Chapter 50

FIFTY

Lottie sat up all night waiting. But no news came through on the whereabouts of Katie and Chloe, or Bernie Kelly. Louis was restless, missing his mother. Sean locked himself in his room and she hadn’t the energy to argue with him. Rose eventually dozed on Katie’s bed, keeping one eye on the baby.

In the kitchen, Boyd made fresh coffee. They said nothing. There was nothing to say. Cynthia had succeeded in getting a thirty-second segment aired on the news last night. It played on a loop on the national news app.

Lottie had rung every one of the girls’ friends from Sean’s phone until it ran out of credit and she had to buy more online. It was as if her daughters had vanished into the proverbial thin air. Her heart was breaking into tiny pieces and she had no idea how to stop it disintegrating. Before Adam died she’d made him a promise that she would safeguard their children. And what had she done since? Constantly put them in harm’s way. All because of her damn job and her complex heritage. She tightened her hands into fists and scrunched them into her eyes.

Boyd placed two steaming mugs of coffee on the table and spooned in a copious amount of sugar. ‘Drink up. You need to sustain your energy. At least until Katie and Chloe are home.’

‘And when will that be, Boyd?’ She ran her fingers over the coarse wool of Chloe’s school sweater. Lifted it to her nose and inhaled her daughter’s scent.

He didn’t answer. Just sat there in silence, his bruised and cut face mirroring her own. When he put his arms around her, she rested her head on his shoulder, letting him soothe her with soft words. The beat of his heart was the only comfort she could endure.

The first rays of light broke through the dawn and the magpies fluttered their wings in the trees and cawed louder than the crows. Lottie stood, folded away Chloe’s sweater, poured the cold coffee down the sink and went to wake her mother.

Kirby arrived at work early on Friday morning. Since Gilly’s death, his sleep pattern was just one long night of wakefulness. He’d found his last clean shirt and bagged everything from the floor, with the intention of dropping it into the launderette later in the day.

He and Sam McKeown walked from the station to the accident area to witness the rescue work. Once there, it was clear that it was now a recovery mission. The lifting equipment had arrived on site and already the main stem of the fallen crane had been lifted onto the back of a trailer.

‘Tragic,’ McKeown said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Kirby turned up the collar of his jacket and zipped it to his neck. The air was cold and sharp. Inky clouds masked the sky. The site was already a mud bath; they could do without more rain.

Dipping awkwardly under the cordon tape, he grunted when McKeown easily swung his leg over it. Gilly had been telling him to lose weight, but he’d ignored her and she’d never seriously pressed him. But now he thought maybe he should take her ghost whispers to heart and do something about it.

Approaching Chief Fire Officer Cox, Kirby said, ‘Any more bodies recovered?’

The man tipped his hard hat. ‘Two. ID’d informally as Cyril Gill and Bob Cleary. We’re just about ready to remove that section of crane and see if anyone else was caught under it.’

‘Anything we can do?’ McKeown said.

‘Stay out of my way, if you don’t mind,’ Cox said. ‘And you’re not allowed on site without the correct safety gear.’

Kirby had spied a man in a hi-vis jacket working feverishly to one side of the courthouse, lifting and hauling bricks. He donned the hard hat handed to him by a fire officer and walked towards him.

‘How’s it going?’

The man lifted his head. He was panting with the exertion of his work. ‘Slowly. There’s a network of tunnels below here and I think someone might be buried.’

‘Why don’t you get some help?’

Standing upright, the man glared at Kirby. His face was framed by a swathe of black curls peeking out from the confines of his hard hat. ‘My workmates are dead, or haven’t you noticed that a big fucking crane collapsed on top of the site?’

‘Why don’t you wait until the recovery moves to this side?’ Kirby offered.

‘Would you ever piss off?’ The man shook his head and bent down to continue his labour.

‘What’s your name?’ Kirby said.

‘Who wants to know?’ The man kept working, his gloved hands tugging and pulling pieces of timber from the pile.

‘Detective Larry Kirby.’

He stalled his work, poised like a statue. Hands outstretched, back humped. Then slowly he stood upright and turned. His face was smeared with dirt, his eyes like dark bullets that could pierce metal.

‘So you’re the guy who’s been sniffing around my ex.’

Kirby leaned his head to one side, studying the man. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Now you’re going to tell me you don’t know her.’

Looking around for support, he saw McKeown still chatting with the chief fire officer. ‘Know who?’

The man sneered. ‘She’s a bit of all right, isn’t she?’

Kirby stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘Who are you?’

‘Tony Keegan. Megan Price is my ex-wife.’

Kirby took a step backwards. He felt the need to get away from Keegan. Something about his eyes.

‘There’s nothing going on, if you must know.’ Why was he trying to explain?

‘You’re welcome to her,’ Keegan said. ‘Keeps her off my back. Can I carry on doing what I was at before you interrupted me?’

‘Sure.’ Kirby watched the man return to his work. ‘Who do you think might be buried down there?’

‘My friend.’

‘Who might that be?’

Keegan kept working. ‘Does the name Conor Dowling ring any bells?’

It sure did. ‘Why do you think he’s under there?’

‘Because I can’t find him anywhere else. His mother was on to me this morning. Frantic. No one to make her breakfast. Stupid wagon. How did she manage for the last ten years?’

How indeed? Kirby made his way back over the rubble towards McKeown.

As they walked up the street, McKeown said, ‘If Dowling is buried under that lot, what will it mean for the murder investigations?’

‘At least we’ll be able to get his DNA and see if it matches any of the forensic material found on the bodies or at the crime scenes.’