Chapter 30

THIRTY

There was no sign of Cyril Gill, and he wasn’t answering his phone. Bob Cleary felt the perspiration of desperation pooling between his shoulder blades, soaking his shirt. He tore off his work jacket and paced the enclosed confines of the Portakabin. The walls dripped with condensation, and he felt every one of those drops like a hammer pounding against his skin. Gill was going to crucify him. What the hell was he to do? Deal with it. That’s what the boss would say. Yeah, that’s what he had to do.

He stuck his head outside and searched for a few lads he could trust. When he had three of them, he loaded up a jackhammer and tools on a trolley and directed them to follow him.

With four sets of lights beaming the way forward, he made it to the obstructing wall quicker than he had exited. He barked out orders and the men set to work. Bob watched them drilling. He was certain that the wall was not part of the original tunnel. Maybe that was why it hadn’t shown up on any drawings or plans. So what was it for? Why was it here?

As they made the opening larger, he put up his hand to halt the excavation. He shoved his head into the narrow aperture, which was illuminated dimly by the light on his helmet.

‘What the holy fuckin’ hell?’

‘What’s up, boss?’

One of the men shoved Bob sideways and he almost collapsed against the drenched tunnel wall.

‘Jesus. Oh my God. It’s bones,’ the man shouted.

Bob regained his balance and control of the situation. That was why he was the foreman, after all. ‘Hand me a proper torch,’ he said.

‘Should we drill away a bit more so you can get in?’

‘Give me a minute, for God’s sake.’ He shone the torch around the now exposed cell. Because that was what it looked like. It appeared to be man-made, and there was an opening on the far side. He drew his eyes back to the bones. They were clothed in no more than rags, but it was enough to make him realise he was staring at the remains of a human being. Male or female? He had no idea. Now he had a dilemma. Should he call the guards, or try to make contact with Mr Gill?

‘Boss, I think that’s a body.’

‘You don’t say, Einstein.’ Bob made a face at Tony Keegan. The man was a right dope. ‘Let me have a closer look. Oh yeah, you’re right. It is a body. How could I have missed that? Lucky you were here.’

He felt Tony step back, and a cloud of fetid air seemed to fill the void.

‘Been down here a while,’ another brainbox said.

‘When I want an opinion, I’ll ask for it, okay?’

‘Okay, boss. But I still think?—’

‘Shut up.’ Bob was sorry he hadn’t done the job himself. Without an audience. This would be around town before lunchtime. He had to act fast.

‘Right, you might not agree with this course of action, but I don’t want a word of this outside of us four. Got it?’ Some hope of that happening, he thought.

‘Got it,’ came the chorus of replies.

‘We’re going to forget about it until I decide what to do.’ He picked up the drill and directed the men back up the tunnel. This was going to be messy, and not just removing the bones. The consequences for the job. The aftermath.

The morning was so hectic, Lottie almost forgot about the seeds she’d picked up from her doorstep and the coin that had fallen from Louis’ jacket. She was sure the seeds had something to do with Bernie, but for the moment she was more concerned about Louise Gill and the coin. It was a definite link to the two murders, so why had it been placed in her grandson’s pocket? Forensics needed to examine it. She had to log it and do it by the book.

Perhaps the coin would help her convince Superintendent McMahon to provide a squad car to keep watch over her family. If he didn’t agree, she was going to organise it herself and feck the consequences. Her family were more important than her job.

Conor followed Tony around the side of the courthouse and took a cigarette from his friend’s shaking hands.

‘What are you on about?’ he said, and lit both cigarettes

‘I swear to God, it’s a real live dead body.’

‘You’re talking pure shite. Calm down.’ Conor took a drag and curled up in a fit of coughing. He should never have gone back on them. Tony’s fault. Again. ‘Where?’

‘Down there.’ Tony pointed to the entrance of the tunnel. Bob Cleary was walking around in circles, his phone clamped to his ear.

Conor took another drag. What had they found? ‘Long dead, then?’

‘It’s just bones. Some clothes falling off it in ribbons. Who the hell could it be?’

‘Someone dead, I presume.’ Conor tried to be flippant, but Tony’s words had sent a dagger of unease plunging through his chest. He threw down the cigarette and ground it out with his muddy boot. ‘What’s Cleary going to do about it? This could jeopardise our jobs, you know.’

Tony rounded on him. ‘Is that all you have to say? Some poor eejit got locked down in that tunnel and probably starved to death, and you’re worried about the job? You’re worse than Cleary.’ He made to walk away, but Conor caught the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him back.

‘If the guards come snooping around, they’re going to look no further than me. They’ve already brought me in for questioning about those two women found dead at Petit Lane. They’ll try to pin this on me too.’

‘Don’t be such a dick. You’ve been in prison for ten years. This has nothing to do with you.’

‘I know, but try telling that to my probation officer. It won’t look good. They want to pin every fecking death that happens in this town on me.’

‘You’re always thinking of yourself. Why don’t you get out of Ragmullin then? Go somewhere else.’

‘And what about my mother?’

‘She managed for the last ten years without you, didn’t she?’

Conor watched Tony move away from him, then stop and look back before continuing on.

His eye was drawn to Bob Cleary. He had to find out what was in the tunnel.