The Silent Dead (Paula Maguire 3) (28 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

Paula spent an awkward night with officers on her doorstep, Maggie sleeping fitfully and waking up to feed, then cry, then sleep, then repeat again. She had the baby nestled beside her in her single bed, thinking over what Corry had said. It was an exaggeration, surely. She wouldn’t be targeted. Whoever was in the van couldn’t have seen her in that split-second. But she thought of Maeve, and of Gerard, both lying injured in hospital, and clasped Maggie so tight the baby squawked. ‘Sorry, pet. Let’s try to get some sleep. Let’s put you in your cot.’

She was woken out of a hazy doze several hours later, by voices outside. She sat bolt upright, checking Maggie in her nearby cot. The baby slept, small fists clutched under her chin. Paula looked out the window and saw someone remonstrating with the officer at the front door. A man.

Wrapping a shabby red dressing gown round her, she crept downstairs, listening.

‘Sir, you can’t go in.’

‘Ah for God’s sake. She knows me!’

She opened the door on its chain, feeling the cold morning air on her legs. ‘It’s OK, Constable. He can come in.’

‘If you’re sure, ma’am.’

‘Yeah. Er . . . are you OK out here, by the way?’ The man looked frozen in his reflective jacket and helmet.

‘Fine, ma’am.’

She opened the door properly, and moved back to let Aidan in. He stood there in the hallway, wearing just a T-shirt, his arms stippled with gooseflesh. She crossed her arms, hugging the dressing gown round her, neither of them speaking for a full minute.

‘Are you all right?’ he said finally. ‘I heard what happened with Monaghan.’

‘He’ll be OK. They’ve moved him to an army hospital. This is just a precaution.’

‘Quite the precaution, armed peelers on your doorstep.’

‘What do you want, Aidan?’

‘To see if you’re OK.’

‘You’re running a bit late for that.’

‘I . . .’ Whatever he was going to say was lost as a thin wail started up from upstairs. Aidan froze. ‘Is that . . . ?’

‘That’s Maggie, yes. That’s her name. My baby. Not that you’ve been around to ask, or see, or . . .’ She had to stop as tears suddenly filled her mouth. ‘She needs feeding. Give me a minute, will you? Go in the kitchen.’

Paula went upstairs and quickly pulled on jeans and the first jumper she could find that wasn’t too encrusted with milk or sick or snot. She scraped her hair into a loose ponytail and then scooped up Maggie from her cot. The baby was hot and smelled of milk and talcum powder. Paula held her close, murmuring into her head. ‘He’s here. He came.’ She couldn’t put a name to what she felt, anger and excitement and something even stronger, a need that was like a kick in the gut. God, she’d missed him. It was hard to admit in the cold light of dawn, her child in her arms. She had missed him. She needed him. Trouble was, he’d never had anything to give.

She took the baby downstairs wrapped in a blanket, not looking Aidan in the eye. He was in the kitchen, leaning awkwardly against the counter. ‘Sit down if you want. I need to feed her.’

‘Oh, should I . . . ?’

‘Just stay.’ She was too weary to explain. She pushed up her jumper. The pull of Maggie’s mouth brought a gasp of relief, the little starfish hands grasping. This she could do. This was helping someone.

Aidan was staring at the baby, half-hidden by the blanket Paula had wrapped around them. Usually she didn’t care if her breastfeeding bothered people, but this situation just felt too fraught to add anything else to. ‘Red hair.’ He nodded to the fuzz on Maggie’s head, already gingery in the dull light of dawn.

‘Yep. Hardly surprising.’

‘What colour are her eyes?’

‘Well, blue. But most babies have blue eyes at first.’

‘Oh.’

The weight of the unasked questions was suffocating. Maggie had finished, her mouth going slack as she fell back to sleep. Paula rearranged herself. ‘Do you want to hold her?’

‘Me?’

‘Well, yeah, that’s what most people do when they come to see a newborn.’

He seemed paralysed. She stood up and walked the few paces to him, placing the baby in his arms. Close enough to smell his skin. Maggie was asleep, lolling like a doll. Aidan stared at her. ‘She’s so light.’

‘Yeah, not when you carry her round howling for hours.’

He still stared. The only sound in the kitchen was the hum of the fridge, and traffic starting up in the road below, Maggie’s soft breathing. Paula stood watching the two of them. Aidan spoke slowly. ‘She’s . . . she looks just like you.’

‘Poor kid.’

‘No. She’s beautiful, Maguire. She’s . . .’ he tailed off, staring at the baby. Paula leaned against the counter, registering in some part of her brain that this was the exact place she’d last seen her mother, washing the dishes that morning. She hardly dared breathe in case she shattered the moment.

‘It’s hard to take in,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a baby now. Me. I mean . . . it’s daft.’

‘Everything’s changed, hasn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’

Aidan kept looking at the baby rather than Paula. ‘So do we need to talk about that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Ah Maguire. Are you not sick of this? Falling out, making up, having all these stupid misunderstandings . . . I mean, we’ve known each other all our lives. Why is it still so hard?’

‘I don’t know. I never mean it to be.’

‘Me either. But it is, isn’t it? And now she’s here . . . what’s that going to mean?’

She might have said something then – something, anything, forgiven him, scolded him, answered his question – but the peace was ended by her phone suddenly trilling on the counter. Aidan jumped slightly, holding the baby tighter to himself; her blue eyes flew open but she didn’t cry.

‘Sorry. I’ll just . . .’ Paula answered her phone, listened to the unfamiliar voice on the other end for a minute, and hung up. She took a deep breath. ‘I have to go out. Will you watch her for me for an hour?’

‘You’re leaving her?’

‘I have to.’

‘You’re her
mother
, Maguire . . .’

‘Look, John Lenehan’s had another stroke. He’s asked for me, apparently. He hasn’t got long left. He’s dying, Aidan.’

‘Why you?’

‘Why not?’ She was taking her coat down from the peg in the hallway. ‘Thanks to Flaherty and his lot, he has no one else. They’re all dead. And he may well tell me what’s been going on.’

Aidan was shaking his head. ‘Pumping a dying man for information. Nice, Maguire.’

She stared at him coldly. ‘He asked for me. And this is my job.’

Aidan nodded to Maggie in his arms. ‘That’s your job now. Not running off trying to find murderers. You have to stop, Paula. Stop running. You’re out of road. Stop looking for your mother, stop with this case – think of Maggie.’

‘You sanctimonious bastard,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re a bloody dinosaur. This isn’t the dark ages! I can have a child and not be tied to the house forever. How am I supposed to manage? I’m a single mother, or have you not noticed?’

‘Only through choice, Maguire. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted, just like always.’

There was so much she could have said, angry, bitter words that once flung out could never be taken back. Only the latest in a string of their rows. Paula picked up her bag, flipping her hair out from under her coat. ‘Will you mind her? I won’t be long. She’s just been fed so she should sleep again.’

He said nothing.

‘Will you help me? Look, I’m so close. Gerard was probably shot because he was on to something. Kenny’s gone. The families are involved, I’m sure of it. And I think maybe Flaherty knew . . . if you’d help me, then maybe I could . . .’

He still wouldn’t look at her. ‘No, you do whatever you want. You always do.’

‘Aidan! Grow up. Will you look after Maggie for me?’

‘Of course I bloody will. You don’t have to ask, if you need it. But you shouldn’t need it, not for this.’

She was pulling open the door, preparing to argue with the constable. ‘I don’t have time for this. There’s expressed milk in the fridge if I get really held up. Call your mum if you have any problems. And if you let one hair on her head get hurt, I will kill you.’

The man in the bed was the colour of overwashed socks, a grey tinged with green. A mask over his face was helping him breathe.

‘We could only find your number,’ said the nurse, hushed. ‘Is there any family?’

‘No,’ said Paula. ‘Not any more.’

The noises coming from John were alarming, even with the mask. She turned back to the nurse. ‘Can you not do anything for him?’

‘We’ve done our best. It’ll kick in soon. We hope.’

‘Is there . . .’

The nurse shook her head firmly. ‘We’re making him comfortable. Those are his wishes.’

She pulled up her chair beside him and saw his eyes flicker open. He knew she was there. ‘Hello, John,’ she said quietly. ‘How are you?’

He made a wheezing coughing noise that could almost have been a laugh.

‘I can see.’ She wanted to take his hand, gnarled and shaking on the hospital blanket, but he was a dignified man and he might not like it. She’d do him the courtesy of not showing pity. His hand reached up, scrabbling at the mask. Though she knew the nurse would shout at her, she helped him. His skin was cold and clammy. He slurred, ‘You had your wean?’

‘Yes. A little girl. Maggie.’

‘She’s . . . well?’

‘Yes, thank you. I think so.’

‘You’re . . . working?’

She knew what he was asking, heard the fuller speech behind his hoarded handfuls of words.

‘Yes, I – I just have to see it through, John. I know it’s hard. But I have to do the same for them as for anyone else.’

A storm of coughing shook him. Paula looked round anxiously; no nurse to be seen. ‘Tried to forgive them,’ said John hoarsely. ‘Tried to follow the Bible. But . . . Danny. And Mary.’

‘I know. You lost them all.’ And here he was dying alone, after a life lived to the letter of the law, the wife and son and grandchildren that should have been his all taken from him. His hand clutched hers suddenly. ‘Wanted to go to Heaven . . . but – I couldn’t. Forgive them. Too much to ask. I despaired. Despaired of God. And Mary – a sin.’

She remembered, the church’s teaching that suicide was a mortal sin. It wasn’t long since people who’d died that way had been buried outside the walls of the graveyard. ‘I don’t believe that,’ Paula said. ‘I don’t think a just God would punish someone further.’

Tears were leaking from his old eyes. ‘But that lot – these evil, evil people – they walked free. No punishment.’

‘They’ve been punished now,’ said Paula quietly. ‘Four of them are dead, John, even the woman. She won’t be coming home to her children – the youngest is only a baby.’

He closed his eyes. His hand was cold in hers. ‘John,’ she said, ‘if you know something, please tell me now. Before it’s too late. If we can find Flaherty, even – if we can just know what happened . . .’

‘Already too late.’ His voice was exhausted, used up. ‘Was too late . . . long ago.’

‘I’ve got this problem,’ she said, almost whispering. ‘I’m no good at giving up. I can’t give up trying to find my mother, whoever I hurt in the process, and I can’t give up on this case. I need to know. I know it won’t do any good, and maybe they deserved it – but John, there was a reason you left the group. You couldn’t go along with their idea, could you? You knew justice was only God’s to deal out.’

He muttered something. ‘C’mere.’ She leaned in close, so her ear almost touched his mouth. His breath was weak. He smelled of hospitals and old damp clothes. ‘The wee girl,’ he gasped.

‘Kira? Kira Woods?’

‘Aye. The wee one.’

‘What about her?’ One of John’s machines began to beep, and outside she could hear a commotion of feet. ‘John! Is she in danger? Tell me!’

He pushed his head up, with great effort, like an old tortoise. ‘It was her idea,’ he said, right into Paula’s ear. Then she was thrust aside.

‘Let us work please, miss!’ John was swamped by nurses, and a terribly young girl in scrubs who was apparently the doctor. The machine kept beeping.

‘Are you family, miss?’ asked a different nurse.

‘No, there is no family.’

‘You’ll have to go then. Please.’ The curtains were swished around, and Paula got her last glimpse of his face, white as if he were already dead.

‘Is he dying?’

Paula turned at the sound of the small, stricken voice. A thin, pale girl in school uniform was at her side – Kira Woods herself. ‘You shouldn’t be here, Kira.’

‘I heard he was sick – he’s not got anyone to be here with him. He wouldn’t let Dominic . . .’ She was shuddering. ‘You shouldn’t be on your own when you die.’

‘He’s all right, Kira. They’ll look after him.’

Kira just looked at her. ‘He’s dying, miss. I know he is. Please don’t lie to me.’

‘Well, OK, but there’s nothing we can do. He’s old. He’s . . . he’ll be with his son and wife again, maybe.’

‘Do you really believe that, miss?’

‘I don’t know, Kira. There’s no way to know.’

The girl was shaking. Paula looked at her watch. ‘Come on, I’ll wait with you.’

It wasn’t long. They’d been in the waiting room for ten minutes when the young doctor came, reading from her clipboard. ‘I’m sorry, but he was very weak, and he did sign the DNR order . . . he wasn’t in any pain.’

Kira was pale and composed. ‘Did he die?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry. Are you his granddaughter?’

Kira tutted. ‘He didn’t have any. His son died in the bomb.’

‘The bomb?’ The doctor looked tired, confused.

Kira sighed. ‘Never mind.’ She looked at Paula, and her eyes were hollow. ‘Thanks for waiting with me, miss. It’s all right. I think he’s happier now, it’s just . . . I feel sad for me.’

Paula had the car keys in her hand. She knew Maggie was waiting for her, needing a feed. She’d be starting her small snuffling noises, pulling at the top of whoever was holding her. Aidan, maybe still. She looked at the girl, who was slumped in her chair, head down. ‘Can I drop you somewhere, Kira? Do you not have school today?’

‘Yes, but I can’t . . . I don’t want to go home yet. Mammy . . .’ She shuddered. ‘She’s cross with me.’