The Dead Ground by Claire McGowan

again, they thought. Then Magdalena Croft said, no, he’s not with his father, he’s in this country, and you’ll find him near water. And there’s his remains on a beach in Galway, exactly as she said. He was two years old and he’d wandered four miles from his home. They’d never have found him without her. He’d be just another stat for your pile.’
    Guy said nothing for a while. Then, ‘You can’t believe she really has these visions. The Virgin Mary comes and tells her where to look? I mean, come on.’
    ‘You’re one hundred per cent sure she doesn’t?’
    ‘I’m not one hundred per cent sure of anything. Empiricists aren’t.’
    ‘Well. I don’t know what it is she does or how she sees things, but if she can find me a missing baby I’m certainly going to let her try. And has it not occurred to you that if a woman’s so desperate for a child she steals one, she might have consulted with a faith healer first? Magdalena Croft has supposedly helped more people get pregnant than an IVF specialist.’
    More silence. Paula realised she was leaning over so far her ear was almost pressed to the door. She sat back just in time as Guy burst out.
    ‘Come on, everyone. Let’s go.’
    Behind the door, Paula glimpsed the DCI at her desk, just as neat and calm as before. ‘Dr Maguire,’ Corry called. ‘Thank you for your profile. It was very helpful.’
    ‘That’s OK,’ Paula said, abashed. Guy’s back was receding down the corridor. ‘I have to go.’
    ‘If you ever get bored, I can always use you here.’ Corry’s nails flashed like little blades. Paula fled.
    Down at the unit, all was deserted. Guy, who’d driven back in irritated silence, was further annoyed. ‘Someone should be here at all times. Where the hell’s Fiacra?’
    ‘Here, boss.’ Fiacra barged through the glass doors, a tray of paper cups in each hand and tinny music emanating from his headphones. ‘Avril texted me about the conference. Thought yous might need coffee – we might be pulling a late one.’
    ‘Why, did something come in?’ Paula could see Guy debating whether or not to tell him off for going out. He was very fond of coffee and the stuff at the station was vile.
    ‘Yeah.’ Fiacra licked at the frothy milk cascading from his own cup. ‘This might cheer you up, boss. It’s a potential big case, and they came right to us. So, we have jurisdiction.’
    Mollified, Guy lifted the lid from a cup and blew on it. ‘What is it?’
    ‘A doctor. Never turned up for work and nobody’s seen hide nor hair of her since this morning. I know that’s not long but she was flagged by the system ’cos she’d had death threats. The name’s—’
    ‘Alison Bates?’ Paula took a sip of her drink – she assumed the only tea was for her – and for a moment enjoyed the look of surprise on her colleagues’ faces. Then she realised – bugger, how could she explain why she’d been visiting the town’s local abortionist?

Chapter Six
    ‘You’re sure I can’t get you anything else?’ Veronica Cole couldn’t sit still, hopping up and down into the kitchen or to show more photos of herself and Dr Alison Bates in various parts of the world. The small bungalow was crammed with wooden bowls, batik cushions, incense holders. A smell of sandalwood hung in the air. Paula followed the source to a joss stick burning in front of a framed picture of Alison, decades younger but still unsmiling, holding a diploma. Her hair had been darker then, but the eyes behind the glasses were as steely as those in her clinic leaflet photo.
    Veronica saw Paula looking at the incense. ‘It’s silly, I know, but I picked up the habit in Indonesia. I’m praying for her.’
    ‘No different to lighting a candle in church,’ said Paula, trying to be soothing.
    The woman was clearly half-mad with anxiety. Tall and bowed, Veronica Cole had long grey hair that she wore loose, dangling silver earrings, and a green tunic top. ‘It’s just not like Ali at