Free The Silent Dead (Paula Maguire 3) by Claire McGowan

You’re . . . cosier. Tell them you’ve come to update them on the situation, and see what you can suss out. We’ll probably have to interview them all separately if we do find a body today.’
    ‘Cosier.’ Paula glared at her. Corry’s eyes took in Paula’s cardigan, the falling-down plait of red hair. All she needed was some knitting to be every police officer’s nightmare of a civilian expert. She could hear Gerard chuckling, and even Guy was frowning, as if trying not to laugh. ‘Whatever you say, ma’am. I’d certainly not want people to feel threatened, after what they’ve been through.’
    She didn’t care. At least it got her close to the action, and if anyone underestimated her because of her bump and dishevelled clothes, well, they’d soon realise their mistake.
    There was a knock on the door. Corry’s head snapped round. ‘Yes?’
    It was a young constable, her hair in a net. ‘Ma’am – phone for you.’
    Corry put out her hand for the mobile and took the call in front of everyone. ‘Yes. I see. And where is that exactly? Is there access? Right.’ She stowed it in her pocket like a gun in a holster. ‘We’ve got the body. Shallow grave – barely hidden, in fact, as you said, DI Brooking.’
    Guy nodded, slightly mollified. Paula found her voice. ‘Is it . . . a man?’
    Corry looked at her for a moment. ‘Yes. Callum Brady, by the looks of it. ID on the body again.’ The team was already stirring, getting ready to go, and Corry picked up her jacket. ‘I’m going there now. DI Brooking, gather what team you need. The body’s on the hillside just off the A1. The land is marshy so they’re setting up duckboards. I’ll need a press statement assembled too – a second body, this is going to get a lot of attention. We have to be careful how we play it.’
    ‘He’s been murdered?’ Guy was shrugging on his jacket.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘We can be sure this time?’
    ‘We can be sure.’ She was moving to the door. ‘I said they’d found a body, but what they haven’t found is his head.’
    A brisk wind was blowing, tossing the white cotton of the bog flowers, whistling forlornly through the trees as Paula struggled out of her car. There was the usual large group of people milling about, some in white protective suits. Among the crowd, a familiar face. She lumbered to where a short, dark-haired woman was getting into a silver Mondeo. ‘Well,’ she said, in greeting.
    ‘Well, he’s dead. If that’s what you wanted to know.’
    ‘I gathered that. Him not having a head and all.’
    Dr Saoirse McLoughlin was the FMO on call, a doctor in the local A & E, and for many years Paula’s best friend. After years of absence they were rebuilding some kind of friendship, but it wasn’t easy.
    Saoirse eyed Paula as she put her bag away. ‘You’re massive.’
    ‘Yep. I’m the thing the planets orbit round. Haven’t seen you for ages . . . how’s Dave?’
    ‘He’s all right.’
    Paula wanted to ask, but couldn’t think how, when Saoirse was going to start her course of IVF. Her friend’s face already looked puffy from the drugs she’d been injecting every day. ‘You’re feeling OK?’
    ‘I’m fine. I’m not the one who looks like a beached whale.’
    Paula smiled weakly, though she wasn’t sure it was a joke. ‘I better report in. Meet up soon?’
    ‘Yes, maybe.’ No invitation to call round. ‘Aidan’s seeing Dave on Thursday. I’ll see if he’s free sometime too.’
    Yes, because a social occasion with her ex-boyfriend, possible father of her unborn child, was exactly what would pass for fun in Paula’s world right now. ‘See you.’ She trudged over to the cluster of officers and vehicles.
    ‘Paula, meet Lorcan Finney.’ Corry was standing by the police van with a big hunk of a man, hidden under goggles and a white suit. This must be who Gerard had been talking about, the leader of the private search team.
    She held out her hand, aware that with her