The Dead Ground by Claire McGowan Page A

all. She’d never worry herself, but she knows I would. Those horrible letters. I know she’d have rung if she could.’
    Paula spoke gently. ‘Ms Cole—’
    ‘It’s Veronica, please.’
    ‘Veronica, would you like to sit down? We’ll drink the tea and you can tell us what happened.’
    They’d said no to tea, but she’d brought some anyway, green leaves in little glass cups. Distracted, she’d also added milk, so bits of leaf floated in it unappetisingly. Guy, who didn’t like tea at the best of times. was prodding at his with a little gold spoon.
    Veronica Cole did finally sit, but her eyes kept flitting to the door. ‘I keep thinking she’s going to walk in and say Ronni, you daft article, you forgot I had that conference or something . . . but after the letters, you see—’
    ‘You did the right thing,’ Guy said, setting his cup down with a tinkle. ‘We take this kind of incident very seriously. Can you tell us about the letters?’
    Paula glanced at him. ‘Or maybe – tell us first how you met Dr Bates?’ Calm her, ease her in. Guy nodded, almost imperceptibly. They had their routine all worked out.
    ‘Well – we met at Queens. You know, the university in Belfast.’ She seemed to be explaining this for the Englishman’s benefit. ‘I was doing Accounting and she was a medical student. We were in the same women’s rights group. The seventies, you know – we were all so right on.’ A sad smile. ‘Ali and I agreed that women’s rights were just as important as religious issues. We were good friends.’ She heard the unasked question. ‘Just friends then. I was – my parents were very devout. I didn’t even know what it meant, myself.’
    Paula asked, ‘You’re from Ballyterrin, I take it? And Dr Bates?’
    ‘Ali was born in Norfolk, but she said she couldn’t wait to leave. She came to university here because I think she wanted to be part of something. Civil Rights. Then after college, she stayed on for medical training. I moved back here to mind Mammy and Daddy. They were getting on a bit, you know how it is. We lost touch for a while, just life really.’
    Veronica was babbling, perhaps reluctant to think about what was actually wrong. They saw this quite a lot. Paula shifted; the embroidered cushions were digging into her back. She totally failed to understand the point of cushions – all they did was get in the way. ‘When did you meet again?’
    ‘It was at the airport, if you can believe. I used to go on wee trips over to Soho. You know, after I – realised. She’d been at a conference, and there she was, and I just saw her right away in the airport queue. We didn’t have to say anything. You know how it’s like that sometimes – you see someone and you know right away, that’s the one for me? There’s something special between you, and things are never the same after that?’
    Guy and Paula avoided each other’s gaze. ‘Mmm,’ she said, drinking her tea. ‘Could you tell us about the clinic, Ms Cole?’
    Veronica wrung her thin hands, eyes darting to the door again. ‘It was her pet project. She thinks it’s a disgrace that there’s no abortion here, more than thirty years since we campaigned on it at college. She thinks it’s a medical procedure, like having your tonsils out, and that it shouldn’t be political.’
    ‘I see.’ Guy wrote this down. ‘And there were threats?’
    ‘The letters started after there was a sermon against her. A Presbyterian preacher, out in the country. Then one time, it was a brick.’ She looked at the front window. ‘The police said go ex-directory, vary your route home, that sort of thing.’
    ‘Must have been frightening,’ said Paula.
    ‘Very. But she wouldn’t give up. That’s Ali. It’s who she is.’ Her eyes went to the door again. ‘Do you think something’s happened to her?’
    Guy said the words they always used, designed to give hope, but not too much. ‘In most cases a missing person is found again