The Governor’s House, a nineteenth-century building adjoining the new council offices, had once been part of the old town jail. The fact that it had access to the new offices was unknown to the gardaí currently cordoning off the main building.
In the depths of the house, dungeons had been preserved and were used as meeting rooms. Few staff ventured down there. Rumour had it that those awaiting death had spent their last hours within the walls; walls which reportedly pulsed with the breaths of condemned souls.
The history of the building was not lost on the men gathered in one of the catacomb dungeons. They stood in a circle like condemned prisoners awaiting a stay of execution.
‘This afternoon a member of the planning department, Susan Sullivan, was killed in suspicious circumstances,’ the official said. ‘It is regrettable. Terrible actually. For us, it will be a tense time. The gardaí will more than likely go through her files line by line. You need to be aware that your names may come up in the course of their investigation and it’s likely you will be interviewed.’
He paused, looking at the three men in front of him.
‘If our dealings become known, we could well be seen as murder suspects,’ he added.
‘At least her knowledge died with her,’ the developer said. ‘But the investigation will swing the spotlight on us.’
The banker visibly shivered. If anything, the temperatures had dropped since they arrived in the dungeon. The evening darkness outside seemed to penetrate through the walls.
‘There’s still James Brown to think of,’ the banker said.
‘Without Sullivan, it’s just his word against ours,’ the official said. ‘However, you’re right. I think we need to prepare contingency plans in light of potential garda interviews. We must maintain the appearance of working individually. They might not stumble over what we are doing.’ He rubbed his hands together, trying to instil heat into his fingers.
‘Don’t be fooled,’ said the developer. ‘They are very shrewd and we’ll need to be more so. If it’s Detective Inspector Lottie Parker leading the investigation, I can guarantee we’ll need to be careful.’
‘Do you know her?’ asked the banker.
‘I’ve heard of her. She solved that traveller murder a few years ago. She was threatened and intimidated but carried on. And she got her man. She’ll be like a dog with a bone once she gets her teeth into this one.’
The clergyman said nothing and the official knew this man’s calculating mind was internally analysing the situation.
They huddled deeper into their wool coats, eyeing each other.
‘Gentlemen, there are millions of euro involved. We have to be very vigilant. And we can’t meet here again. Be careful.’ The official closed the meeting and opened the dungeon door. He glanced outside. A single light illuminated the deserted private car park.
One by one, they left.
Each of them now wary of the other.
One of them could be a murderer.
Seven
James Brown parked his black Toyota Avensis in the courtyard outside his cottage, switched off the lights, took out the keys and, as the internal beam dimmed to darkness, he sat listening to the engine cool down.
Normally he loved coming home after work, especially in springtime. Home to the serenity of the countryside, renewing his sense of wellbeing, with the sounds from the trees and glimpses of the meadows stretching untouched behind his small garden. It instilled in him a freedom he rarely felt elsewhere. Not now though. This evening he was sad and angry. Sad for Susan and angry at the rebuff he had suffered from the man on the phone. He’d contacted him to see what, if anything, he knew about Susan’s death. But as he’d begun to speak, the man had hung up on him. Maybe he’d been the wrong person to call, after all.
He gripped the steering wheel with tight fists and banged his head against his hands. Susan was gone. He had to keep reminding himself. She’d rescued him from his demons all those years ago and now he had failed her.
He didn’t want to leave the security of his car. He felt safe in it and he thought of the many times he and Susan had cradled each other as children, she whispering in his ear to be strong, to stand tall and proud, and he whimpering like a lost kitten in her arms. He thought of how Susan, as a child, had shown him how to make his bed to the standards dictated, how to fold his clothes and pick fluff from the floor so that it was pristine. He was convinced that she had subsequently developed a thing about clean bedrooms. Who could blame her? He thought of all they had witnessed and never spoken about, and he cried silent tears for her, for her memory and for her goodness to him. Now, he had to stand on his own two feet and be strong. For Susan if nothing else.
At last, he willed himself out of the vehicle as the temperature dissolved to ice. Lifting his briefcase from the back seat he stepped on to the snow-blanketed courtyard and locked the car with a click. The old moon was getting ready for its new phase and its light appeared dimmer than he thought it should be.
A shadow fell before him and he squinted upwards expecting to see a cloud sheathing the moon. But there was no cloud in the frosty starlit sky. A figure stood tall in front of him, a ski mask covering the face, two dark eyes visible.
Jumping back against his car, James dropped his briefcase, then remembered his phone was inside it. Too late now.
‘What . . . what . . . do you want?’ His tongue tightened over his words, fear dripping down his face in droplets, along his nose, dribbling like snot. What could he do? He couldn’t think clearly.
‘You could not stop interfering,’ the man was saying, his voice a low, menacing drone.
James swung his head from side to side wondering why he hadn’t noticed the car when he’d pulled up. He now glimpsed a metallic glint behind the oak tree to his right. Who was this man? How had he known he could shield his car over there?
‘What? Why?’ James whispered, scuffing his feet on the icy snow and staring up at the huge figure looming in front of him. The flashlight in the gloved hand blinded him.
‘You and your friend made nuisances of yourselves. Not for the first time.’
‘My friend?’ James asked, but he knew the man meant Susan.
The man laughed, grabbed him by the elbow and propelled him along the path. James felt a suffocating ball gathering mucus in his throat and his breathing quickened as the sky clouded and snow began to fall in round thick lumps.
‘What do you want?’ James’ fear quickly turned to terror, his brain constricting like a snail into its shell. He had to think fast. He needed to get control of the situation. He could call out for help, if only his voice wasn’t lost somewhere deep in his chest. And he knew no one would hear him. There wasn’t another house within two miles of his cottage.