‘But of course,’ Cussane said without hesitation, and handed his bag to the woman. ‘Would you look after that for me?’
‘Certainly, Father.’
He followed Hardy through the crowd and down into the excavation. There was a gaping hole, cellar steps descending. Brodie, the police sergeant, was holding people back. Hardy started down and as Cussane followed, Brodie caught his arm. ‘What’s this?’
‘Let him by,’ Hardy called. ‘He’s a priest.’
The hostility was immediate in Brodie’s eyes, the dislike plain. It was an old song to Cussane, Belfast all over again. ‘I don’t know you,’ Brodie said.
‘My name’s Fallen. I came in on the bus on the way to Glasgow,’ Cussane told him calmly.
He took the policeman’s wrist, loosening the grip on his arm, and Brodie winced at the strength of it as Cussane
pushed him to one side and went down the steps. He was knee-deep in water at once and ducked under a low roof and followed Hardy into what must have been a narrow passageway. There was a certain amount of light from an extension lamp and it illuminated a chaos of jumbled masonry and planking. There was a narrow aperture and as they reached it, two men stumbled out, both soaked to the skin and obviously at exhaustion point.
‘It’s no good,’ one of them said. ‘His head will be under the water in a matter of minutes.’
Hardy brushed past and Cussane went after them. Gino Tisini’s white face loomed out of the darkness as they crouched to go forward. Cussane put out a hand to steady himself and a plank fell and several bricks.
‘Watch it!’ Hardy said. ‘The whole thing could go like a house of cards.’
There was the constant gurgle of water as it poured in. Tisini managed a ghastly smile. ‘Come to hear my confession, Father? It would take a year and a day.’
‘We haven’t got that long. Let’s get you out,’ Cussane said.
There seemed to be a sudden extra flow of water; it washed over Tisini’s face and he panicked. Cussane moved behind him, supporting the man’s head above the water, crouching over him protectively.
Hardy felt under the water. ‘There’s a lot moved here,’ he said. ‘That’s where the inflow of water helps. There’s just one beam pinning him down now, but it leads into the wall. If I put any kind of force on it, it could bring the lot in on us.’
‘If you don’t, he drowns within the next couple of minutes,’ Cussane said.
‘You could be in trouble too, Father.’
‘And you,’ Cussane said, ‘so get on with it.’
‘Father!’ Tisini cried. ‘In the name of God, absolve me!’
Cussane said in a firm clear voice, ‘May Our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you and I, by His authority, absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father and the Son and of the Holy Spirit.’ He nodded to Hardy. ‘Now!’
The foreman took a breath and dipped under the surface,
his hands gripping the edges of the beam. His shoulders seemed to swell, he came up out of the water, the beam with him and Tisini screamed and floated free in Cussane’s hands. The wall started to bulge. Hardy pulled Tisini up and dragged him towards the entrance, Cussane pushing from the rear as the walls crumbled around them. He put an arm up to protect his head and shoulders, was aware that they were at the steps now, willing hands reaching down to help, and then a brick struck him a glancing blow on the head. He tried to go up the steps, fell on his knees, and there was only darkness.
HE CAME AWAKE SLOWLY to find the young woman from the shop crouching over him. He was lying on a rug in front of a coal fire and she was wiping his face.
‘Easy,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine. Remember me? I’m Moira McGregor. You’re in my shop.’
‘What about the Italian and that fellow Hardy?’
‘They’re upstairs. We’ve sent for a doctor.’
He was still confused and found it difficult to think straight. ‘My bag?’ he said slowly. ‘Where is it?’
The big policeman, Brodie, loomed over them. ‘Back in the land of the living, are we?’ There was an edge to his voice. An unpleasantness. ‘Worth a couple of dozen candles to the Virgin, I suppose.’