Page 91 of Final Betrayal

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.

FORTY-FOUR

When she was eventually dragged free, Lottie found herself sitting in a scene of chaos. Her head thumped agonisingly and blood streamed from a cut somewhere on her skull. She felt shaken but didn’t think she was too badly hurt.

She looked around for Boyd. Where was he? A bolt of panic shot through her chest and she thought she was going to throw up. She tried to stand. Wobbled. Put out her hand to her rescuer for support. She had no idea who she was holding onto. She didn’t care. She had to find Boyd.

‘My partner. Where is he?’

The man pointed to the right. Boyd was lying on a makeshift stretcher of laths of timber while an ambulance driver desperately tried to get his vehicle onto the site.

‘What’s your name?’ She thought she vaguely recalled the man from her earlier visits.

‘Tony.’

‘Help me over to Detective Boyd, please.’ She leaned on his arm and carefully put one foot in front of the other. She noticed that the legs of her jeans were shredded.

‘Take it slowly,’ Tony said. ‘This place is like a bomb went off.’

‘Is that what happened?’

‘No. The crane collapsed. It’s as bad as a bomb, though.’

She looked around, pain shooting up her neck. She couldn’t see the security hut or the Portakabin. Both structures had been flattened. Buried beneath mangled steel, concrete and timber. Sirens screamed down the street. As she reached Boyd, she noticed three bodies lined up with yellow work jackets placed over their heads.

‘How many dead do you think, Tony?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll leave you here now and go help the others.’

‘Thanks.’

She knelt on the ground beside Boyd just as a paramedic arrived, having abandoned his vehicle outside the shattered hoarding. Crowds were beginning to gather. She should be coordinating the rescue. She should be doing something.

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