by Paul Charles
‘I… I…’, McCusker started hesitantly. He couldn’t remember ever expressing these feelings before, but after their experience, he felt he needed to. ‘I never, ever felt anything like that before… it was like…’
‘Don’t you ever tell our Lily about any of this,’ she interrupted, before he’d a chance to properly articulate what was in his heart. ‘In one way, it’s quite embarrassing.’
‘Why on Earth–’
‘No, no, nothing like that,’ she tried to reassure him. ‘It’s because it came out of nowhere. I wasn’t expecting anything as wonderful or as beautiful as that.’
McCusker visibly relaxed.
‘I… I don’t feel…’ she continued, ‘oh…’
They stopped talking and clung on to each other like their lives depended on it, and woke up in the exact same embrace the following morning. Instead of being embarrassed about the precious thing they had been through with each other the previous evening, they were comfortable with it – so much so, in fact, that they embraced it once more.
Chapter Eighteen
Day Two: Friday
McCusker, at Grace’s suggestion, had some stuff – as in fresh shirts, clean underwear, toiletries etc. – stored at her flat, mainly because she didn’t want McCusker going straight to his office any morning and her sister seeing that he’d stayed overnight.
‘But more importantly,’ she’d added, ‘I don’t want you not staying just because you feel you can’t get straight to the office from here.’ Besides, it wasn’t a major problem because the majority of times they slept together, it was at his quaint “student” accommodation up on University Square Mews, just off Botanic Avenue.
O’Carroll was already in the office by the time McCusker arrived. As usual DS WJ Barr, was also in residence and hard at work.
‘So, McCusker,’ O’Carroll started, ‘how was Newsnight?’
‘Sorry?’
‘My mother always used to tell Grace and me that if we were going to tell lies we needed to make sure we had perfect memories.’
McCusker just looked at her, the question mark still large upon his face. She’d distracted him somewhat by mentioning Grace’s name.
‘Come on, man,’ she smiled, ‘I dropped you off at Grace’s yesterday evening so you could watch Newsnight with her?’
‘Oh yes, sorry – by the time I got there she was already watching a movie.’
‘Yeah, she loves those old black and white classics, doesn’t she?’
‘Yeah, but there’s something quite charming about them,’ McCusker offered, happy he’d pulled it off.
‘Agng nagh,’ she puffed, sounding like a foghorn, ‘wrong answer. Grace hates black and white movies with a passion! She’s always saying when these so-called stylised directors insist on shooting their new films in monochrome, someone should point out to them that, even before colour TV and movies existed, the world still existed in full colour. So Grace’s point was that these directors should do us all a big favour – keep it real and shoot it in colour!’
McCusker hoaked around in his bottom drawer, if only in the hope that O’Carroll wouldn’t catch him grimacing.
‘So, let’s get stuck into this. I need to get off early tonight,’ O’Carroll said, thankfully now bored of her ribbing.
‘Who’s the lucky candidate?’
O’Carroll actually shocked McCusker by pulling out a five-by-three cue card from the inside pocket of her jacket. She brazenly read the card details:
‘Name: Sean Niblock
Age: 38
Description: 5-foot 10-inches tall, black hair, own teeth
Status: Single
Children: None
Accommodation: Own flat
Mortgage: Not known
Employment: Freelance Consultant in the package-holiday business
Salary: Don’t know but see “Car” details below
Car: Jaguar F-Type
Interests: Cars
Recommendation: He’s my hairdresser’s brother.’
‘As you would say, “Colour me impressed!” You’ve got this auditioning process down to a fine art now, haven’t you?’ McCusker offered, in praise at the conclusion of her enthusiastic delivery.
‘Yes, but of course. Well, you have to, don’t you,’ she replied, tapping the card against her chin before replacing it in her pocket again. ‘I have a good feeling about Sean, he seems… well, let’s not tempt fate, eh?’
‘And if you come in one day and your hair’s a mess, I’ll know it didn’t work out.’
‘And if I don’t come in one day, you’ll know I’ve gone off with Sean on one of his package holidays!’
‘I’ll be rooting for you,’ McCusker offered, genuinely meaning it.
‘Good. So let’s get into this,’ she continued seamlessly, clearly throwing small talk into touch. ‘What’s on our board for today?’
‘I thought a good starting point would be Harry and Sophie Rubens,’ McCusker offered. ‘They seem to have been good friends to Louis. Then I need to visit Ron Desmond again, then Professor Vincent Best, then the Vice-Chancellor. Hopefully we’ll fill in a bit more of the picture on Louis from those interviews and will be in a better position to meet the “troubled brother”. How do you want to divide it up?’
‘Well, you and I can get stuck into that together, and WJ and the team can hold the fort here. The autopsy results should be in soon and WJ wanted to revisit the scene of the crime.’
‘Yep, I’m on it,’ Barr agreed, ‘but you both realise, don’t you, that DI Jarvis Cage is in fact my senior?’
‘Yes, of course,’ O’Carroll agreed, ‘but no one seems to have told him that yet, so let’s keep that as our little secret, shall we.’
* * *
When they walked into his office in the Neo-Georgian, David Keir Building on the Stranmillis Road, the first thing that struck McCusker about Harry Rubens was how young he was. It was just something about the names Harry and Sophie Rubens, and maybe even that they were always mentioned together, that led McCusker to assume they were going to be an old couple. But Harry Rubens looked so sharp, so cool, so young and so hip, he could have made the wallpaper turn around and sneak a peek at him.
‘I’ve been expecting you guys,’ Rubens said, as he shook both their hands enthusiastically.
McCusker had a theory that everyone – especially professionals – seemed so well groomed these days. It was as though before they even ventured out of their homes in the morning, they prepared themselves for a possible TV appearance. Harry Rubens proved McCusker’s theory in spades.
‘Shall I text Sophie to meet us here?’ he asked, still clearly buzzed.
‘It’s probably better we see her after you,’ O’Carroll said, making it sound like a request rather than a demand. ‘From what we’ve been told, you were both very good friends of Louis’, so we’ll probably pick up more if we talk to you both separately.’
‘So shall I get her to come here in half an hour, say 10.30?’ Harry Rubens continued, undeterred.
‘Sounds good,’ O’Carroll said, ‘but maybe have her meet us at Louis’ office at 10.45.’
Rubens’ office was a complete contrast to Louis’ office. While Louis office was very Zen and uncluttered, Rubens’ office, like the man, was very buzzy, busy and packed to the rafters with stuff. He’d a kind of a den area in the back, with no windows, dim lighting, a brown sofa and two mismatched easy chairs.
Harry Rubens, in his ultra-back-supported, desk-chair-on-wheels propelled (with feet power) his way over to a small fridge and shouted back, ‘What’s your poison?’ He then whizzed back to them even more quickly, with a still mineral water for O’Carroll, a Perrier for McCusker and a chilled Coke Zero for himself. ‘Since they,’ he continued, nodding at his bottle, ‘sponsored our Belfast Bikes, you feel obliged to support them don’t you?’ he offered, by way of justification.
Neither McCusker nor O’Carroll felt obliged to agree.
‘How long had you known Louis
Bloom?’ O’Carroll asked, after a polite sip.
‘I met Louis and Sophie on my first day here, eight years ago, September 27th past.’
‘Oh,’ O’Carroll started in surprise, ‘so Sophie and Louis already knew each other?’
‘Yes they did,’ Harry replied, through a large smile, ‘yes they did.’
‘Okay, let’s see now; if I understand this correctly,’ McCusker interrupted, ‘Louis and Sophie were an item before you and Sophie were married?’
Harry laughed out loud, and warmly.
‘No, Louis and Elizabeth were already married when he met Sophie. Sophie started here a year before me. She and Louis met on a music department committee to rename the McMordie Hall. I think she met him very briefly at one of his talks, but the first time they worked together was on that committee.’
‘Did Louis introduce you to Sophie?’ O’Carroll asked.
‘Yes, he did,’ Harry offered in agreement, ‘yes, he did.’
‘Do you remember how youse all came to meet?’ O’Carroll continued, appearing keen to follow this thread.
McCusker figured it was most likely research for her ongoing dating venture.
‘Yes, of course. The Vice-Chancellor suggested I call in with Louis – he said he thought we’d get on well and that Louis knew all the shortcuts around the campus, geographically and politically speaking.
‘When I happened to drop by his office that first morning, Louis, Leab and Sophie were all enjoying a morning coffee and a catch-up. They were all very sociable and shared a little of each of their coffees with me. They admitted they were being selfish, saying it would make it my turn next time.’
‘So you and Sophie…’ McCusker struggled, but he knew O’Carroll really wanted to know, so he spared her the embarrassment, ‘hit it off?’
‘Well, actually what happened was, about half an hour later Louis was about to start his morning session, which he’s very precious about, and so Sophie – as she’d some spare time, and to save having Louis throw us all out – offered to show me around campus. There was something about her that I liked from the first moment I saw her. She’s a very special person; you’ll see when you meet her later. Gary Mills had already given me a tour of the campus, but I never let on about this to Sophie, in order that I could spend some time with her. So off we went on our tour, walking and talking. And we’ve been walking and talking ever since – actually, there’s been quite a bit of laughing thrown in as well.’
McCusker knew that O’Carroll was dying for him to ask Harry Rubens what it was about Sophie that had attracted him so much. But he couldn’t find a comfortable way to go there, so instead he said, ‘so the three of you became good friends?’
‘Yes, we did,’ Harry said, smiling, ‘yes, we did.’
‘Have you met Al Armstrong?’ McCusker asked, deciding it was about time to get into the interview proper.
‘A few times,’ Harry said, the permanent smile definitely ebbing a little. ‘Mr Armstrong is more of Elizabeth’s friend than Louis’.’
‘Did Louis ever talk to you about Armstrong?’
Rubens’ hesitation confirmed that he probably had.
‘Look,’ he began, ‘I know you have to ask all these questions to try and find out what happened to Louis, and Sophie and I will certainly do all we can. We’re agreed with each other that we’re going to be very candid with you in all of our answers. But, I’d like your assurance our information won’t be used maliciously.’
McCusker wasn’t exactly sure what the lecturer meant, but O’Carroll must have fully understood, because she gave an immediate agreement.
‘Okay,’ Rubens started, clearly assured. ‘Al… it’s my understanding that Al smokes a lot of pot. I don’t really understand what exactly goes on between Elizabeth and him. Louis was convinced that there was nothing physical about the relationship. But they are as inseparable as Harland and Wolff were. When I spoke to Elizabeth yesterday evening – Sophie and I dropped around to express out condolences – we asked her if there was anything that we could do to help and she said that she was fine and that her sister and Armstrong were looking after her. Louis did voice his concern that Armstrong might be trying to fleece Elizabeth. He was always doing odd jobs around the house for her, but he charged her, and Louis felt he was charging top dollar. He asked Elizabeth to get receipts from Armstrong for his work.’
‘And did she?’ O’Carroll asked.
‘No. I mean she certainly asked Armstrong the next time she paid him in cash for a job for a receipt, and she reported to Louis that Armstrong had complained “That’ll take all the good out of it”. Meaning, I assume, that he didn’t want to declare it.’
‘We believe that Armstrong is on the dole and he doesn’t pay tax on his refurbishment work?’
‘So I believe,’ Rubens replied, ‘but surely in this day and age he can’t get away without paying taxes? You know, could it maybe just have been the idle boast of an armchair socialist?’
‘Surely a socialist is willing to pay tax?’ O’Carroll cut in.
‘I believe socialists are willing…’ Harry offered, through a smile he, McCusker guessed, had perfected in front of his students, ‘for other people to pay taxes.’
O’Carroll reluctantly let it go.
‘You don’t believe that Armstrong murdered Louis, do you?’
‘Do you?’ McCusker quizzed, in return.
‘I can’t think of a motive,’ Rubens replied, slowly, as if he was genuinely searching for a reason. ‘I can’t think of a motive. You know, unless Louis caught him out on something…’
‘Something like…?’ McCusker ventured, intrigued by Rubens’ reply.
‘Well, there was some talk of Armstrong dealing pot, but “just for his friends”.’ As he said this, he used a finger from each hand to signal quotation marks.
‘But wasn’t that years ago when he was in a group?’ O’Carroll suggested.
‘Ah no, apparently not – apparently earlier on this year.’
‘Does Armstrong have many friends?’
‘I don’t really know, to be honest, but Louis was convinced his only real friend was Elizabeth.’
‘So how could he then be meant to be dealing dope for his friends?’ O’Carroll asked.
‘Well, that was kinda Louis’ point,’ Rubens said, and paused in consideration before starting back up with ‘let’s assume that Armstrong and Elizabeth are really good friends; could it have been in his interest – I’m talking financially now – to get rid of Louis? Louis, as you have probably discovered by now, was a man of considerable wealth. Will all that wealth go to Elizabeth and might that wealth cause Armstrong to be interested in being more of a friend?’
Even if Elizabeth was considering a scenario like that, McCusker was convinced that Angela Larkin, not to mention her husband, would aggressively council against it.
‘Did Louis ever confide that he was worried about anything, you know, personal threats?’ McCusker asked.
‘No nothing like that at all.’
‘Did he have any enemies?’ O’Carroll asked.
‘Oh, I’m sure there would be a few fellows on campus who would have been jealous of Louis’ position, where he could pretty much get any projects he wanted green-lit,’ Harry Rubens said and laughed. ‘But that would be more of an Agatha Christie plot, wouldn’t it? I think we’re most likely looking at more of a Morse-type subversion, aren’t we? Please forgive me,’ Rubens pleaded the moment the words had left his mouth, ‘I didn’t mean, in the circumstances, to be so frivolous. To be quite honest with you, I’m having a problem accepting that he’s gone. I still find myself expecting Louis to, quite literally, walk through my door at any minute.’
‘You had lunch with him yesterday?’ O’Carroll asked, flicking back through a few pages in her notebook.
‘Yes, I did,’ Rubens confirmed, ‘yes, I…’ That was as far as he got. He tried to get more words out but he just couldn’t. His eyes welled up. He bit his lip, he tried
to stop the emotion rising up inside of him but he just couldn’t. He slowly walked back over to his desk and took some tissues from a box and, keeping his back to the detectives, dabbed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry…’ he started, but again his emotions proved to be his master.
‘It’s okay, Harry,’ O’Carroll offered, sympathetically.
Rubens walked back over to them and sat back in his chair. His eyes were very teary. He blew a large gasp out when he clearly felt those tears coming again. This time he kept them at bay by using his tongue to do a couple of circumferences of his lips.
‘I’m really sorry,’ he said slowly, as though testing himself. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘It was just, when you said I had lunch with him yesterday I suddenly realised that was the last time I was ever going to see him, and that’s the first time I’d harboured such a thought. I didn’t think I’d be so emotional with the PSNI here – I expected to do that with my wife but not the PSNI.’
‘You know, we can break for a while if you’d like?’ O’Carroll offered.
‘Oh no, no,’ he protested, ‘no, really, I’m happy to continue; I know how important it is you get as much of this background information as quickly as possible.’
‘Right,’ McCusker said, accepting how difficult it was for a man to cry in front of another man and thinking everyone seemed so willing and keen to give them as much information as they had and as quickly as possible, ‘what time did you meet?’
‘He came by here at 1; we chewed the fat for about twenty minutes, walked down to Café Conor together, had lunch between 1.30 to 2.30.’
‘How did he seem at the lunch?’
‘He really seemed fine. You know Louis – fussy eater, complained about too much salt on his meat, that he couldn’t find a Tele that wasn’t creased.’
‘What did you chat about?’
‘You know, just a couple of good mates chatting. I told him what I’d been up to. Sophie and I are heading off to Dublin for a long weekend and he’d tipped us off on what he felt was the best room in the Fitzgerald Hotel. You know, just stuff like that. He told me what he’d been working on that morning.’
