Claire McGowan - Blood tide

Copyright 2017 Claire McGowan

The right of Claire McGowan to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2017

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire

eISBN: 978 1 4722 2819 2

Cover photograph Westend61/Getty Images; woman Astrakan Images/Alamy; stormy sky eugenesergeev/Adobe Stock; lights and textures jehsomwang/Shutterstock and HorenkO/Shutterstock

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Contents

Claire McGowan grew up in a small village in Northern Ireland and now lives in London, where she runs an MA in creative writing at City University. BLOOD TIDE is Claires sixth novel, and the fifth in the highly-acclaimed Paula Maguire series. She also writes womens fiction as Eva Woods.

Called in to investigate the disappearance of a young couple during a violent storm, Paula Maguire, forensic psychologist, has mixed feelings about going back to Bone Island. Her last family holiday as a child was spent on its beautiful, remote beaches and returning brings back haunting memories of her long-lost mother.

It soon becomes clear that outsiders arent welcome on the island, and with no choice but to investigate the local community, Paula soon suspects foul play, realising that the islanders are hiding secrets from her, and each other.

With another storm fast approaching, Paula is faced with a choice. Leave alive or risk being trapped with a killer on an inescapable island, as the blood tide rushes in...

Paula Maguire series

The Lost

The Dead Ground

The Silent Dead

A Savage Hunger

Blood Tide

Controlled Explosions (a digital short story)

Standalone

The Fall

Praise for the Paula Maguire series:

Fast paced and engaging Evening Echo

Enthralling... evoked wonderfully Sunday Mirror

A gripping and gory read... shows McGowan to be a thriller writer of exceptional talent Irish Independent

Fresh and accessible without ever compromising on grit or suspense Erin Kelly

A brilliant portrait of a fractured society and a mystery full of heart stopping twists. Compelling, clever and entertaining Jane Casey

A keeps-you-guessing mystery Alex Marwood

A gripping yarn you will be unable to put down Sun

McGowans style is pacey and direct, and the twists come thick and fast Declan Burke, Irish Times

Engaging and gripping Northern Echo

Taut plotting and assured writing... a highly satisfying thriller Good Housekeeping

Praise for The Fall :

There is nothing not to like... a compelling and flawless thriller S.J. Bolton

She knows how to tell a cracking story. She will go far Daily Mail

Chills you to the bone Daily Telegraph

Hugely impressive. The crime will keep you reading, but its the characters youll remember Irish Examiner

Highly original and compelling Mark Edwards

Sharp, honest and emotionally gripping Tom Harper

Stunning. Beautifully written, totally convincing and full of character. Really, really good Steve Mosby

To Jillian

Margaret

Ballyterrin, Northern Ireland, 1993

Dear Paula. By the time you read this, youll see that I am gone...

No. It was all wrong.

She threw down the pen, angry, and it rolled away over the sheet of paper and clattered onto the kitchen floor. It was no good. How could she explain? She couldnt. Was she really going to do this? It didnt seem real.

She glanced uneasily at the clock: 3.17 p.m., getting dark already. He should have rung by now. Hed promised to ring, tell her what to do, say when he was coming to take her somewhere safe. Because mad as it seemed, her kitchen, with its old seventies units and tiled floor, was not safe any more.

3.18 p.m. Her hands clenched, thinking of Paula, of PJ. At least theyd be safe, if she was gone. She could come back, surely, once it all died down. It was nearly over again, they all said it, the peace process creeping ahead, back one step, forward two, back again. She just had to finish this letter, try to explain it, why she had to run now, today. Explain she might still look exactly like Margaret Maguire, mother of Paula, daughter of Kathleen, wife of PJ, but she wasnt. She was someone else now. The things she had done. The lies
she had told. But no, she couldnt explain any of that. Not if she had a week to write the letter.

3.19 p.m. Outside, the cough of a car engine in the street. The gun-crack snap of a door. Her hands began to shake. Not Edward, surely he never parked near, in case they traced the car. Not PJ, hed been called out on some case before dawn, something so bad he hadnt even told her what it was. Voices outside. Men. Two or three. Her heart rose up in her throat, and she scrabbled on the floor for the pen, scratching down the last few lines in the seconds she had left. Trying to find the words to explain what could not be explained. Failing.

3.20 p.m. Footsteps, coming to her door. They were here. It was too late.

Ballyterrin, Northern Ireland,
February 2014

Mummy. Mummy! A bad mans at the window!

Danger. Up. Run. Paula was on her feet before she knew it, heart hammering as she surfaced from sleep and realised where she was. In the doorway stood a small figure in My Little Pony pyjamas. Paulas heart slowed. Theres no bad man, pet. Its just the big wind outside. It makes the trees scratch at the window, see.

Dont like it. Maggie, almost three now, had started sucking her thumb again, something Paula herself didnt much like. The childs breath was hitching in her chest; her top rucked up to show her little rounded tummy.

Paula patted the side of her bed cold and empty for nearly eight months now. Its just the wind. Come on, get in with Mummy here.

Maggie climbed up, so light the bed might as well have been empty still. Paula pushed the damp red curls off the childs face, as her tears subsided into hiccups. There now. Youre OK. Theres no bad men. Just the wind.

Daddyll get the bad men, Maggie mumbled, from the edge of sleep. Paula said nothing, as she felt the child uncurl and sag beside her, and outside the wind howled and worried at the house like a boat tossed on the ocean. How could she explain to Maggie that it wasnt true that shed lied to her? Of course there were bad men, lots of them, and Aidan Daddy, as she called him wasnt around to get them because he was one himself.

The child was asleep now, her chest rising and falling. Paula got carefully out of bed and went into Maggies room, which had been her own for eighteen years, and then again for a year when shed moved back in with her dad in her home town of Ballyterrin. Twelve years in London, only to find herself here, back to the beginning as if in some crazy real-life version of Snakes and Ladders. Her old desk was stacked with Maggies soft toys, and the glassy eyes watched Paula as she knelt down and opened the bottom drawer. No need to hide it really. Maggie couldnt read and Aidan was gone, and PJ and Pat were unlikely to go snooping. But just in case, shed filled the drawer with some little vests of Maggies. It felt wrong, somehow, those innocent clowns and ducks so near to the horrors at the bottom of it.