Gallows Lane (Inspector Devlin Mystery 2) by Brian McGilloway Read Free Book Online

number I had given him. Unable to get through to me, he had hunted out the footage of the news report on the find on his land; his wife had recorded it because he was interviewed and she wanted to show her sister, he claimed. In reality, Paddy’s vanity was well known; he probably kept scrapbooks of all his media appearances.
    He noticed, as he watched the report, that, in the display of drugs from his find, the E-tabs were not included. He checked over the news cuttings his wife had saved – again, no mention of E-tabs. The bag was, he argued, too distinctive for him to have mistaken, or forgotten. It was definitely there, on his land, he said. He just thought it was a bit odd, he said. Thought he should let me know.
    I lied, and told him that we didn’t always include every item in a display; that there was probably some simple explanation for it and that I would look into it.
    Before I left, I remembered the CCTV footage of the previous night. ‘This is going to sound kind of stupid, Paddy, but how many of your workers would you call muscly, with tattoos?’
    ‘You’re on a building site, Ben. I’d say that just about covers most of the men here. And some of the women.’
    As I returned to the car, I reflected on the suspicions I had felt on the day of the second find, on Gallows Lane, with all the emptiness that such vindication brings.
    Colhoun was making himself and Patterson a mug of coffee each in the station’s kitchenette when I arrived back. His eyelids were hooded, his eyes bloodshot. The celebration had clearly run into a second day for his breath stank of the previous evening’s drinking. In fact, the whole station was subdued this morning, Patterson in particular slumped over the keyboard of his computer where he had been surfing the Net.
    As I came in, Colhoun was studying a pornographic cartoon his partner had tacked on to the fridge. He had his head tilted sideways, clearly attempting to unravel, among all the limbs, who was doing what to whom. He jumped when I said good morning, and blushed brightly at having been caught taking an illicit peak.
    ‘Ben, I … I didn’t see you,’ he stammered, heaping spoonfuls of sugar into one of the mugs.
    ‘So I see. How’re things, Hugh? Have a good night?’
    ‘Aye, it was great, Ben, great. You know how it is; you have to let the hair down sometimes,’ he said, affably.
    ‘You looked well on TV, Hugh – you and Harry both.’
    ‘Shine up well. The missus made me buy a new suit, you know.’ Colhoun smiled and blinked as if staring into direct light. His expression was gormless, lacking deceit, yet his eyes shifted nervously. I liked Hugh Colhoun an awful lot but also knew that he was the weaker link in the partnership with Patterson.
    ‘Whose idea was it to split the first find, Hugh?’ I asked, smiling with a warmth and camaraderie which, in this instance, I did not feel. His blush from earlier drained almost spontaneously and he licked his lips several times, glancing beyond me to where I hoped Patterson was still slumped, recovering from his night’s exertions.
    ‘What? What do you mean, Ben?’ He laughed unconvincingly, then turned towards his mugs again, struggling to unscrew the cap from the instant coffee jar.
    ‘I know those E-tabs you found on Webb’s land came from the batch last month. Paddy Hannon phoned me and told me as much. He recognized them, Hugh. That was a silly move; the one thing he’d recognize. Whose idea was it, Hugh? Harry’s?’
    ‘Harry’s what?’ Patterson asked, stepping close enough behind me that I could smell the beer off his breath, and placing his hand on the back of my neck. His thick, calloused fingers tightened against the skin. ‘Harry’s what, Devlin?’
    ‘Ben was just asking about the find, Harry. That was all. Congratulating us, like,’ Colhoun stammered, looking from me to his partner and back eagerly. ‘I’ve made coffee, Harry.’
    ‘Fuck up, Hugh, will you? I’ve a stinking