As police cordoned off the crime scene, a tiny feather floated in the bath above Jenny's corpse. Still clutched in her warm hand, was Katie's locket. Two months earlier, the "trophy" had been torn from her murdered daughter's neck.
By the Thames, a slathering dog was ripping open a blood splattered bin bag. Two vaporous figures hovered above it and shivered. It contained their gruesome remains.
Suddenly, there was a sickening thud and the screeching of breaks. Satan seared the "Monster's" sinful marble eyes and nearby a young woman smiled.
It had been a gruelling six months in the West End. Angel's secondment had been to guide the souls of Harry Sinclair's victims to HQ.
How ironic that Jenny's death had actually been an accident. That morning, the grief stricken mother was about to take her own life when the serial killer had come barging through her bathroom door, taunting her with Katie's pendant. She had grabbed it, fallen backwards into the bath, smashed her head and drowned. Still, they were together again, Angel thought happily as her pink wings unfurled beneath her dazzling white shirt.