The Killing House

by Claire McGowan

  In the audience, Paula caught sight of Mairead Wallace, her face in darkness beneath the blue of the screens. It was the first time she’d seen her without her daughter. Paula pictured the lines of Carly’s pretty, petulant face, caked in make-up, hooped earrings tangled in her thick dark hair. And then she realised, with a jolt down her spine: Carly and the dead girl could have been sisters.

  ‘. . . unacceptable to announce you’ll be pressing charges. It completely undermines the trust we’ve built up within the community, the chance of further tip-offs coming in—’

  ‘And what community would that be, Mr Tozier? The terrorist community? How am I expected to lead an inquiry if you have information you won’t share?’

  Paula couldn’t help but listen in to the heated discussion going on inside Corry’s office, between Tozier, Willis Campbell, and herself.

  ‘Wish I’d had some money on him losing it too,’ remarked Gerard, who was Googling shoes to spend his previous winnings on. ‘He didn’t seem the type.’

  ‘Everyone has a breaking point,’ Paula said, hunched over her computer pretending she wasn’t watching through the shuttered glass window. ‘It’s just a matter of finding it, is all.’

  ‘I’d say they’d found each other’s, right enough.’ Gerard pushed his seat back suddenly. ‘Avril, what do you say we start another pot? Likelihood of love blossoming between the boss and the new fella?’

  Avril frowned. ‘Don’t be daft. She can’t stand the sight of him.’

  ‘You couldn’t stand the sight of me at first.’

  ‘Still can’t, sometimes.’ She smiled at him.

  He turned to Paula. ‘Maguire, you agree with me? Banter, sniping, blow-ups . . . it’s all foreplay, right, even if they don’t know it?’

  ‘You want to throw your money away, it’s no skin off my nose,’ she remarked, but she was thinking of herself and Aidan, how things had always combusted between them, and she knew he was probably right.

  ‘I’ll do it if I can keep the usual house fee,’ said Avril, calling up a new spreadsheet.

  ‘Listen to her, Maguire, she thinks she’s running a Vegas casino. What would your daddy the reverend say to that?’

  Avril tossed her hair. ‘Oh, he knows I’m long past salvation, now I’m marrying a Taig.’

  Paula tuned out their banter. The door of Corry’s office had opened, and a cross-looking Tozier had come out, being placated by Campbell. ‘You two tear away. I need to speak to Corry.’

  ‘There’s something Mairead’s not telling us.’ Paula paced in Corry’s office, frustrated. It was a small, functional space looking out on the concrete box of the car park, where in the eighties nine officers had died in an IRA mortar attack. Children’s drawings were pinned to the noticeboard, though Corry’s kids had long grown out of that and would have been mortified if they’d known such relics were here.

  Corry sat calmly at her desk, answering emails. She was taking a Zen approach to Tozier from now on, she’d announced. If I pretend he’s not there, he can’t annoy me. Now she said, ‘There’s a fair few somethings she’s not telling us, I’d say.’

  ‘She won’t give a DNA sample. She rang her brother in prison the other night, which she never mentioned. And the daughter, Carly. She looks just like the girl we found. Did you notice? Same hair and everything. All the Wallaces are very alike, as we’ve seen. But Mairead said it wasn’t her sister. Did you compare the reconstruction to that picture of Aisling Wallace?’

  ‘Of course we did, Maguire. What do you think this is, amateur hour?’

  ‘And?’

  Corry shrugged. ‘There are some similarities but nothing conclusive.’

  ‘We need to find Aisling Wallace. If she’s even alive. And another thing – I just checked Carly’s Facebook again and she’s twenty, not nineteen like Mairead said.’

  ‘One year out, it’s hardly a big deal.’

  ‘You ever heard of a mother rounding her child’s age down? What if she wanted us to think Carly was born later than she was?’

  Corry gazed at her. ‘Sit down, Maguire, you’re wearing a hole in the carpet and we haven’t the budget to get it redone. I agree with everything you’re saying. But I’m sure Mairead has her reasons for not talking, and for not giving a DNA sample either. She’s here, isn’t she? Despite what it cost her to get on that plane and come over. That means she wants to talk. Even if she doesn’t know it yet. So leave her be, OK? The girl isn’t getting any deader, God love her. Let’s not push Mairead so hard we drive her away.’

  It wasn’t good enough. Paula sighed and tried to stop her pacing. Unbidden, her mind turned to Guy in their cosy London office, high above the river. The sun would be setting in it now, turning the dark water blood-red. She’d linger in the office to discuss their cases, before going down a few floors to pick up Maggie from day care. They’d go home, hand in small sticky hand, catching the bus to the flat on the Isle of Dogs. Paula would feed Maggie, and bath her, get her to bed, then sit alone with a single glass of wine. That had been her new life, the one she was making for herself. She’d left it all behind to come back here again, to the town with no answers, only a bottomless hole of questions. ‘It’s just so frustrating, both Mairead and Ciaran not talking.’

  ‘Tell me about it. And on top of that we’ve got Tozier breathing down our necks at every turn.’ Corry glowered out the door, where the man in question was cosying up to Willis Campbell, another person who knew how to work a TV camera. ‘Well, Maguire, you may as well go ho—’

  They were interrupted by heavy steps coming up to the door, which was thrown open by a red-faced Gerard Monaghan. He’d put on weight, Paula noticed suddenly. That was what love did to you. Made you comfortable. Slowed you down. ‘Ma’am? There’s a phone call. I think you should take it.’

  Corry lifted her eyebrows and then her phone, and listened, and her face changed. ‘OK, OK, try to calm down and explain. What are you saying? Mairead . . .’

  At the name, Paula stared at Gerard, who mouthed: dunno. They listened. ‘Only an hour . . . OK, I hear you. We’ll come. I promise.’ She hung up, suddenly grim and in charge again. ‘Carly Jones is missing. Mairead got back to find the flat door lying open and no trace of her. Come on.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The PSNI safe house was a nondescript flat in the new part of town, an anonymous block overlooking the grey basin of the canal. The showroom pictures had been taken on some rare sunny day when the water was shining and ducks and swans swam on it, even some yachts moored up. Canal-side living. But it was still Ballyterrin, and as Paula’s father would have said, you couldn’t make a silk purse out of a cow’s arse.

  She followed Corry, clattering through the bare cream-tiled lobby and up the stairs, Gerard in front, adopting a raid stance. ‘Stop it, would you?’ said Corry, irritated. ‘It’s not Miami Vice, OK?’

  ‘What’s Miami Vice?’

  She shot him a glower and stopped outside the door of number five, rapping softly. ‘Mairead, it’s us.’

  The door flew open. Mairead Wallace was in the same black dress she’d worn to the press conference, her feet shoeless in fraying nylon tights, one false fingernail sticking out as if she’d bashed it on something. Her face was haggard with fear. ‘Where’s the rest of them? You didn’t bring them Forensics people or what have you?’ She looked past them into the empty corridor.

  ‘She’s only been gone an hour, Mairead; we can’t authorise that, I’m afraid. Can you talk us through it?’

  She gestured them in, pointing to a plain leather couch. The room was pleasant enough, looking out on the water, but as barren as a cheap hotel. Mairead wrung her hands. ‘She wouldn’t just go off. She knows I worry. She knows.’

  Corry perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘So you came back and the door was open? Ajar or just unlocked?’

  ‘Sitting open. She’d never do t
hat. She’s a good girl, careful. She’s had to let herself in after school from when she was eight.’

  ‘Any disturbances?’ Gerard was inspecting the door frame, which looked intact. ‘This hasn’t been forced.’

  ‘It all looks the same.’ Mairead cast her worried eyes to the kitchen. ‘Just some cups sitting out, like . . . nothing else. Just like this.’ The place was tidy enough, a small purple wheely case pushed to the side, the contents folded away. Corry bent to look.

  ‘She’s a tidy girl, your Carly? I wish I could get my daughter to pick up after herself.’

  Mairead was distracted, pacing. ‘I just keep thinking and thinking what the last thing she said was. Did she say she’d go out for some food, or the shops maybe or . . . but she wouldn’t do that. I told her to stay put. I didn’t want her at the press thing, she doesn’t need to see all that. And the TV was on when I came in. I switched it off before I realised, just habit, you know.’

  Corry jerked her head at Gerard, who snapped on gloves and bagged the remote control with efficiency. He loved all this. Mairead watched. ‘Is that . . . why did you do that?’

  ‘Just a precaution.’ Corry moved to the galley kitchen, where two Ikea mugs sat out on the counter. ‘These were like this when you arrived? Is one yours from earlier?’

  ‘No, I didn’t . . . we washed them all up after lunch.’

  ‘You found it like this? You didn’t make a drink since you came in?’

  ‘No, of course not, I was too worried!’

  ‘Would Carly have used two cups?’

  ‘I . . . Why would she do that?’

  Corry was already gesturing to Gerard, who repeated his bagging trick. ‘Mairead. Could someone have got in, do you think? Would Carly have let someone into the flat?’

  Mairead’s face was stricken. ‘Who? Nobody even knows she’s here. Nobody knows she . . .’ She tailed off. ‘You will look for her, won’t you? On TV it always says you have to wait twenty-four hours, but she wouldn’t do this, I’m telling you!’

  Corry and Paula exchanged glances. It was worrying, the timing of it, when the girl didn’t know anyone in Ballyterrin, and what was also strange was Mairead’s extreme reaction to her grown-up daughter being gone for an hour. Her daughter who was one year older than she’d said.

  ‘We’ll look,’ said Corry soothingly. ‘Let me make some calls.’

  The station already had a hum that Paula recognised, which matched the thrumming in her own chest. This she could do. A girl was missing, and needed to be brought home. This was in her blood. Corry was already doling out orders, the weeping mother hidden from sight in the relatives’ room. ‘CCTV on the building?’

  Avril, ever efficient, nodded her tidy blond chignon. ‘There’s one at the front but no sign of Carly on it – she might have gone out through the car park. But it’s quiet during the day, so we only saw one black car leave during that time. We’re trying to decipher the licence plate.’

  ‘Good. Buses, trains, all that? Could she have got away by herself?’

  ‘Nothing at the bus station or the train,’ said Gerard, rolling up his sleeves. ‘Uniform have been round with a picture.’

  ‘Paula?’ Corry was waiting for a magic answer, expecting her to look at the tangle of clues and pull out a solution like a rabbit from a hat.

  ‘I’d say she went off with someone. Neighbours heard nothing, yes?’ They’d struck lucky; the next-door flat was occupied by a newborn baby who never slept and his frazzled parents, who’d been at home all day and heard nothing untoward. ‘So, likely no struggle. If she left in a car, that suggests someone came around, she made them tea, and they went off together. But who?’

  ‘She doesn’t know anyone here,’ said Corry. ‘She’s never even been to Ireland. Seems to me Mairead made sure of that.’

  ‘That Facebook post – looking for her family. What if someone got in touch?’

  Corry was nodding. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Can we get into her private messages? Is Trevor still working here?’ She’d always been fond of the baby-faced tech officer, despite his low-slung trousers and incomprehensible slang.

  ‘He is, much to my sorrow. Monaghan, get him up here. Wright, keep throwing the net wide. You know the drill. CCTV anywhere in town, buses, trains, taxis – oh, and we better get an alert out.’

  ‘So soon?’ Avril had her pen poised but she was right, it was unusual to take action when the girl was only just gone, her tea barely cold. Corry must have a feeling something wasn’t right.

  A uniformed PC marched up, breathless, weighed down by body armour she hadn’t yet taken off. Paula didn’t recognise her. She was out of the loop here already, feeling like an awkward visitor. ‘Ma’am, we found something in the underground car park of the flats, and traces in the lift. Blood.’

  Paula’s heart began to pound.

  ‘Is there a camera in the lift?’ said Corry, swift and hungry.

  ‘There is, but we can’t get anything off it. It’s been smashed.’

  Corry nodded. ‘We’ll need that DNA sample from Mairead after all, to see if it’s Carly’s blood. In the meantime start the alerts and that. Off you go.’

  ‘What can I do?’ asked Paula.

  ‘You and me need to have a wee word with Trevor. I think you’re right, the Facebook post is the key. Someone answered it, said they were a relative. She arranged for them to come over to the flat and they took her. We need to find out who that was. But first we better talk to her mother again.’

  Margaret

  When the girl came back she was boking her ring up. It wasn’t easy when you were tied upright, and it was going all down her front, a stinking acid smell filling the room. Margaret was too tired to even feel shame. ‘Help me,’ she croaked, closing her mouth as a fresh wave of nausea swamped her.

  The girl’s eyes were huge. Today she wore jeans and a GAA shirt, the local county colours. ‘Are you sick? Was it the food?’

  ‘No, no.’ Although it hadn’t helped, cold and congealed as it was. ‘I’m having a baby, you see. Morning sickness.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Does he know I’m having a baby? Your brother?’ She was sure they’d never had a pregnant woman here before. Some part of her had been afraid to use this bargaining chip. Not at all sure it would make a difference, and of course it left her even more vulnerable. Shying away from telling anyone at all, the secret she’d carried for months now. But surely they’d let her go if they knew, release her on some country lane at dawn. She imagined it, knocking on some random door to use the phone, then calling – who? PJ? How would she then explain this baby? Edward? He’d not come for her so far. Maybe he was already gone, back in England, safe. ‘Did you tell your mammy about me like I asked?’

  The girl came closer, wrinkling her nose at the smell. ‘I better get something to clean you. He doesn’t like it, Paddy. Dirt, or mess.’

  ‘Wait! What did she say, your mammy? If she knows I’m here?’

  The girl spoke over her shoulder, awkward. ‘She said . . . everyone says the same, when they’re out here. They’re special. They didn’t mean it. They didn’t do anything. But if they didn’t do anything, they wouldn’t be here, would they? That’s what she said, anyway.’

  Margaret’s heart plummeted. Who were these people? Aisling went, and was soon back with a steaming bucket of hot water and cleaning fluid. It smelled homely and safe, but all the same Margaret flinched at the sight of it. Just a bucket. The same kind she used to wash her kitchen floor. Which she hadn’t done for a week, what with all the running for her life she’d had to do. Would PJ think to do it? She should have mentioned that in her note and . . .

  Stop it, woman. What did it matter about the bloody kitchen floor?

  The girl had also brought a clean sweatshirt, soft and well washed, far too big. Did it belong to the mysterious mammy maybe? The mot
her who’d sit in her house, knowing a woman was tied up in the barn outside? The girl hesitated, trying to work out how to get the sweatshirt onto Margaret.

  ‘You can untie me. I won’t move, I promise.’

  She nodded and pulled at the bonds, helping Margaret out of her stained top and into the clean one. A practical girl, and a kind one. And yet look what she was doing, holding Margaret here, doing nothing to stop them. As she knelt to do the ankle knots, Margaret thought again about lashing out. Fighting for her life, her baby’s life, and running. But she couldn’t. This girl was not much older than Paula, and she just couldn’t. She couldn’t believe she’d even had such a thought. Maybe it was true after all, all the things they were saying about her. Maybe she did deserve this.

  ‘Thank you,’ she rasped. ‘For helping me.’

  The girl turned at the door again, Margaret’s stinking jumper in her arms. ‘Aisling,’ she said hesitantly. ‘That’s my name. I’m Aisling.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mairead sat on the edge of the pale green couch. The room was nice, with toys piled in the corner and carpet on the floor, but there was no hiding the reinforced windows or the smell of industrial cleaner. She balled a tissue between her hands, shredding it to fluffy white pieces. ‘She’s never done anything like this before. She knows not to let people in if I’m away.’

  ‘We think she asked someone round to the flat, then left with them. Perhaps against her will.’ Corry was being tactful. Finding blood was not a good sign.

  ‘But she doesn’t know anyone here! How could she?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to work out. Mairead, as I said we found a small bit of blood in the building. We’ll need a sample of DNA from you to prove it’s Carly’s. It’s not lots, so don’t panic. She might have just cut herself or something.’

  ‘DNA?’

  ‘Yes, but just a cheek swab. It won’t hurt, I promise.’

  But maybe that wasn’t the problem. Paula watched her face, which had suddenly closed up again. ‘Do I really have to?’