The Dead Ground (30 page)

She shook his hand. ‘Mr O’Driscoll, thanks for seeing me. I said on the phone I work with the police in the North. You might have heard about our missing baby cases, and what’s happened since. Well, we think we’ve turned up something you might be able to help us with.’

He looked wary. ‘If it’s a legal matter, I’ll have to contact our lawyers before I say anything.’

‘No, no, it’s not like that. May I?’ She sat on the hard plastic chair by his desk. It was a cheerless office, enlivened only by a stale coffee fug and a row of leather-bound legal books. All the objects on his desk had pharmaceutical branding. ‘Let me explain. I’m looking for any records of one of your nurses – could you tell me anything more about her? She was from Donegal, I believe. Her name came up in connection with our investigation.’

‘Oh yes?’ He was looking more worried still.

‘Could you just look at this for me and see if you recognise her?’ She laid out the photo from Magdalena Croft’s first newspaper article. She’d been twenty-five then, so it was just a few years after she’d got the nursing job, when she’d first started her healing work in Dublin.

‘No,’ said Donald, shaking his head and looking relieved. ‘I don’t recognise her at all.’

Oh. Paula tried again. ‘You’re sure? Mary Conaghan was her name before that. She changed it later, when she got married.’

‘Oh, but this isn’t Mary!’

‘What?’ Paula stared at the man.

‘I remember Mary well. I interviewed her for the post. And that isn’t her. She wasn’t so dark, for a start.’

‘But—’ Paula struggled to understand. ‘We have a trail that shows Mary Conaghan changed her name to Magdalena, then married a man named Croft – we found the marriage certificate. Her name is still legally Mary, in fact.’

Donald O’Driscoll pursed his plump mouth. ‘Well, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen that woman in my life.’

‘You’re positive?’

He peered again at the picture. ‘I suppose there is some superficial resemblance, but it’s not her. I’m sure of it.’

‘Oh . . . Do you have a photo on file of your Mary?’

‘We will do, I imagine, for ID badges. But that file will be buried in a basement somewhere, if she hasn’t worked for us in years.’

‘Can you find it?’

He gave an administrator’s sigh. ‘There would be significant Data Protection hoops to jump through, Dr Maguire, but I’ll try. Leave your fax number and other details.’

Paula wasn’t even sure they had a fax machine at the unit. ‘I will. So – this Mary Conaghan who worked here. We’re very interested in talking to her in connection with our missing baby case. I understand she worked on Neonatal while she was here – is there anything you could tell me about that? No complaints, no problems with the children, anything like that?’ She saw his expression. ‘I understand you might need to check the files, and that some of this might be confidential, but you’d really be helping us out. As you may have seen, another child went missing this week. That makes three in total, and two still not found. Someone is taking babies, and we have to pursue every lead we can.’

He gave her a searching look. ‘Do you have police ID, Dr Maguire?’ He said the ‘Doctor’ as if she were a little girl playing dress-up. She found a card in her bag and slid it over; he made a big point of scrutinising it. ‘Well. We’re always keen to assist the police, of course. I assume this is in connection with the Roberts baby case?’

Paula arranged her face carefully; she knew nothing about that. ‘Can you tell me anything about it? What was the year again – 1983?’ A wild guess.

‘’Eighty-four.’ He pursed his lips again. ‘Very bad publicity. But you see in those days, Dr Maguire, we’d no idea people would do such a thing. Not in Ireland. So we had no security on the wards. The hospital wasn’t found to be negligent in any way, if that’s what you—’

‘No, I’m sure you did everything you could. The child went missing from the Maternity Unit, is that right?’ She was guessing, free-wheeling off his reactions. Was that the same as what Magdalena Croft did, casting the runes of people’s faces?

‘Yes. We’d never had anything like that before. I must admit it brought it all back, when I heard about your case on the news. Ours was also taken from the Maternity Ward, right out of its crib.’

‘Right. Alek Pachek disappeared from hospital too, but then was returned a few days later, safe. That’s the oddest aspect of the case.’

He frowned. ‘But the Roberts child was returned too, of course. Left on the doorstep here two days later, in a shoebox.’

She gave up pretending to know. ‘And was it—?’

‘Dead.’

Paula flinched. ‘Oh. Do you know how?’

‘Exposure. Whoever left her back, they hadn’t wrapped her up enough for November, and she died before anyone found her. The family were devastated.’

‘It was a girl? What was her name?’ There was no real need for Paula to know this, except that she had to. She wondered if the man would remember.

He hesitated just for a second, as if trying to recall. ‘Orla, I believe. Orla Roberts.’

Paula rallied herself. ‘And was there any connection to Mary Conaghan?’

‘She worked on the ward at the time. But you know, a lot of other people did too. We all knew Mary could never have done such a thing – but there was some nonsense about a child going missing when she was younger. Anyway they let her go, thank God. No evidence.’

Paula thought fast. ‘Mr O’Driscoll . . . I don’t suppose they took any fingerprints at the time, did they?’

‘I believe so, yes. I remember we all thought it was a disgrace. Of course Mary’s prints would have been there; she worked in the place!’

Paula tried to stay calm. ‘The fingerprints – if you have those on file it would be very helpful to us.’

‘The Gardai may still have them, I suppose. You’d have to ask them.’

‘Just one more thing. This might seem like a slightly odd question. Did you like Mary? You thought she was a nice person? Did the patients like her, that sort of thing?’

He answered right away. ‘That’s why I remember her so well. Mary was the loveliest person you could imagine. We got more praise for her than any other nurse I’ve hired. We all backed her a hundred per cent – she’d never have hurt a child. And that’s definitely not her in your picture.’

‘OK,’ said Paula, dissatisfied but not sure where she could go with this. ‘Thank you for your help.’

‘So how do you explain that? He was adamant.’

Guy was on the other end of the phone as Paula went back to her car, parked in a multi-storey on Lower Baggot Street. ‘I can’t. Either your contact was lying, or we’ve missed a step and it was the wrong Mary Conaghan after all. It’s not that unusual a name, is it?’ He sounded worried.

‘No.’ Paula fumbled her keys in the car lock, glittering with rime in the cold. ‘And why didn’t this case come up on Avril’s searches, if it was in 1984?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe they kept it quiet, if it reflected badly on the hospital.’

‘It just doesn’t make any sense. I need to see the picture they’ve got on file, but I wouldn’t count on him dragging it up any time soon. The good news is there may be prints.’

‘That’s fantastic. I’m afraid Croft appears to have concrete alibis for the disappearances of Darcy Williams and also Heather Campbell. She’s a bit more vague on Dr Bates and Alek Pachek. If we got prints maybe it would help crack her.’

‘Maybe.’ Paula wasn’t sure anything could. ‘Any other progress?’

‘No.’ His voice was heavy. ‘Not a single thing. No sign of Lucy or Darcy.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘Keep pushing. Follow up every lead there is.’

Paula was silent, thinking of two babies out there in the snow, Lucy ripped from her dying mother and Darcy vanishing from her garden in the seconds it took to answer a phone. ‘Guy?’ She hardly ever called him this, a symbol of their fraught work and personal entanglements. He sounded tired. ‘Yes?’

‘Are we wrong? What if it’s nothing to do with Magdalena Croft? If she really had alibis . . .’

‘So she claims.’ Guy didn’t budge. ‘She’s scammed us somehow, I’m sure of it. We’ll find out how when we finally arrest her. Maybe the Williams case isn’t even connected. You said it didn’t fit the pattern.’

‘It seemed odd, but two baby abductions in the same town?’ She was doubtful. ‘That just doesn’t happen.’

‘Copycat? Is that possible?’

‘Um . . . in theory.’ She wondered again at Guy’s determination to pin it on Croft. ‘Have you ever thought . . . ? Is it possible we’re looking in entirely the wrong place?’

Guy said nothing for a while. ‘I wish I knew, Paula.’

Paula went home, ate dinner with PJ. Potatoes, chops, peas. Tasted none of it. Straight up for a bath in the old tub, the trickle of limescale down the tap, the hot water running out in the middle. Into bed in her thickest pyjamas and jumper, clutching a hot water bottle between her calves, shivering for ten solid minutes before falling into a thick sleep. Which was shattered at seven a.m., when her phone began ringing close to her ear. ‘Hello?’ The room was filled with cold white light. She could almost see her breath.

Guy. ‘Are you awake?’

‘I am now.’
Duh
. ‘It’s Saturday, you know.’

‘I know. Can you come in? They’ve gone to arrest Croft. We got the prints. They matched.’

Suddenly she was awake. ‘The prints on file? They matched the one found on Heather?’

‘Yes. Come on. Now.’

‘But – Mr O’Driscoll didn’t know her in the photo. He said it wasn’t her.’

She heard the impatience in his voice. ‘Paula, every other bit of evidence points to her. Maybe the man was mistaken, or trying to protect her, who knows. Just please get in as soon as you can.’ He hung up.

Chapter Thirty-One

The incident room in the main station was crammed with officers as Paula unwound her long green scarf. ‘She’s really here then?’

Gerard was on hold with someone, the phone receiver tucked under his chin as he bashed two-fingered at his computer keyboard. He looked up as Paula took off her coat. She’d dressed in two jumpers again. Everyone probably thought she’d put on huge amounts of weight. ‘Yup,’ he said succinctly. ‘TSU brought her in an hour back.’

‘They sent Tactical Support, for one woman?’

‘Corry didn’t want a fuck-up. She has all those followers, doesn’t she? You’d never know who’d be there. And there’s a lot of press interest so she’s trying to keep a lid on it. Anyway, Corry’s having a crack at her now.’

Paula was strangely nervous, knowing the woman was on the premises. Those eyes, they saw right through you. She was absurdly afraid that Magdalena would tell everyone her secret. She reminded herself they were looking for someone who could gut a pregnant woman like a carcass. Could the faith healer really do that, after all the couples she’d supposedly helped have babies, the sick she’d tried to cure? ‘What should I do? Where’s Gu— where’s Inspector Brooking?’

Gerard gave her a sardonic look. ‘
Guy’s
in with Corry. Team effort.’

‘That’s unusual.’

‘Aye, season of goodwill and all that. Look, they must be ready.’

Guy had just walked into the incident room, spotting Paula. ‘There you are. We need you.’

‘She came in OK?’

‘Yes, she’s been a model of good behaviour. Bewildered, polite, knows nothing. And she’s only engaged Danny McShane as her lawyer.’

Even Paula knew that wasn’t good. The top criminal solicitor in town, Danny was as slippery as they came. The station tea-room had a picture of him pinned to the noticeboard, ripped from some glossy magazine. His eyes had been blacked out and devil’s horns drawn on in pen. ‘So she denies everything.’

‘Of course. But we’ve got the prints, she can’t keep it up forever.’

Paula was uneasy with this confidence. ‘What do you want me to do?’

Guy was rounding the corner. ‘She’s asking to talk to you.’

‘Croft? Me? But – I don’t do interviews! Corry’ll never let me.’

‘At this point she’ll try anything. Come on.’

‘You’re sure about this?’

Guy and Corry were directing Paula towards the interview room like pushy parents on the first day of school. She was quivering, smoothing down the front of her jumper.

‘We’re sure,’ said Corry, who was today attired in her grey suit, hair swinging in a ponytail. ‘She’s telling us nothing, and if we say it’s a psychological assessment we can get that bloody shyster lawyer out of the room.’

‘But – what will I ask her?’

‘Dr Maguire, is this or isn’t it your job?’

‘It is, but I don’t . . .’

‘Dr Maguire doesn’t usually interview in a criminal setting,’ Guy chipped in. Corry and Paula both glared at him. She could fight her own battles.

She took a deep breath. ‘What’s my main focus?’

Corry said, ‘If she knows anything about the murders. If she’s ever lost a child. If she fits your own profile. Anything that will break her.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Don’t try. Do it.’ The door loomed. ‘In you go.’

It was lonely on that side of the glass. Usually the interviewing officer would have a partner with them, and the suspect a lawyer hovering on every word. But now it was just Paula, pale, shivering with nerves, and Magdalena Croft, composed, attentive, dressed warmly in a tweed skirt, flat boots, and a plain green jumper. With her glasses and grey hair, she looked like a kindly aunt.

Paula cleared her throat. ‘How are you, Mrs Croft? This must be very distressing for you.’

‘Distressing, no. I only want to help. I’ve always done my best to help the police. Finding that little Polish boy meant the world to me. If only I could have traced the others.’

Paula looked back at the two-way glass, knowing Guy would be on the other side of it. ‘I think it’s been explained, Mrs Croft, that the police have discovered quite a few things. They know about Michael, for example.’

No reaction.

‘Michael Gillan? Back when you were Mary Conaghan? Your cousin went missing from his crib while you were minding him. Can you tell me about that?’ Nothing. Paula tried again. ‘Mary?’

She slowly blinked. ‘My name is not Mary.’

‘But it was.’

‘A lot of things were. A life is long and twisty, Dr Maguire. People change hugely. You should know that, of anyone.’