‘Boyd, you fecking idiot. Are you okay?’
He opened his eyes and smiled crookedly. A line of stitches ran from the corner of his bottom lip diagonally to his chin. ‘You look a little worse for wear yourself,’ he said, his voice a coarse whisper.
‘Do I sound as weird as you?’ The smoke and dust had torn shreds from her throat.
‘Yeah.’ He patted the edge of the bed. ‘Sit.’
Perched on the bed, she took his hand in hers. ‘I thought you were dead.’
‘Hard to kill a bad thing.’
‘Suppose so.’ She glanced at the machinery surrounding the bed. ‘What’s all the monitors for?’
‘Monitoring?’
‘Smart-arse. What did the doctor say?’
‘I can go home in an hour.’
‘Liar.’
‘No, honestly. Got the back of my head stitched up. Might have concussion, but that doesn’t worry me. Bruising on my spine, but no broken bones.’
‘Did you have an X-ray?’
‘Yes. I’m grand. I’m all right.’
‘An MRI? Surely they have to do an MRI? I’m creased with pain but you took the full weight of the rubble. You’re not leaving here until you’re fully checked out. Got it?’ She knew there was no MRI equipment in Ragmullin Hospital, so Boyd would have to be transported to Tullamore. She would insist on it.
He tried to lean up on the pillows, but winced and sank back down. ‘I feel at a disadvantage not being able to look you in the eye.’
‘That’s the way it should be.’ She smiled softly.
‘What happened, Lottie?’
‘The crane collapsed. We were lucky. I don’t think Cyril Gill or his foreman Bob Cleary were as fortunate. The Portakabin was flattened. Their bodies haven’t been located yet as far as I know. If we’d been standing a few feet to our left, we wouldn’t be here.’
‘Mmm. We do seem to spend a lot of time in hospitals, don’t we?’
‘You know what I mean.’ She tried to be angry with his flippancy, but she only felt concern as she patted his hand.
He said, ‘First the daughter and now the father. Do you think he was a target?’
‘What? You mean the Gills? Are you saying it might not have been an accident?’ The thought hadn’t crossed her mind.
‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’
‘A bit extreme. All that collateral damage.’ But maybe Boyd had a point. ‘There’ll be a full-scale inquiry into the incident. The security cabin is gone too. I hope that young lad Ducky Reilly wasn’t in there, but …’
‘It’s likely he was.’
‘Yes.’
‘Lottie, I need to get out. We’re stretched for resources as it is. Talk to a doctor. Tell him I’ll come back for the tests tomorrow.’
‘So you do have to have more tests. You really are a liar.’
‘Please?’ Boyd’s fingers tightened around hers.
She knew she couldn’t put him at risk. If he could lie, so could she.
‘Sit tight. I’ll see what I can do.’ She leaned over, flinching with the pain in her neck, and let her lips rest softly on his good cheek. He moved his head and their lips touched.
‘Thanks.’ He smiled crookedly again. ‘All it took was a ton of mangled steel on my back to soften your heart.’
‘Who said it’s softened?’ She ran a finger along his forehead and picked grains of sand from his hair. ‘Boyd?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t ever die on me. I don’t think I could live without you. You know, without you having my back.’
‘Talk to a doctor. Get me out of here.’
‘I’ll see what they say. Get some rest.’
‘You too.’
She smiled and walked to the door.
‘Lottie?’
She turned to him.
‘I love you.’
She bit her lip. She wanted to say the words, wanted to reassure him that her heart was bursting, but she couldn’t. She opened the door and left.
* * *
When he reached the wall, Conor knew he had to crawl back in with the skeleton to get out the other side. He was leaving pieces of himself everywhere. Evidence that could be used against him. But he had a legitimate reason for being here. He’d been underground when something had happened up on the site, trapping him below. This was his only way out. He concocted answers in his head to possible questions that might be posed at a later date, but all that was dependent on him escaping and someone asking where he had been. Or maybe no one was left to ask the questions.
Keeping his eyes away from the body, he crept through the opening behind it and entered the darkness of a tunnel he prayed would lead up and out, otherwise he was doomed. Don’t go there, he warned his inner self. No use thinking about what ifs.
There was less water here. That was a positive. He kept walking, head bent, the thin, flickering light from his hard hat guiding him. He rounded a winding corner and came to a junction. Two tunnels. One right, one left. He tried to envisage where he was in relation to the lie of the land above him. But his sense of direction had deserted him. He remembered someone once telling him, ‘When in doubt, go right.’ When he had walked twenty paces, he wondered if the saying was actually ‘go left’.
His path began to slope upwards. He clambered up on hands and knees. And then the light went out on his hat, plunging him into darkness, and he fell.
* * *
The sky was filled with ominous blackness, the horizon washy and watery. Birds nestled tightly on bare branches shielded by the odd remaining leaf. It wasn’t cold. Small mercies and all that, Kirby thought as he pressed his finger on Megan’s doorbell.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was your day off,’ he said, standing awkwardly on the doorstep. Suddenly it didn’t seem like the good idea it had done an hour ago. Superintendent McMahon had told him to get some rest and come back to the courthouse site in two hours. He’d sat in the station for half an hour going over logistics with McKeown before he realised he needed to talk to someone not involved in the disaster.
‘They told me in the pharmacy. When I called in there to see you. But you weren’t there. Oh shit, I don’t know what I’m saying.’ He ran his hand through his hair.
She smiled then, a weak one, but he caught it before her face slipped back into serious mode. ‘I was just going to have a lie-down. The house is a mess. I can’t ask you in.’
‘Oh God, no. I didn’t mean that … I wasn’t asking to come in or anything. Just dropped round. I’ll leave. Sorry to disturb you.’ He walked away. Down the footpath, under the trees. Had his hand on the car door when she called out.
‘Give me half an hour. I can meet you in town for a drink if you want?’
‘Honestly, Megan, it’s okay. I have work to do. I’m just on a break and felt like a chat and a coffee.’
‘Half an hour. Cafferty’s?’
‘The street’s cordoned off because of the crane collapsing. The whole town is blocked off. Maybe the Parkland Hotel?’
‘Order an Irish coffee for me. I’ll try to be there in twenty minutes.’
As Kirby drove to the hotel, he felt like smiling, but he was too tired and his heart was broken. Even though he wanted nothing further from Megan – didn’t want to lead her on or anything – he really had no one else to talk to.
* * *
Lottie discharged herself with a quick flourish on a flimsy form and told the doctor to make sure Boyd got all the tests required to ensure he had no broken bones or internal injuries. She wanted him back at work, but she needed him healthy. In the main reception area she looked around hoping to find Kirby, McKeown or McMahon. Any garda would do. She needed information and a lift. But the only person who caught her eye was Cynthia Rhodes.
‘Good God, Inspector, you look a fright.’
‘Thanks, Cynthia. That makes me feel a whole lot better.’ She looked out over the smaller woman’s head. Not a single garda around. ‘Got a cigarette?’
&n
bsp; ‘Didn’t know you smoked,’ Cynthia said.
‘I don’t. Not really. But I feel like having one now.’
‘Well I don’t have any, but I’m sure you could bum one off someone outside. Come on. I’ll link you.’
‘I’m not that bad. I can walk.’
‘All the same, you look like a ghost beneath that sheen of sand or cement or whatever it is glued to your face.’
Lottie put up a hand and it came away grey with dust.
Outside, she waited while Cynthia smooth-talked a woman in a dressing gown who was smoking behind a pillar. The entire campus was no smoking. But everyone knew rules were made to be broken. Cynthia returned with a lit cigarette and handed it over.
‘Make sure you don’t faint on me,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’
‘Want to provide a comment?’
‘Want to give me a lift back to the station?’
‘No. But I will give you a lift home.’
‘I have to see what needs to be done at the station first.’ The nicotine was making her nauseous. She rested her back against the pillar and watched as a third ambulance joined two others already outside the entrance to A&E. Two trolley stretchers were rolled out and swiftly wheeled inside.
‘There’s at least ten dead, I heard,’ Cynthia said. ‘Many more injured. Some still buried beneath the rubble. So the death toll could be higher. This is a major news story, Inspector.’
‘Why aren’t you down at the courthouse then? That’s where the story is.’
‘I’ve done all I can there. I got a quote from your superintendent and the chief fire officer. One from you would be great, seeing as you were caught up in the middle of it all.’
‘No comment.’
‘I’m sick of that line.’
Lottie ground the cigarette out under her boot and realised how torn and bloody her clothes were. ‘Maybe I will take that lift home if the offer still stands.’
Cynthia straightened her spectacles. ‘Okay. But I still want a quote.’
‘How about this – I feel like shit and I need a shower?’
* * *
This hotel was not one of his usual haunts. Kirby liked to be surrounded by familiar things and people. Familiarity suited him. Most of the time. He supposed he was a little old-fashioned like that. The ambience here was too modern, too clean, too comfortable. And too noisy. Give me Cafferty’s any day, he thought as he ordered a pint of Guinness and added a shot of whiskey.
When he had downed the whiskey and paid for the drinks, he headed to a corner booth with a direct line of sight to the door. Then he realised there were two entrances. By the time Megan arrived, he’d have a crick in his neck.
She walked in twenty minutes later on the dot. He rose clumsily to take her coat.
‘I’ll keep it on, if you don’t mind. It’s a bit chilly.’ She kept a hand on the buttoned-up tweed.
Kirby noticed that she had no handbag. She looked like she was about to run out on him. He felt nervous, though he had no reason to be.
‘What will you have to drink?’ he said.
‘I told you to order me an Irish coffee.’
He’d forgotten. He felt the heat rise up his cheeks and he almost stumbled down the two steps from the booth. Her tone had been sharp, and suddenly he wished he hadn’t sought her out. It was calmness he needed after the madness of the day’s events. He was certain Megan was not going to provide it, but he ordered the drink anyway.
Sitting on the chair opposite her, he felt overweight and ugly. His hair needed cutting and his clothes needed changing, but on the other hand, she looked as haggard as he did.
‘What was your day off like?’ Small talk didn’t come easy any more. He’d have to learn to socialise again.
‘Pretty shit, to tell you the truth,’ she said. ‘I heard about the accident. Terrible altogether.’
‘My boss and a colleague were caught up in it. They’re both in hospital.’
‘Oh God. That’s awful. Will they be okay?’
‘I don’t know. I have to check.’ Kirby felt as if he was all over the place. Maybe now wasn’t the time to take out his phone to call his boss.
‘Who are they?’ Megan said.
‘My inspector, Lottie Parker, and Sergeant Mark Boyd. They’re two of the good guys.’
‘Are you one of the bad ones?’
Her voice was hard, and Kirby wondered why he’d ever thought her company would be good for him. As her drink arrived, he was deciding how he could escape.
‘I’m whatever people want me to be,’ he said. ‘I don’t really care. I do my job to the best of my ability.’
‘I didn’t mean to imply you were not one of the best. Sorry. I’m just a little down since Amy’s death, and not great company at the moment. Maybe I should leave.’
‘Not at all. I think I’m a bit shook up myself after seeing the carnage at the courthouse.’ His pint tasted sour, or maybe it was just the bile in his stomach. She had gulped down half of her drink already.
‘On the news, they said there may be more bodies buried beneath the rubble. Something about tunnels under the courthouse that might have caused the crane to collapse. Is that true?’
‘About the bodies or the tunnels?’
‘Both, I suppose.’
‘There are a number of dead,’ he said. ‘A long time ago I heard that there’s a network of tunnels under the whole town. Goes back to medieval days. This is a garrison town, and in the 1800s it housed a jail for the midlands. It’s possible the tunnels were used to transport prisoners from the jail to the courthouse.’
‘Maybe some people escaped the accident that way. You know, if they got trapped beneath the rubble they might have found their way out through the tunnels.’
‘Once the rescue operation is complete, we’ll know the full toll of casualties.’
‘There’s a rumour that Cyril Gill might be one of the dead. Such a tragedy for that family, what with his daughter’s murder also.’
‘How is Richard Whyte holding up?’ Kirby remembered he had to approach the man to see if he could search for the phone’s SIM card.
‘I haven’t seen him. He hasn’t been into the pharmacy since …’ She took another mouthful of her Irish coffee. ‘Since Amy was found murdered.’
‘Who’s standing in for you today then?’
‘I’m entitled to my day off,’ she said haughtily.
‘Sorry, Megan, I was only asking.’
‘We have a locum pharmacist. He’s in today.’ She drained her mug and stood. ‘I’d better go. I’ve things to do. Hope your colleagues will be all right.’
He got up to let her pass, and she was gone before he sat back down again.
Richard Whyte opened the door and led Kirby inside.
‘Would you like a coffee? Or a drink? I’ve the best Irish whiskey.’
‘Whiskey sounds good.’ Kirby slid onto a high stool at the breakfast bar as Whyte opened a cupboard and returned with two glasses. The bottle was already open on the counter.
‘Forgive me, I’m a little drunk,’ Whyte said, and sat beside Kirby.
‘Sorry about your daughter.’
‘Life’s a bitch.’
‘Isn’t it just.’
Both men drained their whiskey and Whyte poured two more.
‘Do you have any update on who killed Amy?’
‘Not yet. But we’re working flat out. That is, we were, until the accident at the courthouse.’
‘Saw that on the news. I’ve been trying to call Cyril. No answer. I doubt he was on site, though, what with Louise and all …’
‘He’s not among the dead so far. But we believe there are some people still buried under the rubble.’ Kirby twisted around on the stool so that he could get a look at Whyte. The man was staring into the molten gold swimming in the bottom of his crystal glass. ‘There’s something I have to ask you.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘What’s with the spare mobile phone, the one we foun
d hidden here? It’s not Cristina’s or Amy’s, is it?’
‘I don’t know whose it is.’
‘It’s not a model favoured by young people. All touch screens nowadays. Are you sure it’s not yours?’
Kirby watched Richard’s face intently as he struggled with what he should say.
‘My girl is dead. Cyril’s girl is dead. Doesn’t matter now, I suppose.’
‘The phone was yours?’
‘Cyril’s idea.’
Blinking hard, Kirby let that sink in. The boss had been sure it was something to do with Amy and Louise or even Cristina.
‘Tell me about it.’
Forty-Six
In the end, Lottie persuaded Cynthia to drop her off at the station before sending her packing with a quote about sympathy for the victims of the accident and their families. She assumed Cynthia had already received that line from McMahon, but much to her relief, the reporter didn’t press for anything further.
After passing through a relatively calm reception area, she made her way gingerly up the stairs to her office. It was so quiet it was almost silent. Everyone must be at the scene of the accident.
Without having to sniff under her arms, she knew she smelled rotten and should have gone home first, but she was too wound up on adrenaline to slow down. She knocked on McMahon’s office door and stuck her head around it without waiting for an answer. Empty. She headed into the incident room, which was also empty, and walked up to the boards.
Four young women. All dead. And now at least ten others dead as the result of an accident. Boyd’s words stuck in her brain. Was it really an accident, or could it have been an orchestrated plan to take out Cyril Gill? Surely there were other means.
Her eyes rested on the photograph of Conor Dowling from the old case file. He looked young and vulnerable. An image of what he looked like now sprung to her mind. He’d hardened in prison, but she thought he’d retained his youthful vulnerability beneath his hostile exterior. Could he have murdered the four young women in revenge? She traced a finger over his fathomless eyes. Where was he when the crane collapsed? Could he be among the dead? She’d ask Kirby to find out. She walked to the general office. No sign of him or anyone else.
Final Betrayal Page 22
