*I'm looking for a fine Irish whiskey,' said Dr Finlay, heaving his first shovelful carelessly behind. *Black Bush. And a nice Guinness.'

*Strongbow cider,' I said. I set shovel to soil. It slid easily into the wet ground. *I haven't had it for years. I've a real taste for it now. The apples. Worst hangover in the world, cider, but it's worth it.'

*A child's drink,' said Finlay.

*Kegs and kegs and kegs and kegs,' said Willie Nutt. And added, *He-he-heh.' As a catchphrase it hardly dazzled, but it was not unendearing, and certainly preferable to the smell of smoked fish.

*Old Jack'll get a right shock if he sees the dark again,' said Duncan, *and comes looking for it.'

*Serve him right,' said Willie, thrusting his spade into the black earth again. Soon the soil was flying backwards.

After a short while we needed a rest. It had been an undisciplined rush and we were already puffing. I rubbed my hand across my brow. Sweating hard despite the cold. I wasn't used to physical exertion. My muscles were already aching, despite my weekly press-up.

*Deeper than I thought,' said Duncan.

*Ach, not that much further,' said Finlay, *and then a wee whiskey.'

Duncan sounded a note of caution. *People are bound to notice the smell of alcohol. On your breath tomorrow.'

Willie stopped digging, spat. *So?'

*We need a supply of breath fresheners,' I said with the confident authority of a professional, *so people won't be suspicious.'

*People will get suspicious if we suddenly start buying breath fresheners,' said Duncan, resting his own blade for a moment.

*Ach pish,' said Willie Nutt and thrust his spade into the soil again. *Breath fresheners!'

He wasn't the sort of man who had time for anything fresh. Besides, a quick gargle with the rotgut he was drinking would kill any unwanted odours. A bath in it wouldn't do him any harm either.

Clink.

Metal blade on something solid.

*Hallelujah!' exclaimed Willie.

Clink.

Duncan, about eight feet further along, hit something as well. He let out a whoop. *We found it! The sly old sod did bury it!'

*You didn't believe me,' I said.

*I believed you, Dan,' said Finlay. *I didn't believe Old Mother Reilly. But now I'm prepared to kiss her sweet blue lips.'

Yuck, I thought.

As we began to scrab away the remaining soil we began to see little glints of silver a but it didn't feel like keg metal. Willie, the most industrious of us all, dropped his spade behind him and stepped down into the shallow trench we had created. He knelt and pushed away handfuls of soil with his chubby fingers. Then he felt along the surface. The s.p.a.ce he'd cleared was maybe three feet across. He searched for the edges.

He looked up at us where we stood leaning on our spades, steadying ourselves against the wind. We were keen to discover, but not keen enough to discover first. There is something eerie about dark holes on stormy nights. The rain had grown heavier and was cascading steadily into the trench, causing it to sludge up. *What is it, Willie?' Duncan said urgently.

Willie shook his head. *Like tarpaulin, silver tarpaulin. Thick as h.e.l.l. Heh, b.a.s.t.a.r.d's wrapped the booze up tight in it. We'll have to dig right down the sides till we find the join. Less you've got something'll cut through it, Doc?'

Finlay shook his head. *Not here. Maybe at home. I never thought.'

*Who could think of it?' said Duncan. He peered at the tarpaulin. The rain and the digging had made the sides slippery and he was careful not to lean too far forward. *How long do you think it will take, to dig down?'

Willie gave a little shrug. *Not long. If we keep at it. No way of telling how deep it goes. But it can't be that far down.'

Duncan cast a nervous glance back towards the farm on the hill. *Maybe we should leave it,' he said. *Come back another night. Earlier.' He peered at his watch. *It's four already. Soon we'll be stuck with all the booze and it'll be too bright to hide it. We should come back.'

*Aye,' said Willie, *b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.'

He had a point. *Duncan,' I said, *we're nearly there. If we leave it now the trench'll only fill up with water and the job'll be twice as hard.'

*Maybe we should just leave it altogether.'

*You're getting cold feet, Duncan,' said Finlay.

*Cold and wet feet.'

*Then let's get the job finished, and then we'll bathe those poor feet of yours in whiskey.' He brandished his shovel again. *Okay? It won't take long.'

Duncan lifted his shovel reluctantly. *Aye. Okay. I suppose. Let's get on with it then. But let's hurry.'

The dig was on again.

This time, after half an hour, we each took a hefty swig of Willie Nutt's bottle. We were miserable, cold, tired, sopping. But the home fires were soon burning.

The soil was coming away very easily, but the more we tore at it the more Somme-like the conditions underfoot became. If we'd been kids, we'd have loved it. But we were grown men with a drink problem and it was no laughing matter.

And then we reached the bottom. Willie, of course, struck first. Blade on solid stone or rock. Again he dropped his spade and scrabbed away final handfuls of oozy mud. He picked up something and smoothed as much dirt as he could off it.

*What is it?' asked Duncan.

*Just a brick,' said Willie. He examined it briefly then tossed it in Duncan's direction.

Duncan ducked. *Watch it,' he said.

Willie bent down again and, with his hands, began to trace, then dig, along his side of the trench, revealing as he went brick after brick securing the end of the silver tarpaulin.

*Jesus,' said Duncan, *it's about b.l.o.o.d.y time. My hands are going to fall off.'

*Ach,' said Finlay, *we're there now, aren't we?'

He carefully stepped out from his side of the tarpaulin and half slid in beside Willie and Duncan on theirs. I joined them too.

We paused for a moment, we four rebels, and smiled at each other. Then we bent and lifted the remaining bricks and threw them behind us. Willie finished first and started to lift the tarpaulin.

*Hey!' said the doctor.

Willie snapped round.

*Let's do this with a bit of style, our Willie. It's not every day you discover buried treasure.' He rubbed his hands together. *Now, we each take hold of the tarp, and on the count of three, we throw it back. And then we crack open one of the finest alcohols known to man, the old Black Bush, and thank the Lord for watching over us.'

*Amen to that,' said Duncan.

*Yes, indeedy,' said Willie.

We took hold.

*One,' said Finlay.

*Two,' said Finlay.

Deep breath.

*Three,' said Finlay.

Up and away flew the tarpaulin, shimmering in a darting shaft of moonlight.

And our feet gave way in the tramped trenched mud as we scrambled back in panic. Down came the jumble of bodies, engulfing us in the rotting dead.

We screamed, louder than any wind, and tore at each other in desperation.

35.

The day didn't break. There was no fracture of the night. The morning light oozed through the mist like sour cream from a depressed sponge.

Damp. Cold. Shivery. We sat in the Land-Rover, lost in thought, waiting for the light. We three. Dr Finlay drummed anxiously on the wheel. Duncan, beside him, nails bitten to the quick, stared ahead; I lay in the back, chipping the mud from my jeans. No words were exchanged. Lost in our own nightmares. Willie Nutt had run away. Out into the dark. Screaming.

In the scramble out of the trench Finlay had dropped the torch, and n.o.body was prepared to go and rummage amongst the dead for it. I had the memory only of hollow eyes and rigid bone and the crazy death smile of a decaying head thrown up at me by the avalanche of remains. Of scrambling up the side of the trench and feeling a hand grab my leg and pull me back and screaming myself and kicking out and then hearing the shout of pain and fear and realising that it was Duncan grabbing at me in his panic and not the living dead pulling me down to h.e.l.l. The realisation did not halt me; there was no helping hand for him, nor for Dr Finlay, older, less agile, clawing at the slippery sides, eyes bulging, his professional familiarity with death of no service to him. I ran and threw myself through the hedge into the next field, ignoring, welcoming even, as a confirmation of life, the tear of thorn and bramble, the sting of nettle.

I lay for ten minutes, curled, trying to hear above the wind and the rain and my laboured breath. It was the doctor who gathered himself first, calling out, *Duncan? Are you there?' in a shaky voice. *Dan, are you there? Willie, are you okay? Can any of youse hear me?' And Duncan emerged from the gra.s.s not fifteen yards from me and I rose too and we worked our way silently back through the hedge to Finlay, leaning ashen-faced on the bonnet of the Land-Rover.

*Jesus,' was all we managed between us for a while, then we sought the poor comfort of the interior of the car. Daylight would provide answers to questions we scarcely dared think about. It wasn't much more than an hour to wait, but it stretched interminably; time had slowed . . . slowed . . . slowed until with the greying light we creakily climbed from the vehicle and stretched, an unpleasant stretch that emphasised our dampness.

*b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l,' Dr Finlay said, his first words in some time. He looked older already, haggard, haunted.

*b.l.o.o.d.y Mother Reilly,' I said.

*Aye,' said Finlay.

*That's what I like to see in an older woman,' I said, *her sense of humour still intact. I'm glad her neck isn't.'

Finlay turned as Duncan joined us. *You all right, son?' he asked.

Duncan nodded morosely and looked at his watch. *I'll have to go soon,' he said. *What're we going to do?'

*Take a look,' said Finlay, nodding across at the trench.

*Naturally,' I added.

*Must we?' said Duncan. *We must,' said Finlay grimly, and stepped forward.

*Can't we just leave them?' Duncan said.

Finlay ignored him. *It's too late for that, mate,' I said, and moved after the doctor. Reluctantly, Duncan followed.

The doctor stood at the edge of the trench, looking down, shaking his head. We joined him on either side, and were soon shaking our heads too. It was a mess. Human spaghetti, a mixture of the caved-in long-dead and the rotting newly dead, oozing together in the autumnal mud. Six bodies. Twelve feet, at any rate. Two of them, the bodies, not the feet, it was immediately apparent, were those of Mickey Murtagh and Mary Reilly.

Finlay stepped down into the trench. *I'll need some help,' he said, looking back up.

I nodded and stepped down. Duncan stayed where he was. *What're you doing?' he said, averting his eyes from the corpses.

*We're going to have to lift them out,' said the doctor, rolling up his sleeves, *get them separated as best we can.'

*But why . . . shouldn't we leave them be . . . I mean . . . for forensics or whoever deals with . . .?'

Finlay's head whipped round. *Will you snap out of it, man!' he roared. *No one is coming to sort this out! We need to know who these people are, and how they got here. We need to know the truth.' He shook his head, tutted, turned back to the corpses. *For G.o.d's sake, Starkey, tell him, tell him to get back to the real world.'

The surreal world, actually, but he had a point. Duncan wanted to practise what I had preached, but not practised, which was hiding in bed until everything went away. *He's right, Duncan,' I said, *we have to find out for ourselves what happened. n.o.body else is going to do it for us. Come on down and give us a hand a I mean, they're only dead bodies. They can't do you any harm.'

*Aye, you didn't feel that way last night.'

*It scared the s.h.i.t out of all of us, Duncan, but it's different now. Come on down. Eh?'

*I don't like this at all,' Duncan said, but he carefully dropped down into the trench, steadying himself for a moment against me while his feet found their proper level in the mud. His nose curled up in disgust. *They stink.'

And they did. They were gag-makingly rotten. Willie Nutt's aroma would have served them as an underarm deodorant, had their underarms not largely oozed away.

Murtagh and Mary were no trouble. We lay them in the gra.s.s. Each time, I grabbed a leg. A cold, hard leg, slimy with mud. Murtagh was heavy with death. Mary was just heavy.

The others, beneath, were not as fresh. Duncan was sick three times. Me twice. The doctor not at all, though he choked up a couple of times. It took us half an hour to carry, coax, cajole and yes, well, pour, the remaining bodies above ground. When finally they all lay side by side, Dr Finlay set about examining them properly. Duncan and I sat back against the car and tried to make small talk. It was very small. Every once in a while our eyes drifted back to the doctor, poking into ribs, carefully pulling apart rotting clothes, nodding, tutting, spitting behind him.

Duncan looked at his watch again. *I'll have to go soon,' he said. *I've school to teach. If the kids arrive and I'm not there they'll be suspicious. No, not suspicious, concerned. They'll tell their parents. They'll be suspicious.'

*Let them be, we've a ma.s.s murder here.'

*We don't know it's murder, Dan.'

I laughed. *What the h.e.l.l do you think it is? You think that every once in a while someone walks through this field and falls into a hole and is never heard of again?'