Private Dublin

Chapter 47

We watched the men unload the truck. When they were finished, two of them jumped in the cab and drove the large vehicle out of the yard. As it rumbled away from the warehouse into the distance, the other four went inside and rolled down the loading-bay shutter, obscuring our view of the interior. They soon emerged, locked the building, secured the gate, and got into a car parked on the street outside. I took photos of all of them, and of the car and its license plate as they drove away. I waited until the vehicle was out of sight, then turned my attention to the old warehouse.

“I think we should check it out,” I said.

“Breaking and entering?” Andi responded.

“You can stay here if you feel uncomfortable,” I suggested.

“No,” she replied with a smile. “I just want to be clear what charges we’ll face if we’re caught.”

I slung the camera over my shoulder and climbed the wall before dropping onto the concrete on the other side. Andi followed me, and we crept across the yard, keeping our eyes peeled for cameras. There were none, or at least none we could see. There were also none of the “building under surveillance signs” such as were posted on so many of the other warehouses in the neighborhood. I wondered if the people who owned and operated this place wanted to avoid any record of what went on here.

We moved quickly, jogging to a side door, where Andi produced a set of picks and went to work on the lock. She had the door open in under two minutes, and I shut it behind us once we were inside.

We stepped into a corridor that was flanked by offices, with a staff room to one side. There were stairs that led to an upper level and a door to the main warehouse on our left. I checked the inset window for danger, and, seeing the place was empty, I pulled the door open and went through. Andi followed, and we entered a 60 x 80 feet space filled with storage racks that towered almost to the ceiling. A mezzanine balcony wrapped around the space on three sides, and there was a row of forklifts and manual lifting gear positioned by the rear wall.

I went to one of the racks and saw cases of animal feed and veterinary supplements.

“Jack!” Andi called, and I turned to see her beckoning me toward the front of the warehouse.

The boxes we’d witnessed the men unload were stacked in the bay near the doors. I raised the camera to my eye and took some photos of the large quantity of sedatives, wondering what was going on, and what it had to do with Sam Farrell and Raymond Chalmont.

I heard the rumble of an engine and looked at Andi, who’d registered it too. The vehicle stopped outside, and I ran to the loading-bay door and looked through the envelope window to see a man jump down from the cab of a truck and unlock the warehouse gates. He pushed them open so the truck driver could steer the vehicle into the yard.

“Someone’s coming,” I said. “This way.”

I led Andi to a rack of crates by one of the whitewashed brick columns that supported the mezzanine balcony, and we crouched there and listened to the large vehicle reversing into position outside of the loading bay.

Andi signaled at the inner door, suggesting we should make a run for it the way we’d come, but I shook my head. I wanted to find out what these people were doing.

“You get the door open. I’ll unlock the wagon,” a man said, and a few moments later, the roller shutter started to rise.

A heavy-set man in his early forties entered. He wore jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. He went to the back of the warehouse and grabbed a pneumatic loader, which he wheeled to the pallets of boxes we’d just witnessed being unloaded. I could hear his companion outside, preparing the truck.

A minute or so later, the second man entered and joined the guy in the plaid shirt. The second man wore a thick black jumper and jeans. He had the same brawny physique as his companion. I took photos of them through the mesh of the rack as they worked to get a pallet of painkillers onto the loader. They wheeled it out of the bay and onto the truck, returning to repeat the process.

I nudged Andi and signaled the open truck.

She shook her head emphatically, but I started creeping around the rack and she followed reluctantly. We were quiet and the men were busy, so they didn’t notice us as we made our way out of the warehouse and stepped inside the back of the truck.

“This is nuts,” Andi whispered as we made our way to the cargo hold and crouched behind the first pallet of boxes.

“I have to know what they’re doing,” I replied. “And if there’s a chance they might lead me to Sam Farrell or Raymond Chalmont, I must take it. You don’t need to come with me.”

Andi shook her head in reproof but she didn’t leave. The two of us waited in silence until the men had finished loading the entire shipment into the truck. Finally, they closed the doors, consigning us to darkness.