A Savage Hunger (Paula Maguire 4) (16 page)

Alice

I have a memory that I just can’t shake, from the clinic. I wake up and his fingers are inside me. I’m wearing a hospital gown, the kind that opens at the back and leaves your bum cold. I’m lying on the examination couch, my legs all splayed out like a doll’s. And his fingers are in me. Oh, there’s a glove, and a nurse to chaperone, and it’s some officially sanctioned test, but all the same I know what’s happening to me. I just can’t call it the word you’re taught to call it when someone’s inside you and you don’t want them to be.

Now I have another memory to add to that. I wake up, and I’m lying on the grass outside the boathouse. It’s dark and I feel sick. My mouth is full of puke and my legs are all splayed out again. My knickers are tied round my ankles, biting into me, the elastic stretched.

He has his fingers inside me. Stabbing, poking. This time it’s Peter. It’s my friend. My boyfriend, almost, until he found out I can’t do sex. I can’t move or speak but I’m awake for a lot of it. Then he takes his fingers out and he pushes my knees apart, so they press against the stones, and it hurts, and he’s panting and cursing under his breath, and then he’s in me. But in a different way.

Sometimes this memory is different. Sometimes I look up and it’s Dermot – the security lights reflecting off his glasses, one side slipping off as he jerks inside me. His feet are grinding in the stones. I still can’t move. Dermot, my sweet friend, my GBF except he doesn’t think he’s gay. And I hear Peter laughing. Just laughing and laughing on in my head.
Mate, I never knew you had it in you . . .

I don’t know which of these memories are real – or maybe they’re all real or maybe not at all. Maybe the one from back then isn’t real either. They always said I made things up. Maybe I do. But I know that when I woke up properly the next day – in bed, but in my clothes, like someone put me there – I could still feel deep inside me, that someone had been there. I was bleeding into my pyjamas, and I don’t bleed. Ever.

Sometimes, when I get this memory, Katy is there too.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

On her second day at the college, Avril attempted what was, for her, the most unnerving aspect of the operation. She approached Dermot in the canteen, her phone on in her bag, picking up the high cadences of young voices, laughter, clashing plates and cutlery. In the office, Paula and Guy were listening.

‘Hiya.’ Avril sounded nervous, but that fitted with what she was going to do.

A pause, then Dermot’s voice. ‘Hi.’

‘I’m Avril. I’m new.’

No answer. There was the scrape of metal on a plate.

Avril said, ‘It’s Dermot, right? I’m Katy’s new room-mate.’

‘They put someone in there already?’ A brief burst of anger.

‘Oh, yeah, why – you mean cos of Alice? The girl who’s missing?’

A pause again. ‘Never mind.’

Avril cleared her throat, lowered her voice. ‘Listen, sorry if this is a bit weird to ask, but I get a lot of anxiety, and sometimes I take stuff for it. You know, calm me down if I have a test or that.’ No reply. ‘Starting here, it’s a bit – hello, head fuck, you know? So someone told me . . . Um, sorry. I don’t mean to be weird. Someone told me you might be able to get me stuff?’

Dermot didn’t answer for a while. ‘If you want meds, there are doctors on site.’

‘Yeah, I know, but . . . they took me off it. There’s this one kind that really works, but you can only get it on prescription, and they said I needed to come off, I’d taken it for too long.’

‘Then you should come off.’ There was a rustle, as if Dermot was standing up.

Avril sounded unnerved. ‘Oh. You can’t get stuff then?’

‘Look, I don’t even know who you are. Did Katy say to talk to me?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Tell her I know what she’s doing. Peter told me. And that I can tell people plenty of things about her too if she wants to play that game.’

There was a noise of feet stomping away, and on the mic, Avril let out a small sigh.

‘He’s not biting,’ said Guy. ‘What do you make of that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Paula. And she really didn’t. She had no hunches, no clues, no idea. ‘If they’re not getting along, we need to watch Peter and Katy. They’ll probably do something stupid soon, if Dermot’s not helping them out.’

‘So what do we do?’ Guy was waiting on her, swift, alert. Ready to do what she suggested. For a moment she let herself remember what it was like to be a we, him and her, a team. So in tune they barely had to speak sometimes. Before he’d gone, and she’d agreed to marry Aidan, and she’d had Maggie, and it was all so late, far far too late to even think about.

‘I can’t think,’ she said. ‘This case . . . I can’t get my head around it somehow. It’s come at a really bad time. And working here – well, you can see it’s nothing like being at the unit.’

Guy looked around them. The office was quiet, no one in earshot. ‘Paula,’ he said quietly. ‘I wanted to ask you something.’

She stared at her computer, willing her face to remain composed. ‘Yes?’

‘This might sound strange. But – I’ve noticed you’re not working all that well with DCI Campbell.’

She bristled. ‘It’s him who—’

Guy held up a hand, spoke soothingly. ‘I know. I know. I can see Helen Corry’s not a fan either. So I wanted to ask if you’d ever thought about moving on from Ballyterrin. Weren’t you only here on secondment anyway?’

She had been, but that was nearly three years ago. ‘Things are a bit different now.’

‘I know. But I just thought I’d say this: I have an opening in my London team. For a researcher. You know we do anti-gang work. Looking at the best ways to reach out to teenage girls, running stats and so on. I think we could help these kids. The government’s getting very worried about radicalisation. So there’s funding around, and who knows, maybe the chance to actually do something good.’

‘And you thought I could do it?’

‘Yes, you have a research background, don’t you? I know you don’t like working with Campbell and I can’t blame you, the man’s a prick.’

She blinked. That was most unlike Guy, to criticise someone at work. Or swear, for that matter. ‘Um . . .’

‘I’ll get them to make you a good offer. It could be your chance to come back. I mean – if you want to.’ He looked at her with his clear grey eyes. Kind. Tired. Always just out of reach.

‘But – I’ve Maggie.’

‘You can have Maggie in London. I know there’s not built-in childcare like there is here, but you’d be on more money, and I think – I got the impression you wouldn’t mind a bit of distance now anyway.’

Paula tried to think of some words. ‘But . . . Guy, I’m getting married.’ It was hard, somehow, to say it out loud to him.

He was suddenly embarrassed. ‘Oh! I know! I meant you would all come. I certainly didn’t mean that you . . . Look, Paula, Tess and I are . . . things are going OK with us. We’re trying to work things out. Perhaps I should have said that sooner. So I didn’t mean . . . you know.’

Paula was staring at the keyboard, scarlet with embarrassment. ‘Right. Right. I just meant I’d have to talk to him, think about it . . .’

‘Of course, of course. I’m just putting it out there. Just an idea. Get you out of Ballyterrin, if that’s what you want?’

Was that what she wanted? Would Aidan ever go, leave Pat and the paper his father had built up? Could she take Maggie away? ‘Eh . . .’

‘Think about it. Just think about it. Did you want me?’ Guy turned, almost gratefully, to the desk sergeant who’d just come over. Paula couldn’t remember her name. Susan, something like that? Avril would know.

‘I was looking for Dr Maguire. Your mother-in-law’s here, is all.’

Guy looked at her sideways. She gave a weak smile. ‘Not yet anyway.’ It was hard, trying to sum up who Pat was to her. ‘Excuse me a second.’ Guy nodded and Paula went out to reception, where Pat was indeed sitting. She looked pale and tired and Paula again felt a needle of guilt. Pat was doing too much for her. But worse – skipping around the reception, with its grim posters of domestic violence and rape, was Maggie. Dressed in a pink top that clashed with her hair, she saw her mother and called out, ‘Mummy! Granny brung me!’

‘Brought me,’ murmured Paula, without thinking. ‘Hi, pet.’ She went through the barriers and Maggie clung to her.

‘Mummy, Granny says I can see your work?’

‘Sorry,’ said Pat to Paula. ‘It’s just a friend of mine’s been taken into hospital so I need to run down – I didn’t like to bring the wee one with me.’

Paula disentangled Maggie from her feet. ‘OK. Well, I can go home now, I suppose. I just got held up.’

Paula saw Pat looking behind her. ‘Is that not your old boss?’ Oh no. Oh no no no.

Guy was indeed standing behind her in reception. His eyes were riveted on the child. ‘You left these papers, Paula, and . . .’

Too late, Paula recalled that Pat and Guy’s last and only meeting had been on the day Paula went into labour. She made her voice sound steady. ‘You remember DI Brooking, Pat? He’s over consulting with us.’

‘Hello!’ Pat shook hands. ‘And you’re keeping well? You’d a wee girl yourself, hadn’t you?’

Oh shut up, Pat!
Couldn’t she see this was no time for chit-chat?

‘That’s right, she’s off to university soon.’

‘She never is! Doesn’t time fly!’

Paula busied herself with Maggie, doing up the clasps of her dungarees. But her daughter was a friendly, open child, and was staring at Guy. So naturally Guy dropped down to her. ‘Hello! What’s your name?’ Suddenly shy, Maggie shot a side-eye at Paula. ‘It’s Maggie, is that right?’ said Guy.

She laughed, suddenly deciding to trust him, and reached out to pat his face. Paula let the moment crystallise – they were finally side by side, her daughter and the man who was maybe—

‘She’s beautiful,’ said Guy, straightening up. ‘Looks just like her mum. Excuse me, Mrs O’Hara, I have to get back to work. See you tomorrow, Paula.’

He went without looking at her, and Paula felt Maggie heavy in her arms, hot breath and racing little heart. She wouldn’t do it. She would not look for a likeness. It was far too late for all that now.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

‘What’s up? I slaved away over a hot microwave making that for you.’ Aidan indicated the scrambled eggs Paula had left on her breakfast plate. He liked to cook, but it was always stodge, chips, burgers, toast – he had a large appetite, and like most Irish men, not much truck with salad.

‘Oh, it’s just this case. All this stuff about girls starving themselves, you know. It’s got to me.’ And also Guy being back and having offered her a job, of course. Not that she was planning to tell Aidan any of that.

He shovelled eggs in his mouth, glancing at the clock. ‘I’m going to be late for this interview, bollocks. Have you time to ring the builders?’

‘Do I have to?’

‘Come on, Maguire. We’re away from next week and still no hob.’

She sighed. Being on honeymoon would also mean no more Alice Morgan case. If they didn’t crack it by the end of the week, she’d likely be off it for good. ‘All right.’

‘It’s either that or ring the hotel about final numbers, and I bet you don’t want to do that either.’ Paula mimed bashing her head off the table. ‘Thought so. I’ll take wedding, you take builders.’

‘Fine, fine. You drive a hard bargain, O’Hara.’

He came up behind her, stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘Less than a week. Can you believe it?’

‘No,’ she said, and she really couldn’t. She reached for him, drew his face down to hers. ‘We’ll be OK, won’t we?’

‘With the wedding? Aye, no doubt it’ll hang together. Saoirse and my ma will make sure of it.’

That wasn’t really what she’d meant, but she let it go. Maggie was happily messing with her own breakfast, Weetabix all over her face and hands. Paula reached over and wiped her chubby cheeks. ‘All done, Mags?’

‘All done!’ came the cheerful echo.

Paula lifted Maggie onto her knee, where she played with Paula’s engagement ring, holding it to catch the light. Out of nowhere she was poleaxed by a memory of her own mother. They were a horded treasure, finite. But of course she hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t known they would run out at thirteen. In this one Paula was sitting at the table, home from primary school, and Margaret was cooking at the stove, and the kitchen was warm and she heard her dad’s car in the road and relaxed, knowing he was home safe for another day. No bombs or guns or bad men had got him; not that day at least. Back then, she’d never imagined it would be her mother she’d lose instead.

Paula squeezed Maggie tighter, breathing in the shampoo smell of her red curls. Watched Aidan dump dishes in the sink, the easy movements of his hands so familiar to her now. You never knew. You never knew when would be the last memory you had of someone. She wondered when Alice Morgan’s parents had last seen their daughter, and if they remembered it now, if they’d told her they loved her, or if they’d fought, or been indifferent or hurried. And if that would be the last time they ever spoke to her. As the days went on, that chance grew and grew.

Aidan was still footering at the currently broken sink, the same sink Paula’s mother used to stand at. She hadn’t told him Guy was there. Worse, that he’d seen Maggie. But was that so bad? He’d be gone again soon, and she’d ordered her wedding dress, hadn’t she? That meant something. That meant a lot. The wedding was on Saturday, and then it would be too late for these doubts and worries. She would be safe.

Just then her phone started ringing on the side. She could see Aidan moving towards it – and something, she didn’t know what, made her spring up, almost dislodging Maggie.

‘I’ll get it. Might be confidential.’

Aidan just nodded OK, going back to the clean-up. He wasn’t the suspicious type. And there was nothing to be suspicious of, was there? Even if her heart was hammering and she took the phone into the hallway to answer. ‘Hello?’

‘We’ve a problem.’ Guy’s voice in her ear, making her heart pound harder. She moved back slightly, into the doorway of the living room. ‘Dermot Healy’s just been reported missing. His room-mate says he didn’t come back to college last night, and Dermot’s also apparently taken the guy’s car.’

‘You need to find my son right way.’

The reaction of Dermot Healy’s parents – a professional couple in their early fifties – was very different to that of the Morgans on hearing their child was gone. They had set off from their home in Bangor as soon as he was reported missing, and been in the station ever since, haranguing Corry.

‘We’re doing our best, ma’am,’ said Corry equably. ‘It’s Ms Ryan, is that right, not Healy?’

‘Dr Ryan.’

‘I’m sorry. Well, as I think your FLO told you, Dermot has only been missing for twelve hours. He told his room-mate he was going away for the night, but he didn’t return in the morning. Now. We’ve checked with all the petrol stations, and we believe CCTV shows him filling up near Derry yesterday afternoon. He took his room-mate’s car.’

‘Londonderry?’ Dermot’s father – a high court judge, with steely silver hair to match his demeanour – glowered at the word. ‘What would take him to a place like that?’

‘We think he might have been travelling to Donegal. There was a sighting of Alice Morgan there. It’s possible Dermot wanted to help with the ongoing search, or to find her himself.’

‘Why would he do that?’ The mother had a Radley handbag and newly set hair. ‘He has his studies to think about.’

‘Well, the girl who’s missing, Alice, she and Dermot were very close friends. He didn’t mention her?’

They looked at each other and Dr Ryan shook her head stiffly. ‘We didn’t know he was caught up in that. I spoke to him at the weekend and he never said. I even asked was it affecting his work, the investigation. I gather the police presence has been
very
intrusive.’

‘How did he sound?’ asked Paula. She wondered how they would react if they knew their boy had given Alice drugs. Wiped her phone. Maybe stolen the picture of Yvonne O’Neill out of Yvonne’s mother’s house.

‘Normal. I mean, the thing about Dermot is—’

His father interrupted. ‘He’s a very anxious boy. Always has been. Too clever for his own good. Over-thinks everything. We sent him to Oakdale because we thought they could manage this kind of thing. Obviously not. I’ll be speaking to the principal.’

‘Isn’t it true Dermot also has a drugs caution, sir?’ Corry spoke blandly.

Mr Healy glared at her. ‘He started using drugs to manage his anxiety. It went too far. All that’s in the past now.’

‘I’m afraid we have good evidence that Dermot was selling drugs on campus. And he most likely gave some to Alice.’

There was a silence. Dr Ryan put her hand to her mouth. ‘Are you not going to look for him?’

‘Of course we are. There’s a link to Alice’s case, for one thing. But I think the most likely thing is that he’s gone to find her, and hasn’t suffered any harm himself. But we will need to bear in mind he could be in a very agitated state.’

What Corry was trying to say, as tactfully as possible, was that they had to treat Dermot as if he was on his way to find Alice, and if she was alive, to kill her.

‘Right. So the question as I see it is, does this disappearance have anything to do with Constable Wright’s presence at Oakdale? And if so, do we remove her?’ Willis looked round the table at Corry, Paula, Gerard, and Guy. Behind him a muted TV played a news alert about Dermot, showing the same CCTV clip of him buying petrol, wearing the same red hoody and dark jeans. The kind of boy you wouldn’t look at twice.

‘I don’t think she’s in any immediate danger,’ Corry said, looking to Paula. ‘Dr Maguire? What kind of situation are we dealing with here?’

Paula opened her mouth and closed it again, shook her head. ‘It’s very hard to say. The reactions of all three friends suggest they were never worried about Alice – which could be because they knew what happened to her. And I’ve been sure all along they were concealing something, I just don’t know what. But I don’t know why Dermot would have gone, in that case.’

Willis looked between them, barely concealing his impatience. ‘So we think this Dermot Healy is responsible for Alice’s disappearance, is that it?’

Guy said, ‘We think he’s gone to find her. That suggests he isn’t directly responsible, but he may know where she is. So it could be she’s in Donegal, but she went there herself.’

Paula wasn’t so sure. ‘Why has her phone not been on before, then, if she went there herself? She’s the kind of girl who’d be glued to it. And then there’s the blood. And the Yvonne link.’

‘In the meantime I have two sets of parents breathing down my neck, not to mention the Oakdale principal.’ Campbell looked at Paula. ‘Dr Maguire. As you assess it, do you think Constable Wright is in immediate danger?’ Paula had spent the morning weighing it all up, trying to imagine it was an anonymous member of staff, not someone she’d worked alongside for years, seen crying and covered in Gerard’s blood when he’d been shot that time, watched the break up with her fiancé, kiss Gerard in the corridor, figure out the fact Fiacra was in love with her too.

She spoke carefully. ‘It depends if Dermot has worked out she’s undercover. He’s a smart kid.’

‘Is there anything to make us think he has?’

Paula could feel Gerard watching her, willing her to say they should take Avril out. She turned away. ‘I don’t believe so. She should be careful, of course. Especially of Peter Franks. But I think we need her there more than ever now – to watch what Peter and Katy do, with Dermot gone.’

‘And I gather Constable Wright is coming to your wedding anyway?’

‘Well, yes.’ They had decided there was little risk of anyone from Oakdale seeing Avril there, or noticing a weekend’s absence.

‘All right,’ said Campbell. ‘She stays in. But I want a plan in place. What exactly is Constable Wright trying to find out for us, and when do we decide to pull her out?’

Paula looked at Gerard. He was too professional these days to get up and storm off, but she saw the look he gave her over the table, and knew she was in for a bollocking as soon as Willis was out of earshot.

WhatsApp conversation

Katy:
OMG D where are u?

Peter:
Hello??? Mate whats going on?

Peter:
Police said ur missing whats that about

Katy:
Hello . . . please D, I’m scared. Where are u???

Katy
: Have you gone to look for her

Katy
: D TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE

Dermot has left the conversation.