Chapter 43

FORTY-THREE

Tony lounged against the wall at the side of the courthouse. He saw Bob Cleary haul Conor into the office and reckoned he was going to be fired. In a way, he was glad. Conor was putting the shits up him and he didn’t like it. Waiting for Cleary to return before continuing with his work, he wondered if a decision had been made about the body in the tunnel. If it was up to him, he’d go along with Conor’s suggestion to ignore it so that they could get on with the job.

He doused his cigarette in a puddle and looked up, surprised to see Conor walking towards him.

‘What did the boss want?’ he said.

‘Nothing to do with you.’

‘We better get to work so, or the two of us will get the sack.’ Tony marched off towards the site, where bricks were waiting to be hauled as the crane creaked overhead. He was glad it wasn’t windy. ‘Don’t trust those bastards.’

‘What bastards?’

‘The cranes. Too high up, and only one man operating it. What would happen if he suddenly lost his rag and decided to drop a ton of concrete slabs down on top of us?’

‘We’d be dead so we wouldn’t give a shit.’

Tony laughed.

‘What you laughing at?’ Conor said.

‘Just thought that was funny.’

‘You’re as weird as fuck. One minute you think the sky is going to fall in on top of you, and the next you’re laughing to yourself. You going mad or what, Chicken Licken?’

They reached the area where they were due to work today and Tony turned to reply, but Conor was gone. He looked all around, but there was no sign of him. He glanced at the crane again as it swung around in the morning breeze, its cargo of wooden slats sliding precariously. It looked anything but safe.

Without speaking to McMahon to request additional resources, because she knew he’d say he’d already given her Sam McKeown, Lottie grabbed her keys and headed for the yard. Boyd came down the stairs behind her.

‘What’s wrong with you this morning?’ he said.

‘I’m tired, that’s all.’ She unlocked her car and slid into the driver’s seat.

‘Want me to drive?’

‘Does it look like it?’

He jumped in beside her. ‘It’s Bernie Kelly, isn’t it?’

Lottie nodded. ‘She’s around somewhere and it’s eating me up that I don’t know where.’

‘Any word from Leo Belfield?’

‘Nope. And I don’t want him anywhere near me or I’ll throttle him.’ She shifted gears and sped out of the yard and down Main Street.

‘Where are we headed?’

‘Thought I’d have that word with Conor Dowling’s mother.’ She slowed at the traffic lights and swung into the lane to turn right for Gaol Street.

‘Don’t think he lives down this way.’

‘Want to make sure he’s at work first.’

‘Before you harass his mother?’

‘Yeah, something like that.’

The lights turned green and she turned right and drove to the building site. Ducky Reilly saluted her and waved her through the gate. She parked behind Cyril Gill’s Mercedes.

‘Looks like Mr Gill hasn’t taken compassionate leave.’

‘Not a crime,’ Boyd said.

‘Did I say it was?’

‘You implied it.’

‘Boyd, would you ever lighten up?’ She stepped out of the car. The Portakabin door opened. She recognised the foreman from yesterday. Carey? Cleary?

‘Good morning, Mr …’

‘Bob Cleary,’ he said. ‘Can I help you, Inspector?’

‘I was wondering if Conor Dowling is at work today.’

‘It was a close thing with Mr Gill, but he’s keeping him on. To keep an eye on him, he says.’

‘Without interfering with my investigation, I hope.’ Lottie tried to keep the preaching tone to a minimum.

‘Of course.’

‘Where is Dowling at the moment?’

Cleary looked around as if he hadn’t a clue. ‘He’s here somewhere.’

‘Isn’t it your job to know where your employees are?’

‘We have six gangs working. I think I put him on the tunnels. We have to pile them before the lift shaft goes in. Do you want me to fetch him for you?’

As he uttered the last word and turned away, an almighty bang reverberated around the site. Lottie instinctively ducked as timber, slates and bricks rained down. She felt Boyd’s body fall on top of hers as he shoved her to the ground. Her face hit the mud and she swallowed dirt. Attempting to turn, she found she was unable to move, such was the dead weight on top of her. Darkness clouded everything.

‘Boyd?’ Her voice was hoarse. A swirl of dust caught in her nostrils and she gagged. She could not see a thing through the smog. Then voices rang out. Shouts. A scuffle of footsteps.

She yelled, ‘Here!’

Still no movement from Boyd. His weight kept her flattened to the ground. She stilled herself. Listening for a heartbeat. Trying to feel any movement from him. But he was silent and motionless.

She tried to force air into her lungs. Mud caught between her lips, and then she tasted it. Blood. She didn’t know if it was hers or Boyd’s. She had to move. With an effort, she turned her head sideways and saw that they were both pinned beneath slabs of timber. Dust and mud and dirt rose into her face and a shard of light appeared as someone pulled debris free.

Dear God in heaven, she prayed, I know I don’t always trust you and hardly believe in you, but I’m asking you, let Boyd be okay.

The voices grew louder.

‘I have them. Two of them,’ came the shout from above.

‘Work carefully. Where’s Ducky? Has anyone seen Ducky?’

‘Do the job you’re at. I’ll search for him.’

‘And the boss. He was inside.’

‘If he was, he’s mincemeat now.’

Hands worked fiercely to free them. Lottie let her head sink back to the ground. A dark swell of cloud ensnared her mind, and she drifted away.

Conor had slid down into the tunnel, lowered his head and entered the darkness. The lamp on his hard hat flickered on and off. He had to work fast. He felt his way along, his fingers brushing over fungus and dank water, and reached the wall that Cleary had found. He needed more light. Remembering the cigarette lighter, he flashed it in through the makeshift gap. The body was still there. He had to be sure.

He eased himself through the hole and fell with a thud on the ground. Careful not to disturb the body, he edged around it. He had a job to do.

‘Ouch!’ He dropped the lighter as it burned his finger.

Scrabbling around on the ground, he found it. Lit it again. Leaned in towards the bones and scrutinised the skeleton from the top of the cranium down over the eyeless skull. His gaze lingered on the scraps of clothing. A gulp of saliva lodged in his throat and he fought the urge to throw up.

A loud noise somewhere above his head caused him to pause. What if someone closed up the opening? What if he was trapped down here for ever? For once, he didn’t really care. Then the walls of the tunnel shuddered. Damp earth fell on top of his head. He swiped it away, but still more pelted down on top of him. A moment of claustrophobia squeezed his chest tightly. He couldn’t breathe. As the dirt hit the ground and rose in a cloud, he felt his throat close over and he began to choke. Stepping backwards, he came up against the wall. He was going to die here. He coughed. Tried to get a glob of mucus up and out, but the mustiness was clogging his airways.

Threading his hands along the brickwork, he found the hole and squeezed his body through, with no care for anything that he might have left behind. He had to save himself.

Kirby was pissed off. Watching CCTV was the most boring thing on earth. He’d been scrunched into a tiny cubicle with Sam McKeown for the last hour and he was getting double vision. The Petit Lane tapes had thrown up nothing. The nightclub footage had been scrutinised and verified. That left the discs and tapes they’d been able to secure from various businesses, and of course their own traffic cams. He’d discovered that the apartment complex where Cristina Lee lived had no working cameras.

He stood. ‘I’m going for a smoke.’

‘Don’t be long,’ Sam said. ‘There are hours of this stuff to get through yet.’

Kirby could have pointed out that he was in charge and would do what he liked, but he couldn’t be bothered. Then he realised that he and McKeown were on the same grade. He left before his mouth got him into trouble.

As he passed his desk, he tapped his keyboard and checked for new reports. Nothing. He put the computer into sleep mode and headed outside.

He lit up a cigar and took a long, deep drag. What else had he to do? Oh yes. Contact McGlynn about the coins. He tried ringing him on his mobile, but got no answer. He left a message. Urgent, he said. Of course McGlynn knew everything was urgent.

The Nokia bothered him. All the victims had fancy iPhones or Samsungs. Why the need for an old-fashioned brick? Why take out the SIM card if you were hiding the phone? It didn’t make sense, and the more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that the phone actually belonged to Richard Whyte. Why then did he keep it hidden?

As he made up his mind to find out, Garda Tom Thornton stuck his head out the door.

‘Get your skates on, Kirby. We have an emergency at the courthouse.’

You know you’re right when everyone is looking for you. You’ve done something that makes them sit up and take notice. But you still have to remain hidden from view. Unseen and unheard. I have ways of making myself seen and heard. The steel is cold beneath my fingers as I slide it into the machine. It’s a bit antiquated but it was all I could get my hands on. It will do. I have one more to deliver. Because I’m not sure the first one was found. It was a risk sliding it into the kid’s pocket while his mother was dressing, but I saw the chance and I took it.

I will do this last one and then I’m finished. I don’t care if they find me once I make my mark.

I listen to the soft whirr of the machine and let the lever drop. And another perfect disc drops onto my lap.

This is for your family, Lottie Parker.