Free Stolen Child by Laura Elliot

he said. His words were the lifebelt that prevented her sinking.
    The Garda Press Office dealt with all the media queries and Detective Superintendent Murphy had insisted she keep a low profile while the Garda continued their investigations. Slowly, she became aware of other ripples in the background.
    ‘For your husband’s sake, we need to keep a tight rein on your public appearances and utterances,’ the superintendent warned her.
    But Robert’s career as an undercover detective was over. No more dark deals against the walls of derelict warehouses. A desk job in the future, if there was a future…and Carla could not imagine their lives moving on if Isobel was not found. On the day following Isobel’s disappearance, Matron, stiff-necked with shame, embarrassment and nerves, had discharged her from the clinic. Bookings were being cancelled and investigations of the security procedures in place within her clinic were underway. Journalists hung around the courtyard waiting for staff to emerge and be questioned. They were leeches, the matron declared, feeding off the good reputation of the Valley View Maternity Clinic, which she and her staff had worked so hard to maintain.
    Leo stood on the steps of the clinic and issued a statement to the assembled journalists while Carla left by theback entrance. She was driven in an unmarked Garda car to Raine’s apartment in Dundrum where Robert had been staying since the story broke. It was safe to weep there. No one to tell her to stay calm and focused. When she had exhausted herself into silence, she tried to eat the meal Raine had prepared.
    ‘I have to face the media sooner or later,’ she said. ‘I can do the press conference alone. The Garda Press Office should be able to issue a statement as to why you can’t appear.’
    ‘I want to be with you,’ Robert said. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep.
    ‘What if you’re recognised?’ she asked. ‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened—’
    ‘No one’s going to make the connection,’ he assured her.
    ‘How can you be so sure?’
    ‘It was my job.’ His mouth tightened. ‘That’s why I was one of the best.’
    She noted his use of the past tense. Their lives were out of control and they were powerless to halt the slide. He was in contact with the search team, constantly seeking the latest information. Her antennae had become attuned to every nuance in his voice. She could gauge the information he was prepared to share with her by the shift of his eyes.
    ‘I strongly advise against this press conference,’ Detective Superintendent Murphy had said when he heard what Carla was planning to do. ‘You could be putting your husband’s life in danger.’ He was a solid, bald-headed man with a strong neck and intimidating black eyebrows that reminded her of beetles. She found herself staring at them while he spoke, her eyes following their twitching movements in the vain hope that she could read beyond his professional calm. ‘You must allow the Garda Press—’
    ‘My wife and I have already made our decision,’ Robert had interrupted his superior. ‘In this instance, it is my rights as a father that take precedence over any other authority.’
    Now, he sat silently between her and Leo, a nondescript figure, his hair slicked sideways, rimless glasses high on his nose. Nothing about his face demanded attention. He was, as the press statement had claimed, an administrative Garda whose job was dealing with driving misdemeanours.
    Leo read out a brief statement and reminded the journalists that his clients were undergoing an intensely personal trauma. Their questions should be brief and to the point.
    Robert’s hands shook as he poured bottled water into a glass and began to speak. He was used to operating in shadows and seemed dazzled by the flashbulbs, appalled by the crouching, crawling movements of the photographers and the blaze of the television cameras. The clicking of cameras became