Nothing like Donny.

But all that was past and gone. Her days were carefree now. Lenny sorted her out a flat he owned not too far from the club. Sometimes, out on the street, Angel had the feeling she was being watched, but inside the club and curled up in the flat in Lenny’s arms, she felt safe, protected.

‘I’m falling in love with you,’ he whispered to her one sleepy afternoon while they lay in bed, the rain pattering on the window.

Angel had no idea what love was, but she knew that she felt cosseted, valued, appreciated with Lenny.

‘Are you?’ she whispered back, turning in his arms, nuzzling into his neck, her big blond rock god.

‘Yeah.’ He smiled and kissed her, then his eyes grew serious. ‘Angel O’Brien, will you marry me?’

‘Yes,’ she said. She didn’t even hesitate.

116

Fiona Maguire had lost weight since Farmer had last seen her. Her composure was visibly slipping, her neatness gone. She was suffering and Farmer felt sorry for her. She let him in, led him into the same lounge. Last time, it had been immaculate, like Fiona herself. Now, there were bits of dirt and ground-in food on the carpet, dust on every surface. Fiona was going through her own private hell, Farmer could see that, and he felt bad about it because he should be finding something, he should be helping, but so far he was getting nowhere.

‘Please sit down. Thank you for coming. Can I get you tea? Coffee?’ she asked.

‘No, I’m fine.’ Farmer sat. ‘What can I help you with, Mrs Maguire?’

‘I lied to you,’ she said, sitting opposite him, wringing her hands.

Farmer stared at her. Her hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in days. In fact, there was a small foam-covered roller still stuck in it on one side. She hadn’t looked in a mirror, hadn’t applied make-up, hadn’t seen the damned thing there. Poor bitch. But he’d had a long tiring day, endless paperwork and aggravation followed by the rush-hour drive across town to get here. He was tired and he wanted to go home. But, she’d said she’d lied? Instantly he was alert.

‘I don’t believe that you would lie to a police officer, Mrs Maguire,’ he said, half-smiling.

‘Well.’ She glanced down at her lap, back up at him. ‘Maybe not a lie. Only a lie by omission.’

‘What was this lie, Mrs Maguire?’

She swallowed hard, as if what she was about to say caused her pain. ‘You asked me . . . well, David asked me . . . if I knew of another woman my husband could have been with.’

Farmer sat silently, waiting and thinking that maybe it was a good thing Hunter had been out of the office and it had been he who had taken her call. Maybe she would find it easier talking to him, a stranger, than to David, who she clearly saw as a family friend, even though Hunter was a chilly bastard and so far as Farmer knew he didn’t have any friends.