The Curious Dispatch of Daniel Costello

by Chris McDonald

  The Curious Dispatch of Daniel Costello

  Stonebridge Mysteries 1

  Chris McDonald

  Contents

  1. A NIGHT TO FORGET

  2. AN UNFORTUNATE INSIGHT INTO THE LIFE OF ADAM WHYTE

  3. A MIX UP

  4. THE REHEARSAL

  5. A RIGHT OLD KNEES UP

  6. NO SHOW AT BREAKFAST

  7. THE GAMECHANGER

  8. WARDROBE CHOICES

  9. THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS

  10. A KICK IN THE BALEARICS

  11. EX’S AND OH’S

  12. ANOTHER SNOOP

  13. TUBTHUMPING

  14. A SIGHTING AND A MONSTROUS USE OF BLU TACK

  15. LIFE THROUGH A LENS

  16. THE DINNER

  17. THE BREAKTHROUGH

  18. A MEETING IN THE MOONLIGHT

  19. A GROWING REPUTATION

  About the Author

  Published by RED DOG PRESS 2021

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  Copyright © Chris McDonald 2021

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  Chris McDonald has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  * * *

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

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  First Edition

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  Paperback ISBN 978-1-913331-87-0

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-913331-88-7

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  www.reddogpress.co.uk

  1

  A NIGHT TO FORGET

  The pounding dance music and the pulsing lights were everything Sam had hoped for and more. He’d loved this type of music since his teens and had set his heart on coming to Ibiza for his stag do ever since he’d first heard the opening notes to Adagio for Strings more than a decade ago.

  Now that he was here, everything seemed… amplified; bigger than he’d imagined it. The music was louder, the beer was cheaper, and the girls were even more scantily dressed than he’d ever dared to envisage.

  Of course, he was here on his stag, but a man could window shop, couldn’t he?

  He waved his hands in the air as the beat dropped and, along with the mass of bodies around him, writhed in time with the thumping bass. He took a swig from his bottle of beer, spilling some down the front of his custom-made T-shirt – a pink monstrosity with a horned stag front and centre, Sam’s smiling face photoshopped in the middle of it all. He’d been forced into it at the airport and the boys had made enough of them to make sure he wore nothing else all week.

  He looked around the bustling club, scanning for any of his mates, but everyone seemed to have either scattered or called it a night completely. He didn’t have a watch, and the windowless room gave no clue as to what time it might be. He thought about having one last drink, but the tiredness tugged at his eyelids, exacerbated by the unholy amount of alcohol he’d consumed. The only thing keeping him going was that pill he’d taken.

  As he made to leave the dancefloor, a hand reached out, the fingers interlocking with his own, pulling him back.

  A pretty brunette swam into view. Her features weren’t unlike Emily’s, his future wife’s, though her eyes were slightly bigger. She leaned in close to him, affording Sam a sneaky peak at her cleavage as her top gaped.

  ‘Leaving so soon?’ she shouted in his ear, above the swell of the music.

  She pulled back, and he stared at her with bleary eyes, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Once it had computed, he nodded.

  ‘One more dance,’ she mouthed, leading him back to the middle of the dancefloor. He followed her, taking in her short skirt and tanned, shapely legs. When she reached the desired spot, she turned, and they danced, getting progressively closer until their noses were almost touching.

  ‘I’m getting married,’ he slurred, as he looked into her dark eyes.

  ‘Me too,’ she replied, holding up her hand to show a diamond encrusted ring. ‘Everyone gets a freebie on their hen do, though.’

  She took one more step and brushed her lips against his. He thought about pulling away, but only for a moment. Instead, he moved closer and pressed his lips firmly onto hers. Images of Emily swam through his drunken thoughts and this time he did pull away, mumbling his apologies. She shrugged, turned, and having got what she wanted, disappeared into the crowd.

  Tears formed in the corner of his eyes and his cheeks burned with the shame of what he’d just done.

  Looking up, Sam locked eyes with Danny. He wondered how much his best man had seen. Aside from the flashing lights, the place was dark and full of revellers – surely, he couldn’t have seen the whole show. As Sam left the dancefloor and approached him, the answer was clear. Danny was looking at him with raised eyebrows and a slight grin.

  ‘You dirty dog,’ he said, clapping him on the shoulder as they exited the club.

  Sam looked at him with a plea in his eyes.

  ‘It was a mistake. She kissed me,’ he murmured. ‘You can’t tell anyone.’

  Danny held up a placating hand and dragged a finger across his chest, sketching an X.

  ‘Don’t worry, big man. I’ll take it to the grave.’

  ONE MONTH LATER

  2

  AN UNFORTUNATE INSIGHT INTO THE LIFE OF ADAM WHYTE

  Adam Whyte slipped a hand into his pyjama bottoms and scratched his undercarriage for quite an extended period of time. When his hand emerged, he lifted it to his nose and gave it a sniff. Though the smell was not pleasant, his face didn’t show any displeasure. On the contrary. He judged the smell to be just the right side of acceptable and decided to push back his probably much-needed shower until tomorrow. His mum had been watching all of this happen from behind a book, a look of disgust etched on her face.

  Adam lifted a pint glass full of water from the ground and slurped from it, before grabbing the PlayStation controller and expertly navigating through the home page of Netflix. He tapped a few buttons and the theme song for Sherlock began.

  ‘Oh, haven’t you watched enough of this today?’ his mum asked.

  ‘You can never get enough of the Cumberbatch, can you?’ Adam replied.

  She sighed and thought about her son. From an early age, he’d pretended to be a ‘sloof’, solving make-believe crimes with his friends. A few years ago, he had travelled sixty miles up the road to Belfast, to study psychology at Queens University. Predictably, he hadn’t lasted long. In true Adam Whyte fashion, he’d become the popular lad on campus, much to the detriment of his studies. And so, after less than a year, he’d returned home, to the north coast of Northern Ireland; to Stonebridge, and had been stuck in dead end jobs since. Until a few days ago, that was, when he’d been fired from the pub he was working in, due to being late one too many times. Gone were the dreams of joining the police; of becoming a detective. Now, here he was, unapologetically scratching his balls in the middle of the afternoon in front of his own mother.

  She watched him cover his eyes as the detective on the screen surveyed a blood-soaked body. Adam had never been good with blood – another reason a career in the police was never going to happen.

  ‘Are you looking forward to the wedding tomorrow?’ she asked him.

  ‘It’ll be good to see friends, yeah,’ he said. ‘And it’s tradition for the groomsman to snog a bridesmaid, so there’s that.’

  He raised his eyebrows suggestively before turning
back to the TV.

  I wouldn’t hold out much hope, she thought to herself, turning her attention back to her book.

  3

  A MIX UP

  Adam’s battered Renault Clio crawled along the wide gravel driveway that was framed by sprawling, manicured lawns. Tall oak trees and Victorian lampposts alternated alongside the path.

  Adam thought that if the ancient trees could talk, they’d probably tell him that his car was the worst vehicle they’d ever seen and that it simply being on the property was enough to tarnish the land.

  After cresting a small hill, the stately home loomed in front of them. Tamed ivy crept tastefully across the stone walls and beautifully crafted statues of lions kept guard on either side of a huge, wooden door. The clifftop property, framed by the endless ocean behind it, was a stunning place for a marriage.

  ‘Hard to believe we’re only thirty minutes from home,’ Adam said. ‘Feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere.’

  He entered the car park and found a space. Colin, Adam’s best friend, got out of the car and looked around. He stretched his lanky frame and looked to the unbroken blue sky.

  ‘What’s hard to believe is that they booked their wedding on the Twelfth weekend, of all the weekends available,’ he said. ‘I’m supposed to be getting smashed and watching some marching bands.’

  ‘Oh, Colin,’ Adam said, clapping his friend on the shoulder and pushing him towards the door. ‘So uncultured. This is going to be so much better. There’s going to be no drama, for one, and everyone knows girls let their inhibitions go at weddings. You might even get lucky!’

  They walked in the front door and set their bags down, taking in their surroundings. Original wooden floorboards were paired tastefully with dark stone walls upon which framed portraits hung. A wide chandelier dangled above their heads, the golden sunlight that flowed in through a large window catching in the crystal fixtures. They followed the strip of red carpet that led from the door to the unmanned reception desk. They rang the bell and a second later, a well-groomed, suited man greeted them with a wide smile and a warm hello.

  ‘We’ve got two rooms, under Whyte and McLaughlin,’ Adam told him.

  The man, his nametag announcing him as Francis, manoeuvred the mouse and clicked a few buttons on the computer, though a frown spread across his face and he started to shake his head slowly.

  ‘We’ve got a room for Whyte and McLaughlin.’

  Adam looked up at Colin, who appeared suitably confused. Realisation dawned slowly on his face and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  ‘You’ve messed the booking up, haven’t you?’ he said to his friend, shaking his head. It was like their trip to London all over again.

  He turned back to Francis, not waiting for an answer.

  ‘Do you have any other rooms available?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ Francis replied, shaking his head. ‘All the rooms have been booked months in advance, due to the wedding.’

  ‘Great,’ Adam said sarcastically, taking the proffered key for their shared room. Francis told them that if anyone cancelled, they’d be the first to know.

  Adam lambasted Colin all the way up the stairs. They turned left at the top of the steps and began making their way towards room number 14, stopping by a bay window to take in the sea view. The sun shimmered on the water below and they watched the waves break on the cliffs, the white spray splashing high into the air. As a seagull swooped and rose high into the sky again, they tore themselves away from the view and found their room at the end of the corridor. Adam turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, revealing a beautifully decorated room.

  A desk sat alongside one wall, a notepad and a pen perched on top. Various framed pieces of art decorated the recently painted cream walls, and a bookcase in the corner of the room held a selection of weighty classics. As nice as it was, there was one big problem.

  Pushed against one of the walls was one double bed.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Adam mumbled.

  Sleeping arrangements decided, (top and tail – not ideal but a compromise all the same) Adam and Colin set about getting ready for the first night of drinking. Adam pulled on his favourite pair of chinos – navy – and a red and black flannel shirt. He spread wax through his dark hair, trying to achieve the just out of bed look. He briefly considered shaving his slightly patchy beard, but he’d been growing it for a couple of weeks now and couldn’t bear to part with it.

  He looked across at Colin, who had settled on casual jeans and a white T-shirt, and felt the jealousy rise as he considered his friend’s fulsome facial hair. Some people have all the luck.

  Since primary school, he and Colin had been inseparable. As puberty had struck, the changes had set in. Colin had grown to six foot and developed wide shoulders which were used to good effect on the school’s rugby team. Adam stayed at just over five and a half feet, and his weedy appearance had caused him to be picked last for any sport. They were nicknamed Little and Large, for obvious reasons.

  Once ready, Adam pulled a DVD player from his bag and set about connecting it to the small TV already in the room. Colin gave him a questioning look.

  ‘I thought we’d have a bit of spare time this weekend. The wedding isn’t until Sunday, that leaves us with a lot of free time tomorrow. I thought we’d work our way through this,’ he said, holding up series one of Sherlock.

  ‘Great shout,’ Colin answered, as his friend slipped disk one into the tray.

  The next hour and a half passed quickly, both of them lost in an episode they had watched countless times.

  ‘I have to go to this rehearsal thing,’ Adam said, checking his watch as the credits rolled. ‘It shouldn’t take too long and then I’ll meet you in the bar?’

  ‘No worries,’ replied Colin, taking a book out of his bag and settling down on the bed. Before he could open the book, his attention was quickly drawn away as he watched Adam make some last-minute changes to his hair. He shook his head at his friend’s vanity.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m having to spend the weekend with bloody Daniel Costello,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ Adam replied. ‘Odd choice for Best Man. I assumed his twin would’ve been nailed on for that job, but then, Danny and Sam were always close. The speech is going to be a train wreck, I reckon.’

  With that, he headed for the door.

  ‘Are you not taking your phone?’ Colin shouted after him, holding up the iPhone that had been lying on the bed next to him.

  ‘No point, there’s barely any reception.’

  He bid Colin a swift goodbye and walked down the corridor to Sam’s room – the bridal suite. The groom-to-be’s face lit up when he opened the door and saw who was behind it. He ushered Adam into the huge room, complete with king sized four poster bed and a glorious sea view.

  Adam looked Sam up and down. He’d lost quite a bit of weight in the couple of weeks since they’d last hung out – presumably the work of the personal trainer he’d paid handsomely. Adam made a mental note to ask for his name.

  ‘Alright, mate,’ said Danny, who was sprawled on the bed. His shirt was buttoned down to near his bellybutton and he carried with him that sense of arrogance he always had, though had done nothing to earn.

  ‘I’m good thanks,’ Adam replied. He’d never had much time for Danny. He turned to Ross, Sam’s twin. ‘How you doing, man?’

  Ross stood up and shook his hand, a wide grin on his face. Like Sam, Ross had thick, dark hair and gangly features. It had been nigh on impossible to tell them apart through school, though was slightly easier now on account of Ross’s mangled accent – Northern Irish with a hint of Lancashire – which he had acquired from having spent four years at university in Lancaster. He was probably the only person in the whole country who supported Preston North End, too.

  ‘Where’s Emily?’ Adam asked Sam.

  ‘She’s at her parent’s place. Her side of the family are coming tomorrow evening for the meal. Until then, it�
��s just us.’

  ‘A bit like Lord of the Flies. A load of reprobates let loose in a house,’ sniggered Danny.

  Adam was pretty sure that Danny had never read that particular book. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure if Danny could read at all. Again, he ignored Danny’s comment and addressed Sam.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t make the stag; money is a bit tight at the moment and mum had already offered to pay for this weekend so I couldn’t scrounge any more off her. It looked like you all had a great time.’

  ‘It was a lot of fun,’ Danny laughed. ‘Sam had a great time, didn’t you?’

  A flash of something passed over Sam’s features. Anger? When he spoke, though, his tone was nonchalant.

  ‘Yeah, it was great, thanks. I tried paella for the first time, and we hired jet skis and mucked about in the bay. The nights out were mad, too. I’ve not drank since!’

  Danny looked like he was about to add something, but was cut off by Sam pulling out a box from under the bed. From it, he produced four silver hipflasks and handed one to Ross, Danny and Adam.

  Adam inspected it. It felt heavy in his hand, and the engraved initials were a nice touch.

  ‘It’s filled with a ten-year-old Bushmills single malt, so cherish it,’ Sam said. They each undid the tops, clinked the flasks together and took a hearty swig. It burned as it trickled down Adam’s throat and he did the same as the others; tried not to let the discomfort show.