‘Stop it,’ Lynch said.
‘I’m only—’
‘The film. Video or whatever. Pause it. Back it up. There. Do you see it?’
Kirby leaned closer to the fuzzy image. ‘What?’
‘All the stones between the sleepers are uniform-looking, wouldn’t you say?’
Kirby shrugged. He had no idea what the hell Lynch was talking about.
‘You must see it! Zoom in closer.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘Are you having me on?’ She stared at him.
He clicked the mouse a couple of times. The image grew grainier and fuzzier, but at last he noticed what his colleague had seen.
‘That’s not a stone,’ he said. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m not sure, but it could be …’ Lynch sat back in the chair, frowning.
‘Lynch?’
‘We need to get back to the railway now.’
‘What is it?’ he repeated.
She leaned in again, squinting. ‘Bloody hell, Kirby, it’s a fucking hand.’
Ten
The insurance business was not what Kevin O’Keeffe would have picked for himself, but life didn’t always turn out the way you planned. A2Z Insurance was located on a retail street, with a breaker’s yard to the rear. It was noisy both inside the building, with its open-plan desk formation, and outside with the crunch of machinery from the yard.
‘You’re late!’
‘Sorry.’ Kevin threw his laptop bag under his desk and picked up his headset. ‘I had a bit of a problem with Marianne again.’ He mimed raising his hand to his mouth as if he was drinking. His go-to excuse. Everyone in the office believed his wife was a roaring alcoholic, and this garnered sympathy for him from his colleagues, though he wondered if his boss, Shane Courtney, could see through the lies. Courtney was younger than him. Thirty-something, with an attitude tattooed into his prim mouth and steely eyes. Kevin felt irritation scratch his skin as his boss wended through the maze of desks towards him.
‘She needs to see someone. It’s impacting on your performance, Kevin. Do you think she might need to go into rehab?’
Biting the inside of his cheek so as not to lash out, Kevin nodded. ‘You’re probably right, but have you seen the cost of those places? Even on your salary I wouldn’t be able to afford it.’
‘You have no idea what my salary is, and anyway, it’s not me that needs drying out. You’ve had five lates this month. Unacceptable. Get your family life sorted or you’ll have no salary at all.’
‘Okay, okay … sorry.’
Moving back towards his office, Courtney said over his shoulder, ‘And you’re nowhere near reaching your targets this month. Crack on.’
As he drew an intake of breath in relief, Kevin noticed the hush around him. He felt his cheeks burn. Fuck Courtney. Why did he have to reprimand him in full view of the rest of the staff? He shook his head and entered his computer password.
‘Are you okay, Kevin?’
He looked up over the partition at Karen Tierney. She was in her twenties and pretty in a forgettable way, her fair hair bunched untidily on top of her head. The combination of blue jeans, red blouse and pale make-up made her look like the American flag. And sometimes, like today, she could be a nosy cow.
‘I’m fine,’ he muttered. ‘I need to get busy.’ He tapped the keyboard, hoping she got the message.
‘I saw Marianne in the supermarket at the weekend. She doesn’t look at all well. You really should do what Mr Courtney suggests.’
‘Karen?’
‘What?’
‘You should mind your own business.’
Her head disappeared behind the partition and Kevin got to work, wishing he was anywhere but stuck in this gossip-mongering hellhole. Once he had his computer up and running, he latched on the headset then checked the national news app. It usually gave him something for small talk when he had a difficult client on the end of the phone. The breaking news ticker tape drew his attention and he tapped it.
‘Holy shit,’ he said.
‘What’s wrong?’ Karen popped her head back over the partition, gripping the blue edge, nails studded with diamonds as fake as her eyelashes.
Waving her away, he continued to read about the torso found on the railway. His headset beeped with an incoming call. He transferred it to Karen. Best to keep her busy while he read the news.
The Bank, one of Ragmullin’s newer coffee shops, was quiet enough. Faye sat in a nook while Jeff ordered their drinks. He returned with two coffees and toasted croissants filled with cheese and ham. Her stomach lurched.
‘I couldn’t manage a thing.’
‘You need to eat something to get over the shock.’ Jeff tore open sugar sachets and emptied them into her steaming mug. ‘Drink up.’
‘Honestly, I can’t.’ Faye leaned back in the chair, which was too soft and too low. Her knees were higher than her belly button; she wanted to throw up. ‘What did you do with it?’
‘With what?’
She watched as he stuffed croissant into his mouth, melted cheese sticking to his bottom lip.
‘The skull,’ she whispered.
He blew on his coffee before gulping down a mouthful.
‘It could belong to a body. Where’s the rest of it?’
‘Please, Faye, forget about it.’
She leaned forward and lifted her own mug. Her stomach flipped again as the aroma of crushed coffee beans reached her nose. She stood. ‘I’m going to the loo.’
Black spots traced her line of vision and she felt Jeff’s hand reach out to steady her. She swatted him away and went to the dimly lit ladies’ room.
Leaning over the ceramic basin, she drew in deep breaths of air. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she recoiled in shock at her appearance. Beads of perspiration had burst out on her too-white skin. Her fair hair was matted and dusty; even her hands were still covered with a sheen of fine plaster particles. A ghost, she thought, I look like a bloody ghost.
With water pouring from the tap, she hastily squeezed soap from a reluctant dispenser and washed her hands, then shook the dust out of her hair. Holding a paper towel under the gurgling stream, she dabbed the soaked tissue across her forehead and cheeks.
After she’d peed and washed her hands again, she felt no better. The butterfly fluttering continued in her stomach and she wondered how she was going to cope with a little human being in her life when she couldn’t even deal with the fact that she’d probably found a dead one in the house she was trying to make into a home.
A dead one.
‘Really?’ she asked her reflection. Forget about it, Jeff had said, but Faye was not one to forget about things just because someone told her to. No way. She turned off the dripping tap and straightened her shoulders. She would find out if the skull was real or not. First, she had to discover where Jeff had put it.
As she opened the ladies’ room door, a shadow fell over her. She looked up.
‘Jeff?’
‘You were ages. I was worried. Are you okay? The baby?’
‘Will you stop fretting over me like I’m a sick puppy. I’ve had a shock; I’m fine now. You need to get back to work. Drop me to the house first. That wallpaper isn’t going to scrape itself off.’