The Dead Ground (7 page)

‘It was at the airport, if you can believe. I used to go on wee trips over to Soho. You know, after I – realised. She’d been at a conference, and there she was, and I just saw her right away in the airport queue. We didn’t have to say anything. You know how it’s like that sometimes – you see someone and you know right away, that’s the one for me? There’s something special between you, and things are never the same after that?’

Guy and Paula avoided each other’s gaze. ‘Mmm,’ she said, drinking her tea. ‘Could you tell us about the clinic, Ms Cole?’

Veronica wrung her thin hands, eyes darting to the door again. ‘It was her pet project. She thinks it’s a disgrace that there’s no abortion here, more than thirty years since we campaigned on it at college. She thinks it’s a medical procedure, like having your tonsils out, and that it shouldn’t be political.’

‘I see.’ Guy wrote this down. ‘And there were threats?’

‘The letters started after there was a sermon against her. A Presbyterian preacher, out in the country. Then one time, it was a brick.’ She looked at the front window. ‘The police said go ex-directory, vary your route home, that sort of thing.’

‘Must have been frightening,’ said Paula.

‘Very. But she wouldn’t give up. That’s Ali. It’s who she is.’ Her eyes went to the door again. ‘Do you think something’s happened to her?’

Guy said the words they always used, designed to give hope, but not too much. ‘In most cases a missing person is found again quite quickly, safe and well. Alison hasn’t been gone very long. You saw her this morning?’

‘Not really. She gets up early. She tries not to wake me, but I heard the car start. They told us we should check under, you know, for bombs. So I always wake up when it goes. Then Erin – that’s Ali’s assistant – she rang to say Ali never turned up.’

‘And that wasn’t like her?’

‘Not like her at all.’ She leaned forward confidentially. ‘The women who go there – the girls – Ali always said they were under enough pressure. It was her job to be on time, to be unemotional, give them all the facts.’

Paula tried to keep her face blank, thinking it was possible she’d have made a decision by now if the doctor had been there.

‘I’ve tried all our friends,’ Veronica went on. ‘Ali has a sister, but they’re not in contact. No one knows anything. Her car – I suppose if we could find that—’

‘The PSNI are looking for it now,’ Guy reassured her. ‘They’ll find it soon, I’m sure.’

‘Erin said the clinic was still locked when she arrived. Normally Ali would open it – she didn’t even like Erin having a key, she’s so security conscious.’

And something of a control freak, it seemed. Not the type to up and run away, unless something in her had finally snapped. ‘Does she have a home computer?’ Paula asked. ‘Often we can get useful information from those.’

‘Yes, a laptop. She doesn’t let me use it! She’d have it with her, normally; she keeps everything on there. Even all her clinic stuff, the patient records. She doesn’t want anyone else to have access, you know, in case some of these extremist people get hold of it.’

That was enough to make Paula shiver, seeing as her own records were in there.

‘Ms Cole,’ Guy was saying. ‘Is there anyone else Alison might have gone to see, anyone at all we could check with – a distant friend, a relative?’

Veronica paused. ‘I was trying to think. I suppose there’s a chance she went to see Heather. They’d had that falling-out, of course, but it’s possible Ali wanted to make it up with her.’

‘And who’s Heather?’ asked Guy, making notes.

‘Ali’s daughter.’ She saw their expressions. ‘You didn’t know she was married?’

‘I’ll drop you back,’ Guy said, ushering Paula out to his BMW. ‘You’re very pale still. Are you sure you’re OK to be working?’

She put on her seat belt, wearier than she wanted him to know. At least the puking had subsided. ‘I can’t be off now, can I?’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘We’re running out of time with the baby, and if Dr Bates doesn’t turn up soon—’

‘You think it looks bad?’

‘I do. I don’t like the sound of those death threats.’

‘It’s an inflammatory issue here, abortion. And her living with a woman too – some would see that as deliberate provocation.’

Guy did what she’d come to think of as his Ballyterrin look, a sort of ‘I can’t believe how backward these people are’ shake of the head. It made Paula bristle in defence of her home town, then realise sadly that some things were indefensible. ‘What were you doing there anyway?’ he asked. She froze. He retracted. ‘Sorry. It’s just you said you had a lead. I take it that’s why you knew her name.’

She stared out the window and spoke carefully. ‘I had an idea that she might know about women who’d lost babies in the town – you know, if they’d had abortions. Then when I got there, she was missing.’

As she’d hoped, he either bought it or didn’t want to ask further. ‘I suppose it was worth looking at. You should have told me, though.’

They were pulling into her street now, snow suspended in the air beneath the street lights, a pinkish hue over all. ‘I know.’

‘It’s just – you remember what happened last time you went it alone—’

‘Do I remember having a gun held to my head? Yes. I do.’ An awkward silence fell. She could see her breath in front of her. ‘Sorry. Have they worked out who was on the ward that day?’

‘Not entirely, with the snow causing problems. They checked the Maternity leave records – that was a good idea of yours, thank you – but everyone’s child is accounted for. Do you have any ideas?’

‘There’s a technique called cognitive reconstruction. We might be able to take them back and recall who they saw. Our brains can’t consciously process everything we see, especially somewhere busy like a hospital, but it might be in there anyway.’

‘Good idea. Otherwise we have to hope there’s a response to the TV appeal.’

‘And Dr Bates?’ she said. ‘Will we start with the daughter?’

‘If we proceed. Maybe she’ll turn up tomorrow.’

‘Mmm. Maybe not.’

‘Let’s dig out those letters she received. They’ll be on the system, if they were reported. Can you knock up a quick victim assessment?’

‘I can try. She doesn’t sound the type to wander off. If it’s an extremist, they’ll let us know they have her, and soon. Otherwise there’s no point.’

‘Right. Oh – I nearly forgot.’ He made a face. ‘Listen, Corry wants you to see this faith healer tomorrow, if you can bear it. She thinks you can work out if the woman’s for real, or something. You can refuse if you want. It’s hugely disrespectful. I can’t believe she had the gall to compare you to some money-grubbing fraudster.’

Paula didn’t mind. ‘The way I see it, if this woman knows things, if she’s getting so much right that she couldn’t know otherwise, she’s finding out somehow. And I’d like to know how that is.’

He was smiling, very slightly. ‘I knew I could count on you.’

She had the door open and small flurries of snow were landing on her coat. ‘It’s really coming down out there.’

‘Be careful on the ice.’

She paused. ‘Was there something you wanted to tell me, earlier?’

He opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind. ‘You look tired. Tomorrow, if we get a chance.’

‘OK. Night.’

As she crunched over the new-fallen snow in her boots, she knew with a certainty deep in her spine he was watching her, making sure she got to the door safe, but when she turned, his car was nothing but a ghostly set of lights receding into the pink-tinged dark.

‘Dad?’ She took off her coat and wiped her boots on the mat. ‘I’m home.’

PJ was at the table, surrounded by official-looking papers, and seemed to jump slightly as she came into the kitchen. ‘You’re back late.’

‘We had another case come in. What’s up?’

‘What’s “up”? This isn’t America, Paula. Nothing is “up”. I’m going through some papers is all.’ Paula recognised the several small black notebooks PJ was now stuffing out of sight. He’d been looking through his old police notes. She knew he’d been doing this since he retired, going over past cases. Why, she hadn’t asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

‘Why?’ She rummaged in the bread bin and slotted some white sliced pan into the toaster. She’d been running all day on tea and office HobNobs.

‘I might redo my will, I was thinking.’

‘Why, see who gets custody of me?’ She nibbled a corner of bread.

He looked irritated. ‘Don’t be putting crumbs all over the clean counter.’

Paula ignored him. She was thirty and pregnant by one of two possible men. Surely she had the right to make crumbs wherever she chose.

PJ was clearing away the papers and Paula caught a flash of green – her birth certificate. Paula Mary Maguire. Father, Patrick Joseph Maguire; mother, Margaret Catherine Maguire. Somewhere in there would be her parents’ marriage certificate, back when her mother had still been Margaret Sheeran. No death certificate, of course – there’d never been a body to bury.

PJ stumped off towards the living room, the documents back in a taped-together manila envelope under his arm. ‘That snow’s lying. You may wear better shoes tomorrow, or you’ll be sliding all over the show.’

She rolled her eyes, so hungry she took the toast upstairs, picking at it with her fingers instead of buttering it. In the cold little room where she’d spent all her teenage years, she turned on her laptop and called up the website of Magdalena Croft – psychic, visionary, and faith healer. The site contained a lot of interest about Mrs Croft, but nothing that made Paula feel better about the upcoming interview. The woman had been in Ballyterrin for a long time, it seemed, at least fifteen years, though she wasn’t a native – her accent on the site videos was not Northern. As well as having visions, during which she claimed the Virgin Mary appeared to her, she also held faith rallies in the barn behind her house, where, in front of hundreds of people, she healed the sick, helped ‘barren’ women conceive, and could even ‘drive out the demons that cause homosexual urges’. Paula couldn’t believe the size of the crowds pictured on the site – a video showed the scale of it, Magdalena Croft too far away to even see her face, laying hands on a child in a wheelchair.

What interested Paula was the fact she seemed to have collected a lot of money from her followers to build a proper church behind her house, but five years on there was still no sign of it. There was also information on how to stay at the house for a ‘healing’ experience – for a lot of money – and a number you could call for phone or private psychic consultations. Paula was going to have to bite her tongue so hard it’d be hinged in the middle. Because there was no denying Croft was doing something. There were hundreds of testimonials on the site from happy customers.

Realising how late it was, she turned off the computer with a sigh and lay down, hoping that her mind and stomach would stop churning and let her sleep.

Chapter Seven

‘It was very good of you to come in, Mrs Campbell. We didn’t realise about your condition.’

Guy had Heather Campbell, Alison Bates’s daughter, installed in the interview room, in the most comfortable chair the unit could muster – still not great. Heather had her mother’s cool, unmoving face, and her hair, held up by a jewelled clip, was the same dark black the doctor’s might have been before it turned iron. She was also heavily pregnant, and wearing a crucifix around her neck. Her expression was sour and unhappy, and the huge bulk of her stomach meant she couldn’t get near enough to the table where her cup of tea rested. There’d been a moment of consternation when she’d asked for herbal tea – the unit tended to live off dark stewed Barry’s – but Avril had come to the rescue with some sachets from her desk drawer.

Heather frowned. ‘I’d rather come here than have you tramping all round my house.’ After giving Paula a first, suspicious once-over, from her shoes to her untidy hair, she had refused to look either of them in the face.

‘You live just outside Ballyterrin? How’s the snow been?’

‘Bad. Can we get on with this?’

‘I’m sorry if we’ve kept you from work or anything.’ Guy was trying his hardest with her, but it wasn’t being reciprocated.

‘I’m on maternity leave.’

‘I see. You’re due soon, then?’

‘After Christmas. I took some time off.’ She looked at him. ‘Look, it’s snowing out there, and I’d like to get home to my husband. You better ask me those questions.’

‘Of course. As I explained on the phone, your mother is currently missing – though we haven’t yet put out an official report. Ms Cole thought you might have seen her.’

Heather scowled at Veronica’s name. ‘I don’t know why she’d say that. I haven’t spoken to my mother in months.’

‘She knows about the baby?’

Heather was rubbing her stomach in slow, firm circles. The bulge of it under the maternity smock and layers of scarves and coats had Paula transfixed, as she sat quietly beside Guy. ‘I went to see her when we found out. I told her I didn’t want to see her any more. I mean, I don’t talk to her much – the odd time maybe. But not after this.’ She looked Guy straight in the eyes. ‘She helps kill babies. She did it herself when she lived in London and she’d do it here if they let her. So why would she care that I actually want mine? It didn’t mean a thing to her.’

‘Was she upset when you told her?’ asked Guy.

‘How would I know? She never shows any emotion. She just said, “Well, Heather, you’re an adult; you can make your own choices.”
Choice
. It’s all she ever talks about. I was upset – but Jim – that’s my husband – and Daddy, they convinced me it was for the best. I don’t need her.’

‘How old were you when your parents divorced?’ Paula asked, speaking for the first time.

‘Fifteen.’ Heather twisted her own wedding ring, which dug into her swollen finger. ‘Daddy’ was Roy Bates, one of Belfast’s top cardiologists, Paula knew. A typical marriage of doctors, career equals – except it hadn’t lasted.

‘And was it acrimonious?’ Guy took over again. ‘Is it worth contacting your father?’

‘Only if you’ve time to waste – they haven’t talked since. Daddy hates me being in touch with her. He says she walked out on us. I mean – I understand, it happens, you fall in love – but how could she marry Daddy and then go off with a woman?’