‘Fair enough,’ said Michael.
They thanked him again and turned away, leaving Rev Erskine looking out over the building site.
As they approached the car, Sean muttered, ‘People are really frickin’ touchy, aren’t they?’
‘You can say that again,’ said Michael.
So he did.
*
Alix was at the office window, looking out at Rob on the corner outside, talking to Rebecca-of-the-huge-hips and their two children. She couldn’t remember their names, though she was sure she’d been told. What’s more, she didn’t care. Janine came up beside her and tut-tutted. Alix asked what she was tut-tutting for and Janine said, ‘The body language, it’s not good.’ Right enough, Rebecca-of-the-big-ass was leaning back against a car with her arms folded. Alix thought, ‘It’s a wonder it doesn’t collapse under her,’ but resisted the temptation to say it out loud. However, looking at Janine, seeing the slight smirk on her face, she guessed she was probably thinking the same thing. We’re such bitches, she thought, but hey-ho. Then the little family idyll was interrupted as Sean and Michael swung into the car park and stopped briefly beside Rob. Words were exchanged, then Rob turned to kiss his kids; there was what Alix thought was an awkward hug with Rebecca-of-the-elephant-legs.
Alix was back at her desk as Rob, Sean and Michael entered editorial. Michael had a large book under his arm. Rob asked her and Pete to join them in his office. The two boys looked flushed with excitement. Rob cleared space on his desk and Michael opened the book up and set it down before them. He jabbed his finger at an illustration – an old map. Pete let out a bit of a sigh as he looked down at it – ‘Is this something to do with the sheep skull?’ he asked.
‘Sheep skull? Bollocks to that,’ said Sean.
‘You better bring them up to speed,’ said Rob.
As Michael breathlessly told them about the morning’s events Rob smiled to himself – weekly newspaper reporting could be a bit of a drudge, so it was great to see the cub so excited about getting his clutches on a great story. He had them in stitches, too, talking about Magic Martin being out of his tree in the back of the car, and conveyed a real sense of menace when confronted by Farmer Galvin and his shotgun.
‘So we followed the truck back to beside St Patrick’s and we were just looking at this building site, you know where the new shopping centre’s going up? Then Reverend Erskine appears and starts giving out about his panto...’
‘It was shite,’ said Sean, ‘and I had to go three nights in a row.’
‘...when he lets slip that the church used to own the land the shops are going up on, and it just struck a chord with me, so we went straight down to the library.’
‘Your favourite place,’ said Rob.
‘It is now. Yer woman there loved the article I did, and when I explained what I was looking for she lent me this...’ He tapped the book on the table. ‘...which isn’t usually out on display or available to borrow because it’s so old and valuable and anything with maps in kids tend to tear out or colour in... and as soon as I saw this map I knew we’d hit the jackpot. You see this is a map of old Bangor circa 1890. Of course it’s—’
‘It’s a graveyard!’ said Sean, jabbing a finger at the map, ‘and they’re digging up bloody skeletons!’
Michael glared at him.
‘Sorry,’ said Sean, only a little embarrassed, ‘but get to the point.’
‘Right. Thanks for the advice.’ Another shake of the head. ‘We believe the developers, having purchased the land from the church, have discovered an old graveyard, which we can see clearly marked on the map here.’
‘I hope it doesn’t turn out like Poltergeist,’ said Rob.
Pete nodded. The others looked at him.
Sean said, ‘Wah?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Rob, ‘old movie reference... Please continue...’
‘Right, okay,’ said Michael, ‘so what we’re thinking is that if a developer, builder, anyone, turns up human remains, then they are obliged to inform the authorities, and there has to be a full investigation, maybe even an inquest. That can take months, maybe even years, and with a big project like this clearly is, it could cost them hundreds of thousands of pounds, maybe cause them to lay off workers because of the delay. So what if instead they say nothing and come to an arrangement with Galvin to dump the evidence on his private property where there’s less chance of someone stumbling across it?’
‘Enter Magic Martin in search of mushrooms,’ said Sean.
Rob was nodding, lips pursed. ‘You haven’t spoken to the developers about this yet?’
‘Nope.’
‘The church?’
‘Nope.’
‘And Galvin?’
‘Nope, and when I do it’ll be by phone. I’ve no desire to have my arse shot off.’
Rob nodded at Alix. ‘Do you want to get on to Reverend Erskine, see if you can tease anything else out of him...?’
‘But it’s my—’ Michael began.
‘Yes of course it is,’ said Rob, ‘but given your pantomime past we might get more joy with Alix asking the questions.’
‘Well, he said to go through the press office, so I could phone—’
‘Yes, do that, but you know what they’re like – you end up with the bland leading the bland.’
‘Let me handle Erskine,’ said Pete. ‘I know him pretty well. Our wedding was there.’
‘You’re married?’ Alix asked, though she did of course already know. ‘Sure, who would have you?’
‘I’ll have you know,’ said Pete, ‘that I used to be quite the catch.’
‘Where?’
Pete sneered up his top lip.
They discussed it for another while, with Rob keeping a close eye on Michael. He was contributing enthusiastically, but he could detect a little hiccup of fear that the story might indeed be taken away from him and put into more experienced hands. Rob had no intention of it but, with a big story and deadline approaching, both experience and teamwork were essential. Michael was still very much learning the ropes. But, as Rob dismissed them, he made sure to congratulate him on getting the story, and within earshot of the others. Michael glowed. Pete said, ‘It’s not done yet.’ Sean pointed at himself and said, ‘What about me?’
‘Well done, you,’ said Rob, ‘though I haven’t seen a single photo yet, so that may be premature.’
‘You will,’ said Sean, ‘and they’ll knock your socks off.’
He didn’t lack for confidence, that one, Rob thought, returning to his desk and leaving them to get on with it. When he looked up again, Alix was in his doorway. She glanced behind her, then stepped into the office and half-closed the door. She asked him if everything was okay.
‘As far as I’m aware,’ he said, his brow furrowed, ‘unless you know something...?’
She smiled and said, ‘Sorry – couldn’t help but see you outside with... Rebecca... and the kids...’
‘Oh. Yes. Right. Fine. Just saying goodbye. On their way back to England.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Nursery school – places like gold dust. You don’t take them, you lose them.’
‘That’ll be hard. Your kids.’
‘It will.’
He nodded. She nodded. She turned and opened the door.
‘Alix?’
‘Yup?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Nothing to thank me for. Just if you were leaving, then there’d be a job going – you know what they say about the early bird?’
She continued on out.
*
Michael didn’t get anywhere with the developers, who denied everything; the church press office promised to get back, but hadn’t yet and that was two hours ago; even Pete couldn’t track down a phone number for Farmer Galvin. Rob knew denial would be their default position, but that more than likely they’d be panicking. Sean brought his photos in and they were as good as ever. Rob spent a long time looking at the skeletal hand, poking out
of the debris, as if it was clutching despairingly at life itself. He knew they were on something of a sticky wicket, because Michael and Sean had not only trespassed on private property, but had also themselves failed to alert the authorities about what they had discovered. They had the photo as evidence, of course, but it wasn’t proof, it couldn’t be examined forensically; for that, they would need the hand itself. Rob pondered that for a while – if they’d found the skull Magic Martin had claimed to have found and returned with that, then they could certainly have been blamed for disturbing a potential crime scene. But as they had actually witnessed the hand being dumped on Galvin’s farm and knew it had come from the shopping-centre building site, then that was clearly a different situation. Galvin might or might not know about the human remains; but he was certainly complicit in the dumping. If Galvin, after discovering the reporters on his land, got curious or was tipped off by the developers, he would very quickly move to dispose of whatever human remains were now showing up. But whether to call the police to tell them now or secure the story?
Rob moved to his office door and asked Pete if he’d talked to Reverend Erskine. Pete said he was waiting for him to call back. Rob asked if he should give him a call. ‘No,’ said Pete, ‘because he thinks you’re the anti-Christ.’
‘Because of Puss’n’Boots?’
‘Exactly. You know he ranted and railed against you from the pulpit?’
‘Really?’
‘He told us all to stop buying the paper.’
‘I hope you stood up for me. For us.’
‘I hid behind my New Testament.’
‘Good to know. And in fact, have sales dipped?’
‘Nope. They’ve increased.’
‘There you go. Bangor Express, bigger than Jesus. Why don’t you take a run out and see him?’
‘Me?’
‘Sure. The personal connection might work. Eye to eye. Threaten to join the Presbyterians if he doesn’t play ball.’
‘Well I’m a bit snowed under with all the subbing. I’m sure he’ll be back to me soon enough.’
‘I’ll handle the subbing.’ Rob nodded at Michael, busy on another call. ‘And, sure, take the young whippersnapper with you.’
‘But Michael actually wrote the—’
‘Yes, he did. It’s a bridge-building exercise. Or bridge- burning, depending on how it goes.’
‘Well, if you insist.’ Pete reluctantly lifted his jacket off the back of his chair.
Alix swung round in her’s. ‘Did I hear that right? You’re going out on a story?’
‘Yes, it’s not so—’
‘How will your agoraphobia deal with that?’
‘I haven’t got—’
‘Really? Really?’
‘You’re very funny, Alix. Hilarious. If only you put as much effort into your writing.’
‘Ouch,’ said Alix.
Michael came off the phone. He saw Pete with his jacket on and asked what was going on.
‘He’s going out on a story,’ said Alix.
‘What about the agoraphobia?’ Michael asked.
Alix snorted. Michael gave her a wink.
Peter shook his head. ‘Michael Foster,’ he said, ‘Pantomime Correspondent, for life.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Michael asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Bring it on,’ said Michael.
But his face fell a bit when Pete told him he was to accompany him to St Patrick’s. He looked to Rob, still in the doorway, who confirmed it with a nod.
Pete said, ‘Should we take Sean as well?’
Sean looked up from his computer. Rob shook his head. ‘It’ll look like a company day out if you turn up en masse. Besides, I’ve something else for you.’
Rob turned back into his office, indicating for Sean to follow.
Pete nodded at Michael. ‘Right, let’s get going. And tell you what? How about you let me do all the talking. Watch the master at work, eh?’
Peter walked ahead.
Michael said under his breath, ‘Watch you lick Erskine’s arse, more like.’
Alix sniggered.
‘Did I say that out loud?’ Michael asked.
‘Yep,’ said Alix, ‘but maybe not loud enough.’
*
Pete could tell from Michael’s sour face that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing Reverend Erskine again. Pete told him to relax. ‘What you have to remember about ministers, politicians, anyone who sticks their head above the parapet, is they usually like the sound of their own voices and they don’t take well to criticism. Yer man Erskine is expected to get up in a pulpit every week and get on like he has a hotline to God. That tends to give you a big head. Just be pleasant to him. His bark is worse than his bite.’
‘He’s an ignorant old shit is what he is.’
‘He’s not so bad. And what do you mean, old? He’s younger than I am.’
‘I rest my case.’
Pete made a face.
They found Rev Erskine setting out chairs in the community hall or, as Michael muttered as their footsteps echoed on the polished wooden floor, at the scene of the crime.
Rev Erskine looked up as they approached, smiled at Pete and then his face visibly darkened as his gaze fell on Michael. ‘Peter,’ he said, ‘and the critic. How’s Fiona coming along?’
‘Grand,’ said Pete, ‘really looking forward to her confirmation.’
‘Sure about that? I don’t think anyone really looks forward to their confirmation. So I take it you’re here for professional reasons?’
‘Yes, of course – but also to clear the air if we could, as far as young Michael here is concerned. He did rather go to town on Puss’n’Boots...’
Michael immediately cut in with, ‘I was only giving my—’
‘Michael?’ Pete had his hand raised to quiet him. ‘Please? Hear me out.’
It took a mighty effort to bite his tongue.
‘Thank you,’ said Pete. ‘Reverend Erskine – Michael is entitled to his opinion, no one disputes that?’ The minister hesitated before giving a brief nod. ‘And let’s face it – he was never going to enjoy Puss’n’Boots, no more than I would enjoy a... a... Metallica concert...’
‘Metall—?’ Rev Erskine began.
‘Heavy metal band,’ said Pete, ‘and if I was forced to sit through one of their concerts and then write about it I’m sure I wouldn’t hold back. But it’s the job of the editor to decide the difference between fair comment and a hatchet job. In this case, the editor made a mistake, and I’ve spoken to him about it and he held up his hands and asked me to apologize to you, he shouldn’t have allowed it through. He does hope no lasting damage has been done to our relationship, which has over the years been very good, and mutually beneficial.’
Michael was literally biting his tongue.
‘Well,’ said Rev Erskine, ‘it wasn’t so much me – I felt sorry for the kids, they put in so much effort... but, but, if he sincerely... and he holds up his... and it doesn’t happen again... then, I’m sure we can... work something out...’
‘That would be great, and much appreciated, wouldn’t it, Michael?’
‘Yes,’ said Michael, who could now literally taste blood in his mouth.
‘Good. Excellent. Now... an equally delicate matter. And let me say first, we’re not trying to cause any trouble, but it’s something that’s been brought to us by a reader and we can’t ignore it...’
‘Is it the theft of lead from the church roof?’
‘No, Reverend – I think we covered that a few weeks ago?’
‘Aye, you did, fair enough. Although it worked more like an advertisement than a news story – they came back the next week and took what was left. Okay, Peter, it’s not about the lead. I know that – it’s about the bones...’
He drew the bones out, made it almost musical, but also scary. Hallowe’en bones.
‘So you’re aware of—?’
‘Only what the press office has told me.’
‘I didn’t speak to—’ said Michael.
‘No, but you did call the developers, and they called our press office, and the press office called me. With instructions.’
‘Instructions?’ asked Peter.
‘Instructions to say nothing. About the bones. But given our new state of brotherly love... Look, Peter, what I will say is this – yes, there was a graveyard, dating right back to the old monastery. But it hadn’t had any new customers in over two hundred years. When the land was sold, must be seven or eight years ago now, all of the remains were disinterred and transferred to a different site, all with the blessing of the bishop, the local council, the Department of the Environment, God knows who else, but there were a million pieces of paper that had to be signed. And I do believe it was fully reported in your paper at the time.’
‘Why didn’t they go ahead with the building back then?’ Michael asked.
‘I really don’t know, but I imagine that’s what developers do – buy up land so that they can develop it when the time or market is right.’
‘But what if, when you were moving the graves, you missed some of them? What if...?’
‘Sorry, Reverend,’ said Pete, ‘he’s like a dog with a... bone...’
‘And that’s not a problem, I’m all for enthusiasm, but in this case, young man, you’re barking up the wrong tree. We’re talking about many hundreds of years some of those coffins were in the ground, they degenerate, the ground shifts, I think it’s inevitable that something might have been left behind.’
‘Exactly!’
‘I mean that we’re talking about fragments.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Pete, ‘not like entire skeletons and—’
‘Exactly. Frag—’
‘Fragments?’ said Michael, producing his phone and flourishing it as if he was suddenly revealing the crucial and damning evidence in a murder trial, ‘You call this a fragment?’
Rev Erskine peered at the screen. His brow furrowed. He peered closer. Pete looked in too. His eyes flitted up to Michael, confused. Michael squinted at the screen.
‘And that’s my cat. But this... this is a hand. An entire hand. If there’s an entire hand then—’
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