Page 63 of Final Betrayal

‘I wasn’t being sarcastic.’

She forced away another retort and watched eagerly as he hunkered down beside the body nearest to him. Louise Gill. Her skin bristled with panic. She’d have to deliver the news to Cyril Gill and his wife.

‘One,’ McGlynn said, holding up a silver disc. He dropped it into an evidence bag, sealed it and wrote the details with a marker.

‘Any more?’ Lottie scrunched up her hands, nails piercing her skin. They now had four bodies. This was the work of a serial killer. But what did the coins mean?

‘You have no patience whatsoever.’ But he continued with his work and produced a second coin, and then a third.

‘Fuck!’ Lottie exclaimed. ‘What is this all about?’

‘That’s your job to figure out.’

‘How long have they been dead?’

McGlynn paused, hands in the air, one holding a pair of tweezers, the other with an evidence bag. ‘Can’t you go do something else and come back in an hour. If you keep talking, I won’t get anywhere.’

‘A ballpark time, then?’

He shook his head but put down his tools and carefully examined Louise Gill’s body. When he took out a thermometer, Lottie turned away and waited.

‘Rigor, and body temp … so no longer than twelve hours.’

‘Okay, thanks. Let me know if you find any more coins, and send in their phones if they’re here too. And anything else?—’

‘I know. I know. Now can you feck off and let me work?’

THIRTY-TWO

The tunnel was dark and damp. Conor had been down in some of the other tunnels over the last two weeks as they dug the supports for the lift shaft in the new section of the courthouse, but he hadn’t been in this one. He walked with trepidation in each step. When Cleary had disappeared into the office he’d made his move, not sure why he was even doing it. But he had to see for himself.

The lamp on his hard hat cast eerie shadows ahead of him, and a few times he felt as though he wasn’t alone. Shrugging off shivers, he sped up. He had to be quick before Gill arrived.

He stopped abruptly when the hole in the wall appeared before him. His heart plummeted right down into the soles of his boots. Shit.

Taking off his hat, he angled it into the hole and stuck his head in after it. His gaze landed on the body. He tried to keep the light from jigging around, but his hand was shaking so badly he almost dropped the hat. His breath caught in the back of his throat and he thought his heart was going to break out through his chest. The palpitations thumped so loudly in his ears, he felt he might go deaf.

Once he’d seen all he needed to see, he extracted his arm, slapped his hat back on his head and leaned against the damp wall, trying to think. But his thoughts were a jumble of letters he was unable to fuse into words.

Slowly he made his way back along the tunnel, his mind in free fall.

This discovery might just jeopardise everything.

Lottie found Boyd outside the apartment, organising door-to-door inquiries with a team of uniforms.

‘We need to talk to Richard Whyte,’ she said, striding across the road to the gated enclosure.

‘But Cyril Gill and his wife have to be informed,’ he protested. She kept walking. ‘Lottie! Wait up.’

She slowed her march until he was in step with her, then sped up again. The gate was code-locked, with an intercom. She began pressing buttons.

‘You’ll have them calling the station.’ He pulled her hand away. ‘Look there. Read the names. That’s Whyte’s intercom.’ He pressed the button, but the gate was already sliding to one side.

‘I can’t remember which house it is,’ Lottie said, looking around the immaculately manicured estate.

‘The door with the black wreath might give you a clue.’

‘Smart-arse.’

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