads who knew a bit of this and that, got a bit punchy and voila! The truth.’

‘You come to me, here, with “a bit of this and that”! What the hell does that even mean? I had some sicko crackpots call my phone at home when the story was in the papers. I wasn’t stupid enough to be riled up then and I won’t give you the satisfac—’

‘Woah! Richard … I’m sorry, OK. I’m not explaining myself well. I’m not a sicko or a crackpot! I know what I saw. But the police couldn’t use any of it. Can you imagine going to court when the only evidence was from some dodgy fella who had his car nicked and then kicked the hell out of a few lads to find out who did it? And this after his mate got some illegal phone information! None of it was admissible evidence in the eyes of the law … but you’re not the law, Richard. You’re the poor bastard left behind. And Angela—’

‘Don’t you say her name, please! You don’t say her name.’ Richard felt his heart suddenly hammer in his chest. The shake in his voice was increasingly obvious. He had never been good at hiding his anger. Or controlling it. The man held his hands up. There were a few moments of silence. Richard focused back on her grave, his eyes tripping over her name as they blurred with every pulse of his heart. Both men fell silent. It was long enough for Richard to recover a little. When the man spoke again it was to read his wife’s epitaph in a deep voice.

‘To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die.’