The Silent Dead (Paula Maguire 3) Read Free Page A

Her short-sleeved white shirt and grey trousers were cool and fresh. She wore gloves, and a stern expression. ‘So I see. Being seven months’ pregnant can’t detain you from crime scenes, Dr Maguire?’
    ‘Or being at your father’s wedding?’ added Guy.
    Paula sighed. They were awful united, much worse than any of their disagreements. It was like being looked after by an extra set of cool, young parents. ‘Who is it?’
    Corry peeled off her gloves. ‘We think it’s Mickey Doyle. Hard to tell from the face, but we’ll know soon enough.’
    ‘So they didn’t leave the country then, the five of them? Do we think they were kidnapped?’
    ‘Should you really be here, Paula?’ Ignoring her question, Guy moved towards her. He too looked cool in a blue shirt and red tie, his fair hair brushed back from a stiffly controlled face. ‘I mean, the baby—’
    ‘The baby’s fine.’ She pushed forward, irritated. ‘Let me see him.’
    Then she did.
    Hanging victims all had a look in common. Eyes popping, tongue protruding, face red and livid. That would be why they couldn’t identify him yet. Also common was the loosening of the bowels, which Paula could now smell on the fresh pine breeze. She’d seen it lots of times, so it was strange and very bad timing that this particular victim should cause her to black out suddenly, the forest floor swimming up to meet her.
    ‘I told you.’ Guy had caught her before she fell. ‘Look, you’re not up to this. Sit down.’ He marched her to a tree stump. ‘I’ll get you some water.’
    Paula acquiesced, breathing and blinking hard. His expression, she realised, was exactly the same one Aidan had adopted towards her, stoical and distant, with just a touch of resentment. Perfectly timed to remind her that, while the pregnancy had granted her a temporary reprieve, as soon as this baby was out, all three of them were going to have to find out which of the two men was the father.
    Kira
    When she woke up, she was covered in blood again. In that second when you’re still mostly asleep, when you’re sure everything you’ve dreamed is true – like when you look in a mirror and can’t recognise your own face – she could only see the blood all over her arms and feel it warm on her skin, going into her mouth even, metallic and hot.
    Rose’s blood.
    She put on the little light beside her bed. She’d tried to sleep with it on after what happened, but Mammy said she was too big for it, and always came in to turn it off. Mammy and her slept at different times now, as if they couldn’t both be awake at once. She imagined that even now, as she staggered up, heart hammering, Mammy’s eyes would be closing in front of the TV. She’d find her there when she got up for school, the bottle of vodka slumped so low it would be spilling on the carpet.
    In the light she could see herself in the mirror. No blood. She’d just been crying in her sleep again, big, spurty tears that drenched her pyjamas. And her arms, it wasn’t blood on them, of course, it was the scars. She was glad about the scars, even though people made comments behind her back – oh, poor wean, she was the one, you know the sister, blah blah. She was glad of the scars because it showed she survived.
    On her dresser was the photo of Rose and her. Rose was hugging her tight in it, the two of them on a sea wall down on the coast. After that they’d had salty chips and ice creams with flakes in, two each, because Rose said sure why not?
    Today was the day. Today it was finally going to happen. She knew she wouldn’t sleep again, so instead she sat cross-legged on the carpet in the dark and wondered when it would start.

Chapter Two
     
    ‘Come on, everyone, shake a leg!’ It was Monday morning and the small team that made up the Missing Persons Response Unit was filing reluctantly into the conference room, cups of coffee in hand, suppressing yawns. It had been a long weekend – it had been a long week, in fact, ever