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

and had printed an article a few months back slating the unit for the ‘sectarian bias’ of the cases they’d recommended for review.
    Helen Corry did not even look at the back of the room where the unit staff sat. ‘We’re very grateful to have the advice and resources of the unit, but this is a Serious Crime inquiry, and will be dealt with from this station.’ Her eyes scanned the room. ‘One more question – yes, Mr O’Hara.’
    Paula flinched. Bloody hell, she hadn’t seen Aidan come in, but there he was, up near the front, unusually smart in a white shirt, collar open. ‘DCI Corry.’ His voice was clear. ‘Is there any truth in the rumour you’ve called in a psychic to help find Alek?’
    Guy turned to Paula, eyes wide with surprise. But if the question was also a shock to Corry, she didn’t let on. ‘As I said, we’ll be using every resource we can access. The family have requested we consult a renowned faith healer, well known in the town – Mrs Magdalena Croft. She has previously worked with other forces and brought some considerable insight to the investigations. Thank you for your question, Mr O’Hara.’
    Aidan couldn’t be silenced so easily. From the back Paula could see he’d recently had his black hair cut, and was twisting a pen in one hand, something he did when he wanted a cigarette. ‘You can really justify spending money on that? Aren’t there very strict protocols on UK police forces using psychic intervention?’
    At this, Corry smiled. ‘I believe that word is yours, not ours, Mr O’Hara. Not so long ago psychological profiling was also seen as close to voodoo. We’ll take whatever support we can get to bring little Alek home. And you can rest easy about costs – the lady has volunteered her help.’ Aidan sat back, and Paula caught the small smile on his lips. He knew when he was beaten.
    The conference wrapped up with an appeal for information and a hotline phone number being given out. Corry pushed back her chair to leave.
    Guy stood up as the room cleared. ‘Wait for me. I’m not having this.’
    ‘Wow! Listen to him shout,’ whispered Avril to Paula. They were waiting for Guy on a line of bolted-down chairs outside Helen Corry’s office, like schoolchildren expecting a telling-off. The noticeboard opposite had health and safety posters, ads for flat shares and car boot sales, reminders to turn off the lights and save energy.
    Paula watched the closed door. ‘If it came to a fight, I’d put my money on her.’
    ‘She always looks beautiful, doesn’t she? I love her clothes.’
    ‘Mmm. Like a cobra in Louise Kennedy.’ Paula tried to make out the rumble of Guy’s voice.
    ‘. . . You’re supposed to take our advice and guidance on missing persons cases, so why do I only hear about this faith healer rubbish along with the media? It’s an unacceptable breach of protocol and I’ll be going to the Chief Constable.’
    Corry’s voice was calmer, harder to hear. She was saying something about it being a PSNI prerogative to bring in outside help.
    ‘You’re the one who’s always protesting scarcity of resources, but you’re willing to spend time working with some charlatan?’
    There was the sound of a chair being scraped back. Helen Corry spoke loudly. ‘Inspector. This isn’t London. This is a country town. We’re a mile from the border with Ireland, where divorce was only legalised in 1996. Religion is part of daily life.’
    ‘You think I don’t understand religion? Chief Inspector, I policed Hackney for five years.’
    ‘So you should know it matters. In gaining trust. Showing respect.’
    ‘I don’t respect frauds who prey on the vulnerable.’
    ‘Have a look at that.’ Silence. Paula leaned close to the door, frustrated.
    She heard Guy say, ‘That doesn’t prove anything. She made a lucky guess, is all.’
    ‘The Guards were convinced that child had been abducted by his father, taken back to Bahrain. They’d never be able to find him