A Savage Hunger (Paula Maguire 4) (18 page)

Alice

I go to the Madwoman. She always bangs on about wanting to make Oakdale a safe place, a place of tolerance and equality. If anything happens, go to her. I’m quite pleased with myself in the corner of my brain that isn’t going ‘it happened, it actually fucking happened’ on some stupid loop.
What seems to be the trouble, Alice?
She keeps all this riding crap on her desk, like she’s secretly a dominatrix. I bet she is.
I gather you were quite out of it the other night. Care to explain?

Well. Something happened that night.
Look at me! Being the reasonable girl who ‘tells someone’. I imagine me crying prettily, and her with her arm around me, offering tissues, like my actual mother never would in a million years. I imagine that after I tell her, I’ll feel clean again. Maybe I’ll even be able to eat. Ever since it happened, I look at food and imagine it going into me and settling on my hips, my stomach, my face, and all I can think is how disgusting I am, how disgusting all of it is. I know I am getting bad again, and I know where that ends – the clinic. I will do anything to stop that. Even this.

Happened?
She’s impatient. Her eyes keep hopping to the computer, a nice big Apple one.
You’ll have to be more specific than that, Alice.

I’ve thought a lot about how I will phrase it. I won’t come out and say the word. That would sound melodramatic, and anyway I’m not ready to say it, not even inside my head. So I try:
A few nights ago, I was attacked.

She frowns.
You mean mugged or something? I’m not following you.

I – there were two boys. Friends of mine, who go here. And I think they gave me something and I woke up and they were . . . attacking me.
She’s supposed to bring on the tissues and sympathy now, and the
oh Alice you’re so brave.
Where’s my fucking tea and sympathy? She just looks at me over the desk, narrowing her eyes.
Are you saying you had sex with two boys from this college? While using drugs?

No. Yes. No, I mean I didn’t consent.
That’s it, the legal definition.

But you went somewhere with them, alone?

Well, yes, like I said, they’re my friends. Were my friends, I mean, so . . .

And you were using drugs? Drinking?

I pause, confused.
I – that isn’t the point, is it? I mean, it doesn’t matter what I was doing.

Alice.
She leans in, doing this faux-caring tone.
The thing you have to realise is, it’s a very difficult process. It’s very hard to prove, and they’ll drag you through the courts, and if you were drinking, and I imagine you were wearing something quite revealing too, weren’t you, it won’t go well for you. So, I would urge you to think very carefully.

I am speechless. I can’t believe she’s spouting all these bollocks clichés at me.
I – but are you not going to . . .

I’m just trying to help you, Alice.

No you aren’t, I think. You’re just trying to protect your precious college, which you filled full of rapists and coke-heads and rich mentalists, hand over a big fat cheque and no questions asked. That’s all Oakdale is, really. An asylum with good-looking inmates and posh furniture. And I can hardly fucking complain. I’m one of them, after all.

I don’t say anything for a while, feeling it open out below me, a new level of rock bottom where my college principal, women’s champion, tells me not to report my rape –
there I said it my rape my gang rape
– because I’d been drinking and maybe my top was tight or something.

I could say – but I was a virgin. I woke up with blood all over me. I woke up with bruises on my wrists and my ankles and – other places. But I don’t say anything. And the Madwoman nods and says:
If you like we can up your counselling sessions. Help you feel better, and maybe discuss your substance misuse, if you’re worried things like this are happening.

Things like this. Like my rape. By two of my best friends
(by three friends Alice but no I can’t think about that not yet).

On my way out I see Dermot in the corridor. I’m crying a bit.
What were you doing?
he says, licking his lips in that gross way of his.

Just leave me alone.
My voice is full of tears.
For fuck’s sake, leave me alone.

Did you go to the Mad— did you . . .

Just fuck off!
I push him. But when I touch his horrible hoody and feel his bony chest underneath, the heart fluttering like a little trapped bird, I want to be sick.

Alice
, he says, and he sounds so sick too.
Please – we need to talk, all four of us.

Fuck you
, I say, trying not to puke.
There is no four of us. I hate you all. I never want to see any of you again.

It was a mistake
, he says, and I think he is going to cry too.
It was just a mistake. It got out of hand. The drugs . . .

It was. It was a huge mistake, by him, by Peter, by fucking Katy. By the Madwoman. By Garrett. By Charlotte, stupid cow, giving me the pills that didn’t work, then dying and leaving me here on my own. By Rebecca and Tony. By Una, who left me. By Nurse Twatface and Doctor Dickhead and everyone, everyone I’ve ever known. But the thing about mistakes is, sooner or later they have to be paid for.

Chapter Thirty-One

‘Right. Here’s what we need to do – I want to search Dermot Healy’s room at the college. I want his picture out to every unit in the North-West. He can’t have vanished. And I want someone to monitor Constable Wright’s feed at all times, OK?’ Corry was in full action mode, handing out instructions the next day. Paula, Gerard, and Guy took notes, along with a group of uniformed officers whose names Paula also didn’t know. She would have to try harder. ‘Everyone on board with this?’ said Corry. ‘Monaghan – I don’t want any interference from you. I know you’re worried, but you need to hold steady.’ It was hard to believe she was no longer a DCI – and Willis Campbell had also noticed.

‘What’s going on, DS Corry?’ he said, materialising with his customary frown.

Corry swung around. Her hair was in a high ponytail, which usually indicated she meant business. ‘I’m directing the search for Dermot Healy.’

‘Don’t you think you should come through me? Your dealings with Oakdale so far haven’t exactly been cordial.’

‘They’d be more cordial if they would actually help—’

He held up his hand. Corry looked at it, mouth open. Campbell said, ‘We can cover Oakdale later. I need you for something else first.’

‘With respect, the search should be our top priority—’

He cut her off again. ‘Dealing with the fallout is our top priority. Which is bad, and getting worse. Now I need you to explain what’s been going on. Alice’s father is here. He’s seen the news.’

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Is my daughter dead?’ Tony Morgan looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His shirt was rumpled, so were his eyes. He’d come over on the first flight that morning. ‘You’ve made arrests at the college. And that boy is missing too – one of Alice’s friends?’

‘No arrests have been made so far,’ said Corry blankly.

‘Please. Do you think someone hurt her? I need to know.’

Corry showed him little sympathy. ‘We don’t know, Mr – sorry, Lord Morgan.’

‘God.’ He raked his hands over his face. ‘Don’t call me that, OK, it’s—’

‘As far as we know, Alice is alive. It’s important to remember that.’

‘But this boy. He’s gone after her, you think?’

‘We believe Dermot might have gone to find Alice, yes. He was seen near the Donegal area. But we can’t be sure.’

‘Please find her.’ The man reached over the table and grasped Corry’s hands. His face, so familiar from television and papers, contorted in grief. ‘I – we weren’t good parents to Alice. Rebecca didn’t really want her and I always put my career first. I keep thinking about the day we left her at boarding school. She held onto my leg and cried. Like a dog being left at kennels. I – I shook her off. She was only seven.’

‘Lord Morgan—’ Corry tried to extract her hands.

‘They say that when girls have issues with men it’s because of their father, isn’t that right?’

‘There’s no evidence that—’

‘Alice had a lot of nannies. There was only one of them she really liked – Una. Irish girl. From this neck of the woods. She was very sweet, innocent really. One day Alice came home from school – she’d have been seven, maybe. Seven or six or something like that. And Una and I were . . . and she saw. Oh God.’ He dropped Corry’s hands, slumped on the table. ‘It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. She’s never been right since.’

‘Lord Morgan,’ said Corry crisply. ‘I hope very much that Alice is still alive. If she is, she’ll need the support of you and your wife to get past her ordeal.’

‘Oh, Rebecca wouldn’t support a cat. She’s never loved Alice. Or me, really. That’s why I – the other women . . .’

Corry almost rolled her eyes. ‘This isn’t appropriate, sir. I’m sorry you’re distressed. We’re doing everything we can to find Alice, please believe that.’

‘Is there anything I can do? Do you need more money? Resources?’

Corry said, ‘You could do a TV appeal. If Alice can hear it, it might help her to know she’s missed. There’s a chance she ran away. We think her anorexia had returned – perhaps she wanted to avoid being sectioned again.’

He bowed his head. ‘I know. I know. She hated it at that clinic. But we thought we were saving her life. She almost died, you know. We couldn’t watch her just starve herself to death. Her life was in danger.’

‘It may be in danger again,’ said Corry severely. ‘I think it would help, an appeal from you and her mother. If Alice is able to see it, that is.’

Tony Morgan cleared his throat. ‘Alice. This is Daddy here.’ The word sounded false in his mouth, rolling like a marble. The cameras had assembled with haste for a morning press conference. He sat at the table, alongside Corry and his wife. Tony went on, speaking without notes. ‘Mummy and I miss you very much. We just want to know you’re safe. If you can hear this, please come home.’ He looked down at his hands, as if choked by emotion. Beside him, Rebecca Morgan sat frozen, behind her helmet of fair hair. Her expression was the same as in that image of her leaving court. Implacable. ‘And if you’re holding our daughter . . . if you took her, we’d like to beg you, as parents, please let her go unhurt. Alice is a wonderful girl – bright and loving, popular with everyone . . .’

Paula watched from the back row of the press conference, as journalists clicked and snapped. No Aidan today; he was busy sorting out last-minute wedding details. While she continued to hide from it. This was how it went, she thought, listening to Alice’s father. When you were missing, or you got killed, and the smallest details of your life were dragged under forensic lights, everyone had to say the best of you. That you were lovely, loved, loving. No one could say you’d been awkward, unhappy, sometimes cold and manipulative, sometimes hurt and abused. She wondered – if Alice even could hear this, wherever she was – if she would recognise herself at all.

On stage, Lord Tony Morgan had produced some tears. The press snapped away. In the glare of the lights, he took his wife’s hand. ‘Please – Alice’s mother and I are frantic. Please give her back to us.’

There was the scrape of a chair. Rebecca Morgan, dropping his hand violently, had risen to her feet. In her lilac suit, she quivered with something. Grief, or perhaps rage. Thin as a rail, the skin of her face stretched like a drum. She addressed the TV cameras. ‘Alice,’ she said. ‘We’ve had enough of this now. Stop it. You’ve made your point. Now come back. Come back and stop punishing us.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

‘Is this really necessary?’

Today, Madeleine Hooker was wearing a thin cashmere jumper, dove grey, the kind of thing that would cost you hundreds of euros in Brown Thomas in Dublin. Underneath, more jodhpurs. She was standing in her office at Oakdale with her arms folded – not happy. But Corry was a match for her.

‘Ms Hooker, two of your students are missing. We need to get in and search Dermot’s things.’

‘It’s very disruptive – his room-mate has term starting soon and—’

Paula could almost hear the sound of Corry’s last nerve snapping. ‘I should think your students are a damn sight more worried about their missing classmates than their work. If not, they should be. And frankly so should you. I’ve been very disappointed with your attitude here, ma’am. Now, I can tell you don’t give a damn about Alice, and you don’t care if all your students are in crisis, so long as your reputation’s intact and the money keeps coming in, but let me tell you that reputation won’t last long once all this gets out.’

Delicate muscles moved in the principal’s face. ‘All what exactly?’

‘We’ll know soon. There’s a reason Alice and Dermot aren’t here. And I plan to find out what happened here back in June, why Alice moved out to that cottage, why she’s missing. Now let us into that room before I arrest you for obstruction.’

She opened her lipsticked mouth as if she might say something. Then she seemed to deflate. ‘Please . . .’ she said. ‘Do what you need to. Find them.’

‘Is there something you want to tell us, Ms Hooker?’

She looked at Corry and Paula. Outside in the corridor, uniformed officers were waiting. Gerard had been dying to come, but the risk of running into Avril was too high, so he’d been left to cool his heels at the station. ‘If I tell you something that’s only anecdotal, no proof, will there be repercussions for the college?’

‘You mean you’ve concealed something from us?’

‘Not concealed. There was no proof – just allegations. But there is something, yes.’

Corry motioned to her desk. ‘Sit. Tell us now.’

‘I . . . you remember I mentioned Alice had been seen under the influence of drugs. Well, I had her in here to discuss it. We have a reputation, as you say, and when the students behave badly, it reflects on us.’ She was trying to sound assertive, but Corry was almost growling beside Paula.

‘Just tell us what happened, for God’s sake. We don’t have time for excuses.’

Madeleine Hooker squeezed her hands together, her expensive rings pressing white into the skin. ‘Alice made a disclosure to me. She said she thought she’d been raped.’

‘Who by?’

‘She didn’t tell me a name.’

‘And you didn’t ask?’

‘There was no proof. She’d been taking drugs that night, and – I knew she wasn’t exactly a nun, if you see what I’m saying.’

‘So you did nothing?’

‘I – I encouraged her to be more careful, and see her counsellor more if she felt unwell.’

‘You did nothing.’

‘I . . .’ The woman bowed her head. ‘Perhaps I was wrong. Shortly after that, Alice moved out of campus.’

Paula wondered if she’d see steam come out of Corry’s ears in a minute. Instead, the other woman stood up. ‘Let us into Dermot’s room. Now.’

Paula didn’t take part in the search of Dermot’s room; they had to do everything exactly by the book. Feeling suffocated by the air of Oakdale, hot and close, full of whispers and suspicions, she went outside to the lawn, where the lake glinted in the August sun. Her phone had sprouted an array of message icons while she was inside – wedding guests, caterers, suppliers. It was overwhelming. She put it back in her pocket.

‘Miss?’ A breathless voice. One she’d heard recently, but only over a radio.

‘Yes. Hello, Katy.’

Katy had been sweating in the heat, and her upper lip was furred with it. Despite the sunshine, she had on her usual jeans and crimson hoody. It was creepy, how they all wore it. Almost like a uniform. ‘You’re with the police, right? Do you know what they’re doing here again? Is it true Dermot’s gone missing? Dermot Healy?’

‘I can’t tell you that, Katy. You just have to let them work.’

‘Do you know where he’s gone? What’s happened to him? No one’s telling me anything!’

‘We don’t know yet, but I’m sure he’s—’

‘Has he said anything about why? Did he, like, leave a note or something?’

Paula looked at the girl. For once, her air of disaffection had slipped and she looked genuinely afraid. ‘What do you mean, Katy?’ She had to be careful. Nothing the girl said to her now would be admissible.

‘I just – I don’t know what’s going on.’

‘Katy?’ Another girl was approaching. Slim, also in jeans and a vest top, flip-flops. Avril. Paula let her eyes train over her friend, trying to give no flicker of recognition. Avril also pretended not to know Paula. ‘I’m going now. You know, I’m away for the weekend. Will you be OK?’ She was going away for Paula’s wedding. Paula squinted at the gravel she was standing on.

‘Yeah,’ said Katy distractedly. ‘It’s just – where would he go? I don’t understand it.’ There it was, the concern she hadn’t shown for Alice.

‘I’m sure they’re looking for him,’ said Avril soothingly. Even her voice sounded different undercover – higher, less sure of herself. ‘Anyway, I need to go say bye to Peter. I know he’s worried about Dermot too. See you Monday, hon?’

Katy’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction. ‘Peter? He talked to you about Dermot?’

Avril flushed slightly. It might have been having Paula there, or it might even have been slightly real. ‘Well, yeah. I think he’s scared.’

‘Why didn’t he talk to me? I’m his friend. He hardly knows you.’

Avril’s eyes flicked to Paula’s, just for a second. ‘I don’t know, hon. Maybe he didn’t want to worry you, since you and Dermot are so close, like. Anyway, I have to run.’

Katy hesitated. Her manner had grown colder. ‘All right. Bye.’

‘You can text me anytime, OK?’ Avril gave her a hug, which was barely reciprocated, and managing not to look at Paula, dashed off down the path to the lake, where a small wooden boathouse could just be seen in the distance. Standing on the path, outlined in shimmering haze, was a tall boy, straight as a tree. At that distance he looked like a god – beautiful, even. It was hard to imagine the things he’d done to Colette, and maybe to Alice too. It was almost too easy, if you didn’t stop yourself, to look for answers.
Oh she led him on, oh she was drunk, oh he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Would he? Paula hoped Avril remembered that he had. She even ran like a student – young, light, happy.

Paula realised Katy was watching too. She said, ‘I’m sorry, Katy, I really can’t tell you anything more. We’re looking for Dermot, and for Alice. We’re doing everything we can.’

Katy met her eyes for a moment. They looked hollow behind her glasses. Despite the heat of the summer her skin was pale, as if she’d never been outside. ‘You’re not doing anything,’ she muttered. ‘You haven’t a clue.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Never mind.’ She hurried off, shoulders hunched.

‘Was that Avril?’ Corry appeared beside Paula, shading her eyes.

‘Yeah. I don’t think Katy picked up on it, though. Did you get something?’

In answer, Corry held up an evidence bag. Paula peered into it. ‘His phone?’

‘Found it in his desk drawer.’

‘Why would he leave his phone behind?’

‘He knows we can track them, that’s why. Not stupid, Mr Healy.’

‘That means he doesn’t want to be followed, so maybe he’s done something to Alice. We should—’

‘What’s this we?’ said Corry. ‘It’s Friday, Maguire. End of the road for you, I’m afraid.’

She’d forgotten. Tonight, of all things, was her hen do (under extreme sufferance). And tomorrow . . . ‘Bollocks,’ she said softly.

‘Yep. Two weeks’ leave for you. And if we don’t have this sorted by then, I may as well hand in my notice and get a job selling wedding dresses.’

WhatsApp conversation

Katy:
Hello

Katy:
Hello?

Katy:
Are u ignoring me?

Katy:
Look we need to talk. D is gone off now it’s just u and me. Do you know why he went? Did he tell you where?

Katy:
Hello?

Katy:
Ur making a big mistake if you think you can just blow me off like that. Warning u.

Peter has left the conversation.