‘Did you believe him?’ Sean Conlon had lied to her face before, when she’d gone to see him in prison. Told her that when they went to lift her mother from the house, she was already gone. How to know which story to believe?
‘Like I say, pet, he was a liar, and looking to save his own skin. But . . . the chance to hope again, to think she might have got away . . . He swore blind to me he’d helped her, but he made her promise to keep her head down. Play dead. A word to anyone, even you or your da, and he’d hunt her down. He’d kill her, and you too. On your way to school. He’d put a bomb under your da’s car. And he would have. You see, letting her go, it was a betrayal of the cause. It meant death for him. So that’s maybe why she never got in touch, if she did get away. He’d have chased her down if she had.’
Paula let herself imagine it. Her mother had escaped, and been alive all this time, but unable to get in touch. Just like a crazed self-proclaimed psychic had told her, several years ago. Alive. Across the water. Did that mean London, maybe? ‘I’m looking for her,’ she heard herself say. ‘I got wind she might have been in England. That Edward, I found an address for him in London, but he’d moved on years ago. I – I’m working with someone to find her.’
‘Davey Corcoran,’ said Bob wryly. ‘I told him not to tell you about me.’
‘You . . .’ So that was why Davey seemed to know so much about the case. Bob had been feeding him information on the side. She looked at the man, old and faded in his M&S jumper, and marvelled at how little she had known about him. At the hidden depths everyone seemed to have, and the secrets, buried deep in the dark soil of their hearts.
Paula’s head was reeling. Her mother could have been alive all this time. It explained Sean Conlon’s cryptic hints when she’d seen him in prison; if he hadn’t lied this second time, of course, and that was a huge maybe. It explained why Bob was visiting Aidan in prison, and why he was so sure someone else was behind the killing of Conlon. Her chest burned with hope and pain. ‘Sean Conlon. He’s the one who helped my mother escape.’
Bob nodded. ‘So he claimed.’
‘And you never told me?’
‘I promised I wouldn’t.’
‘And . . . Paddy Wallace was involved too?’
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to find out,’ said Bob. ‘If anyone killed her, it would have been him. He ran their “punishment squad”.’ She could hear the distaste in Bob’s voice for their faux-military language. ‘He’s vicious, Paula. He’s still fighting a war that ended twenty years back, and to him your mammy was the worst kind of traitor. And then I hear on the news you’re looking for him. It’s all connected, pet. That’s what I’ve been trying to work out. All of this – your mother, Conlon, young Aidan – it’s connected. And we need to find out how.’
Chapter Fifteen
Back at the station the next day, she could tell something was up. The atmosphere was electric, as if a current had been zapped through it. She found Gerard in the crowd of officers standing round a big TV. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Shhh. Corry’s got something to show us. Just came in.’
Corry was fiddling with the AV equipment. She caught Paula’s eye and nodded: just watch. ‘OK, people. Mairead Wallace received a video message an hour ago from Carly’s mobile phone. It’s been switched off again, but the cell tower it went through was in the border region.’ The kind of place where the lines went fuzzy – the phone network switching between the two, the border itself no more than an imaginary line through fields and hedges. ‘This is it.’ Corry pressed play.
A grainy, shaky image came up. Carly was being held somewhere like a garage, or a barn maybe. Paula could see a stone wall behind her, with an electric light somewhere overhead that cast shadows on her frightened face. Her hands seemed to be tied behind her. Without her make-up she looked very young and scared. ‘M-mum? It’s me. He says I have to record this. I’m OK. But I’m scared, Mum. I didn’t mean this to happen. I’m sorry. I love you—’
The phone was turned around, showing a man in a balaclava, with only slits where his eyes would be. His voice was muffled. It was a similar image to hundreds Paula had seen in the Troubles, but all the same a chill crawled down her back. Was this what her mother had seen, the day they’d come for her?
The man in the mask had a heavy Ballyterrin accent. ‘I’ll give Carly back if you come to meet me. I won’t hurt her. But you give me no choice, darlin’, you really don’t. You have till tomorrow at five to text me a place. I’ll be there. Don’t show this to anyone else now – I’ll be watching. Just you and me, Mairead. Like old times.’
It ended with the picture shaking, as if the phone had been dropped, rolling towards the ceiling, which was held up with high beams, and the sound of Carly screaming for her mother. Then it went black. A small moment of silence. Corry said, ‘It’s good that Mairead shared this with us. She’s clearly co-operating, at last.’
‘Who was it?’ said Gerard. ‘He talked like she’d know.’
‘She thinks it’s her brother, Paddy Wallace. The mask, I imagine, was to stymie any future convictions. Not his first brush with the law, of course. We’re analysing this video forensically but it looks like it’s been taken at a farm somewhere near the border. Of which there are hundreds, of course. But the good news is he doesn’t seem to want to hurt Carly.’
Paula was turning it over in her head, the motives, the showmanship. ‘No. He wants contact with Mairead, for whatever reason. What’s she saying?’
‘She says she won’t meet him. That’s why she gave us this. She wants us to find Carly and take her back.’
That was strange. Mairead had already declared she would do anything to find her daughter safe. But not meet her own brother? ‘Maybe we can set something up,’ Paula said, thinking aloud. ‘If he’s gone to meet Mairead, he can’t be holding Carly at the same time. It could be we can swoop in and protect them both.’
‘Unless he has help,’ said Corry grimly. ‘The old Republican brotherhood. It hasn’t gone away, as Mr Adams once so astutely said.’
‘What can he want from Mairead, that he’d risk surfacing like this? The man’s been on the run for twenty years.’
‘No idea. And she won’t tell us, even if she does know. Whatever it is, if he’s that determined, he won’t be easily duped.’
‘Will we put the image out?’ Avril was already moving towards her desk, ready to launch their usual arsenal of posters and TV alerts and public bulletins, but Corry held up a hand.
‘He said she wasn’t to go to us. And she did. If we release this to the press he’ll know she went behind his back. We have to be careful here. We have to set some kind of trap for him.’
To catch a man who’d been eluding them for decades. A shadow with a name, who still made people fall silent in fear. ‘Where is Mairead?’
‘Relatives’ room. Distraught, of course, but there’s still something she’s not telling us. I’m sure of it.’
Paula heard herself say, ‘Let me talk to her. I might have an idea.’
Margaret
She was losing track of the days. There was only the walls, the light fading and brightening above her, the stench of terrible things, and then when the door opened every so often, the rush of light and the air with its smell of farm animals. Benign. Blinking and looking to see who it was this time. If it was Aisling, that was good. The other men were OK too – Sean, one was called, the older one, and the other she thought they’d said was Finbar or Fintan or something like that. He hardly looked at her, as if he was embarrassed at what they were doing. So they should be. Maybe she could ask him for help, if she got him alone.
Worst was Paddy, the boss of it all, with the handsome face and the killer’s eyes.
Today it was him. ‘Margaret! And how are you keeping?’ Friendly. As if they’d bumped into each other in the street.
She ope
ned her mouth to say something biting, and instead heard sobs tear out of it, a terrible animal sound. ‘I’m afraid. I’m so afraid.’
‘That’s good. You should be afraid, Margaret. Maybe then you’ll realise what you’ve got yourself into.’
‘I do. I have.’ Tears dripped off her nose and ran into her mouth, salty. They said blood was salty too.
‘Good. So you’ll talk.’
The fear rose up in her again, like the beating wings of some terrible black bird. ‘I don’t know anything! What can I tell you if I don’t know anything?’
‘You could tell me a name. Who else has been recruited by your fella. The one you’ve been messing about with, and you a married Catholic lady.’ He tutted. ‘That’s not very nice now, is it, Margaret?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Her voice shook. ‘I just passed on the papers. It was a different person every time. I left them in the hedge outside work.’ This was what they’d coached her to say if she got caught. At the time she’d thought it was silly. Who would ever look at her, a mother and a wife with a wee office job on the side?
He sounded disappointed. ‘Ah now, Margaret. Sure we know that isn’t true. We’ve been watching you for months, love. Meeting up with lover boy in his car. Kisses in the dark. You never left nothing in that hedge. If you don’t know names, tell me where I can find him.’
But they knew where his flat was, his car. That meant he must have gone. Back to England, without her? ‘I . . .’
‘Buggered off, hasn’t he? Got wind of something, and left you here all on your owny-oh. So tell me, Margaret. Where would he go? He’s a dirty Brit anyway. You’ll be better off. Then you can go back to your family and not another word about it.’
She said nothing. She was shaking so hard the ropes were eating into her wrists. It would be so easy. Just say, there’s another place, a safe house. A wee flat behind the market. The place it had all happened between them, with its scratched cheap furniture and smell of old cooking. That day she’d wanted to end it all, crying, angry. I want out. My family. It’s not safe. That time she’d thought someone followed her home, footsteps on the darkening street, fading away. Her breath held. Edward’s calm voice, his gentle eyes. We can’t force you, Margaret. But you don’t know how many lives you’ve saved. How many police officers, like your husband, are alive because of you.
She’d gone to walk out then. How dare he mention PJ! But he’d caught her arm, and something about it, the fear, the anger, and him so close, and it had just . . . happened. She’d broken her wedding vows. A sin. She wondered what her mother, disapproving Kathleen Sheeran, would say if it all came out. If they discovered her body dumped in some ditch with a bullet wound in her head, and they all found out about the baby. What would Paula say, knowing her mother was not only a tout but a sinner too? And this baby. Poor mite, it hadn’t done anything wrong, and it was going to die along with her too.
She was crying harder now. Just say it. Say it! Give him up. But her mouth was empty, the words gone.
Paddy’s face darkened. ‘He wouldn’t do it for you, I can guarantee. Where is he now, eh? You’ve been missing for days. Your husband’s looking for you, or trying to at least. Not that he’s having much luck. So where’s lover boy?’
It hurt to think that, of Paula and PJ bewildered and lost, searching for her. As the days went on, going back to her life seemed further and further away.
He stood up. ‘That’s very disappointing, Margaret.’ She felt his hand drop on her hair, matted and dirty now. ‘You’ve lovely hair,’ he said, stroking it. ‘That red. It’s like fire, so it is.’ She was trembling. His hand was gentle, until it wasn’t. She yelped as he tugged on a handful of her hair. More tears came to her eyes. ‘You know what they did to French women, Margaret, in the war? The ones who collaborated with the Nazis?’
She saw where this was going and tried not to feel the blow. It was only hair. It would grow back.
Hadn’t she once read that hair kept on growing in the grave, long after the rest of you was bones?
Paddy was taking something out of his pocket, absorbed in the task like PJ when he mended his glasses with the wee screwdriver. He hated wearing the glasses. Thought they made him look weak. It was a knife. Then he had her hair in one hand and the blade in the other, and it was severed, he was hacking away at it. The separation of it felt strangely awful. Just hair, she reminded herself. But she couldn’t stop crying. It was pathetic.
It took ten minutes to clear her whole head. She couldn’t see it but she could feel it lying in tufts, her neck cold and bare. She’d worn her hair long all her life. Her mother had started to hint it was time to cut it all off. A woman shouldn’t have long hair over forty, Margaret. Patting her own grey rinse. Margaret saw Paddy frown, and she realised her sobs had turned into demented, cracked laughter. If only he knew he was doing her mammy a favour. None of this made any sense.
Chapter Sixteen
Mairead was in the family room, pacing up and down, twisting her hands together. She looked up as Paula went in. ‘Any news?’
‘I’m sorry. We’re trying to narrow down the search area based on the video. We think it’s along the border somewhere.’ But how would they find them there, an area full of fields and woods, the actual border just a line on a map with no markers these days? No Man’s Land, they’d always called it. In the bad old days, if a suspect could make it there, he could disappear over and hide in the Republic. Something Paddy Wallace had done for twenty years – so why was he back now? Why did he want to kidnap his sister’s daughter, who he’d never even met?
Mairead was staring at her. ‘Then go there! Get her back!’
‘Mairead . . . it’s a big area. You haven’t given any more thought to his offer?’
She turned away violently. ‘You don’t know what you’re asking. I can’t.’
‘He won’t hurt Carly. He just wants to talk to you.’
Her voice was low. ‘You don’t get it. There’s nobody he wouldn’t hurt. He . . . he’s not like other people. He doesn’t care what he does. Even all the political stuff. Sometimes I used to wonder – did he really care? You know? If you want a United Ireland that much why not get elected to somewhere, do it that way? Not by killing people. I think it’s just . . . who he is. It’s why I got away. And for years afterwards we moved around, me and Carly, this house, that crappy flat, cash-in-hand jobs. All in case he came after us. Do you understand? He’s raging I got away, and he’ll do anything to punish me. I never should have come back here.’
Paula knew the feeling. ‘That can’t have been much of a life, Mairead. Running away, always looking over your shoulder.’
She sat down on the edge of the sofa, put her head in her hands. ‘It wasn’t. Carly didn’t get it – I couldn’t explain, could I? She was angry. That Facebook post – I can hardly blame her. She wanted more out of life than just me and her, always running, always leaving jobs and people and towns.’
Paula moved closer, perching on the arm of the sofa. The room was carefully chosen to make people open up – soft pastel fabrics, a carpet your feet sank into, unlike the scratchy thin blue stuff in the rest of the building. ‘Maybe this is the chance to stop all that, then.’
Mairead didn’t look at her, but her shoulders tensed. ‘He won’t stop.’
‘He will if he’s in jail, won’t he?’
She seemed to consider this. ‘He’d get out in a heartbeat. They all do these days, like we’re just meant to forget all about the Troubles, forget all the people they murdered for years and years.’
‘The Good Friday Agreement only covers crime up to ninety-eight. Anything he did after that, he can be prosecuted for.’
She thought about it for a moment. ‘How long would he get?’
‘For abduction? I can’t say. Eight years, maybe.’ More if he’d hurt Carly, but Paula didn’t say that. ‘And if he
comes out there’s restraining orders, and electronic tagging – we can help you get away again. Start a new life, out of the country maybe. But at least for a while, you’d be free. And you never know. Once we catch him, there might be other charges we can dig up.’ Unfortunate choice of words there, but Mairead seemed to get what she meant. The dead bodies at the farm – Paddy Wallace must have had a hand in that, surely.
‘I . . .’ Mairead’s hands were white. ‘You must think I’m a terrible mother, not to go and meet him when he has my girl. I’d give anything to get her back, Dr Maguire, I would. But I’m just so scared. I feel like . . . like it’s choking me.’ A small sob escaped her lips.
‘We don’t think that at all. But if you can trust us – trust us to follow you with back-up and cameras and officers on standby, I really think this can all be sorted out. Carly back safe, and your brother in prison where he belongs.’
Mairead thought about it, as if letting herself imagine such an outcome. That was more than half the battle, Paula knew. She was getting through to her. ‘She’s all I have now. My whole family – gone. I had to leave them all behind, cut all the ties. And now he has her.’
Paula settled herself, ready to offer up the last card she had. ‘I know what that’s like, Mairead. My mother went missing when I was thirteen. We never found out what happened to her.’
‘Oh, I—’
‘I tried to run from this place too. Start a new life in London. But it kept bringing me back, because I had unfinished business here. It wasn’t really living, with all that on my back. Maybe this is your chance, to be free of it.’
‘I’m so scared.’ The words were whispered.
‘I know. But we can get Carly back, Mairead. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it.’
‘OK,’ she said in a small voice.
Paula could hardly believe her ears. ‘You mean . . .’
‘I’ll do it.’ She squared her jaw. ‘You’re right, it’s no life, always running with one eye behind you. It’s time we ended all this, Paddy and me. It’s time we talked.’ She looked up fearfully. ‘You promise you’ll send people with me? I can’t do it on my own.’
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