Farmer sat back, stretched, feeling his back crackle with all this forced inactivity. He glanced at the clock; nearly six. Time for him to go home to his flat, cook himself something, and try to let it all go for a few hours. Hunter, who usually occupied the next desk, was already gone. Farmer stood up and then the phone on Hunter’s desk rang. Yawning, Farmer reached out, snatched it up.

‘DS Farmer,’ he said.

‘Hello,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘I wanted to talk to David, is he there?’

‘I’m sorry, he’s not. Who is this please?’

‘It’s Fiona Maguire.’

‘Mrs Maguire. Hello. I came to your house with DI Hunter, do you remember me?’

‘I do. Yes.’

‘Is there something I can help you with?’

‘David hasn’t been in touch for a while. I wondered if there was anything he’d found out, anything at all . . . ?’

She sounded so hopeful that Farmer felt a twinge of guilt. Hunter had been moaning to him about her constant calls. They had nothing to give her. Nothing at all.

‘I’m sorry Mrs Maguire. Enquiries are ongoing.’

‘Right. Yes. Look . . . could you come over? There’s something else, something I’ve remembered and it might help.’

Farmer was beginning to think that nothing was going to help with this. And maybe the answer was actually dead simple: people went missing all the time, thousands upon thousands of them. Just because you’re a copper that doesn’t make you

immune to the trials and tribulations of life. And Donny Maguire’s background screamed anguish.

Donny’s medical records – which they’d checked – had revealed no treatment for depression or anxiety, but what did that mean really? Maybe he had suffered but had simply never sought help. His brother had hung himself. His mother had pitched off a church roof. His dad had lost his marbles. How did anyone get over stuff like that? Maybe Donny Maguire hadn’t. He’d always seemed wired, uptight. Maybe he’d simply snapped, as so many people did – and decided to do one.

‘I’ll come now,’ said Farmer.

115

When they got back to London, Lenny gave Angel a job behind the bar at his club, much to Tom’s amazement. He was even more amazed when he realized that his boss had been whisking his cousin around the Med, and that they had a ‘thing’ going.

‘I thought he was royally pissed off with you,’ said Tom to Angel.

‘He was.’ Angel thought of her first few meetings with Lenny. ‘But we got past that.’

‘In a big way, so I hear,’ said Tom, grinning.

‘We’re seeing how things go,’ said Angel, but she couldn’t help but smile.

Lenny was just so nice, when you got past all the bluster.

Angel had been back to Dora’s grave to lay flowers and to have a chat with Mum, to tell her that everything was fine now, Donny was gone and she had this lovely older man looking out for her. Lenny couldn’t do enough for her, and when they slept together at last it was OK – he was gentle and patient.