‘My DS, Paddy Hopkins, says I’m like a terrier,’ he went on. ‘He says I don’t know when to let go. That’s a good thing, in a DI. Usually. But right now, it’s tearing me in half. I’ve spent the last few days thinking it all through, and it hasn’t been easy.’

‘And now you have come to a decision?’

‘Yeah. Now I have, and I want you to see this.’ He stood up, still clutching the yellow file. Trembling, Angel stood too. ‘Come on,’ he said.

Farmer led the way out through the French doors and into

the garden. It was sunny out here, lovely. Angel barely noticed. He walked down a gravel path to the bottom of the garden where there was a shed, a wheelbarrow leaning against it, a small compost heap, a metal dustbin. Angel followed apprehensively.

He took the lid off the dustbin, took a box of matches out of his pocket. Then he opened the yellow file and shook out documents and photos into the bin. He struck a match and dropped it in. Soon, smoke started rising. He shook out the rest of the stuff in the file while Angel stood there watching in amazement.

It wasn’t a dustbin. It was an incinerator. And Farmer was burning everything pertaining to the mysterious disappearance of Donny Maguire.

Farmer slapped the lid on; grey smoke plumed out of the funnel at the top. He put the matches back in his pocket and turned to Angel.

‘All that,’ he nodded to the incinerator, ‘is the past. It’s done and gone. That bastard did his best to ruin your entire life, and if I went on with this there’s a chance he could still succeed. But I’m not going to. We have a future – you and me, Angel. So fuck Donny Maguire.’

Angel started to cry. She put her hands to her face. ‘Oh God, Cory . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Don’t cry,’ said Farmer, pulling her into his arms, kissing her tears away. ‘It’s OK now. He’s gone. All right?’

Angel gave a watery half-smile.

‘Now for fuck’s sake come to bed with me and let’s forget all this,’ he said, and led the way back indoors.

168

One year later . . .

It was a big church wedding, the one Angel had always dreamed of. The sun shone, Tom gave her away, Aunts Lil and June were matrons of honour and Paddy Hopkins was Farmer’s best man. Farmer’s parents and half the police force packed out the groom’s side of the church and there was a guard of honour with raised truncheons when the happy couple emerged from the church. Then Angel laid her wedding bouquet on Dora’s grave.

‘She’d be so proud of you,’ Lil told her in a choked voice.

‘Poor old Dor,’ said June. ‘Couldn’t help being a fast piece, I s’pose.’

Then the photos were being taken and the guests milled about in the sunshine, chatting. There was a sit-down reception at a swish hotel, speeches, then dancing. As Angel did the first dance of their married life with Cory, she was on cloud nine. Finally, her life was her own and – at last – she’d found love.