‘Where do you think she could be?’ It was Paula’s standard question when people went missing, one that often yielded surprising results.
‘We thought she’d just gone off again,’ he said. Offhand.
‘Again?’ Corry flashed her gaze to Paula, steely. Let him talk.
‘Well – sometimes Alice wanted, like, headspace. You know. She said that’s why she was moving out of campus. So she could work on her summer project.’
‘You said again. Do you mean she’s gone missing before?’
Dermot rubbed his head. ‘Uh – she told me once she used to run away a lot. At school and that. So we thought maybe . . . she went off.’
Paula asked, ‘What about Facebook? When did she last post?’
‘Um . . .’ He took out a phone and scrolled through it. ‘She liked something Katy – that’s Alice’s room-mate, or she was before – put up about friendship. Katy’s always posting these crap statuses, oh I’ve had such a bad day, blah blah, just had the worst time ever. Just to make the other girls go are you OK, babe? and all that. She’s so pass-aggy. That was yesterday.’
‘Tell me about you,’ said Corry, changing tack. ‘What are you studying?’
‘Applied Maths.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘It’s complicated. I don’t think it’s worth explaining.’
‘And you’ve known Alice a while?’
‘We met in freshers’ week. There’s a small class here so it’s easy to meet people.’
Corry said, ‘I gather you dropped out of Trinity before this.’
He looked irritated. ‘I didn’t drop out. I get anxiety. It wasn’t that bad. My parents over-reacted, made me transfer here.’
Paula asked, ‘And when did you last see Alice, Dermot? I mean actually see her yourself.’
He screwed up his eyes. ‘Um . . . I’m not sure. Not that long ago, I guess. A few weeks, maybe.’
‘And she seemed OK?’
‘Well, yeah. Same as normal really. Honestly, she’s probably just gone off for a bit of space.’
Corry regarded him steadily, and Paula could almost hear her thought as if she’d said it: he’s lying. ‘So you aren’t worried about her, then?’
‘Well . . .’ For the first time Dermot paused. ‘I mean, of course I’m worried. She’s my friend.’ He straightened up. ‘Anyway, is it not early for you to be here? I thought you normally waited like twenty-four hours to do anything about missing people.’
‘We don’t wait if we have reasons to be concerned.’ Corry stared him down. ‘Do you think we do?’
‘I don’t know. Like I said, she needs space sometimes.’
Corry held his gaze for a few more seconds, before nodding. ‘Well, if you hear anything that might help, please get in touch.’
‘We’re friends. Best friends. She didn’t have any other girl friends here. She got on better with the boys mostly.’
Katy Butcher was a large girl, with thick-framed glasses that matched the nondescript brown colour of her hair. Katy was sitting hunched over, cross-legged on one of the single beds in the room she’d shared with Alice, also wearing a college hoody, despite the warmth of the day. Sad, low music played; Paula thought it was maybe Snow Patrol.
Corry leaned against a dresser. ‘Would you give the music a rest, Katy?’ The room was small for two girls, one single bed under the window and another in the corner, stripped and unused. Katy’s posters – Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Marilyn Monroe; all the dead girls – crept over half the wall, then stopped, in an invisible line of demarcation.
Katy put out a hand to turn off the iPod dock, and Paula saw it, underneath the thick black wristband the girl wore: a network of broad raised scars, crossing Katy’s arm, right where the skin was thinnest and the veins showed through.
‘How long have you known Alice, Katy?’ asked Corry.
‘Oh?’ She had a habit of opening her eyes up wide under her glasses like a child. ‘I guess since we got here? A year? They said we’d be roomies, which was like the best thing ever, cos we got to be best friends. She told me everything.’ Katy bit her lip. ‘Do you think she’s OK?’
Corry said, ‘What do you think, Katy?’
Katy paused. ‘Alice . . . sometimes she needed, like, space. Headspace, you know. So maybe she went to . . . you know, get a break.’
Corry said nothing to that. The silence in the room felt like an extra person, especially unfamiliar since a girl like Katy had likely never known a moment without snap-chatting or WhatsApping or something. As if to underline this, her phone vibrated. Paula noticed it was an old, beat-up one, of the type only her own father insisted on still using. Katy glanced at it and stuck it into the pocket of her hoody. Paula felt Corry tense; she’d be wanting to tell the girl to put the phone away and listen. To break the silence, Katy spoke falteringly. ‘You know, she moved out there on her own. So. We thought she just wanted to be alone.’
‘But Katy – we found signs of a struggle in the church. And a quantity of blood, too, I’m sorry to say.’
Katy sat up straighter. ‘How much?’
Corry glanced at Paula. ‘Well. Some.’
‘Maybe she cut herself or something?’ Katy fiddled with the band on her own wrist. ‘Did you find anything else? Like anything that makes you think, you know, she’s been – hurt or something?’
‘We don’t know yet, Katy.’
She slumped back down again. ‘Right. So she could have gone off.’
‘All the same, we’re worried. Also, the relic is gone. Saint Blannad’s finger-bone.’
To Paula’s surprise, the girl sighed. ‘Not that again. We were all totally sick of hearing about it. After she had that lecture on relics she just went on and on about it. Wasn’t it amazing and wasn’t it so cool we had one right near here and—’
‘You said we,’ Corry interrupted. ‘Who’s we?’
‘Oh, the gang of us. Like me and Dermot and Peter.’
Corry looked at her list of people to interview. ‘Peter Franks, Alice’s boyfriend?’
Katy sat up again. ‘Er, they’re not together.’
‘We were told by the college that—’
‘It’s wrong. They kissed but like ages ago, only once or twice. He said she was too needy.’
‘So he’s not her boyfriend.’
‘No,’ she said, and her sullen mouth curved into a smile, despite what they’d told her about the blood in the church, despite her missing room-mate. ‘He’s mine. He was with me last night. He spent the night here.’
Paula looked at Corry quickly, but she hadn’t blinked. She was good. ‘Right. What about this other boy? Dermot Healy?’
‘Oh, he’s like my brother. You know, we’re totally close. You could tell him anything, that’s what Alice always said.’
‘But you weren’t romantically involved with him, either of you?’
‘God, no. It’s like he’s gay.’
‘But he’s not?’
‘He says he isn’t. Me and Al thought he was.’ Her mouth lifted again in that glassy smile. ‘I think he’s just kind of in denial?’
Paula asked, ‘What did you think when Alice moved out of college?’
‘I was worried. It’s so weird out there, and I was worried she might – you know.’ She made a vague gesture. ‘The anorexia, like, I mean. That it was back.’
‘You knew Alice had been ill with it?’ said Corry.
‘Er, no had been. She never really stopped. You’ve seen her pictures, she was so skinny. And she like, hadn’t had a period since she was fifteen or something.’
‘Is that right?’
Katy nodded knowledgeably. ‘That’s what it does to you. When she was here, though, like, we’ve got a nurse on site, we’ve all got personal counsellors. They meet us once a month to see if we need pills or whatever.’
‘Did you see her much after she moved?’ asked Paula.
‘Not so much. I’d see her in class or the buttery. Or we’d FB or
G-chat, you know. But it was like . . .’ She sighed. ‘It was like I’d lost her. You know, we were really best friends. Before.’
‘When did you last actually see Alice then? I mean in person?’
She thought about it. ‘God, I don’t know. I think I saw her across the library last week and waved. She didn’t see me but we G-chatted after.’
‘And how did she look?’ asked Corry.
‘Eh, same as usual? She was wearing this big, baggy jumper and had a hat on, even though it’s been boiling. I didn’t really – but I should have realised maybe that was a sign.’
‘What?’
‘When you get really bad with anorexia, you sometimes wear massive clothes, cos you think you’re big. It’s like body dysmorphia or something?’
Paula nodded. ‘Right. That’s useful to know, thank you.’
Corry said, ‘So you can’t tell us why she liked the relic? It seemed to almost . . . obsess her?’
‘Oh yeah. It did. She told me she was interested in what it could do.’
‘What do you mean, do?’
At this, Katy looked up, her face smooth as a child’s. ‘The powers that it had. You see, she was looking for a miracle.’
Chapter Seven
‘A miracle?’ said Corry.
‘You know. She was sick of being how she is. All the time. Not being able to eat.’
‘And she thought the relic could help her?’
‘Well yeah, because it’s for hungry people. She—’ Katy broke off as there was a brisk knock on the door and it began to open.
‘Katy?’ said a woman’s voice. ‘Are you in there?’
Katy straightened herself on the bed, tucking her phone under herself. ‘Ms Hooker . . . hi. The police . . . um. They’re here.’ She gestured towards Paula and Corry.
‘Can I help you, ladies?’ The woman in the doorway was dressed in riding clothes – jodhpurs, jacket, boots. ‘I take it you’re the police then?’
‘DS Corry, Dr Maguire,’ said Corry, indicating Paula. ‘You wouldn’t be the principal, by any chance?’
‘Well, yes, I’m Madeleine Hooker.’
Corry narrowed her eyes. ‘I thought we had an appointment earlier today. You weren’t about to assist us.’
‘Well, I see you’ve gone ahead anyway.’
‘We have. Can we have a word now?’
She looked at her watch and gave a small sigh. ‘Come to my office. Katy, shouldn’t you be studying? I hope you won’t let yourself get behind.’
The woman who ran Oakdale kept a riding crop on her desk, apparently with no sense of irony. Paula was trying hard not to look at it. The walls of Madeleine Hooker’s office (she was called Hooker too – Gerard would have had a field day) were hung with equestrian rosettes, pictures of her jumping horses, meeting the president in a hard hat and jodhpurs. You could tell from her voice she was old money, old Ireland. ‘I hope you won’t upset things here. We run a very delicate ecosystem. Lots of police questions might create an atmosphere of distrust, stress.’
Corry, not one to be intimidated by a woman with a real Hermès scarf and a non-ironic riding crop, geared up. ‘One of your students is missing, Ms Hooker. If they feel anything at all, the others are most likely already stressed. Now, please try to help us with our inquiries – I imagine you’d also like Alice found, and fast. The press must be all over you.’
Madeleine Hooker drew her brows together. She was much younger than Paula had expected – not even forty, maybe. ‘We want Alice found because she’s a member of our community. But you need to understand, Oakdale isn’t like other universities.’
‘How so?’ Paula could almost hear Corry thinking – the other universities would be worried about their damn students going missing.
‘It helps if you think of it more like a monastery, or convent. Somewhere cloistered. And we’re lucky that we have a lot of private bequests, so we don’t have to rely on government funding. We’re fully accredited, of course. We just take a different approach. And we’re fortunate that applications are always high, so we can be selective.’ She swept her hand to the window, indicating the graceful building, the acres of green grounds, the lake like a pewter bowl in the afternoon sun.
‘Does that have to do with your reputation for emotional support?’ Corry asked.
Madeleine Hooker darted a look at her. ‘I’m not sure what you mean. We offer high levels of pastoral care – being so small and cut off, it’s important.’
Corry obviously wanted her to say something about money, and she was far too wily for that. ‘You take care of the students here, Ms Hooker?’
‘Of course. Some of them come to us a little lacking in the . . . robustness to survive a larger university. All that drinking and partying.’
‘No parties here?’
Her lips vanished in a thin line. ‘They are adults, Detective. But we often attract a more reflective type, students who want to learn without distractions.’
‘Was Alice one of those?’
‘I admit, I didn’t know Alice all that well. I can’t, with over three hundred of them. Of course we did know all about her background.’
‘Her anorexia, you mean?’
Madeleine Hooker sat back at her desk, her face reflected in the shiny iMac that dominated it. ‘Alice was being well looked after here. She was in the best place – but unfortunately, as we’re dealing with adults, we can’t always protect them.’
‘Isn’t it true that she hadn’t been seen in college much for a while?’
‘It’s not compulsory. We prefer to let them learn in their own time.’
‘It’s not a cause for alarm, a girl with severe anorexia moving out of campus like she did?’
‘Alice is twenty-two. You can’t expect us to police her life – no joke intended.’ Both Hooker and Corry looked as far from joking as it was possible to be.
‘Well. Yes. I just hope you’ll make sure the staff and students cooperate with our inquiries. It seems impossible to know where anyone’s supposed to be at any moment.’
‘It’s not a school. But I’m sorry to hear if anyone hasn’t been helpful. Perhaps you’d give me their names?’
Corry stared at her over the table. ‘Just ask them to show us every courtesy. A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss either, now and again.’
‘Tea?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well.’ She blinked. ‘I’m sure we can set you up with cafeteria cards. But – will you be here much longer?’
‘Ms Hooker, Alice is still missing! I don’t see why no one here feels the urgency of that.’
The woman didn’t react. ‘A young adult with a history of disappearing, with mental health issues, and she’s not in her house for a day . . . I don’t see that this is necessarily any concern of the college’s, no.’
‘A student goes missing and there’s blood at the scene? I think that’s everyone’s concern, to be perfectly honest.’
She was frowning. ‘I was under the impression that a small amount of blood had been found. And that Alice was prone to self-harm—’
‘Nothing we’ve heard suggests that. We’re treating Alice’s disappearance as suspicious. I’d suggest you do the same.’
Madeleine Hooker sighed. ‘Detective. I hate to have to say this, but about six weeks ago, at the end of term, there was an incident on campus.’
Corry was on it like a wolf. ‘What kind of incident?’
‘Alice was seen in the grounds, apparently having taken something. Quite out of it, by all accounts. Stumbling around, making a show of herself.’
‘Drugs?’
She nodded, a look of distaste on her made-up face. ‘So maybe you’ll see why I wouldn’t necessarily be surprised if Alice had gone off somewhere.’
Corry batted it right back. ‘No activity on her phone? No use of her bank account? If she’s gone off, then where is she? And why is her blood on the church steps? A significant amount of blood, and in the same place another young woman went missin
g over thirty years ago?’
‘I didn’t know about that,’ said the principal stiffly.
‘Well, I’m telling you. This has happened before. Now maybe you’ll see why I can’t be as blasé as you and Alice’s friends seem to be.’
To this, Madeline Hooker had no answer. She shook her head a few times, as if to clear it, then picked up the phone and said, ‘Shona. Make sure our guests get everything they need. Finding Alice Morgan should be our top priority.’
Alice
It’ll hurt, Charlotte says, out of the corner of her mouth. I just roll my eyes up at her. Like I care about hurt by now. Every day is hurt, in this place.
Charlotte has a razor blade hidden in her little-child’s hand. She smuggled it in, then smashed it up and threw away the moisturising bits. We aren’t interested in smooth legs here. We don’t care about anything except getting out. Just there. I feel her hand on my skin, cold as ice. She has it up my robe, holding my pants aside. I bet he would have loved it. Little does he know. As if you feel sexy when you’re one step ahead of death. That’s one of the best things about it.
Then Charlotte, in her strange crazy way, slashes the blade against my upper thigh, way high up, almost in the crease between my leg and my bits. I gulp and she claps the hand holding the pants over my mouth. The material digs into the cut. Shh. Don’t say anything. When they weigh you, just let it drip out.
I nod. That way, he’ll think I’m bleeding. He’ll think I’m a normal girl and that I’m fine, and then maybe, if I’m very lucky, just maybe I’ll be closer to getting out of here one day.
Chapter Eight
‘They all have alibis, the kids?’ Corry and Paula were walking down the main staircase of the house. Despite herself, Paula had to admit it was nice – the kind of place you could imagine being young and earnest.
‘Dermot was working in his room all night, his room-mate says – sounds like a fun lad – and Peter and Katy were supposedly together. That’s been backed up by Peter’s room-mate, who says he didn’t come back to the room. Which by all accounts is a fairly regular occurrence. Why, are you hearing alarm bells?’
A Savage Hunger (Paula Maguire 4) Page 5