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is there any link between then and now?’ She was very aware of her heart, a sort of fuzzy whir like the noise of someone’s iPod through headphones. ‘Anything to say they’re connected?’
    ‘Not that we’ve found,’ said Guy reluctantly. ‘The ages of the girls, where they were last seen, there are similarities, but everything else is just circumstantial for now. Nevertheless we’re involved, and we’re taking it very seriously. As of now we have no other leads at all.’ He clicked one last time through the pictures, Rachel Reilly and Alice Dunne, Majella Ward and Cathy Carr, nothing in common except they were all from the same town, and they were all missing.
    Guy Brooking wasted notime; she liked that. She liked his clean, efficient movements as he passed them their assignments. Gerard, who was leading on the new cases for the local PSNI, would focus on the north, with Fiacra working south of the border. Avril would analyse the data, look for patterns. Check out the families. Look again for any connection between Cathy and Majella – they went to different schools, but did they have any friends in common? Belong to any clubs, do any hobbies? Anything that might lead to running away – problems at home, exams, boyfriends?
    Guy leaned on the back of a chair and Paula saw the glint of a wedding ring. ‘This is a safe town. There’s a good chance, as Paula’s research has shown, that Cathy and Majella went missing voluntarily, independent of each other, and we’ll find them safe. But the clock is ticking, and the second disappearance does increase the likelihood of some foul play.’
    The room fell silent for a moment. Paula felt it again, the pulse in her blood, the need to track and find. Where are you? They hadn’t just vanished into thin air. That was the thing, it always was. They had to be somewhere – but where?
    Guy Brooking raised his hands, dismissing them. ‘OK, everyone. Let’s meet later and debrief.’ He had very nice hands, strong and clean, and Paula realised she was staring at them as the team filed out, the dark man and the girl ignoring her, the Irish guy giving a small nod, the sergeant hurrying past as if he couldn’t even look at her.
    ‘Paula?’ Guy was watching.
    She blinked. ‘Sorry. What did you want me to do?’
    ‘Come with me a minute.’
    The unit was housed in the town’s old police station, where the former RUC had been based before they were burned out during the ’96 Drumcree riots. It had been spruced up with new paint and some second-hand, mismatched office furniture. Paula understood. The idea would be to give the unit a different location, an identity apart from the regular police on the hill above town, where the PSNI were based in a nice modern building but still behind their high security fence. New name, but everything else the same.
    Guy’s office wassmall but neat, a framed picture of two children on the desk. Boy, girl. Paula scanned the room for insight. West Ham calendar. Books on Ballyterrin. Every inch the hardworking career policeman. He was following her eyes so she stopped nosying and snapped on a smile. ‘So here I am.’
    His hands were steepled on the tidy desktop. ‘Do sit down, Paula. I’m sorry you didn’t get much time to prepare before you came. Things rather escalated when Cathy went missing and we realised Majella had too, so we needed you here as soon as possible. How is your father?’
    ‘Ah, he’ll do. Not used to being dependent.’ That morning, PJ had fallen over in the bathroom and not been able to get up – it was this rather than traffic which had really delayed her.
    ‘There was something I needed to discuss with you, actually, about your family.’
    Not already. She should have been ready for this.
    ‘Your father. He was an RUC officer, I understand.’
    ‘Oh, that . Yes. Why?’ Maybe he didn’t know the rest. How nice would that be, to meet someone with no preconceptions. Oh, she’s that Maguire girl.
    ‘I’m