Page 45 of Her Last Walk Home

‘Was that unusual?’

‘I’ve worked for Collins for nigh on ten years and he’s a good man. I’d never question anything he says or does.’

‘Is that why you didn’t question his recommendation?’

Patrick flicked ash to the floor and inhaled another drag. ‘John turned out to be an excellent worker. No complaints from me. He got promoted to foreman. Did a good job. Such a loss. Only a lad. It’s hard to believe he’s gone.’

‘Bit young to be a foreman, wasn’t he?’ Kirby recalled that John Morgan was twenty-six years old.

‘He had great experience in Australia. He worked in the mines there for two years. No job too hard for him.’

‘We need to locate his family.’

‘I think his parents were divorced and his mother lives abroad. Not sure where his dad is. He never talked much about his family.’

‘Girlfriend? Boyfriend?’

‘He seemed to be a bit of a loner.’

‘Unusual for a young man not to have any friends. Did he play sports? Hurling, football? Anything?’ Kirby was grasping at the proverbial, and Patrick knew it by the narrow eye he shot at him.

‘I know as much as you, Detective.’

‘Really?’

‘I shared this office with him. But he was all work. No personal talk out of him at all.’

‘This his desk?’ Kirby pointed to the small square table behind him.

‘He didn’t even have a drawer, so you won’t make any earth-shattering discoveries there.’

Kirby doused his cigar and went over to the desk. He flicked through the papers on top and searched around on the floor. Like Patrick said, no earth-shattering discovery.

‘He wasn’t a ghost,’ Kirby said.

‘Did you search his flat?’

‘Yes. The keys were in his pocket.’ Kirby recalled the sparsely furnished bedsit. They’d found nothing helpful on his phone either. ‘He must have had a life outside of work,’ he said, half to himself.

‘If he had, I didn’t know about it.’

‘What happened to your previous foreman?’

‘Retired.’

‘Were any of the workers here aggrieved when John was promoted?’

‘Not at all. No one wants the responsibility any more. You can talk to them.’

‘We are in the process of their interviews.’ Kirby scratched his scalp. No one on the site had anything useful to offer. John Morgan was definitely a fucking ghost.

37

As Kirby left the site office, a silver Range Rover pulled up at the chain-link fence. He watched as the door opened and two feet shod in what looked to him like designer wellingtons swung out onto the ground. The man who followed the feet was tall and slim, dressed in denim jeans with a green wax jacket swinging in the breeze over a checked shirt. A hand went to the black fedora on his head. Here was someone who wanted to impress, Kirby thought, or was at pains to portray someone he was not.

He approached Kirby, and after the detective showed his ID, the man removed his hat, revealing dark shiny hair cut as sharp as his sapphire-blue eyes. He was younger than Kirby had first thought. Early to mid fifties, perhaps. Tanned skin, but not leathery. Long fingers gripped the hat to his chest with one hand while he proffered the other.

‘Gordon Collins,’ he said, gripping Kirby’s hand firmly. ‘Welcome to my flagship project, about to go down the drain.’

---