The man picked his way through the house. He didn’t get many visitors as he’d crossed swords with the few members of his family that remained. His list of friends was non-existent, that’s why he trawled for angels to admire. When he opened the door he was met with a pair of women he didn’t know. The older one was holding out a wallet containing some kind of identification. She didn’t warrant the time it took him to look past her and see her companion.

The younger of the two women was stunning, a rival for Sarah Hardy in every way. While her trouser suit hid the shape of her body, he could see from her posture that she was lithe and his imagination filled in the blanks for him.

‘DI O’Dowd and DC Young.’

It was the older one who spoke. She confirmed his name and he nodded agreement. His first thought was that one of his angels had made a complaint against him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

‘How can I help you?’

‘You did some work a few weeks ago with an Angus Keane. Can you confirm that you and he didn’t part company on the best of terms?’

The older woman looked past him into the house. His manners told him that he should invite them in. He would have done so, but he didn’t want the junior one to see the mess.

‘Well, what have you got to say?’ The DI’s tone was full of aggression, making the man feel there was an unspoken accusation.

‘Angus and I never did see eye to eye for very long. We worked together on and off for years. He’d get me in on jobs where he needed an extra pair of hands. Problem was, he was years younger than me and he expected me to put in the same hours he did, and work at his pace.’ He shook his head in sadness. ‘I’m afraid time has caught up with me and I’m not as fast, or as strong as I once was.’

‘Is that why you fell out?’

DC Young’s voice was soft and there was only a trace of a Cumbrian accent to it. He wished he’d put on better clothes, maybe a tie, certainly a clean shirt instead of the grubby T-shirt he wore. A part of him wanted to invite them into his home regardless of the mess. To have such a beautiful woman in his home would be a high he could savour for months.

‘It was. Except, it wasn’t so much of a falling out as a parting of ways.’ He used a thumbnail to scratch his ear. ‘I told him I was too old to work as hard as him and that in future he’d be better off getting someone who could. I shook his hand and wished him well.’

‘Are you sure that’s the way it happened?’ DI O’Dowd’s eyes were full of suspicion.

‘Yes, I am. He may have told it differently, but that’s how it happened. He’s more of a private ranter than an arguer. He probably went home and told his wife I’d let him down. Can you tell me why you are asking these questions?’

The beautiful DC turned to face him. ‘Angus Keane has been found dead and we have strong reason to believe he was murdered.’

‘That’s terrible.’

He felt one of his hands lifting to his mouth, but his mind was elsewhere. It was busy trying to work out if the shock he felt was his response to Angus’s murder, or whether it was to do with the destruction of DC Young’s left cheek.

To him, the idea that looks like hers were damaged was nothing less than sacrilege. That her scars looked as if they were the result of a brutal attack was an affront to his very being. It was all he could do to tear his gaze away from the scar and look downwards to let the desecration to her face tumble from his eyes.

He could feel his temper rising and was aware he must contain it. The police were here pursuing a suspect. Should he let his temper display itself he’d put his name at the top of their list. That would never do.

‘Do you have any idea who Mr Keane may have fallen out with?’

The man pulled his attention back to the DI and focussed it on her question.

‘Not really. He was a hard taskmaster, but otherwise he was a decent guy who got on with pretty much everyone. I know he had a few ups and downs with his wife.’ He liked that line. It shifted blame away from him. ‘They had something of a volatile relationship.’

‘So we’ve heard.’

The DI’s comment was laced with a substantial level of dryness. As far as he was concerned, she could never be an angel. She didn’t have the looks or the personality. Sarah Hardy did. As did DC Young.

‘Are you able to account for your movements over the last week?’

The man stiffened, this was a dangerous question. One he knew must be answered with care.

‘I can.’ He gave a smile he hoped would come across as self-deprecating. ‘I live alone, so I’m afraid I’ve nobody to verify what I say, but I go out for lunch and dinner most days. I have receipts that show where I ate.’

He saw the dumpy DI exchange a look with the gorgeous DC. Caught the fractional shake of the head and realised he was being discounted as a suspect.

---

After watching them walk back to their car, he shuffled into the house and took a seat in his chair. He let his mind wander to the place where he kept his angels. There was a new one now. A special one who needed more care than the others.

DC Young was more than worthy of her status as an angel, even with her scarred cheek. To him the disfigurement only accentuated the beauty of the other side of her face. In his mind, the injury was fixable and would heal with love and adoration. She was an angel with a broken wing. Treated properly, she would once again fly.

He’d seen enough wounds in his time to recognise her scar was caused by an unconventional weapon such as a broken glass or bottle. As he lit a cigarette, he turned his mind to her psyche, and speculated how a young woman would have coped with such a dramatic change to her looks.

There was also her choice of career to consider: had she picked up the injury separating a bar fight, or had it been with her when she joined the police? Either way, she’d chosen to continue meeting several new people every day. To have them appraise her and see the result of what must have been an agonising injury. That spoke of bravery and he liked the idea of his angels possessing courage.

Another point to consider was her relationship with her boss. There was the natural deference of the subordinate, along with something more. He got a sense that despite being several inches taller than her boss DC Young looked up to her DI.

Their dynamic was an interesting one; the DI was grumpy and irascible. A trait he put down to having a younger, fitter and far more attractive woman alongside her. It would grate on any woman to have an angel beside them for comparison. They’d always come off second best, and he could tell that even twenty years ago, when she was in her prime, DI O’Dowd wouldn’t have been comparable to her protégé.

That had to be a source of resentment, of bitterness at the genetic lottery favouring someone else more than her. Now there she was, her looks fading, grey hairs and crow’s feet appearing as life’s stresses took hold of her.

While the angel’s eyes held a certain amount of sadness, they also showed intelligence, drive and a sense of purpose. He could tell she had ambitions, goals. The DI would recognise this too, feel threatened by it.

How long she tolerated the bright and beautiful creature at her heel before stomping on it was anyone’s guess.