The Dead Ground

by Claire McGowan

  He frowned; she’d got him. ‘I was busy reopening the paper. You know it’s got new investors – I was busy. And you weren’t well anyway.’

  ‘Neither were you.’ She felt the ache in her temple where the gun had been pressed, the night she and Aidan had come face to face with a desperate man. They’d got through that ordeal alive – not everyone had – but it had left scars. ‘Tell me this. How’s the arm?’

  Wrong-footed, Aidan blinked down at his shoulder, where the bullet wound was barely healed. Snow was settling in his eyelashes. ‘It’s all right. I’m supposed to do physio on it, but it’ll be grand.’

  She turned to approach the house. ‘Then I suggest you get in your crappy car and fuck off out of here, or I’ll have Gerard arrest you.’

  ‘Maguire! You’re so tough these days. What, did you watch too much Law and Order when you were off sick?’

  ‘I mean it. You need to leave right now.’

  As she walked off she could hear Aidan’s laughter in her ears. She forced herself not to look.

  The door of the large white mansion was opened by a priest. That was a surprise. Paula’s mind went blank.

  Gerard stepped forward. ‘Morning, Father. Is Mrs Croft in, please? We’re from the MPRU.’ He flashed his ID. Paula remembered and righted herself – this was the psychic’s ‘spiritual adviser’, Father Brendan, a Catholic priest she’d convinced of her visions.

  The priest was middle-aged, his head pink and bald as a baby’s, small glasses slipping down his nose. ‘Could you give your feet a wee wipe there,’ he said, fussily moving the doormat. ‘All that snow’s so dirty when it melts.’

  The house was expensively furnished – mahogany chairs, large ceramic vases – but with no sign of being lived in. There was an echoing feel, and a smell of new plaster. Rooms stretched off on either side of the corridor they walked down, and Paula had the impression of a large building around her. She knew people came to stay sometimes, trying to get cured of terminal illnesses, and often conveniently leaving all their money to Mrs Croft when it didn’t work.

  ‘She’s praying,’ the priest whispered, as he opened the door to the sitting room. ‘Don’t disturb her.’

  ‘You’d think she’d have been able to predict we were coming,’ Paula muttered, once he was out of earshot. The woman in question was sitting forward on a blue-and-cream striped sofa, hands on her knees, lips muttering. She wasn’t what Paula had expected at all. She couldn’t have said what she had expected, but not a woman in her early fifties with grey hair plaited round her head, glasses on a jewelled string, and dressed in an acrylic jumper and slacks. She looked like somebody’s auntie.

  The door creaked as Gerard and Paula went in, and Magdalena Croft’s eyes opened. She gave a little yawn, as if waking from a refreshing nap. ‘The police?’

  ‘The MPRU.’ Gerard dipped his head respectfully. ‘Ma’am.’

  She put the glasses on and peered at them. ‘You’re very young, both of you.’

  What to say to that? Sorry? Thanks? Paula sat down, struggling to get any purchase on the slippery cushions of the sofa. ‘DCI Corry sent us to have a word with you, Mrs Croft, to see if you can help us find Alek Pachek.’

  ‘Do you believe I can?’ A direct stare.

  ‘Erm – I don’t know.’ Gerard shot Paula a look when she confessed this, but the psychic looked pleased.

  ‘An honest girl. It’s Dr Maguire, is it? Over from England?’

  ‘Yes. Paula. I grew up in Ballyterrin, though.’

  ‘And what’s your name, son?’ She smiled at Gerard, who seemed suddenly shy.

  ‘DC Monaghan.’ He paused. ‘I mean, it’s Gerard. Ma’am.’

  ‘Well, Gerard, maybe you would pop out there to Father Brendan and ask for tea. I’d like a wee word with your colleague alone. It’s the energy,’ she explained. ‘The Holy Virgin sometimes won’t come to me if there’s men around.’

  Gerard took his large frame out, casting curious backwards glances. Paula and the psychic regarded each other. She’d expected to approach this interview as if assessing someone deluded, hallucinating, but now she had the distinct feeling she was being assessed herself. ‘Um – I understand you’re acquainted with Alek’s family, and they asked for you to be brought in.’

  ‘Poor young people. They came to me when she had trouble falling pregnant.’ She indicated a small end table, which held a box of tissues, a crossword book, and a blue teddy. Paula knew where she’d seen that teddy before – in Alek’s empty crib. The psychic’s hand stroked the toy’s soft ears. ‘It helps if I have something they touched – not much choice for Alek, poor wean.’ Her accent was hard to pin down, veering on different words between Irish and English and possibly American.

  ‘And can you see anything?’

  The psychic seemed amused. ‘Not yet, Dr Maguire. I’m praying. I don’t just ring the Holy Virgin up on the telephone, you know.’

  ‘What do you do?’ She met the woman’s eyes, framed by the large glasses.

  ‘I’m often asked this question. I say it’s like standing with your back turned, and when you aren’t expecting it someone comes up behind you and takes you in their arms. When I was a child I heard the Holy Mother speak – she said carry your cross, Magdalena, and go on the roads of Ireland. Bring my grace to everyone you see, and I will give you the gift of healing. And she did. You can talk to any number of people I’ve made well again.’

  ‘I see.’ Paula tried to keep her face neutral. ‘Do you understand how it works – your gift?’

  ‘It’s a miracle. I’m not required to understand and neither are you.’

  ‘Yeah. Mrs Croft – do you keep records of the women you see who want a baby?’

  ‘Records?’

  ‘Yes. You see, we think Alek was taken by someone who can’t have their own child, and we wondered if they’d come to you.’

  Magdalena smiled; it was strangely chilling. ‘Dr Maguire. If you came to me for help in your darkest hour, would you like to think I’d pass your name on to the police?’

  ‘No, but we are the police, and—’

  Suddenly the woman got up and came over to Paula. She was wearing slippers over her tights. She sat down beside her and laid a cool, firm hand on Paula’s forehead and another on her stomach, over the baggy jumper. Her hands felt very heavy. Paula froze against the sofa. Magdalena’s eyes were closed. ‘Yes. You have a very deep heart. Your mother – she’s no longer with you?’

  Paula was paralysed under the hand. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’ She tried to hide the quiver in her voice. The whole town knew about Margaret Maguire’s disappearance. It hardly required a psychic gift to recognise who Paula was. The hair was distinctive enough.

  ‘You know, I could see her, maybe, if I had something of hers, something she touched—’

  Paula jerked away. ‘Please. Stop it.’

  Mrs Croft withdrew. ‘Enough. I can see right into you.’

  ‘Good for you.’ She was quaking.

  ‘I don’t think you really want to lose this baby, do you, Paula?’

  ‘Alek? Of course not, that’s why we’re here. That’s why I’m asking you these questions, so if you could help us and—’

  ‘Not Alek.’ The woman stood up. ‘I mean the one in your belly.’

  A rattle. The door opened, Gerard and the priest coming in with tea on a tray, slopping over on the floral pattern. Magdalena straightened up. ‘We’ll not need the tea after all, Brendan. Our guests won’t be staying. I can’t see anything for wee Alek, not yet. Let’s pray the Virgin comes to me soon.’

  Gerard gave a quizzical look at Paula, who was still shaking, dragging herself to her feet. He said, ‘OK. Thanks for your time, Mrs Croft.’

  Paula stopped at the door. Her voice was trembling as much as her hands. ‘Alison B
ates. Does that name mean anything to you?’

  The woman’s face was blank as water. ‘I think everyone knows who Dr Bates is. Everyone who follows God’s way, that is.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means she’s evil. That woman kills children. The people of Ballyterrin don’t want her living among them, spreading her sin.’

  ‘Have you ever met her? Have you seen her recently?’

  ‘How would I ever meet a person like that?’ Magdalena Croft stood there, her face placid and unreadable.

  Gerard caught Paula’s arm. ‘Come on, Maguire, let’s go. Thanks again, ma’am.’

  ‘You OK?’ Gerard looked at her curiously as he started the Jeep, wipers clearing a new fall of snow from the windscreen. A new car had arrived in the car park, inside it a young couple who seemed to be having a tearful row. More supplicants to Magdalena?

  ‘Yeah. Just cold.’

  Gerard fiddled with the heater, letting stale hot air spew in, and drove out to the road. ‘You reckon there’s anything to it, what she does?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s tricks is all – the same as what fortune tellers do.’ That’s all it was. It was easy to see a pregnancy, wasn’t it, if you knew what to look for? Tess Brooking, Guy’s wife, had guessed it nearly a month ago, with her midwifery expertise.

  ‘I’d an aunt went to Croft once,’ Gerard was saying. ‘Auntie Louise. She was desperate for a wean – ten years married and nothing. This Magdalena gave her some kind of powder to put on her tongue. From the Virgin Mary, she said. Load of crap.’

  ‘And did she get pregnant?’

  ‘Oh. Well, she did, actually. But you hear that a lot, don’t you, when people believe it can happen.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s bollocks. She’s just a fraudster, like Guy – Inspector Brooking says.’

  Gerard glanced at her again. ‘Why’d you ask that about Dr Bates? I thought we hadn’t put out yet that she’d gone missing.’

  ‘No. I know. But I remembered Croft mentioned her once, at one of her rallies or whatever they are. It was on YouTube. She basically denounced the doctor, said she was going to Hell.’

  ‘So did a lot of people, though. She was hardly flavour of the month in town.’

  ‘I know. Let’s just go, OK?’ Whether it was the cold or what had happened, Paula didn’t stop shaking all the way back to Ballyterrin.

  When they arrived at the unit, it was clear something was different – that familiar tang in the air, activity and fear.

  She still had her coat on when Guy came out of the office. He wore a black sweater over his shirt and tie. ‘Well?’

  He was holding his phone.

  ‘That was Corry. We’re going to the town centre.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘After you left, Magdalena Croft went into a trance. She’s told them exactly where to find Alek.’

  ‘And was she right?’

  ‘That’s what we’re going to see.’

  Chapter Nine

  Ballyterrin was full of churches. Catholic, Methodist, Presbyterian – there was one on nearly every street, and the largest was the cathedral, a gloomy Gothic structure in the heart of town, among the charity shops and discount stores that passed for a retail hub in these post-recession times. By the time they reached it, it was snowing so hard the building was nothing but a shadowy bulk.

  ‘You stay here,’ said Guy, pulling on his coat.

  ‘But—’

  ‘I mean it, Paula. Tactical Support are still in. It could be dangerous. I’ll send for you.’ And he was gone, wrenching the door open in the gale, so the breath of snow blew her hair round her face.

  Inside Guy’s BMW was calm and warm, compared to the flurry of activity she could see up and down the steps of the building. Yellow coats flashed in the dark, obscured by a new veil of snow, falling like ashes in a nuclear winter and whirled against the car windows by a slicing wind. Tensed like a bow, Paula scrubbed at the patch of window to try to keep track of things. There was the cold blue light and thin wail of an ambulance illuminating the snow, and a rush of bodies. What was going on?

  This was intolerable. Unable to stand the wait, she flung open the door, shielding her face against the onslaught of snow. The wind seemed to tear layers off her skin. At the door of the church, a bundled paramedic emerged with something pressed to their chest, and then sirens kicked up a howl as they raced to the ambulance. Was that Alek? Paula staggered up the steps of the cathedral, past several uniformed officers in huge jackets, unrecognisable beneath their layers. She shouted her name over the wind and hauled back the heavy door into the dark exterior. The sound dropped away.

  In the dark, incense-scented aisle she stopped, suddenly afraid. What would she find? She’d been in all kinds of crime scenes, faced down sociopaths, even been taken hostage. But this. Babies. The soft warm place where the bones didn’t meet. No way to protect yourself.

  She made herself walk towards the altar, where they were rigging up huge lights that made her blink, black spots swimming. The pews and naves were busy with techs and police officers, surely the oddest congregation the place had ever seen. High-vis jackets struck an incongruous note against the old stone. There was Helen Corry, already directing everything with her own brand of ruthless authority. She wore a grey coat with a black fur collar, like Julie Christie in Dr Zhivago. ‘Dr Maguire. We’re hoping you can shed some light on this.’ She looked up at the spot lamps. ‘No joke intended.’

  ‘Where was he?’ She was scanning the altar – tabernacle, candles, advent wreath with one candle lit for the first Sunday in December. Over to the side, a nativity scene with waist-high wooden figures of Mary and Joseph, plus assorted animal companions. It was charming in a primary-school way, and made Paula yearn for something she couldn’t quite name. No baby.

  ‘There.’ Corry pointed. ‘The blankets.’

  ‘In the crib?’

  In the manger, where the Jesus figurine would be placed come Christmas Day, was a pile of white cot blankets, soft waffle knit. The kind with silky edges. The kind you wrap babies up in.

  ‘Taking the place of Our Lord himself,’ said Corry drily. ‘Apparently he’s fine. A wee bit cold but basically OK. He wasn’t here long, they say. The priest only left an hour back.’

  ‘He was exactly where she said,’ Guy said, his hands in the pockets of his long black coat. The snow in his hair made him look older, distinguished.

  ‘Um—’ Paula tried to focus. ‘So putting him in the manger, that could be one of two things. Either thumbing the nose at the police – a mockery sort of thing. Or some kind of delusion. And if he was well treated—’

  ‘Yes,’ said Corry. ‘The paramedics said the baby clothes were fresh, and he’d been given a bath. Nappy new on – also, he didn’t have those blankets when he was taken. Someone’s been looking after him.’

  ‘So that doesn’t really fit.’ Paula circled the altar, trying to get a sense of it. It was very cold inside the church, icy breezes catching you at odd angles, the spire vanishing up into gloom. The faces of the statues shrouded in darkness, the rack of devotional candles guttering in the draught, casting shadows that moved and wavered. She hugged her arms to herself over her coat. ‘Giving the baby back is very unusual. What you’d expect in this kind of case is you’d either hear nothing again – the child would grow up in a new family, or perhaps die, since this kind of abductor often doesn’t know how to care for them. Or else they’d be found through police work. But to voluntarily return him—’ She shook her head. ‘They don’t do that.’

  ‘I’m glad we bother making all those appeals asking them to then,’ said Corry. ‘Anything else?’

  She was thinking. ‘Why a church? I mean, they needed somewhere safe and anonymous – back at the hospital would be the most obvious. It’s cold in here and there’s no
t much chance he’d be found by casual visitors.’

  ‘Is it left open all the time?’ Guy had a Londoner’s instinct for security.

  ‘Churches are supposed to be open at all times, Inspector. To offer a place for prayer.’ From Corry’s delivery, it was impossible to tell if she believed this herself.

  ‘Sanctuary,’ Paula murmured, thinking aloud. ‘Maybe it’s somewhere she feels safe. The abductor.’

  ‘She.’ Guy stressed. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Fairly. We had the CCTV too.’

  ‘It’s a woman,’ said Corry confidently.

  ‘How do you know?’ demanded Guy.

  ‘The nappy. How many men would have known to do that?’

  Paula couldn’t help it. She let out a short, startled laugh and covered her mouth. Guy’s frown deepened. ‘Some of us have changed plenty of them, Chief Inspector. Anyway, what can the unit help with?’

  Corry said, ‘We’re still doing interviews with hospital staff – so far no one remembers a thing. We had a sketch artist in with Damian Pachek, but same story there. It was so busy, anyone could have been through the place that day.’

  Guy said, ‘Dr Maguire had some thoughts on interview techniques.’

  ‘Good.’ Corry nodded. ‘Have you anything to add to the offender profile, Doctor?’

  Paula said, ‘I’d like to go over the literature further. There’s a lot of research on infant abduction and it might give us some idea where to focus inquiries.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear.’

  Paula had a terrible urge to please Helen Corry, like a strict schoolteacher. ‘I think—’ she hesitated. ‘The thing is, and we need to be aware of this – this person, they will have wanted a child. Unless possibly it was done for revenge, to hurt the family, but that seems so unlikely.’

  ‘They had no enemies, the father said, and I don’t buy this sectarian motive that’s been floated.’

  ‘So this person desperately wants a baby, enough to walk in and take one – but now, for whatever reason, they don’t have him any more. You see what I mean?’