Page 90 of Final Betrayal

‘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.

---