Either way the whole process was giving him a sore head, so when he heard his mobile springing to life he grabbed it like his sister would the last pair of boots in a Kurt Geiger sale and answered with a dramatic, “Thank you!” surprising Aidan who was on the other end of the line.
“What are you thanking me for, Guv?”
“Giving me a legitimate excuse to cancel a house viewing. You did call to give me some work, yes?”
The D.C.I. rolled his eyes at the sergeant beside him, eloquently expressing his view on the sanity of the higher ranks.
“Sorry, just information at the moment,” he heard Craig’s disappointment immediately and rushed to caveat with, “although of course you might decide to investigate it tonight.”
Craig’s sigh of pleasure coincided with someone knocking on his door that didn’t wait for permission to enter, and even with his chair turned towards the window he knew exactly who it was.
“Sit down, Liam. I’m on the phone. OK, fire ahead, Aidan.”
The D.C.I. outlined the discussion with Gabriel McCusker, and Stuart Kincaid’s timeline in particular made Craig frown.
“Harvest time, that’s August, isn’t it?”
Before Aidan could answer Liam, who’d grown up on a farm near Banbridge, had obliged.
“July, August and September on most farms, although for some that grow barley it can stretch to November and veg can be planted to harvest in the spring. What sort of farm is it?”
Knowing the volume of his deputy’s voice would have made his words audible in Rownton with or without a telephone, Craig said, “I take it you got that?”
It was Ryan who responded, he having asked that very question of McCusker when they’d arrived on his land.
“Wheat and dairy.”
Liam nodded. “OK, then harvest’s August and September mostly, although winter wheat can be harvested in May and June.”
Craig’s response was to swivel his chair around, set his mobile on the desk and put it on speakerphone.
“OK, as everyone seems to be joining in on this conversation anyway, let’s make it four-way. Aidan, you’re saying Stuart Kincaid was in Rownton in the autumn of twenty-sixteen. Then he returned again, by John’s reckoning, sometime in the final two to three months of last year, which is when he was drowned at the quarry.”
“Yep. He came here in twenty-sixteen, about a year after his niece was taken, and then again a year after his sister committed suicide.”
Craig frowned as the D.C.I. reached the end of his sentence, and noticing that his deputy had as well he waved him on.
“Tell everyone what bothers you about that, Liam, and then I’ll tell you what I think.”
The harvest expert cracked his knuckles loudly before he spoke, sparking a series of groans.
“OK... so Edgar Westbury grew up in Rownton and helped his folks run their guest house, then he grew up, went into the hotel business, did good, got married-” He stopped abruptly. “Here, when did he marry Nicola Kincaid?”
Craig tapped up a file. “Two-thousand-and-five.”
“OK. So... most people get married in the girl’s family church if they church it at all, so the wedding wouldn’t have been in Rownton. It would have been...”
His boss filled in another gap. “In Ballycastle. That’s where Nicola and Stuart Kincaid grew up.”
“So...Nicola married Edgar Westbury in Ballycastle in oh-five and Stuart Kincaid would have been there for sure, but why would he have ever gone to Rownton? Does it say in the file that Edgar and Nicola ever lived there? If so, I could see Stuart going there to visit to see his twin, but-”
Craig scanned his screen quickly and cut him off, “No. They never lived in Rownton.”
“Well, OK, then Stuart Kincaid would’ve needed a damn good reason to trek all the way to Rownton, seeing as it’s halfway across the country from his home in Portaferry. Agreed?”
There was a murmur of agreement before he went on.
“So now the question becomes, what was that reason? Why would Stuart Kincaid have trekked to a place he had no link to, other than that his sister had married a guy from there? And twice in three years. At the time of his first visit in twenty-sixteen his sister was still living in France, and by the second visit last year she was dead.”
The D.C.I. smiled decisively, as if a piece had just fallen into place.
“OK, so the first question we need answered is what were Stuart Kincaid’s reasons for being in Rownton? Bearing in mind they could have been different for each visit.”
Craig nodded him on.
“The second is... on Kincaid’s initial visit to Rownton in twenty-sixteen, which was after his niece was taken from a country hundreds of miles away but while his sister was still alive, were Nicola or Edgar Westbury with him? And actually, I’d ask if Edgar was with him when Kincaid went there last year too.”
Craig interrupted. “Aidan, are you taking all this down?”
He was now. “Yep.”
“OK. Go on, Liam.”
The deputy rested back in his chair and gazed up at the ceiling, knowing that it would help his thought processes more than staring at his boss’ expectant face.
“OK, the third question is... if not why not? If Edgar or Nicola weren’t with him and Kincaid went to Rownton alone both times, then why weren’t they-?”
Craig shook his head. “Nicola Westbury probably didn’t want to leave the house in France just in case her daughter returned home.”
“OK, but why wasn’t Edgar helping his brother-in-law to hunt in Rownton if he’d found some sort of lead?”
“If he had.”
Ryan interjected. “Kincaid was seen talking to the post-mistress in twenty-sixteen and showing her something, possibly a photo of the girl. We’re meeting her tomorrow so we’ll get more then.”
Liam grunted his approval. “Good plan, but I’d ask in the pub and church as well. Between them the local shopkeeper, pub landlord and churchy types usually know everything that’s happening in a small village and its surrounds, so you might find out more about Kincaid’s visits from them.”
He put his hands behind his neck for support and kept gazing at the roof. “We can ask Edgar Westbury about it all when we see him tomorrow as well, boss. Now, next... if Kincaid was asking about his niece in Rownton in twenty-sixteen then it was probably because he was worried about his sister. He’ll have loved the kid too, but bairns that age are seen as extensions of their mother and we know Nicola must have been in a bad way because she killed herself the following year. So...I think we can rule out anything sinister about Kincaid carrying the picture on either visit-”
He stopped dead and looked at Craig. “That’s a thing, boss. If Kincaid was showing the girl’s photo to the post-mistress in twenty-sixteen then by the time he died he’d have been carrying it around for years.”
Craig nodded. “Or a copy. OK, you two, when you see the post-mistress tomorrow confirm that it was Bella’s photo that Kincaid showed her and check if it was the same one he had in his pocket. You have a copy of that, don’t you?”
“Yep” confirmed that they had.
Liam resumed his gaze at the ceiling.
“OK...but...the wee girl was stolen in France, so why did Kincaid think anyone at Rownton might have known anything about her whereabouts? Had he found something linking her abduction to the village, and if so, what?”
He dropped his gaze to Craig again and sat up straight, signalling that he was approaching his denouement.
“There must have been something to link her abduction with Rownton, boss, because when Kincaid went there again last year it got him killed.”
As he said the words both men waved bye-bye to their trip to France. The answers to Bella Westbury’s abduction lay in a chilly Northern Irish village and unfortunately not in sunny, picturesque Nice, city of al fresco dining and wine that slipped sensuously down the throat.
Then Craig thought of something that revived his hopes. “We
might go yet, Liam. Remember Galvet.”
It cheered the D.C.I. up again and encouraged him to finish his train of thought.
“We need to find out what Stuart Kincaid learnt that led him to Rownton.”
Craig nodded. “Or what he thought he’d learnt anyway. For all we know Kincaid could have been barking up entirely the wrong tree by going there, but in the process inadvertently alerted someone dangerous in the village and got himself killed. We still can’t be certain that his death is linked to the girl’s disappearance.”
A sceptical look from his deputy made him concede, “Although I grant you it looks likely. But I don’t like that local builder’s suicide. It’s too much of a coincidence that happening just now.” He leaned closer to the phone. “Aidan, have you had a chance to speak to anyone there about that yet?”
“No. Sorry, Guv. We spent the afternoon out at the farms. We’ve got the builder’s deputy, the pub landlord, the post-mistress, and now thanks to Liam, the church on our list for tomorrow.” He considered for a moment and added. “What time are you briefing? Because we won’t make it back till the afternoon.”
“Don’t worry. Everybody has work to tidy up, so it won’t be until six.”
He glanced at his deputy to see if he had anything further to add and then asked the other two men the same. When the message was no all around Craig was just about to cut the call, and then he remembered something else. Loath as he was to hand Liam ammunition to fire at him he decided to mention it, shooting him a defiant look as he did.
“Before you go, Aidan, there’s one more thing. I need you to take a trip to Mahon Prison on your way back tomorrow and transport an inmate to High Street for interview. ” He ignored Liam’s gawping. “The governor’s expecting you. I’ll email the paperwork to him in the morning. Bye.”
He cut the call quickly and then, motioning Liam to hold on to whatever wisdom his mouth had just opened to impart for a moment, he left the room to ask a just getting ready to leave Alice to make a call that had nothing to do with his job.
When he returned an eavesdropping Liam was smirking piously. “Cancelling your house viewing? Tut tut, the wife won’t be happy.”
Craig chuckled as he retook his seat. “The wife as you call her will be ecstatic. She’s already fed up with me moaning about complete strangers’ bathroom fittings.” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “So, go on then. Let’s have it.”
The D.C.I. feigned innocence. “Let’s have what?”
“You know you’re just busting to have a go about the prisoner I’m bringing up from Mahon.”
“Well, if you’re asking do I think you’re an eejit for doing it, then yes, I do. If the PPS or Ombudsman catch on you’ll be toast, and uniformed constable pounding the beat toast at that.”
Craig sat forward eagerly, brushing off the warning. “This guy was McElroy’s cellmate and they were close. Pete taught him to read and write, so there was trust there-”
The D.C.I. cut him off. “Loyalty too that means. And there’s that whole honour amongst thieves crap, don’t forget. What makes you think this scrote will betray that? That’s if Pete even confided what he was planning in the first place?”
Craig gave an offended grunt. “Oh ye of little faith in my ability to intimidate.”
It earned him a sceptical look.
“Ach, wise up, boss. You know if he’s in Mahon he’s a hard man! He’s far more likely just to tell the Ombudsman’s office you questioned him and land you in the shit.”
Craig deflated slightly. “Well...maybe, but it’s worth ago for Annette’s sake. I don’t know that he’ll tell us, not for sure-”
Liam shook his head hastily. “Whoa there, now. What’s that ‘us’ about? I want to keep my job!”
Craig continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “But it’s worth a try, isn’t it? I mean we’ve got to help her out of this mess-”
His deputy cut him off in a chastising tone. “By getting us, I mean you, into one?”
But Craig wasn’t listening now. He had the bit between his teeth.
“The more I think about Pete leaving his prints on the French doors, the more I think there’s something odd here. He had no intention of hiding the fact that he’d entered that house. Why?”
Liam looked less disapproving and more interested. “He’d have known his prints were in the system all right.”
Craig nodded eagerly. “Exactly. Pete wasn’t a stupid man, so that means he must have believed that even if he got ID-ed he wasn’t going to get picked up again.”
Liam edged forward in his seat, enthused. “He was planning to skip the country! That’s what I thought this morning when we were at Annette’s. You thought it too.”
Craig wasn’t convinced that was what he’d been thinking, but if it bought him his deputy’s help it was as good a working theory as any.
“That on its own warrants a chat with his roomie, doesn’t it? So are you on board now?”
The D.C.I. gave a hesitant nod. “OK... but only on the condition that if it gets us sacked you’ve got to pay me what I’d have earned anyway till I die.”
Craig’s faith in the theory developing in his mind was such that he gave a decisive nod. The pair descended into satisfied silence for a while then Craig’s face suddenly lit up.
“I’ve just had a brilliant idea!”
Expecting to hear some new revelation about Annette’s case the deputy warily asked, “What?” only to be surprised when an entirely different topic was raised.
“What do you think of this? I’m going to suggest that Katy’s mum and my mum go house-hunting for us! We can give them our requirements and budget and set them loose. They couldn’t possibly bring back a worse shortlist than me.”
His deputy immediately thought of a problem.
“Can either of them drive? ’Cos that isn’t a chauffeur duty I’d ever have wished on my old man.”
Craig gave a smug grin. “Katy’s mum can. She drives everywhere. My mum did learn when she was young in Italy, but she still can’t get used to everything being on the wrong side of the road here so she’s a lethal weapon on wheels.” He shook his head incredulously. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of asking them before. They’ll love it. Then Katy and I can go and view the ones on their shortlist after the baby’s born.”
Problem sorted he turned to his computer and got back to their case.
“OK, let’s think about this timeline. Edgar and Nicola Westbury married in oh-five and their son was born late that year, they moved to France in twenty-ten where Bella was born in twenty-twelve and abducted in fifteen. Stuart Kincaid visits Rownton village in sixteen, Nicola Kincaid-Westbury kills herself in seventeen, and then Stuart returns to Rownton in eighteen and gets murdered. With a photo of his niece hidden in his jacket, a photo he may well have shown to the village post-mistress in twenty-sixteen-”
He stopped suddenly and lifted his mobile, calling Aidan back and catching him on the A32 to Dromore, where the two detectives were spending the night in a small hotel.
“Do Edgar Westbury’s parents still live in Rownton?”
Aidan ignored the lack of preamble and answered as if their earlier conversation had never stopped.
“They died in a car accident in March twenty-fifteen.”
Craig was taken aback. Could the accident mean something, or had it just been what it was labelled? It was something more for Davy to check out.
He typed a reminder on his screen for the analyst and then moved past the tragic event to its inevitable follow-up.
“So there would have been a funeral soon after that, and odds on it was a whole village affair, given that the Westburys senior owned the only hotel. I want you to find out the name of all the local newspapers and get them to Davy. We’ll need every report on that funeral, including photographs if there are any, to see exactly who exactly was there. Does Edgar have any siblings?”
“One. A five years younger brother called Blaine who’s apparent
ly a bit of a waster. He moved abroad. We did wonder about the funeral so we asked Gabriel McCusker whether Bella and her brother were there. He said yes, they were both there with their parents. Blaine was as well, and apparently he got pissed at the wake.”
“None of that sounds surprising. If Nicola Westbury mourned her daughter enough to kill herself then she doesn’t sound like someone who would have left her kids in anyone else’s care, although the drunken brother sounds interesting. One last thing, Aidan; I don’t expect Stuart Kincaid went to the Westburys’ funeral as they weren’t his in-laws, but just check to make sure. OK, good work. Get some rest now and get back to it tomorrow. I’ll go and see what more Davy can find.”
As he hung up Liam shook his head. “Davy’s gone home, boss. He had to do some prep for an early meeting.”
“Fine. I’ll email him with everything then. And while I’m doing that, give me some suggestions on how best to brief the mothers to find us a decent house.”
****
Dromore Village - Twenty Miles from Rownton. 8.30 p.m.
The travelling detectives had decided to have some after dinner drinks in the bar of the country hotel where they were staying; not a bad way to spend your evening in Aidan’s mind, considering that his usual options were watching TV alone or punishing his body at the gym. Having reached a level of fitness moving beyond which would result in his sinewy muscles being bulked up and every last ounce of visible fat, which he didn’t have much of anyway, being shed in a process known to gym junkies as shredding, he was considering very seriously whether something that required endless tedious weightlifting repetitions and swallowing ‘healthy’ protein drinks that resembled the bottom of a pond was really worth it, or whether he should just eat the odd slice of cake and pizza and be content with the body that he had. The problem was the gym was his only social life and so his only hope of meeting women, but its uber-competitive atmosphere was leaving him with only two ways to go now: shred or quit.
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