The Nameless Dead by Brian McGilloway Read Free Book Online Page A

lining up to do it for him.’
    ‘Would he kill the son for asking too many questions?’
    ‘Why don’t we ask him? I’ll come with you if you’re going across to Lifford to inform next of kin about this.’
    ‘Me? I’m telling Mary Collins her son’s dead?’
    Hendry smiled. ‘I thought you’d never offer.’
    Jimmy Callan’s house was located on the Park Road in Strabane. The area was low lying, running parallel to the River Foyle. At high tide, during the autumn rains, the
fields bordering the river became little more than floodplains for months on end. As a consequence, the area had not been developed for property to quite the same extent as other outlying areas of
Strabane.
    Callan’s house was on our left-hand side as we drove down the road. It was an old cottage which seemed in some need of renovation, especially when compared with the much grander affair
which squatted next to it.
    Hendry pulled into the driveway of Callan’s and, as I knocked on the door, I saw him shift across to the front window and look in, leaning against the glass, using his hand to reduce the
glare.
    I knocked a second time, but there was no response.
    ‘Let me try,’ Hendry said, coming over to me. ‘It might not be locked.’
    He began to fumble in his pocket for a bunch of keys, rattling at the handle as he did so.
    ‘Can I help you?’
    When we looked across to the source of the shout, we saw the occupant of the big house next to Callan’s standing at the wall which separated the two properties.
    ‘We’re looking for James Callan,’ I called.
    ‘What’s he doing with those keys?’ he shouted, nodding towards Hendry. The man was stout, grey haired, in his sixties, I guessed, but his eyesight was sharp. ‘I’ll
call the police.’
    ‘I am the police,’ Hendry called back, pocketing the keys and leaving the doorway.
    The man snorted disdainfully. ‘Figures,’ he muttered.
    ‘We’re looking for James Callan,’ Hendry said again. ‘Have you seen him?’
    ‘He’s not in,’ the man replied.
    ‘We’ve established that,’ Hendry said. ‘Have you seen him recently? Do you know where he is?’
    ‘He left this morning,’ the man said.
    ‘Did he say where he was going?’
    The man shook his head. ‘He’d a bag packed, though, so I’d say he’ll not be back for a bit. He asked me to put his bin out at the weekend and keep an eye on the house for
him.’
    ‘How did he seem?’
    The man frowned bewilderedly.
    ‘Was he relaxed, like he was going on holiday? Anxious? Panicked?’
    The neighbour considered my question for a moment. ‘He seemed a bit flustered. Like he didn’t want to hang around too long. He left me money to pay the milkman for him and
wouldn’t wait for me to give him the change. The incident last night can’t have helped.’
    Hendry and I stopped and turned towards the man. ‘What incident?’
    ‘I shouldn’t get involved,’ the man began, moving closer to the hedge and, thereby, inviting us to do likewise. He glanced at Callan’s house as if afraid that Callan
might somehow be listening, even though he was the one who had told us it was empty.
    ‘There was a young fella here last night. He and James got into a row about something. We could hear it through the wall.’ He wrinkled his nose in disdain. ‘The walls between
the houses are very thin,’ he added.
    ‘What were they rowing about?’
    ‘They’re not that thin. I could hear raised voices and that, but God knows what it was about.’
    I sensed there was something the man wasn’t telling us, something significant that he was holding back for a finale.
    ‘But did you recognize the person with whom Mr Callan was rowing?’
    As the neighbour glanced around again for listeners, Hendry and I leaned further forward. ‘I don’t know his name,’ the neighbour said, ‘but I did see him again. He was on
TV last night, being interviewed about that dig going on over on the island.’
    ‘He was here last night?’