Authors: Claire Mcgowan
Laura said, ‘I don’t think she liked children all that much. I was six or so when she was here with us. Mammy and her were always fighting, and she was supposed to serve us our dinner and not sit with us, and pray on her knees every night for an hour. I remember Mammy was always talking about sin. It was almost like we had a servant for a while, but she was our cousin, or sort of, anyway. I didn’t understand it.’
‘What was your mother like, Laura?’ asked Paula. The tea was horrible, made with tasteless skimmed milk.
‘Harsh,’ said Laura, after a moment. ‘I mean she looked after us, but it was always about Mass and sin and God and what had we been up to behind her back. My oldest sister, Donna, she had a baby before she was married, and she didn’t speak to Mammy for five years because of it. Donna would know more, in fact. I can ring her if you want. She lives in Canada now. To get away from Mammy, mostly, I think.’
‘Would you?’ said Guy eagerly. ‘That would be fantastic.’
Laura glanced at the clock on the wall. Her lips moved. ‘I can never work out the time difference. She’ll be up. She has kids. What was it you wanted to know?’
‘We want to know where Mary went after she was here, and anything you can tell us about what happened to her before that, about her family in Tallaghmar. Your cousins.’
Laura was shaking her head. ‘We never met them, I don’t think. Mammy and her mother weren’t really cousins, just distantly. Mary was very strange, though – I don’t think she’d been in a bathroom before she came to us, or seen a toilet inside, you know? Mammy said she was no better than a beast. She slept in the kitchen, on a camp bed.’
‘And why did she leave, Laura?’ Guy asked the question carefully.
Laura looked surprised. ‘I’m not sure I remember.’
‘It wasn’t to do with your brother?’
‘Oh.’ She thought about it for a moment. ‘Michael. You mean what happened to our Michael.’
‘Yes. Mary was arrested when he went missing, did you know that?’
‘No.’ She shook her head again, as if to clear it. ‘I might have done. I was only wee, you know. But I suppose it makes sense. I don’t really remember, but everyone talked about it after. He’d gone missing out of his cot, and the front door was lying open, and Mammy always said Mary had lost him. She’d gone to the shops or something and left him there on his own. Then he was brought back, I think. That was the really strange part. They had the police in and everything, and then the next day he was just there in his cot, right as rain. He’s in his thirties now, you know. He lives over in London.’
A better ending than that of the baby in the Dublin hospital, Paula thought. ‘So your mother sent Mary away after Michael went missing?’
‘I suppose. Where would she go, though? I mean, she was only in her teens.’
‘We were hoping you could tell us. Do you think she went back home to Tallaghmar?’
Laura hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Donna knew her best – they were the same age, more or less. Whenever Donna would talk about it I got the impression Mary hated her home. That she’d never go back there. Donna wouldn’t ever tell me why, though.’
Paula and Guy exchanged looks. He said, ‘Strange. Where else would she have gone then?’
‘I don’t know. Here, I’ll go and ring Donna. Would that help?’
‘That would be fantastic. Thank you.’
Laura looked at the clock, then hefted the baby suddenly over to Paula, who took him in utter shock. He looked up at her doubtfully as his mother left the room. Paula found herself locked in by his large brown eyes, his stillness, the faint smell of milk and biscuits. What were you supposed to do? Could they understand you at that age? Then there was the sound of low talking from the other room.
Guy looked at his watch. ‘We’ll have to shift it to get back to Ballyterrin before five. I’d really like to run through some of these leads we’ve found.’
Paula looked at the pretty decorations. ‘We’re running out of time, aren’t we? Christmas is in five days.’
‘I’m confident we’re close to a breakthrough.’
She wasn’t, but she said nothing, cradling the child, who sat placidly on her lap. Then there was the noise of a phone being put down, and Laura was back, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. ‘Sorry about that. It’s – we don’t like talking about our childhood. You know how it is.’
Guy made understanding noises.
‘Right. Our Donna said – well, look, I’m not sure I can tell you this really. It’s my family. But you need my help, don’t you?’
‘I’m afraid we do. There are two babies missing, as you may have seen on the news, and we think it’s possible your cousin is involved somehow.’ Guy had probably calculated this angle would work on Laura, and it did.
‘That’s what I said to Donna. So. She reminded me about something that happened, something I’d sort of made myself not remember. I was very wee, you know. But she said did I not remember what happened after Michael came back.’
‘And what was that?’ Guy was gentle but probing.
‘Uncle Liam came. Well, we were supposed to call him uncle but he wasn’t, not really. He was Mary’s granddad. He came to get her back. We were all having our lunch and she was out in the kitchen, washing the dishes. Donna said . . .’ Laura’s face clouded. ‘I did remember, when she said it. He dragged Mary out by her hair. Like across the floor, pulling her hair. And she was shouting and saying the Virgin could see him, she knew about what he did to them, about the . . . the baby.’ Her voice faltered. ‘That’s what she said. Then she was gone and we never saw them again. We just never talked about it. I didn’t understand.’
‘Goodness,’ said Guy. ‘Can you tell us anything else?’
‘No. Like I said, I was very young. I don’t know what she meant by it.’
‘Laura?’ asked Paula. ‘Was there only Mary in the family? She didn’t have any brothers and sisters that you knew of?’
Laura looked puzzled. ‘I couldn’t tell you. I never heard of any others.’
‘Well, you’ve been extremely helpful. Thank you so much.’
She nodded doubtfully. ‘Do you think you’ll find those poor weans?’
‘I very much hope so.’ Guy’s hearty tone seemed to convince no one. As they left, Laura’s son watched them go, his eyes dark as raisins, little monkey hands clutching his mother’s jumper, as if he somehow knew the fate of the other children they were discussing.
They were back in the car, Guy shaking his head in disbelief. ‘It’s all about babies, this case. It’s amazing.’
Paula knew exactly what he was thinking without them having to say. ‘It makes sense, doesn’t it? Mary must have been pregnant. That was why they sent her away in the first place. Not to go to school, but to hide her pregnancy until it could be given up for adoption.’
‘She was sent to her cousins, and left in charge of someone else’s baby, when she was about to lose her own. Christ, that’s cruel.’ Guy whistled.
‘Someone else’s baby who then disappeared.’
They thought about this for a moment. ‘It adds up,’ Paula said. ‘If Mary – Magdalena – lost a child at an early age – who knows what kind of damage that would do. It would explain the compulsion to take children now.’
‘I wonder what happened to it, the baby?’
‘Given up for adoption as planned, I guess. It would be about thirty-five now.’
She found herself thinking about the man on the beach, his malformed features, his shaking hands. The letters in her bag, which for some reason she wasn’t telling Guy about. The man had been so frightened. She needed to read them before she showed anyone.
‘What do you think?’ Guy asked, as he pulled out onto the main road. ‘We’re getting close, aren’t we? We just need to work out where Mary went after she left home, assuming Mrs Maginn was correct about her being taken back there again. Then if she actually did have a child, see if we can track him or her down.’
Paula adjusted her belt. ‘It’s the sister I’m wondering about, though. I presume she was left behind at the farm when Mary got sent away.’
They drove on for a while in silence, Guy gradually kicking up the speed of the car as they crossed the border. It was three hours back to Ballyterrin, and Paula had so much to think about she looked out the window at the wet, green land, her mind churning.
An hour outside Ballyterrin he pulled into a garage. ‘I’ll just get some petrol now, I think, it’s cheaper here.’
She stretched herself. ‘Any word from the office? Avril might have turned something up by now.’
‘The phone’s on silent still. I’ll check the messages.’
Guy was fiddling with his phone. She said, ‘I hope Corry isn’t too angry about this. At least we have another lead for her, and . . . What’s wrong?’ All the colour had left his face as he listened to his voicemail. ‘Guy, what’s wrong?’
‘We have to get back right away.’ He pushed the car into gear. ‘There’s enough fuel to get us there, I think.’
‘Why? What is it?’
‘It’s Fiacra’s sister. She’s been attacked. The killer attacked her, and tried to cut her baby out.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Five days to Christmas. The ragged edge of cheer in a town with no money. Everywhere Christmas clubs; how will we pay for this plastic tat, where will we find the cash? Keep smiling for the kids. Red sale signs already in the shops and an air of thin despair, flimsy and bright as tinsel. In the middle of the afternoon, the Meadows shopping centre in Ballyterrin piped in Christmas carol muzak. The police cordon round Flaherty’s department store had attracted a crowd of gawkers, the elderly in flat caps, the disabled on mobility scooters, mums pushing Wotsity babies in buggies. Paula hated the shopping centre. It reminded her of being a teenager, too young to drive and nowhere to go except trail round the shops dabbing on White Musk in the Body Shop. And now, with what had happened, she knew she’d always hate it even more.
She and Guy had approached the shop at a slow run, leaving his BMW in the crammed car park outside. ‘Where’s Fiacra?’ she called, breathless. ‘Is he here?’
Guy halted at the cordon which blocked off the door. One of the biggest in the Meadows, the shop was strangely empty, racks of cheap clothes hanging limp, metallic Christmas decorations swaying from the roof. ‘They sent him to the hospital with her. He dropped her off to go shopping, apparently. Christmas presents. Then it happened.’
‘And is she—’
‘She’s alive.’ Guy was fumbling for his warrant card as they approached the shop. ‘The baby wasn’t taken – someone interrupted the attack before it went too far. But it doesn’t look good. She – well, you’ll see.’
Paula couldn’t take it in. Smiling Aisling, with her trusting nature and blond curls. She’d be nearly eight months pregnant. Even if the baby had to be born now, it could be OK. Please. Please be OK. ‘Let me go in,’ she said.
He hesitated. ‘It’s really a mess, they said.’
‘I want to see.’
He gestured to the uniformed officer at the door, some young lad with spots, and she ducked into the shop. Near the cash desk Corry was talking to an irate middle-aged man in a cheap suit, his face red. He was saying, ‘This is our busiest week – I need to reopen within the hour! It’s late-night shopping!’
‘Sir, a woman’s nearly been killed in your shop. We have to investigate.’
‘I need to get cleaners in. I can’t have the customers looking at that, they’d be sick to their stomachs.’ He reached for the phone near the till and Corry practically batted his hand away.
‘
Mr O’Leary.
You’re not going near that area until we’ve finished, understand?’
‘Will it be on the news? I bet it’ll be on the news.’ He wrung his hands.
‘That’s really not my concern right now. Let us do our work and maybe you can open up tomorrow. Get me that CCTV footage like you promised, that’ll speed things up.’
He went off fretting, a fat-man waddle in his stride. Round the tills a group of middle-aged women in cashiers’ uniforms had gathered, anxious and fluttering. Some had been crying. Corry saw Paula and nodded briefly to her before addressing the women. ‘Now, who was it witnessed the incident?’
‘Michelle,’ muttered one woman, scared to make eye contact. Distrust of the police ran deep in Ballyterrin.
‘And Michelle is . . . ?’
They parted, revealing a teenage girl slumped on a plastic chair, sobbing with her head in her lap. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. They hadn’t even given her a proper uniform. She wore black bobbly tights, a white shirt, cheap and thin. Corry spoke gently – the girl wasn’t much older than her own daughter. ‘Michelle. How are you, pet?’
The girl just shook her head, crying harder.
‘I know it was scary, but I want you to remember you saved that woman’s life. If you hadn’t gone in when you did, she’d be dead by now, and her baby gone.’
There was a murmuring among the women. ‘Was it her then – the one who’s after taking all the weans?’
‘We can’t be sure,’ said Corry shortly. ‘We need to find out what Michelle saw. Can you give us some space, ladies?’
Reluctantly, the women retreated, shaking heads and clucking with curiosity.
‘Now, Michelle.’ The DCI detached a tissue from a packet in her bag – purple with little hearts on. Paula wondered if they belonged to Rosie Corry. ‘Wipe your eyes. Your mum will be here soon to get you, and an officer’s going to stay with you all night. You’ll be home in twenty minutes. But first you need to tell me and Dr Maguire here what you saw. Can you do that?’
‘I – I’ll try.’
‘Good girl. You’re a temp, are you?’
Michelle took a big blubbering breath. ‘Y-yeah. For Christmas.’
‘Are you at school?’ Paula asked. She didn’t look old enough to be legally working, which was far from uncommon in Ballyterrin.
‘It’s exams now, but like, I don’t have any today.’
‘And was it busy?’ Corry prompted.
‘No, it was quiet – we’d not had many in. Mr O’Leary – that’s the manager – he said I was to tidy up the fitting rooms. We’re meant to look out for loose security tags and that, in case people shoplift. We did a course.’ She dabbed her red face, breathing hard. ‘Anyway, there’s no one on fitting rooms during the day. People can just go in themselves. The – the pregnant lady—’