The Silent Dead (Paula Maguire 3)

by McGowan, Claire

  ‘Is he—’ Fiacra stopped in his tracks.

  ‘He’s all right,’ said Corry. ‘Bloody eejit. This is a publicity nightmare.’ She saw their faces. ‘Yes, yes, I know, but Monaghan will be fine, though he might have a bit of damage to the six-pack he’s so fond of flaunting in the station changing room.’

  ‘Where’s Maggie?’ asked Paula, feeling her heartbeat slow a little. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘I left her at your father’s. She’s grand. I’m more worried about you two. Honestly, Dr Maguire, can you not stay out of trouble for even one day?’

  ‘What have we got to do with it?’ Paula was bewildered.

  ‘You were seen picking him up, weren’t you? DC Monaghan was sent an anonymous email claiming to have information about the case – same person who emailed the Ballyterrin Gazette with the leaked notes, it turns out.’

  ‘Was the email a string of numbers, the date of the bomb?’

  Corry glared at Paula and nodded. ‘Yes, and rather than bring it to me as further evidence of the leak, he went alone to meet them. Someone clearly wanted him out of the way – maybe he was getting too close to the truth with those informers of his. And I’ve no doubt they saw you and know exactly who you are. DC Monaghan will be moved to a secure unit where they used to put injured soldiers. You two better lie low. Why didn’t you ring an ambulance?’

  ‘He called me,’ said Fiacra stubbornly. ‘He said the ambulance might not go down there. He was in big trouble, he said. The blood. He knew it was bad.’

  ‘Yes, I can see.’ Corry wrinkled her nose. ‘You two look like extras from a horror film. I’d send you home to clean up but I can’t spare the officers to guard you right now.’

  ‘It can’t be that serious,’ said Paula, shocked.

  Another glare. ‘Do you really want to risk finding out, Dr Maguire? You with a new baby at home?’

  ‘No,’ she muttered.

  ‘Right. So you’ll stay here until I can have you escorted home.’

  Fiacra and Paula spent the next hour as virtual prisoners in the waiting room, Corry and a uniformed officer stationed outside. Paula had read the same poster about gonorrhoea about a hundred times when she heard loud steps outside, running down the corridor.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Ms Wright, you can’t—’

  ‘I need to see him!’

  Paula tried hard not to look at Fiacra as the sound of Avril’s panicked voice reached them in the room. She got up, slowly, and looked out the glass panel of the door to see Corry remonstrating with Avril, whose face was shiny with tears. ‘You can’t see him, he’s in theatre.’

  ‘Oh no, oh no . . .’

  ‘His spleen is lacerated but he can live without that, so let’s not panic, all right?’

  More noisy sobs. Corry rolled her eyes at Paula through the glass, then opened the door and propelled Avril in with a gesture halfway between a pat and a shove. ‘There now, Dr Maguire will have a wee chat with you, sure isn’t that what she’s good at?’

  Paula shot Corry an irritated glare and led Avril in. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘He – they said he got shot – oh!’

  ‘Come on, sit down. Calm yourself.’ The analyst, normally so neatly turned out, was dressed in jeans and a hoody, on the back of which was printed QUEEN’S UNIVERSITY GIRLS HOCKEY 2005. Her shoulders were heaving. Paula reflected that comforting weeping women was becoming a large part of her job – though she could hardly talk after she’d made a holy show of herself the night Lynch’s body had been found. ‘He’ll be fine Avril, honest.’

  ‘What happened? How did he get shot – oh!’ she caught sight of Paula’s stained jumper. ‘Is that blood?’

  Paula hastily folded her arms. ‘It’s not as bad as it it looks. They said he’d be OK.’

  Avril shook her head, giving out more noisy mewling. Fiacra lurched over from his seat in the corner, looking as pale and miserable as she did. ‘They did say he’d be grand, honest.’

  ‘You were with him.’ It could almost have been an accusation.

  ‘Naw, he rang me, like. The van was chasing him, and they must have known he had intel, so he said he’d run to the main road and I was to pick him up there. It was too late. But we got him here as fast as I could, honest.’

  Avril wiped a shaky hand over her eyes. ‘I wish I could see him. Last time I – oh, I said some awful things. Said it was all his fault. Told him he was an arrogant you-know-what – getting involved with the IRA, and also . . . you know, what happened with Alan.’

  Fiacra took her hand clumsily. ‘Well, so did I. I nearly took a swing at him and all. But when he got in diffs, he rang me. He may be an arrogant fecker but he doesn’t hold grudges.’

  She continued to cry, her face screwed up, and Fiacra looked stricken. He slid to his knees in front of her. ‘Ah, here. I’m sorry, OK? I never should have said a word to Alan. What I did was awful, but sure I never thought – I was just in a mess over Aisling and her wean, but it’s no excuse. I’m sorry, Avril. You were a good friend to me and I blew it, just because I wanted more.’

  With an inarticulate noise she grabbed him to her in a hug. Paula saw his eyes close and thought he still wanted more, whatever he might say. She went back to the door and tapped on the glass. Corry turned her head. Please let me out, she mouthed.

  Corry just smiled and shook her head. It made a change, Paula thought, grumpily sitting down again, when she and Guy were not the most emotionally messed-up members of the team.

  Kira

  Kira couldn’t look at them. ‘Do I have to do it?’

  ‘Yes. She knows too much, and she won’t suspect you. You’re only a kid.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘You agreed, Kira. This is for Rose, and all the others.’

  ‘But she didn’t do anything!’

  ‘No, but she’d put us in prison if she could. She’s close to finding out. We need to stop her. It was her picked up the other officer, the one who was nearly on to us.’

  ‘And . . . you’ll just talk to her, you promise? You won’t hurt her.’

  ‘We won’t need to. She hasn’t done anything wrong, like you said.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘We can just persuade her. She’ll understand. They’ve hurt her too, the bad people.’

  ‘She has a little baby.’

  ‘We just want to talk to her. It has to be you, Kira. Or else this whole thing, it will be for nothing, and we’ll go to prison, while those people got away with it.’

  But they didn’t get away with it. They were dead, all of them except the last. She couldn’t think what to do. Rose’s voice had been fading since they killed the first man. Since everything started to go wrong. She’d wanted them dead, yeah, but when it really happened she’d thought they would just talk to them. She’d thought they would show photos, make them see what they’d done, and maybe they’d confess and go to prison. She didn’t know this was the plan, the hurting, and then taking them away and killing them somewhere. And hurting the policeman, when he hadn’t done anything wrong, he was trying to help them . . .

  ‘I . . .’

  He was looking at her. His eyes were flat and cold. ‘Kira. You’re in this now. It was all your idea. You don’t have a choice.’

  Still looking at her feet, so they wouldn’t see she was nearly crying, she nodded. The weird thing was the only person she could think to ask what to do was the man, and he was in his cage again in the corner, and anyway, what would she ask? She knew the answers already, and inside her head, so did Rose. But it was too late.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Paula spent an awkward night with officers on her doorstep, Maggie sleeping fitfully and waking up to feed, then cry, then sleep, then repeat again. She had the baby nestled beside her in her single bed, thinking over what Corry had said. It was an exaggeration, surely. She wouldn’t be targeted. Whoever was in the van couldn’t have seen her in that split-second. But she thought of Maeve, and of
Gerard, both lying injured in hospital, and clasped Maggie so tight the baby squawked. ‘Sorry, pet. Let’s try to get some sleep. Let’s put you in your cot.’

  She was woken out of a hazy doze several hours later, by voices outside. She sat bolt upright, checking Maggie in her nearby cot. The baby slept, small fists clutched under her chin. Paula looked out the window and saw someone remonstrating with the officer at the front door. A man.

  Wrapping a shabby red dressing gown round her, she crept downstairs, listening.

  ‘Sir, you can’t go in.’

  ‘Ah for God’s sake. She knows me!’

  She opened the door on its chain, feeling the cold morning air on her legs. ‘It’s OK, Constable. He can come in.’

  ‘If you’re sure, ma’am.’

  ‘Yeah. Er . . . are you OK out here, by the way?’ The man looked frozen in his reflective jacket and helmet.

  ‘Fine, ma’am.’

  She opened the door properly, and moved back to let Aidan in. He stood there in the hallway, wearing just a T-shirt, his arms stippled with gooseflesh. She crossed her arms, hugging the dressing gown round her, neither of them speaking for a full minute.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said finally. ‘I heard what happened with Monaghan.’

  ‘He’ll be OK. They’ve moved him to an army hospital. This is just a precaution.’

  ‘Quite the precaution, armed peelers on your doorstep.’

  ‘What do you want, Aidan?’

  ‘To see if you’re OK.’

  ‘You’re running a bit late for that.’

  ‘I . . .’ Whatever he was going to say was lost as a thin wail started up from upstairs. Aidan froze. ‘Is that . . . ?’

  ‘That’s Maggie, yes. That’s her name. My baby. Not that you’ve been around to ask, or see, or . . .’ She had to stop as tears suddenly filled her mouth. ‘She needs feeding. Give me a minute, will you? Go in the kitchen.’

  Paula went upstairs and quickly pulled on jeans and the first jumper she could find that wasn’t too encrusted with milk or sick or snot. She scraped her hair into a loose ponytail and then scooped up Maggie from her cot. The baby was hot and smelled of milk and talcum powder. Paula held her close, murmuring into her head. ‘He’s here. He came.’ She couldn’t put a name to what she felt, anger and excitement and something even stronger, a need that was like a kick in the gut. God, she’d missed him. It was hard to admit in the cold light of dawn, her child in her arms. She had missed him. She needed him. Trouble was, he’d never had anything to give.

  She took the baby downstairs wrapped in a blanket, not looking Aidan in the eye. He was in the kitchen, leaning awkwardly against the counter. ‘Sit down if you want. I need to feed her.’

  ‘Oh, should I . . . ?’

  ‘Just stay.’ She was too weary to explain. She pushed up her jumper. The pull of Maggie’s mouth brought a gasp of relief, the little starfish hands grasping. This she could do. This was helping someone.

  Aidan was staring at the baby, half-hidden by the blanket Paula had wrapped around them. Usually she didn’t care if her breastfeeding bothered people, but this situation just felt too fraught to add anything else to. ‘Red hair.’ He nodded to the fuzz on Maggie’s head, already gingery in the dull light of dawn.

  ‘Yep. Hardly surprising.’

  ‘What colour are her eyes?’

  ‘Well, blue. But most babies have blue eyes at first.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The weight of the unasked questions was suffocating. Maggie had finished, her mouth going slack as she fell back to sleep. Paula rearranged herself. ‘Do you want to hold her?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Well, yeah, that’s what most people do when they come to see a newborn.’

  He seemed paralysed. She stood up and walked the few paces to him, placing the baby in his arms. Close enough to smell his skin. Maggie was asleep, lolling like a doll. Aidan stared at her. ‘She’s so light.’

  ‘Yeah, not when you carry her round howling for hours.’

  He still stared. The only sound in the kitchen was the hum of the fridge, and traffic starting up in the road below, Maggie’s soft breathing. Paula stood watching the two of them. Aidan spoke slowly. ‘She’s . . . she looks just like you.’

  ‘Poor kid.’

  ‘No. She’s beautiful, Maguire. She’s . . .’ he tailed off, staring at the baby. Paula leaned against the counter, registering in some part of her brain that this was the exact place she’d last seen her mother, washing the dishes that morning. She hardly dared breathe in case she shattered the moment.

  ‘It’s hard to take in,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a baby now. Me. I mean . . . it’s daft.’

  ‘Everything’s changed, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Aidan kept looking at the baby rather than Paula. ‘So do we need to talk about that?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ah Maguire. Are you not sick of this? Falling out, making up, having all these stupid misunderstandings . . . I mean, we’ve known each other all our lives. Why is it still so hard?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never mean it to be.’

  ‘Me either. But it is, isn’t it? And now she’s here . . . what’s that going to mean?’

  She might have said something then – something, anything, forgiven him, scolded him, answered his question – but the peace was ended by her phone suddenly trilling on the counter. Aidan jumped slightly, holding the baby tighter to himself; her blue eyes flew open but she didn’t cry.

  ‘Sorry. I’ll just . . .’ Paula answered her phone, listened to the unfamiliar voice on the other end for a minute, and hung up. She took a deep breath. ‘I have to go out. Will you watch her for me for an hour?’

  ‘You’re leaving her?’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘You’re her mother, Maguire . . .’

  ‘Look, John Lenehan’s had another stroke. He’s asked for me, apparently. He hasn’t got long left. He’s dying, Aidan.’

  ‘Why you?’

  ‘Why not?’ She was taking her coat down from the peg in the hallway. ‘Thanks to Flaherty and his lot, he has no one else. They’re all dead. And he may well tell me what’s been going on.’

  Aidan was shaking his head. ‘Pumping a dying man for information. Nice, Maguire.’

  She stared at him coldly. ‘He asked for me. And this is my job.’

  Aidan nodded to Maggie in his arms. ‘That’s your job now. Not running off trying to find murderers. You have to stop, Paula. Stop running. You’re out of road. Stop looking for your mother, stop with this case – think of Maggie.’

  ‘You sanctimonious bastard,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re a bloody dinosaur. This isn’t the dark ages! I can have a child and not be tied to the house forever. How am I supposed to manage? I’m a single mother, or have you not noticed?’

  ‘Only through choice, Maguire. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted, just like always.’

  There was so much she could have said, angry, bitter words that once flung out could never be taken back. Only the latest in a string of their rows. Paula picked up her bag, flipping her hair out from under her coat. ‘Will you mind her? I won’t be long. She’s just been fed so she should sleep again.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Will you help me? Look, I’m so close. Gerard was probably shot because he was on to something. Kenny’s gone. The families are involved, I’m sure of it. And I think maybe Flaherty knew . . . if you’d help me, then maybe I could . . .’

  He still wouldn’t look at her. ‘No, you do whatever you want. You always do.’

  ‘Aidan! Grow up. Will you look after Maggie for me?’

  ‘Of course I bloody will. You don’t have to ask, if you need it. But you shouldn’t need it, not for this.’

  She was pulling open the door, preparing to argue with the constable. ‘I don’t have time for this. There’s expressed milk in the fridge if I get really held up. Call your mum if you have any problems. An
d if you let one hair on her head get hurt, I will kill you.’

  The man in the bed was the colour of overwashed socks, a grey tinged with green. A mask over his face was helping him breathe.

  ‘We could only find your number,’ said the nurse, hushed. ‘Is there any family?’

  ‘No,’ said Paula. ‘Not any more.’

  The noises coming from John were alarming, even with the mask. She turned back to the nurse. ‘Can you not do anything for him?’

  ‘We’ve done our best. It’ll kick in soon. We hope.’

  ‘Is there . . .’

  The nurse shook her head firmly. ‘We’re making him comfortable. Those are his wishes.’

  She pulled up her chair beside him and saw his eyes flicker open. He knew she was there. ‘Hello, John,’ she said quietly. ‘How are you?’

  He made a wheezing coughing noise that could almost have been a laugh.

  ‘I can see.’ She wanted to take his hand, gnarled and shaking on the hospital blanket, but he was a dignified man and he might not like it. She’d do him the courtesy of not showing pity. His hand reached up, scrabbling at the mask. Though she knew the nurse would shout at her, she helped him. His skin was cold and clammy. He slurred, ‘You had your wean?’

  ‘Yes. A little girl. Maggie.’

  ‘She’s . . . well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I think so.’

  ‘You’re . . . working?’

  She knew what he was asking, heard the fuller speech behind his hoarded handfuls of words.

  ‘Yes, I – I just have to see it through, John. I know it’s hard. But I have to do the same for them as for anyone else.’

  A storm of coughing shook him. Paula looked round anxiously; no nurse to be seen. ‘Tried to forgive them,’ said John hoarsely. ‘Tried to follow the Bible. But . . . Danny. And Mary.’

  ‘I know. You lost them all.’ And here he was dying alone, after a life lived to the letter of the law, the wife and son and grandchildren that should have been his all taken from him. His hand clutched hers suddenly. ‘Wanted to go to Heaven . . . but – I couldn’t. Forgive them. Too much to ask. I despaired. Despaired of God. And Mary – a sin.’