Page 15 of Her Last Walk Home

She knew Kirby was disappointed at being left behind, but Boyd was the more senior detective. Plus she wanted to spend time with him.

14

‘We have to close down the site next week, John,’ Patrick Curran said. Receiving no response, he nudged his colleague’s arm. ‘Are you even listening to me?’

John Morgan had heard what the site manager said, but he didn’t want to listen. When he’d secured the job on the building site, he hadn’t realised how much it would improve his sense of self-worth. Plus there was the bonus of getting the foreman job. He was proud of this achievement; perhaps for the first time in his life he felt he was someone important. Workers asked his advice and he readily dispensed it, relishing giving orders and watching in awe as the latest phase of the housing estate took shape under his commanding eye. He even had a notion that he was first in line for the site manager’s job when Patrick headed to Canada during the summer to spend time with his daughter.

‘What do you mean by close the site?’ At last he found his voice.

‘Have you been listening to me at all, lad?’ Patrick’s jowls wobbled as he slammed his fist on the rickety Formica table that served as a desk in their prefab office. ‘You think you’re the be-all-and-end-all here, don’t you? Well, bucko, let me tell you, nomatter how good a job you do, it counts for nothing in the end. It’s money that matters. Money.’

‘What are you talking about?’ John scratched his head, a bit lost. He’d always been paid on time and the wages were good. As far as he knew, there’d been no rumours of anything amiss.

Patrick shoved his hard hat back on his head and ran a grubby hand through his thinning hair. ‘In Cafferty’s last night I heard that the boss man has capital problems. Can’t get any more business loans, and those he has might be called in. Bottom line, we can’t pay for concrete or blocks or wages. And because of that, the site is closing at the end of next week.’

John leaned against the wall for support. ‘But if it’s just pub talk, how can you know for certain?’

‘I phoned the boss this morning and he confirmed it. I’m only passing on the bad news. I’ll have to tell the rest of the crew later. Just letting you know now.’

John shook his head frantically, a surge of fear and anger clashing under his ribcage. ‘You can’t be serious. Most of the houses in this phase have holding deposits. We have to finish them. And people are already living in phase one… We can’t just lock up and walk away from a half-finished estate.’ He felt his emotions turn to panic, which rose in his chest as quickly as a golf ball leaving a tee.

‘We have to. It’s probably only temporary, until the fat cats release more funds. Don’t worry. There’s plenty of work around.’

John gulped loudly, trying to dislodge the ball of panic. He didn’t like the thought of begging other builders for a job. He wanted to stay here. He’d believed GC Construction was a sound firm. He’d definitely not heard any rumblings about money troubles.

‘Are you serious?’ He just about got the words out.

Patrick nodded his head slowly. ‘Very serious. I’m sorry, lad. This place locks up next Friday, this day week, and I don’t knowwhen it’ll reopen.’ He stood, slapped John on the shoulder and went out into the chilly air.

With the draught entering through the open doorway, the gas heater fizzled and died. John felt an icicle filtering through his chest and freezing his heart.

He thumped the fragile wall with his fist and wasn’t surprised to see it wobble and the maps stuck there flutter. He had to talk to Gordon Collins. He couldn’t let his job disappear. No way. He needed to be on the site. He needed to be busy. He couldn’t go back to the way he was a year ago. He had invested too much of himself in this job; he couldn’t let it die. Gordon Collins would sort it. He always sorted it.

15

‘If I told you once, I’ll tell you again, sit the hell down.’

George Kenny squirmed at the sound of his own voice. He didn’t like shouting at Davy, but his sister hadn’t come home and he was worried. She was good with her two-year-old nephew. Today, Davy was covered in blister-type spots and unable to go to day care. Trust his partner, Niamh, to head off to Lanzarote on a winter holiday with her girlfriends and leave him to mind their son. And he’d missed his early-morning slot at the gym. As if to remind himself, he flexed his muscles and threw back his shoulders.

‘Shannon might sit with you for an hour later on.’ If she appeared home, that was. ‘Would you like that?’

Davy shrugged. He slapped the spoon into the cereal, then did it again. Milk splashed out over the table. The child went to turn, and his elbow caught the bowl, upending it onto the floor.

Counting silently, George said, ‘Go watch the telly.’

Davy didn’t need to be told twice.

Alone with the mess, George slumped onto the chair and tugged fluff balls from his black jogging pants with one hand while scrolling on his phone with the other. Why was his life such a fucking mess? Literally a mess.

Facebook had a grainy photo taken at a distance showing garda activity out by the cinema. He glanced at the comments. Most had simply put a broken-heart emoji. One post caught his eye. A woman had been found dead. He looked at the kitchen clock, which was always fifteen minutes fast.

Clutching the phone to his chest, he raced upstairs and barged into Shannon’s room. She had definitely stayed out all night. The phone felt like a dumb-bell in his hand, as if what he had read weighed it down. He sat on her bed and rang her number again. Not a sound. Battery dead? Phone lost? Left behind in a pub? He sent her a message and waited for the blue ticks to tell him she’d read it. Nothing.

He ran back down the stairs and paced up and down the hall, knocking into the coat stand, upending it. He hadn’t the energy to pick up the coats, so he kicked them with his bare feet into the corner and made his way to the messy kitchen. ‘Baby Shark’ blared from the sitting room. Davy could watch what he liked for now. Automatically George began clearing up the spilled cereal, keeping one eye on the clock and wondering if he should report his sister missing.

He should probably message her friend Jess in case she’d kipped on her couch. An unsettling shiver had taken hold of the little hairs on the back of his neck. No matter how drunk Shannon got, she usually let him know where she was staying. Usually, but not always, he reminded himself. However, he had a nauseating sense that something was terribly wrong.

He clutched his phone, unable to dislodge the increasing sense of foreboding.

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