‘He said – he was sorry. I said I’d put the phone down. He said, I mean I’m sorry for you, Roisin. It was your life too. And I’m sorry for all of it. And I said – I said it was too late for sorry.’
‘And?’
‘And he said he knew, but he had to say it anyway. And then he said, goodbye, Roisin, pet. God bless. And he hung up.’ She was weeping now. ‘And then a few days later I heard he was gone.’
‘You think he knew something was going to happen?’
‘I was waiting to hear he’d killed himself,’ Roisin sobbed. ‘I thought that’s why he called. I’m sorry.’ Her tears were leaving streaks in her make-up. ‘It’s just he was my father, and I used to love him, and I’ve lost him too, but I’m not allowed to say. I’m not allowed to grieve, because he was a monster, but—’
‘He was your dad.’ Paula reached for the woman’s cold hand. ‘It’s OK, Roisin. You’ve done your best. Look . . . you’ve a lovely house, lovely family – you did your best. None of us can do any more than that.’
Roisin looked up, her face pale as bone. ‘He doesn’t realise,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t realise how many people’s lives he ruined. And I don’t just mean the ones he killed.’
Kira
Kira was eating her tea when it came on the news. She always ate it on her own now, ever since Rose died. Then, she used to come home from school and do her homework while Rose would sit with her college assignments (she was studying childcare) and they’d work away, sharing biscuits off a plate and with a pot of tea on the coaster. Jammie Dodgers were their favourites but sometimes Rose would get a new kind in the shop and they’d try them. Then Mammy would come home and they’d all eat tea with the news on.
Not now.
Mammy never ate dinner any more. She put Kira’s tea in front of her and stood in the kitchen, wiping everything, staring at nothing. Tonight, like sometimes happened, she hadn’t made any tea at all. It got to six and the oven was still cold and empty and Mammy was in front of the TV, her plastic bottle that she said was water beside her. So Kira put a frozen pizza into the oven and ate it at the table on her own, though it hadn’t cooked right and the doughy bits got stuck in her mouth.
Times like this, she could imagine Rose there. She had a little chat with her in her head. Rose would be washing the dishes, putting them shiny-wet in the rack.
How was the Maths test?
OK. I got a hundred percent.
Good girl yourself. And did that Marian Cole give you any bother?
I told her to eff off like you said.
Just right. If she starts again you tell her she’s as big a hoor as her sister.
Rose always knew the right thing to say.
Kira could get so into these inside-head conversations she’d forget where she was. So she jumped when Mammy made the noise, as if she was choking. She had knocked over the bottle onto the carpet so Kira went in to wipe it. Mammy was on her knees in front of the TV. On it the newsreader, the nice lady with the blonde bob, she was saying about someone being found dead in woodland. Then some pictures came up on the screen. A man, all scary looking. Then three other men and a woman. Five of them. The Five.
She knew what was coming then but it was too late. Mammy was running from the room, knocking over the bottle again so it ran into the pink carpet, and slamming the bathroom door. You could hear her crying, Rose Rose oh my Rose my angel. Kira stood there and watched the picture come up, the street with the petrol station and the security tape, the collapsed buildings, and she knew that street. She’d lain there, paralysed, while Rose died in front of her with her face blown away.
Kira turned off the TV. She got a cloth and sponged the carpet. She threw away the crusts of the pizza and washed the plate, the way Rose would have, and dried it up and put it in the cupboard. Clean and tidy as you go, Rose would say. Then they’d have tea and eat Club bars and watch Friends on Rose’s box set. Kira leaned against the sink the way Rose used to, the sleeves of her school uniform rolled up, her hands wet and wrinkly.
It had started. It was time.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered out loud. ‘Thank you.’
Rose smiled.
Chapter Seven
‘Are you almost back?’
Paula adjusted the hands-free kit; Guy’s call had caught her driving back to Ballyterrin. It was hard enough as it was to reach the wheel over the bulk of her body. ‘I’m on my way. Why?’
‘There’s been a tip-off about a white van acting suspiciously on the A1 near the border.’
She was instantly alert, hands tightening on the steering wheel. ‘So . . . maybe dumping another body?’
‘Could be. Trouble is, it’s a very large area, and we aren’t sure where the van was going exactly. Corry wants us all at the station. Can you make it?’
‘Of course!’ She’d been so afraid she’d be left out of this investigation. ‘Are we going out to the bogland?’ She’d need strong shoes if so, boots even. She had her wellies in the boot just in case.
‘We may, if it turns out there is a body. There’s a team out there already.’
‘Are you at the station?’
Guy seemed to hesitate. ‘I’m still in Belfast. I’ll try to make it, but I’d like you to be there.’
‘That was a long meeting.’
‘Yes.’ Once again, he didn’t tell her what it was about.
‘OK. Listen, I’ll tell you about it properly later, but it seems like Flaherty’s disappearance wasn’t a surprise to him. He called his daughter the day he went missing – they hadn’t spoken in years before that. So maybe he did skip the country after all.’
‘Hmm. He’d also just changed his will, according to his lawyer. Two weeks before the disappearances. Leaving everything to the daughter – save for a sizeable donation to the Mayday Victims Fund.’
Paula almost veered out of her lane in surprise. ‘Really?’
‘That’s top secret, by the way – it would cause all hell to break loose if it leaked to the press. He’s always denied any involvement with the bombing, despite the overwhelming evidence. So let’s keep it to ourselves.’ Paula knew he was thinking of her connection to Aidan. He went on. ‘It’s an odd thing about Flaherty. Unlike the others, his house was clean and locked up, and his milk delivery was cancelled.’
‘Maybe he got out before they came for him.’
‘But he didn’t show up on passenger lists on any planes out of the country and there’s no sign of him on the mainland. It seems he’s just vanished into thin air.’
Paula realised the turn-off for Ballyterrin was nearing. She had to start paying attention or she’d miss it. ‘I better go. I’ll see you at the station?’ She waited for him to say she couldn’t go to the scene, wasn’t fit. He didn’t.
‘OK. See you there.’
Half an hour later, in her stylish attire of wellies, cardigan and maternity jeans, she lumbered into the main station, passing a knot of reporters outside the main door, shivering in the spring breeze. She couldn’t help but look, and hated herself for it – but Aidan wasn’t among them. She sensed he was still annoyed at her for leaving the wedding. She went in, slapping her pass down on the automatic door. Corry had reluctantly let her have one, largely because Paula was still flirting with the job offer she’d been made several months before. Corry wanted her to join her team permanently – so far Paula had managed to put off giving an answer, her pregnancy offering a convenient get-out, but she’d have to decide sometime.
The team had gathered in the large conference room – Paula didn’t recognise everyone, they must have brought in other officers from outside Ballyterrin. The room buzzed with chatter, and as usual men outnumbered women, so Paula, her belly huge, drew every eye. She looked for Guy and didn’t see him, but at the last minute he rushed in, still holding his coat, and stood against the wall, as every seat in the room was taken.
Corry rapped the table for quiet. ‘OK, everyone. No confirmation yet, but I’m betting we have another
body by the end of the day, and we need to be ready. Who, we don’t know yet. The bog is a large area. I’d like this done as quickly and tidily as possible, so I’ve decided to get some help. Fortunately – or unfortunately – we have some experience round here of searching bogland for bodies. I want to bring in a search team to find the other four – hopefully alive, but they’ll also be looking for disturbed ground that might indicate graves.’
There were some murmurs round the table. Bob Hamilton cleared his throat. ‘Ma’am – does this mean we’re bringing in outside experts?’
‘Four more bodies.’ Corry was staring at the combined teams as if it was their fault. ‘That’s what we could be looking at, if we don’t find the rest of the bombers, and fast. Four more dead bodies surfacing God knows where. I’ll use whatever resources I can. So yes, I’m talking about bringing in a private firm.’
‘The others could be anywhere,’ said Gerard gloomily. ‘Where are we supposed to start looking?’
‘And Doyle’s body wasn’t hidden,’ said Guy. ‘It was quite clearly meant to be found, and fast.’
Corry ignored him. ‘Nonetheless, we need to start being proactive. I’m not waiting for more corpses to land on our doorsteps. I’ve already got reporters camped outside. And isn’t this your remit, to find the rest while they might be still alive?’
Gerard raised his eyebrows at Paula across the table. The glasnost between Corry and Guy hadn’t lasted long. ‘Getting her excuses in early,’ said Gerard under his voice.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ll see. This fella they’ve got running the search team, they say he has all the women eating out of his hand. Good-looking bastard, by all accounts. You’d want to watch yourself, Maguire.’
Paula glared at him. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to control myself.’
‘This time,’ said Gerard, with a pointed look at her belly, and raised his hand to ask Corry a question before Paula could bite back. ‘What leads do we have, ma’am?’
Corry said, ‘There’s this white van, like the one in the forest car park when we found Doyle. We couldn’t get a plate this time either, though. As for suspects, I believe you’re looking into an lRA connection, DC Monaghan?’
‘I thought they were the most likely culprits, ma’am – a mass kidnap like this takes a lot of organisation. I’ve got some feelers out, but the most I could find out was that Jarlath Kenny wasn’t pleased about the Mayday bombing – didn’t go down well with his funders in the States, too close to nine-eleven.’
Guy was nodding. ‘I agree with DC Monaghan – I feel we should question the mayor as soon as possible.’
Corry frowned. ‘Oh yes. Jarlath Kenny. He’s an interesting one.’ That was putting it mildly – on the one hand, illustrious local mayor, running for MP in the summer. On the other – former Republican terrorist who’d served time in the Maze prison for handling arms. ‘We need to speak to him directly at some point, yes, though we have to tread lightly. I think that should be an MPRU task. You’re perceived as more impartial.’ In other words, they could do the grunt work and stay out of her way. Paula saw Guy’s mouth tighten as Corry went on. ‘As for the families of the bomb victims– well, no one likes it, but I think someone should go to the relatives’ group. They’re the ones with the strongest motive, if we rule out Republican in-fighting.’ Her eyes went round the room. Paula tried not to catch her gaze – not me not me. ‘Dr Maguire.’ She looked up to Corry’s sweet smile. ‘I think you’d be best. A police officer, it’s more threatening. You’re . . . cosier. Tell them you’ve come to update them on the situation, and see what you can suss out. We’ll probably have to interview them all separately if we do find a body today.’
‘Cosier.’ Paula glared at her. Corry’s eyes took in Paula’s cardigan, the falling-down plait of red hair. All she needed was some knitting to be every police officer’s nightmare of a civilian expert. She could hear Gerard chuckling, and even Guy was frowning, as if trying not to laugh. ‘Whatever you say, ma’am. I’d certainly not want people to feel threatened, after what they’ve been through.’
She didn’t care. At least it got her close to the action, and if anyone underestimated her because of her bump and dishevelled clothes, well, they’d soon realise their mistake.
There was a knock on the door. Corry’s head snapped round. ‘Yes?’
It was a young constable, her hair in a net. ‘Ma’am – phone for you.’
Corry put out her hand for the mobile and took the call in front of everyone. ‘Yes. I see. And where is that exactly? Is there access? Right.’ She stowed it in her pocket like a gun in a holster. ‘We’ve got the body. Shallow grave – barely hidden, in fact, as you said, DI Brooking.’
Guy nodded, slightly mollified. Paula found her voice. ‘Is it . . . a man?’
Corry looked at her for a moment. ‘Yes. Callum Brady, by the looks of it. ID on the body again.’ The team was already stirring, getting ready to go, and Corry picked up her jacket. ‘I’m going there now. DI Brooking, gather what team you need. The body’s on the hillside just off the A1. The land is marshy so they’re setting up duckboards. I’ll need a press statement assembled too – a second body, this is going to get a lot of attention. We have to be careful how we play it.’
‘He’s been murdered?’ Guy was shrugging on his jacket.
‘Yes.’
‘We can be sure this time?’
‘We can be sure.’ She was moving to the door. ‘I said they’d found a body, but what they haven’t found is his head.’
A brisk wind was blowing, tossing the white cotton of the bog flowers, whistling forlornly through the trees as Paula struggled out of her car. There was the usual large group of people milling about, some in white protective suits. Among the crowd, a familiar face. She lumbered to where a short, dark-haired woman was getting into a silver Mondeo. ‘Well,’ she said, in greeting.
‘Well, he’s dead. If that’s what you wanted to know.’
‘I gathered that. Him not having a head and all.’
Dr Saoirse McLoughlin was the FMO on call, a doctor in the local A & E, and for many years Paula’s best friend. After years of absence they were rebuilding some kind of friendship, but it wasn’t easy.
Saoirse eyed Paula as she put her bag away. ‘You’re massive.’
‘Yep. I’m the thing the planets orbit round. Haven’t seen you for ages . . . how’s Dave?’
‘He’s all right.’
Paula wanted to ask, but couldn’t think how, when Saoirse was going to start her course of IVF. Her friend’s face already looked puffy from the drugs she’d been injecting every day. ‘You’re feeling OK?’
‘I’m fine. I’m not the one who looks like a beached whale.’
Paula smiled weakly, though she wasn’t sure it was a joke. ‘I better report in. Meet up soon?’
‘Yes, maybe.’ No invitation to call round. ‘Aidan’s seeing Dave on Thursday. I’ll see if he’s free sometime too.’
Yes, because a social occasion with her ex-boyfriend, possible father of her unborn child, was exactly what would pass for fun in Paula’s world right now. ‘See you.’ She trudged over to the cluster of officers and vehicles.
‘Paula, meet Lorcan Finney.’ Corry was standing by the police van with a big hunk of a man, hidden under goggles and a white suit. This must be who Gerard had been talking about, the leader of the private search team.
She held out her hand, aware that with her pregnant belly and chunky-knit jumper she was a walking stereotype. ‘Mr Finney—’
‘Doctor,’ he interrupted. ‘I’m a forensic geologist.’
She lowered her hand. ‘Well, I’m Dr Maguire. Psychology.’
Rocks, she was thinking, just as he was probably thinking mad theories about her.
Corry said, ‘Dr Finney here is an expert at locating burial sites. He helped us find Brady’s body so quickly.’
‘Don’t the cadaver dogs do that?’
The man took off his h
ood and goggles to reveal a wide, weather-beaten face and flattened sandy hair. His eyes were a startling shade; almost violet in the afternoon light. ‘Aye, the dogs do a good job. They just bring me in for the plod work.’
‘I actually don’t remember sending for you, Dr Maguire,’ said Corry pointedly. ‘In fact, are you not meant to be on lighter duties? I thought I asked you to visit the relatives’ group.’
‘DI Brooking sent for me,’ she lied. ‘There’s a meeting this evening which I’m going to. I’m just trying to understand the ritual of all this. That’s two now, one hanged, one decapitated, you said? Is there a note with this one?’
‘We haven’t found the head yet, so if it’s in the mouth we can’t be sure.’
‘Is there anything useful?’ She was going to have to justify her presence there, in a soggy field, her bump heavier than a small suitcase.
Finney finally seemed to relent. ‘This one wasn’t killed here.’
‘How can you tell?’ Paula raised her eyebrows. A change in MO.
‘No blood in the soil,’ said Finney. ‘His head was removed somewhere else. So if you can work out where—’
It could be the lead they needed. ‘And can we?’
‘Well, that’s where I come in. I analysed the provenance of soil from the previous crime scene, including some we got off Doyle’s shoes. It showed a type of mineral which is quite rare in this area, and certainly doesn’t belong in a forest or a field of boggy soil.’ He slammed a boot on the ground below them, rich and oozy. ‘I need to check with a few local experts, but the good news is this will narrow the kill site down to a few locations nearby. We also found some footprints this time, which were difficult to recover in the previous woodland setting. I think there’s clay mixed in with them.’ He indicated what looked like a toolkit by his large feet. ‘When we find a suspect, samples will show us if they walked in the same clay.’
Corry was looking like a cat who’d found a very interesting mouse to play with. ‘Good, isn’t he? All that from soil.’
Paula tried to regain control. ‘The footprints – do we have a gait analyst on the force, or a forensic podiatrist? We used to have one when I was in London. Often they can tell you lots, like if it’s a man or a woman who left the imprints, or how old they were, all kinds of things.’
The Silent Dead (Paula Maguire 3) Page 6