Page 95 of Final Betrayal

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?’

‘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.’

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