A Savage Hunger (Paula Maguire 4)

by Claire McGowan

  I realise Katy is crying. Al . . . you’re my best friend. She’s out of bed. I hear her heavy footsteps on the square of carpet between our beds. Al – please don’t be mad with me. I can’t – I can’t take it.

  She’s kneeling beside me. I can feel her breath – warm, damp. And suddenly I am back there. That night. Everything. I love you, she says. You know I love you.

  I’m out of bed before I know it, shaking. Get away.

  Katy cries harder, sitting on the floor. I don’t understand. What did I do?

  I could say, Oh, hey Katy, you know how you were actually there when it happened? You didn’t happen to see if it was Peter or Dermot or maybe both? (Or you, you’re there sometimes when I . . .)

  I say, Katy. Louder. Katy.

  I know she can hear me but it takes her a while to say, What.

  Why don’t you help me?

  She doesn’t answer.

  I try, I know you know what happened.

  Nothing.

  Katy, I could tell them, you know. I could tell them what you did to me and . . .

  Nothing again, and I think she’s just going to ignore me. Then I hear her voice, hard and low across the room. I don’t know why you think they’d believe you. Everyone knows you’re fucked up. So fine – if you want to go, just go. Leave me. Disappear, if that’s all you know how to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  ‘Listen, pet, I know what happened, Aidan told me—’

  ‘No, Dad. It’s not OK – I didn’t want this! Aidan and I, we discussed it, it was no one else’s business . . .’

  ‘I know.’ PJ put his hand on her arm. He was not a demonstrative man, and it stopped Paula in her tracks. She’d burst into their house, nothing in her head but anger at what Pat had done, what Aidan had done. ‘I know all that. She had no business. She knows it too. She was just in a bad way. Thinking it was her fault you and himself couldn’t get your heads together.’

  ‘No one told me! Did you know too?’

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t, pet, I swear it, I just found out—’

  ‘Lying to me! For two goddamn years! About my own child!’ Vaguely, she wondered if Maggie was in earshot. She was too angry to care.

  ‘I know. Listen, would you. Pat did a wrong thing, and it’s been eating her up ever since. But you need to know something else before you go tearing into her. She was down at the hospital the other day—’

  ‘I know, Saoirse told me, but—’

  ‘Paula.’ She subsided. Her father – did he have tears in his eyes? She’d never seen him cry, not even when her mother went. He’d kept it from her, tried to pretend everything would be fine, in the grand tradition of Ireland.

  ‘Dad.’ Her heart fell like a stone. ‘What—’

  ‘She’s not well.’ PJ’s voice was suddenly thick with tears. ‘She – she went for some ould tests, and they said . . . well – she’s not well. She didn’t want to tell you till after the wedding.’

  ‘Is it – what is it?’ Paula could hardly force the words out. ‘Cancer?’ He nodded dully. ‘What kind?’ PJ opened his mouth, nothing came out. Made a shapeless, desperate gesture with his hands. ‘Breast?’ she tried. He nodded again. ‘Well, that’s – it’s often OK, isn’t it . . . I mean did they say . . .’

  ‘Aye, aye, they’re going to try – things.’ He gave a big juddering sigh. ‘Look at the cut of me. Grown man bawling like a wean. There’s things they can do, or so they say. But she needs us to help her get well.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  He indicated the living room. ‘But don’t . . .’

  ‘I won’t. Let me see her.’

  Pat was lying on the sofa, an unprecedented sight. She had her eyes closed and a blanket draped round her. She stirred as Paula went in, groping for her glasses. ‘Oh, pet . . .’

  ‘Don’t get up.’ Paula went over to her, sank to her knees. ‘Oh Pat.’ Suddenly she was choking back tears too, her nose aching and eyes blurred. ‘God, what a mess. It’s all such a bloody mess.’

  ‘I’m sorry, pet,’ Pat croaked. ‘I did a terrible thing. It wasn’t my place. And I love her, you know I love her like she was . . . and you like you’re . . .’

  ‘Shh.’ Paula grasped Pat’s hand, which was shaking, cold despite the blanket and warm day. ‘We’ll get you well. None of that matters now. Leave it. We had to find out sometime.’

  ‘I never treated her any different,’ Pat was saying. ‘She’s my wee dote . . . And my Aidan, locked up in that place, because of what that man did . . . When’s it going to be over? When will we have a bit of happiness?’

  Paula didn’t know the answer to that. It hadn’t seemed so much to ask for; a wedding, a happy family. But that wasn’t going to be the way of it now. ‘It’s OK. It’ll be OK.’

  She looked up at her father, who was stooped against the door lintel, as if he was sick too. She knew two things – one, that although this changed everything, she would never reproach Pat for what had happened. It was done, it was crossed, it was too late. But two, that every moral and reason in her being told her she had to let Guy Brooking know he was Maggie’s father.

  ‘Paula.’ Colin McCready rose from behind his desk. ‘I’m very sorry . . .’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ Paula sat down, dropping her bag on the floor. She didn’t want to hear how sad it was. She wanted to do something about it, and quick. She hadn’t slept a wink all night – her wedding dress staring at her like a ghost from inside the wardrobe, Maggie limp beside her, having cried herself to sleep. She’d sent everyone away – she couldn’t bear the looks, the pity. Now she was here to do something. If that was even possible. There had to be something she could do. She just had to focus on that, and keep going, and maybe it would be all right, and she wouldn’t have to think about the fact her wedding hadn’t gone ahead and Aidan was in prison. ‘So you’ve had the details, I think. It seems . . . well, I wouldn’t say they had a watertight case.’ They. She was used to being on the side of the police. Of right, as Corry said. But now . . . she didn’t know.

  ‘No. Unfortunately your . . . er, Mr O’Hara did admit to assaulting Mr Conlon that night. That will make it difficult. Any of the blows he dealt could, of course, have killed Mr Conlon. Mr O’Hara was seen drinking by several people, and his dispute with Mr Conlon is well known—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Paula impatiently. ‘It’s not good. I know it’s not good. I just want to know what’s likely to happen.’ So that she could make some decisions.

  He hesitated. ‘If we’re lucky they won’t be able to prove he intended Conlon’s death . . . manslaughter, even. But they might say Mr O’Hara went to the pub with pre-meditation. He hadn’t been in there for a long time, the owner said.’

  Typical of the landlord, dropping Aidan, who had been one of his most loyal customers, in it at the first sign of trouble. ‘Aidan’s been off the drink. It was his stag do.’

  ‘I know. That may . . . go against him. You also had a trip booked for a few days later, I believe. That doesn’t look good.’

  ‘It was our honeymoon.’ She stared hard at her hands. The wedding manicure was still in place, not even chipped. But everything else was broken, wrecked beyond repair.

  ‘I know. I’m very sorry. There’s other evidence too – they’ve matched Mr O’Hara’s shoes to some footprints on the deceased.’

  She didn’t understand. ‘On him?’

  ‘It looks like he’s been stamped on.’ Aidan, planting a trainer on Conlon’s chest – the distinctive star of the Converse he always wore – standing on the man, kicking him till he stopped moving.

  She wasn’t going to be sick. Not here. She would hold it together. ‘Right. And how many years would it be for manslaughter?’

  ‘With good behaviour . . . maybe eight.’

  Eight. Maggie would be ten then, at least. Paula tried hard to breathe.

  He hovered, his kind face red and anxious. ‘I’m very sorry, Paula. I wish I’d better news.’

 
She stood up. She couldn’t bear pity, not from him, or anyone. ‘Not your fault. Will you take the case please, Colin? I want you to do it. I know you’ll see him right . . . or as right as anyone can.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Paula. Of course I will. But—’

  ‘I know it’s not good. Just whatever can be done.’ Compassion on his florid, fat face. Colin McCready, a lifelong bachelor, did not look after himself all that well.

  Suddenly she knew she had to get out of there, the sad little office with its out-of-date calendar and wilting pot plants, the very same desk in the reception that her mother had sat at, in another life. ‘Thank you, Colin.’

  Outside, the town felt febrile. Ready to pounce, ready to topple. The murder of a prominent Republican like Sean Conlon, coming in the restless heart of the summer, would not pass peacefully. The streets were full of men, young and old, hanging about. Waiting for something, even if they didn’t know what. Hoods pulled over their faces. Stones in their pockets, and maybe worse.

  ‘There’ll be more trouble tonight,’ PJ had remarked that morning in a ‘talking about normal things’ voice. Because for everyone else, this was normal. Life was going on. They’d riot and burn things, and everyone would enjoy themselves, except the police, who’d get spat at and dodge stones and wonder if anyone in the crowd happened to have a gun.

  No one cared about Paula’s problems. It mattered to no one that her wedding had been cancelled and her fiancé was in prison. It was high summer in Ballyterrin, and that meant riots would be held, and maybe someone would die, and Alice Morgan would still be missing. Nothing had changed, but all the same everything was different.

  Alice

  It was a while before I heard about Yvonne. I was already working here when Maureen brought it up. Bloody old gossip. I don’t know how you can stay alone in here, Alice.

  Oh really? Thinking – shut up, you nosy old bag. Trying to sound light and perky.

  Oh aye. Well, you know about the girl who vanished here? And of course I didn’t and of course she told me every gory detail, ending on: and they never found her, not even a hair off her head.

  Are you saying I’ll vanish too, Maureen? I said.

  You never know, she said, with that usual vague dread that Irish people seem to like. Then off she pops for an evening at home with her awful husband, leaving me out here all alone in my damp cottage with no lock. Thanks, Maureen! But I maybe I should thank her after all. Maybe that gave me the idea.

  I looked Yvonne up, later that night, all alone in my horrible spidery cottage. Anything to take my mind off things. And there was her photo – and it was like looking at myself. As if I’d died and this was my memorial. And I’d never even heard of her.

  How awful, to be gone and not be famous. To be missing and the world just keep going on, as if you just slipped out of someone’s pocket and down the back of a sofa. The people who hurt you just carrying on with their lives, as if you didn’t matter. Not being punished. Not being stopped.

  It won’t be like that for me. I’m going to make sure of it.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Paula paused with her pass at the door of the station. She couldn’t bear it. She just wanted to get on with work, forget that she’d been up all night again with a sobbing Maggie who wanted to know why Daddy had to go away. Paula had hardly been able to leave her that morning, with a quivering-eyed Pat and silent, miserable PJ. And she hadn’t even thought about the news that Aidan had given her, what she was going to do about that. No sign of Guy, thank God, but she’d encounter him sometime. And then what?

  She was walking to her desk through the main office, head ducked down, when someone planted themselves in her way. She looked up, but she’d already recognised the handmade shoes. ‘Sir.’

  ‘Dr Maguire,’ said Willis Campbell. ‘I’m surprised to see you here.’

  ‘Why?’ She met his gaze, thinking she really didn’t care any more what Willis Campbell thought of her. There were more important things.

  ‘You have leave booked, for one thing.’

  ‘It’s been cancelled.’ She knew it was him who’d authorised Aidan’s arrest, right in the middle of her wedding. It was him who’d ruined everything. But he couldn’t send her home because of it – could he?

  She could feel the waves of annoyance roll off him, along with his Aqua di Gio. ‘Are you sure you really want to be here? With everything?’

  She looked past him, trying to keep her temper. He was just doing his job. She’d do the same. ‘I think work is the best place for me, sir. Especially with Dermot Healy missing as well.’

  ‘I hate to say this, Dr Maguire, but you’ve not exactly added much to the investigation up to now. And with your family . . . situation, I’m not sure you should be working here.’

  Paula looked him in the eye. She was two inches taller than him. ‘Are you saying you’re suspending me? Because last time I checked I hadn’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘I don’t know what you expected me to add, either. This is a complex case, and no one has any more insight than I do. I’m not a miracle worker.’ She had left out the sir, and God, it felt good. Not to care. Not to worry about what might go wrong, because everything already had.

  He seemed to think about it for a moment, almost waiting to see if she’d mention his role in what happened. ‘If you’re absolutely sure your work won’t be affected.’

  Paula gave him a tight smile. ‘All I can do is my best. Sir.’

  He stood back, but she knew he was watching her as she walked off.

  Corry was at her desk, and thankfully she didn’t offer any platitudes. ‘Well. I wasn’t sure we’d see you today.’

  ‘I just need to . . . is there anything?’ The room seemed busier than usual.

  ‘Still no sign of Dermot or Alice, no. We’re searching everywhere.’

  ‘Did you get anything off his phone?’

  ‘Loads. Dermot, Peter, and Katy have been exchanging messages all the way through this.’

  ‘They’re in it together?’

  ‘They’re in something. You were right, they’ve been lying to us the whole time.’

  ‘Can we bring Katy in?’ said Paula. ‘We need to try and catch her out. And now Dermot’s gone, we might have a chance.’

  ‘Why am I here? Did something happen to Dermot? Did—’

  ‘Katy, Katy. Please calm yourself.’

  Katy was in the interview room at the station. A change of scene. Not her own bedroom, where she felt safe. This room was stark, unforgiving, the dazzle of harsh lights in your eyes. Katy wore her usual misshapen clothes, the black band prominent on her pale arm. Corry said, ‘Your parents are on their way. We’ve recommended they engage a lawyer for you. In the meantime we’ve supplied one. You’ve understood the rights that were explained to you?’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘I didn’t need a lawyer before.’

  ‘No. This is a bit different. Katy – I have to tell you that we’ve seen the messages.’

  Katy looked blank. Almost bovine. ‘What messages?’

  ‘On WhatsApp. From you to Dermot and Peter. You see, Dermot left his phone behind when he went.’

  Still the blank look. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Come on. I’m telling you, we have them.’

  ‘Er, I don’t even use WhatsApp. I had it once, like, ages ago, but I couldn’t figure it out.’

  ‘Katy. I must ask you to tell us the truth. We’ve seen your messages. Talking about what happened. Saying you needed to tell the police about it?’

  ‘What?’ She looked at her lawyer, puzzled. ‘I honestly don’t know what they’re on about. I don’t have it. It was on my old phone, I think, maybe, but I don’t use it.’

  Corry stopped. ‘Your old phone?’

  ‘Well, yeah, I had a smartphone, but I lost it a while back. I just have an old crap one now, a Nokia.’

  ‘But Katy, we’ve seen messages that come from your number
. It’s registered to you.’

  She just stared at them, slack-jawed. ‘My old number. It must have been, my phone can’t even . . . Honest, I don’t know where that one is. I lost it. So I just got a pay as you go one, till my contract runs out and I can get a new phone. It was Alice’s idea.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I didn’t want to tell my mum I lost it – she’d have killed me, the phone cost a fortune. So I just got a new SIM. It was a real hassle to tell everyone, such a pain.’

  ‘Alice told you not to cancel your old number?’

  ‘That’s right. She said the phone might turn up and then my mum wouldn’t need to find out.’

  ‘Katy, when was this?’

  She screwed up her eyes, remembering. ‘Um, I guess it was like, a month ago? Two months?’

  ‘Before Alice went missing.’

  ‘Yes, right after—’ Katy stopped, bit her lip. For a moment Paula, watching, felt a surge of annoyance. How could she be so stupid, so slow, and yet still run rings around them? What were they missing?

  Corry leaned in. ‘Katy. In these messages, which purport to be from you, there’s a lot of references to “what happened”. Something that involved you, and Alice, and the boys. They seemed to know what it was. There are references to drugs. Now I need you to tell me, do you know what that was?’

  Katy looked all around the room. At the video recorder, at the blank walls. At Corry. At her lawyer, who was just as puzzled as anyone. She seemed to be weighing up her odds. Then she let out a small noise, like a child about to have a tantrum, and burst into tears.

  ‘Katy would like to make a statement,’ said her lawyer, a while later.

  Katy was red-eyed, shredding a tissue onto the table. ‘I want to tell you what happened,’ she said. ‘I should have before, but – I was afraid. I thought maybe they would hurt me.’

  ‘Who would, Katy?’ asked Corry. She sounded tired. In the interview room, the recorder was running.

  ‘Peter. And Dermot too. It was them, you see.’ Katy spoke formally, as if she’d rehearsed it in advance. ‘They raped Alice. They gave her drugs – MDMA, I think. I didn’t want to take any, but I think they put it in my drink because everything went all funny that night.’