The Dead Ground by Claire McGowan Read Free Book Online Page A

the staff of the unit always had to wait like any punter off the street, and the desk sergeants seemed remarkably lacking in the most basic facial recognition skills. Finally the security doors were opened and the team trooped into the main part of the station. Avril was carrying her laptop still, as if she needed it by her side at all times. Paula felt tired and empty, her stomach a hollow pit after another quick puking session. She thought she’d managed to cover this one up by running the hand drier as she retched.
    The large conference room of the station was lined in fold-up chairs, and at the front a banner bearing the logo of the PSNI hung on the wall above a long table with three microphones on it. The room was filling up with reporters and police staff. A uniformed officer directed them to sit at the back. The chairs were so tight together Guy had to draw his knees right up to his chest. Gerard was at the front, in the crowd of PSNI staff. The mood was controlled and slick, a plasma screen set up beside the table.
    ‘Smoke and mirrors,’ Paula heard Guy snipe, just before the side door opened and Helen Corry came out in a black suit with a knee-length skirt, flanked by two uniformed officers, a man and a woman.
    ‘Who’re the uniforms?’ Paula asked Guy under her breath.
    He indicated first left, then right. ‘Area Superintendent. Assistant Chief Constable. Big guns.’
    Despite the presence of these illustrious names, it was clearly Helen Corry’s show to run. Her face was composed, and when she folded her hands on the table, it showed off her French manicure. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today. As you know, we’re in the middle of a major investigation. Yesterday at approximately oh nine hundred hours, an infant was taken from his parents at Ballyterrin General Hospital. Alek Pachek is now one day old. We believe he was taken by a woman posing as a nurse, who then placed him inside a bag and left the premises. He will be weak, and needing his mother’s milk, and he must be kept as warm as possible, especially in this weather.’ She faced the cameras, her face beautifully photogenic. ‘Alek’s mother is Kasia. She is too distraught to be with us today, so I am speaking to you for her, as a police officer and also as a mother myself.’
    Beside her, Paula heard Guy mutter something inaudible.
    ‘Kasia and her husband are desperate to know Alek is safe. They only had a few hours to hold him before he was taken. Alek has a family who love and need him. If you have seen anything, if you know anyone who suddenly seems to have a young baby or is acting suspiciously, please contact us at once. And if that is you on the CCTV film, if you have him – please let us help you. We know you don’t want to hurt him, or cause his family any more grief. Please – bring Alek home.’ She was good, bloody good. Paula could hardly look at Guy, who had his arms folded.
    Corry had opened the floor to questions. Someone asked about an offender profile. She said, ‘We are making the best use of all our resources, and our profile suggests a woman who has recently lost a child, or been unable to have her own for some reason. Her partner may not be aware of the loss – she may even have been faking a pregnancy for several months.’ Paula’s own words, coming out of another’s mouth. She wasn’t sure if it was annoying or gratifying.
    Another reporter had asked about the possible racism angle, also Gerard’s theory. Corry was in her element answering these, you could tell. ‘It’s sad to say that members of the Polish community here do from time to time experience hate crime and intimidation from a very small minority of the population. At this time we are not treating this as a racial or sectarian incident.’
    A fat man stood up, in a check sport jacket. ‘Will the MPRU be involved?’
    Beside Paula, Guy tensed. This was a reporter with one of the Belfast papers, which had a strong Republican slant