The Lost (28 page)

‘Never said it was, did I?’

‘You know what I’d love to know, Gerard?’

He glared at her but
said nothing.

‘I’d love to know what your problem is. You’re arsey to Avril, who’s a lovely girl, you’re horrible to me for no apparent reason – do you not like working with women, is that it?’ She said it calmly. The car lunged forward and slammed to a halt at a traffic-light. ‘Jesus!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you at? Guy’ll go spare if you get penalty points.’

He took a deep breath. ‘I’ve no problem with women, Miss Maguire. I’ve a problem with people doing whatever they like. If we catch the fella who killed this girl, and your antics mean we can’t get him behind bars, think what you’d be doing. Not just to all of us, busting our guts here, but to that family. Could you live with yourself if that happened?’

She opened her mouth. Not sure what she was going to say – that she was only thinking of Cathy, that she was only doing what she thought was right. Instead she said, ‘You’re right, Gerard. I messed up. And I did get in trouble, if that makes you feel better.’

He looked away.

‘I bet it makes you feel a bit better. Does it?’

He just shook his head, but his frown had eased a little as they moved forward.

The Mission seemed oddly calm when they arrived. Paula wasn’t sure what she’d expected – a riot, perhaps, the do-gooders barricading themselves against cops with shields. Instead there were four uniformed PSNI officers taking notes, rifling through files with gloved hands, getting statements from the Mission staff – a collection of tie-dyed young men and women with long hair and subdued, worried expressions. Corry was co-ordinating them, and gave Paula a small nod as she entered. Paula relaxed; the DCI would have been well within her
rights to send her home, say she’d no place there.

As they passed into the big hall she saw Guy walk out, followed by Ed Lazarus, who today wore his fair hair loose and shampooed about his face, a white Jesus-like smock over his jeans. He flashed Paula an unfathomable look and she tried to blend into the breeze-block walls.

Ed said clearly, ‘Do you normally bring psychologists to police raids, Inspector?’

Guy looked at Paula warningly. ‘It’s not a raid, Mr Lazarus. You’ve wisely agreed to come in voluntarily for now.’

‘I have.’ He held out his sinewy arms. ‘I’d gladly go in handcuffs, Inspector. If it could in any way ease the pain of that child’s family, I’d go in chains, like Our Lord Jesus Christ Himself.’

‘There won’t be any need for that. The team will finish taking statements here and we’ll have a chat at the unit.’

‘Certainly. Always happy to have a “chat” in the name of law and order.’

Guy ushered him out, leaning in to Paula to hiss, ‘Do NOT do anything, you hear? Just watch. I’m so far out on a limb for you, you have no idea.’

She thought about what Gerard had said. ‘Cross my heart.’

He gave her a suspicious look and went out, Ed walking with ostentatious, jerky moments, like a freedom-fighter arrested on a protest march.

Paula turned back to the hall, looking in from where she stood in the corridor. Gerard had gone in to talk to the officers, and was pointing at things and nodding as he took notes. There wasn’t much for her to
do but watch, as Guy had said. That was annoying.

She heard movement behind her. ‘Hey there.’ A girl with dark plaits and heavy eyebrows was coming out of the office, her arms stacked with files. It was the same girl Paula had seen on her first, fraudulent visit, and then later, illuminated in the headlights of Aidan’s car. Paula blushed at the memory. The girl said, ‘You look kinda familiar. I’ve seen you here before?’

‘Yes – it’s Maddy, is it?’ Was it her imagination or was Maddy trying to block her view into the office? Paula shifted but couldn’t see past the door.

‘Sure is.’ Maddy pushed the door shut with one wide hip, clothed in an ethnic print dress. ‘Jeez, the cops are all over us today.’

‘I know, I’m with them. Paula Maguire. We met before, briefly.’

‘Hey, Paula, how are you.’ Maddy almost dropped the files as she stuck out her hand to shake Paula’s. The nails were bitten close, and Paula noticed a lattice of scars under the flapping sleeve of the girl’s dress. She looked away quickly, eyes darting to the darkened window of the office. Was that movement?

‘You’re not from around here by the sounds of it, Maddy?’

‘I’m from the good old U S of A.’ Her smile was bright. She had striking eyes, an unusual moss-green flecked with gold. ‘Mid-Western girl.’

‘And you’ve ended up in Ireland, isn’t that strange.’

In the hall they heard snaps as things were being photographed, the low murmur of voices. ‘We go where the Mission sends us, but if I’m honest, I asked to come to Ireland. My roots are here in Ballyterrin too. Bet you didn’t guess that.’

‘I didn’t.’ Besides the accent, the girl just
looked
American: solid, clear-skinned, white teeth. ‘Your name’s Goldberg though, isn’t it?’ That didn’t seem to indicate an Irish heritage.

‘Sure, sure.’ Maddy seemed not
to notice what was going on behind them in the hall. Paula found it very disconcerting, to be the focus of her attention. ‘Mom and Dad are Jewish, of course, but I’m Irish. I was adopted from Ireland. Bet you didn’t think that was still going on in the eighties, huh?’

Paula stared at her in astonishment, distracted by this bombshell from trying to see into the dark office. ‘The eighties. How old are you, Maddy, if you don’t mind me—?’

She answered with alacrity. ‘Twenty-five.’ Considerably younger than Sarah Kenny, Paula was sure.

Paula could only think of one type of organisation that still sent Irish babies to America in the eighties. And the girl had been born in Ballyterrin, so . . . ‘So you . . .?’

‘That’s right.’ The gold flecks flashed in Maddy Goldberg’s eyes as she smiled. ‘I was born right here in this building. A Safe Harbour baby. And now I want to find my real mom – that’s why I’m here. I used to talk to
her
about it all the time.’

Paula frowned. ‘To who, sorry?’

‘Cathy. We were close, y’know?’

The girl suddenly seemed to be standing too close. Paula looked round, keen for the solid, grumpy presence of Gerard Monaghan. ‘Maddy, we’re trying to talk to everyone at the Mission. I wonder, would you mind if we asked you a few questions? At the unit building, perhaps?’

‘Sure!’ It was delivered again in that odd, off-key tone, as if one of the notes in the song that was Maddy Goldberg was ever so slightly out of tune. As Maddy swung her hips down the corridor, Paula looked back in time to see the office door click shut, a figure darting
out and down the corridor to where the leaders had their rooms. Maroon uniform, dark curly hair. Was this the elusive Katie Brooking?

Gerard hissed out of his mouth as they looked into the station interview room. ‘You’re unbelievable, you are. Did he not say you’d just to watch?’

On the other side of the door, Maddy Goldberg sat very still, her hands flat on the table in front of her, eyes half-closed. She’d requested some time to pray before they questioned her.

Paula held up her hands. ‘I know, I know! I’m sorry – she just sort of . . . started talking. Honestly, I think she knows something about Cathy. It was as if she wanted to tell me, but I don’t know what.’

He grunted. ‘You better be right, Maguire. Watch and see what she says.’

She thought it was a good sign he’d dropped the ‘Miss’.

Gerard led into the questions, after asking with hyper-politeness if he could tape Maddy’s responses. He was keen to point out she wasn’t under caution, just ‘helping with enquiries’. ‘Now, Miss – Goldberg, is it? I understand you spoke with our psychologist, Miss Maguire, at the Mission, and we’d just like to get that on tape if we can. So, how well did you know Cathy Carr?’

‘Pretty well. She was like a kid sister to me, you know? We’d talk all the time about her family, school. Some of her friends were giving her a rough time. When she went missing we were all real worried.’

Gerard tapped the table. ‘But when we made preliminary enquiries, you didn’t come forward to say Cathy had confided in you. Why not?’

Maddy didn’t even pause. ‘You know, we gotta respect the kids’ privacy.’

‘Even when they turn up
dead in a canal?’

Maddy just shook her head; calm, plaits swinging. ‘God took her to Himself. It was part of his plan.’

Even Gerard looked floored by this. ‘You’re saying you think it was God’s plan that Cathy was killed?’

‘Everything is His plan.’ Her face was still, pious.

Gerard tried again. ‘Where were you on the Friday Cathy disappeared, Miss Goldberg?’

She was still smiling. ‘Oh, Officer.’ Her voice was sweet, like the Homecoming Queen. ‘I can’t remember that far back, can you? Usually I hang out at the Mission, y’know? We have a team meeting, and we pray. Get ready for the Friday-evening session.’

‘Mr Lazarus told us he’d been leading the meeting – can you confirm that?’

‘He must have been, if he said it.’

‘Were you there yourself, Maddy?’

‘I guess. We all go to the meetings.’

Gerard was stern. ‘I’m afraid
I guess
isn’t good enough, Miss. Were you or weren’t you at the meeting that day?’

‘Am I under arrest, Officer?’

‘I’ve already said you aren’t.’

‘Well, then I guess it’s OK if I don’t answer that.’ She smiled. ‘It’s just the American way. We don’t comment without a lawyer. And my lawyer’s, like, six thousand miles away.’

Gerard had little choice. ‘All right. Will you excuse me a moment, please?’ He pushed back his chair and got up. ‘The woman’s wired to the moon,’ he muttered as he filled his coffee cup in the main office. ‘Says the wean’s like a sister to her, but doesn’t turn a hair when someone dumps her in the canal? I’ll be checking out her alibi, this Miss Madeleine Goldberg. Suppose we’ll have to let her go for now, though.’

Just then Guy came round the corner, his face serious. ‘Paula. You need to come here.’

Ed Lazarus had been in interview
for several hours and still no sign of answers. ‘He keeps breaking off to pray,’ said Guy, as he and Paula watched through the two-way mirror.

‘You’d think Bob would like that,’ she observed, watching the red-faced policeman on the other side. Bob sat with his pen poised, eyes trained on Ed Lazarus, who was praying out loud. ‘Mr Laz . . . Mr Lazarus, I really—’ Paula wondered if she ought to suggest a pray-off. But it was possible even Sideshow Bob might lose this one.

‘Lord, I know they’re doing their best,’ intoned Ed Lazarus. ‘Sergeant Hamilton here, he just wants to find who hurt poor Cathy. Inspector Brooking, he wants justice. Help them see, O Lord, that the Mission only wants to bring Your light to the world.’

Guy made an irritated noise in his throat. ‘You’d better just watch. He doesn’t seem to like you much.’

She winced at the memory of her fake niece. ‘No, he wouldn’t.’

Guy pushed open the door, saying loudly, ‘Amen. That’s enough for now, Mr Lazarus. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to waste the money of hard-working taxpayers.’ Bob got up and made a hasty exit, buttoning the jacket of his suit in relief.

Ed didn’t open his eyes. ‘O God, help them clear out their temples as You cleared the money-lenders from Your Holy Father’s.’

Guy sat down. ‘Would it help if I called you Mr Reilly?’

It had the desired effect. Ed lowered his hands and gave Guy a slit-eyed look. ‘That isn’t my name.’

‘Used to be though, didn’t it – when you were convicted of assaulting a minor?’ Guy threw a sheet of paper down on the desk, but the man didn’t look at it.

‘I am a sinner, Inspector. I’ve atoned for mine by bringing God’s word to the people. What have
you
done?’ He stared at Guy, and
Paula willed her boss not to look away first, but it seemed no one could hold that poison-green gaze for long.

Guy tried again. ‘Course, you could have used your dad’s name too, couldn’t you? Almeira? He is your dad, isn’t he? Lead Pastor of the church behind the Mission. Funny, that. And you’re following in his footsteps.’ Paula watched his face, but Ed didn’t even twitch. Had he known? He must have known, surely. ‘Ashamed of him, were you? I hear he likes little girls, too.’

Ed didn’t react. ‘He’s a famous man, and I wanted to make it on my own.’

‘I see. Like Jesus. Except His mother didn’t run away when she got pregnant.’

The man ignored this jibe.

‘That is what happened, isn’t it? Your mother went to a God’s Shepherd church group in the eighties, when she was, what – seventeen? And she got pregnant, and ran away. She’s been classed as a Missing Person for nearly thirty years.’

Ed’s mouth twisted. ‘My mother made her own choices. She wanted to keep me, and the church’s policy is not to condone extra-marital sex. We feel children should be given the best start in life, with married, Christian parents.’

‘You wish she’d given you away, then?’

He said nothing, closing his eyes again, as if in silent prayer.

‘Did you know you still had family here, Ed? Your mother’s sister still lives on the farm, with your cousins. Is that why you came back, to find them?’

No answer, but Paula detected a slight tremor in his hands.
Push him, Guy, push harder.
It was a good question. Why had Ed come back?

‘Maybe we should ask your
mother why she ran away. Find out what was really going on.’

Ed looked up. ‘You’re welcome to try, Inspector. Of course she’s been dead for five years, so I doubt she’d answer. Breast cancer. You’d know that if you had the first idea about me.’

Shit
. She watched Guy, willing him not to show he hadn’t been aware of this.

‘Let’s talk about your father then, Mr Reilly. The Pastor. Does he know about you?’

Nothing.

‘Mr Reilly? Or do you prefer
Almeira
?’

Ed snapped. ‘There’s only my mother’s word he was even my father. Women lie, Inspector. I’ve never met the Pastor. Perhaps one day, if I carry on with the Mission, I’ll get that honour.’

‘Not if he’s convicted of rape, you won’t. Did you know he was on trial in the States?’