Free The Dead Ground by Claire McGowan

opened the door into the room, eating a bag of bacon-flavoured crisps. ‘Not sure we should be hauling in pregnant women for questioning. She looks about ready to pop.’
    ‘She wanted to come in. Didn’t fancy having your size twelves on her good carpet.’
    Gerard harrumphed. But having spent an entire winter with police ripping through her own home, searching for any clues about her mother’s fate, Paula understood Heather’s impulse. ‘Got something?’ She’d seen the piece of paper in Gerard’s greasy hand.
    ‘I’m telling him first,’ said Gerard stubbornly. ‘Boss?’
    ‘Yes?’ Guy reappeared in the doorway, back from seeing Heather out.
    ‘We’ve just found Dr Bates’s car. Other side of the market near the clinic – so she most likely did head to work that day.’
    Guy thought about this. ‘But the clinic hadn’t been opened when the receptionist arrived – so something happened to her in between parking and arriving there.’
    ‘What does that mean?’ Paula asked.
    ‘We’re going to have to officially declare her missing, I think.’

Chapter Eight
    ‘Not a bad place she’s got,’ Gerard observed as he powered the police Land Rover down the country lane. It wasn’t strictly necessary to drive an armoured Jeep in these days of peace, but he seemed to like it. He also liked playing Bon Jovi at high volume in the car. It was disconcerting to go to crime scenes with ‘Shot Through the Heart’ ringing in your ears.
    It was snowing again, and Paula watched uneasily as the first soft flakes began to settle. ‘She’s loaded, by the sounds of it. Her supporters give her all their dosh – usual story.’ Paula wasn’t at all surprised at the large house they were drawing up beside. Set outside Ballyterrin in the countryside, it was the kind of pillared and posted, overly large mansion that proliferated in the borderlands. The smell of money all about. The countryside around was barren and beautiful, white as bone under the fallen snow, green and wet where it had melted over the day.
    Gerard was shaking his head as he manoeuvred the car over a cattle grid towards a paved courtyard at the back of the house, where several other cars were parked. ‘Can’t believe the boss is making us do this. Interview some mad old biddy when we should be finding the doctor?’
    ‘He’s just trying to keep pace with your other boss.’ Paula undid her seat belt.
    At the mention of Helen Corry, Gerard looked wary. ‘You’d be wise not to try and take her on. She’s a tough one.’
    ‘What’s her story, Corry?’
    ‘Divorced. Some kids, I think. The guys moan about her – say it’s no wonder her fella left when she’s such a ball-breaker. But she’s good. Expects a lot, but then she gives you a lot back. She’s put me up for the DS exams next year, even though I’m only twenty-eight.’
    ‘She’s good all right. It’s quite crafty, sending us here, when Croft sees a lot of women who want to get preg—’ Paula stopped. ‘Oh no,’ she groaned, seeing a battered red Clio parked in the courtyard. On the bonnet was perched a dark-haired man in ripped jeans and a grey AC/DC T-shirt. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake. Not him.’
    Gerard wound down the window and growled at the man. ‘What are you doing here, O’Hara?’
    Aidan smiled widely. ‘So you are meeting with the faith healer. Now there’s a story.’
    Paula got out, slammed her door shut. ‘Let me guess – taxpayers’ money wasted, unemployment levels high, why don’t we close down all public services and make you Pope. I could write these stories for you, Aidan.’
    His dark eyes were amused. ‘I’d not be the best Pope, Maguire, as you would know.’
    Bloody Aidan. She looked at her feet. Gerard glowered out the window of the car. ‘You shouldn’t be here. You nearly derailed our last investigation with your rag of a paper.’
    ‘I’m hurt, DC Monaghan. The Ballyterrin Gazette is the best paper in town. Well, it’s the only paper,