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put his teacup on the coffee table and went to the window. He had to lean close to make out the church steps. The position of the building made it awkward.

    “I couldn’t see the body exactly, but I knew he had to be dead.”
     
    Munro turned back toward Mrs Pentworth and waited.

    “Because of the angel, you see.”
     
    “Angel?” Munro and Getty glanced at each other.

    “Yes, floated down from heaven. Just right after he died.” She shook her head again.
     
    Munro turned back to the window and peered up. He saw nothing but the church and the buildings opposite. St Paul’s Street, the tiny, crowded road that curved behind the church, barely had room for a car to park. “Are you saying someone jumped down from one of those apartments?”

    Her teacup rattled on the saucer when she set it down. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’d have broken their neck. And no, they didn’t come from the apartments.” She narrowed her eyes. “It was an angel from heaven, come to take that poor Mr Dewer away. It didn’t jump. Angels don’t jump. It floated. And second, it came from heaven. I saw it descend from the sky.”
     
    “Yeah,” Getty said with a glance to Munro. “If you think of anything more, give us a call.” He handed her a card with the relevant phone numbers.

    “Thank you,” Munro said, and they left Mrs Pentworth to undoubtedly call her friends and report on the excitement.
     
    After they made their way to the ground floor Getty said, “Nice old crackpot. Good bread. Shame she’s such a loon.”

    “Maybe not,” Munro said.
     
    Getty stopped at the street exit. “I’m all for believing in the Good Lord when it comes to weddings and football, but don’t tell me you believe she saw an angel.”

    Munro shook his head. “She saw something.” Once on the street again, he glanced up at the grey sky. “I saw our witness this morning.” He hadn’t mentioned that he’d seen the girl, or that it was a girl. Her appearance left him unsettled, and he didn’t want to admit that.
     
    “The kid?”

    “Short light hair, hazel eyes, maybe fifteen or sixteen? Foreign, I think. Hard to tell. Had some sort of medical condition. Collapsed on the steps. I only turned away for a second, and he stood up and ran off.” Why was he still deceiving Getty? Munro could always claim later he hadn’t realised. The girl certainly didn’t seem ordinary. It would be an easy mistake for anyone to make.
     
    “If he has a medical condition, he might be registered with a local GP. You think he’s involved?”

    “I think he’s scared. Maybe he saw something, or maybe he’s just scared of cops in general. You know how it is.”
     
    Getty nodded. Some families raised their kids to distrust the police. Usually it meant their mum was selling drugs out of their front room to make ends meet until dad got out of jail. One day on the outside and the old man would take up the family business again.

    Munro also didn’t tell Getty the girl hadn’t been blonde. Her hair was white. Bright white, like his gran’s, but without the blue tinge. And her silver-green eyes weren’t like anything he’d seen. He couldn’t get her face out of his mind. Something about her made him uneasy. He didn’t like to think she was involved, but they had to find her, even if it was for her own protection. She seemed frail and small, but even though he’d told Getty she was a kid, he knew that wasn’t right either.
     
    Munro couldn’t help but wonder about the angel Mrs Pentworth swore she’d seen. His hunches were stirring again, and he wished they’d just shut the hell up.

Chapter 4
    “Really, Cridhe, you’re becoming quite mad.”
     
    Cridhe inclined his head as though deferentially agreeing with his father, but inside he seethed. The fae did not go mad . Dudlach should know that. Why would he suggest something so blatantly insulting to their race? Furthermore, Cridhe wasn’t just any faerie. He was the hunter, vital to the