by Paul Charles
“Have you any idea who would do this?” O’Carroll asked, as Ryan concluded their take on the kidnap.
“Do what?” Lawrence asked. Ryan glanced at him.
“Kidnap you?” O’Carroll replied.
Lawrence looked at Ryan and then back at O’Carroll, “We were kidnapped?”
“Obviously,” O’Carroll stated quickly as McCusker looked on.
“Kidnapped implies a ransom,” Ryan ventured, as Lawrence continued to stare at him. O’Carroll didn’t reply. “So, does that mean our mother’s husband paid a ransom?”
“You were released,” O’Carroll qualified what should have been her answer.
“How much was it?” Ryan asked, as his brother made eye contact with O’Carroll for the first time.
“I can’t say,” O’Carroll replied.
“But was it a lot?” Lawrence asked.
“Well, let’s just say that it was enough,” she said, and then McCusker thought he saw her looking directly at Lawrence, as if to think “enough for me to want to introduce you to my sister.” He raised his eyebrows before O’Carroll moved swiftly on.
“Ryan, I understand you’re being fleeced by a loan shark?”
Both the brothers seemed surprised with her statement.
“Well it’s our own fault, but we hope to sort it all out shortly,” Ryan said.
“No, that’s not what I meant – borrowing is your own business,” O’Carroll said, flashing her fingers through her hair to try and put a fallen strand back in place, “but when and if it gets to extortion then it does become our business. Who did you borrow from?”
“Do I have to tell you?” Ryan asked, a nervous-looking Lawrence sat beside him.
“No you don’t,” O’Carroll admitted.
“But,” McCusker interrupted, “if he or they were behind you being kidnapped then there’s nothing to say he or they won’t try again. I think it would be better if you advised us who your loan shark is so that we can rule them out of our kidnapping investigation.”
“I think I’d prefer it if we didn’t, to be perfectly honest,” Ryan said, and then added as an afterthought “On a different matter entirely, are there any television cameras or photographers outside?”
Ryan O’Neill had only been enjoying his new-found freedom for less than an hour and here he was, McCusker figured, already conjuring up a PR opportunity for the brothers’ fledging internet company.
“No,” O’Carroll advised a crestfallen Ryan, “but I can confidently predict this much: you’re going to be on the front page first edition of tomorrow’s Belfast Telegraph. Following that you’ll have all of the media you want and more queuing up at your front door.”
The detectives left the soon-to-be very famous brothers O’Neill for a quick check-up by the paramedics. O’Carroll instructed the other two constables to drive the brothers home after their examination.
* * *
“You’d seriously consider introducing Grace to one of them?” McCusker asked as they passed the George Best Airport on their right, on the way back into Belfast.
“Nah,” she started. “I will admit though that the thought did briefly cross my mind.”
“Why briefly?”
“Well I realised the brothers O’Neill are never going to get a penny from their father so I felt that was most definitely a lost cause.”
“Okay, that figures.”
“By the way, McCusker,” she started up again, following a few moments deep in transparent thought, “how much did you say your Patten early retirement buy-out was?”
Chapter Seventeen
“I’ve just realised – you’re only picking me up so you can check if I’ve had anyone stay over,” McCusker said, as he and O’Carroll drove out of his mews, coffeed up. It had been the third morning out of four she’d collected him from his apartment.
“Okay, three things I’ll say to that,” she replied, as she sped past the fine No Alibis Bookstore on the corner of Botanic Avenue and Mount Charles. “Firstly, the super wanted us to make you feel welcome; secondly, you never bring your car to Custom House, and thirdly, McCusker, if I’m to be your partner I need to hear chapter and verse about every woman you have in your room.”
McCusker mulled over her words as BBC Radio 4’s Today show played in the background. Then he suddenly broke his silence. “Partner? Does this mean that the super has also assigned you to the Adam Whitlock case?”
“Yes it does,” she said, appearing happy enough with the development, “apart from which, and lucky for you, DI Mucky Jarvis Cage is out of action for a few days so the super didn’t have much choice.”
A few minutes later McCusker realised they were passing the No Alibis Bookstore for the second time in not quite as many minutes. “Sorry?” he said, pointing to the store.
“I wondered when the penny would drop,” she joked. “I’m waiting directions.”
“Sorry?”
“Look, you’ve been working on this case already so you’re the lead detective…so lead and tell me where you want to go?”
“Right. So...” he replied, nodding and taking out his notebook, “I need to…we need to talk to Craig Husbands, who along with Angela Robinson was another of Adam and Julia’s infrequent dinner partners. Craig and Angela, and Angela’s husband Richard, were at Queen’s together. And then I need to see Adam and Julia’s father Wesley who it seems has been ringing me non-stop since he arrived at Aldergrove Airport.”
“Please don’t go old and fuddy duddy on me McCusker, we all tend to call it the International Airport now.”
“Really?”
“Yes but only for about ten years.”
“Good, that’s okay then – for a moment there I was beginning to get worried I was out of date. Okay, let’s head to…” McCusker said, cutting her off while looking at his watch, “Craig Husbands – it’s 8. 55, he should be in work now.”
Craig Husbands was the manager of the box office in the Grand Opera House, which was right across the road from the world famous Europa Hotel on Great Victoria Street. The Opera House, at least the original building – which opened in 1895 and cost less than a grand to build – was one of the most beautiful venues, not just in Ireland, but in the British Isles. Unfortunately the extension to the Grand Opera House, which was opened in 2006 and cost £10.5 million to build, was one of the ugliest buildings, not just in the British Isles but in all of Europe. Unfortunately for Craig Husbands he got to work in the not-so-grand wing...
For all of that Craig was quite a cheery chappie, particularly considering he’d just lost one of his friends. His black hair was cut quite short with dyed blonde highlights. He immediately stood out from his box office team in that he was the only one not wearing a GOH uniform, electing to don instead an expensive-looking grey shirt, darker grey well-pressed trousers and black laceless Campers.
Ever efficient, DS WJ Barr had notified Craig Husbands that McCusker would be calling. Barr’s chores for the morning were to chase up the autopsy report, check how the forensic report on Adam’s computer was coming along, push the limited team on the House to House enquiries, unearth a copy of Adam Whitlock’s will and pacify the ever-persistent father, Wesley Whitlock III.
Husbands brought the two detectives up to the quieter (as in empty) second-floor bar. By way of trying to make conversation, McCusker asked how business was going.
“Well absolutely everyone is suffering due to the recession, but we’ve a safe wee musical in at the minute, Dancing Shoes – it’s the George Best story told for tourists. It’s doing great business for us and people love it.”
Husbands certainly wasn’t a Belfast native but McCusker couldn’t pin down where he was from due to him heavily Ulsterising his accent.
“I could comp the two of you if you’d like,” Husbands offered, and then made a call on a wall phone ordering a pot of coffee, a pot of tea and “some nibbles.”
“Thanks, but I’m not a big one for the theatre,” O’Carroll politely replied
as Husbands lead them over to a table.
“I’m a bit tight on my free nights to be honest,” McCusker said, hoping not to sound ungrateful, “but our Detective Sergeant, WJ Barr, is a big Man U supporter – I’m sure he’d love to go.”
“Yeah, Willie John thought he would loike it so I’ve already comped him foive,” Husbands replied, divulging the fact that perhaps the show wasn’t doing as well as he’d claimed and betraying his Birmingham monotone roots.
When the tea, coffee, and nibbles arrived they got down to the business in hand: discussing the life (and death) of Adam Whitlock.
“You know,” Husbands began expansively, “Adam found it hard to believe that I ended up in the entertainment business. He was always saying, ‘Craig, with your brain I thought you’d have ended up in politics.’ Can you imagine me in politics?”
“Well, you know,” McCusker said, “someone has to.”
“No, no!” Husbands protested. “That wasn’t my point. You see he felt that both of us had turned out doing things that neither of us had planned.”
“Really?” McCusker said, his ears and interest picking up several notches. “What had he planned to do?”
“Oh you know the same as the rest of us when we were at university: change the world. Didn’t you ever want to change the world Inspector?”
“I’m not an inspector.”
“But I am,” O’Carroll cut in. “So what had youse planned to do to change this wee world of ours?”
McCusker was happy for her intrusion because, a) it kept the interview on track, and b) it meant he didn’t have to go into the rigmarole of explaining that he wasn’t a member of PSNI, but an agency policeman.
“Well, we were looking for this mystical thing which would change our lives and make the world better for everyone, and if we’d manage to invent or create some mystical thing, the world would be an even better place for us. I read somewhere that Steve Jobs once said ‘Just look around you and all you will see are things that were made and invented by people not as intelligent as yourself.’ Apparently he cited that as the genesis of his genius.”
“I thought Adam had come over here to study law?” McCusker said, choosing to ignore Husbands’ preferred track.
“Well he had of course...” Husbands agreed. “His father was an important lawyer in Boston. He’d spent a few years in Belfast and so he still had enough contacts to pull a few strings for Adam. To be fair to Adam though, he always wanted to go his own way and decided to come back here to Belfast rather than work with his father in Boston.”
“Were you and Adam planning anything? A change of career?” McCusker asked, happy to continue with this approach for now.
“No, no, definitely not,” Husbands started. “I find that living your life is fine but it’s your lifestyle that causes all the problems. You get to a point where you realise that you’re no longer a student any longer. You don’t want to live with four other guys in a house. You don’t want to live on beans on toast and takeaways while going from one drinking session to the next, while at the same time trying to ensure you keep up with your course. I like my comforts, my nice clothes, my cool pad, my car, trips abroad, all of that, and I don’t want to slum it anymore and to change jobs. That’s exactly what I’d have had to do if I’d taken Steve Job’s advice and followed his path.”
“Did Adam feel the same way?” McCusker asked.
“To a certain extent, yes, but at the end of the day his father’s money was always going to give Adam and Julia a cushion if they needed it.”
“If lifestyle hadn’t come in to it, what would you have liked to do?” O’Carroll asked.
“Well, I can’t pretend I didn’t think about this because I have,” he started looking around to check no one from the theatre staff was listening. “I’d love to produce my own shows and failing that I’d love to open my own boutique hotel.”
“And what about Adam?”
“Sorry, I don’t understand – did you mean what were Adam’s dreams?”
“Yes,” McCusker replied.
“Well, sadly for me he’d no interest in either the theatre or in hotels, no matter how exclusive they were going to be.” Husbands laughed. “He really didn’t have anything that drove him. He was like…directionless.”
“Really?” O’Carroll said automatically.
“Yeah,” Husbands replied, “you know, maybe we all just had too many dinners together and we had started to tread water without even realising it, but you know when you reach that point in a relationship where you think it’s going to progress and that you’re going to take it to the next level. You’re not even sure what the next level may be or what if anything is waiting for you there, but then you get home and you sit down and you think, ‘Well that was a...just such a big waste of time.’ When we were all at uni together and were getting on great I thought…I suppose what I’m trying to say is you think this is all going to be so exciting being friends with these people and then you realise that the uni days were not just the start of the relationship, but the peak of it.”
“Did you get on well with Julia?” O’Carroll asked.
“Do you mean did I get on well with her or do you mean did she and I have a scene?”
“Okay,” Carroll asked, “I’ll take your answer on both, please.”
“We nearly had a scene – it was in the Queen’s days and on one famous occasion when we were about to…you know…”
“It’s okay,” O’Carroll smiled warmly, “we don’t need pictures.”
“Well, she ran off, saying this is just too weird and muttering something about Adam. But having said that, and in answer to your second question, we have always got on great.”
“And Angela Robinson?” McCusker asked.
“Good God no, she’s too tight with Adam.”
“I actually meant do youse get on okay...”
“Yeah, we do actually; she’s always been great fun, a bit wild and likes a laugh. She’s the one who keeps Adam’s spirits up.”
“Did Adam get down?” McCusker asked.
“Down might be too strong a word,” Husbands replied, looking like he was searching for the correct word, “but maybe, as I mentioned earlier, he wasn’t always driven.”
“Was he happy in his work?” McCusker pushed the questions again in the hope that one would open the mystical door.
“Yes,” he answered hesitantly, “in that it gave him a certain status and it gave him a certain lifestyle that he didn’t need to go to his father to finance. But, he could do it in his sleep.”
“Hobbies?” O’Carroll asked.
“All non-participating activities, apart from his trips to the gym with Julia of course. But he loved the movies and he’d go and sit in a darkened room all day long if he was allowed to and watch flickering images up on the screen. You know, maybe if he’d been into some action sport or driving fast cars, or hiking or mountain climbing or such like, maybe then he would have had a stronger motivation in his life.”
“Did he make any enemies?” O’Carroll again.
“Not that I’m aware of, but I doubt he would have had any at work either; he just didn’t care enough to upset people much, let alone enough to make them want to kill him.”
“Well someone wanted to, Craig,” McCusker said.
“Yes, I guess you’re right,” Husbands replied, slowing down in his tracks. The phone on the wall rang and he jumped to answer it, “Yes?”
He looked at McCusker and then at O’Carroll, his eyes fixing on her for the remainder of his conversation. “Yes,” a pause then “they can’t do that,” another longer pause then, “they confirmed the booking,” another short pause, “but I blocked all the seats for them and sold all the seats around them.” Then a grimace followed by “I should be finished here soon. I’ll be straight down but tell them we can’t accept this.”
“Look, we’re nearly done,” McCusker started, “we’ve just got one more question for you at this point. Could you please te
ll me what you were doing on Saturday night between the hours of midnight and 3 a.m. on Sunday morning?”
“I was here in this very bar until about 12.50 a.m. and then I went home.”
“By yourself?” McCusker asked.
“Yes, by myself,” Husbands replied directly to O’Carroll.
* * *
“Do you think he’s gay?” McCusker asked, as they got back in the Mégane, which was badly parked on the Europa forecourt.
“Surely you’re not saying that just because he wants to produce musicals and he wouldn’t tell you who he went home with on Saturday night?”
“No,” McCusker replied quickly, “but I am happy you also thought he went home with someone on Saturday...”
“Yes, he’s keeping something from us,” O’Carroll said, appearing deep in thought, “I say he’s little camp, yes, but gay? Definitely not.”
“Really? How can you be so sure?”
“Believe me, McCusker, a girl knows these things and he is a ladies’ man. But that doesn’t necessarily mean Mr Husbands is going to make a good husband. There was only one thing he wanted to do with me or that wee girl who brought in our coffee and you’re clearly much too innocent for me to go into that kind of detail with you.”
Chapter Eighteen
McCusker and O’Carroll were debating whether or not it was too early for a lunch pitstop. McCusker thought the time was good for “a wee bite on the hoof”, O’Carroll thought he was crazy. Both were saved further debate when O’Carroll’s mobile went off and the efficient DS Barr informed them that Wesley Whitlock III had once again rang the Custom House and was ever so keen “to hook up.” McCusker gave Whitlock Senior ten extremely rare points for at least having the decency to avoid the easy route of ringing someone, who knew someone, who could get through to Superintendent Larkin and persuade him to order the meeting.
