“Go on…”
“So, aye… He asked him over a drink. And they said that Aaron accepted the drink, but politely declined his offer and walked away. A few of his buddies watchin’ and knowin’ what was happenin’ saw the look on Taylor’s face… Doesn’t take well to people sayin’ no to him apparently.”
Dermott nods, his mouth pulled to the side in a half smile. Chris is sure he could tell them stories about Taylor to make their toes curl.
“That’s when Taylor got quite… Hostile. Shoved him around a bit. Discreetly, of course, as they were still in the hotel… I don’t know whether it was on the way to the toilet or in a side room or somethin’, sorry… They said that’s when he threatened him, but they didn’t say with what… Aaron declines again, respectively, they said… And walked back into the function room. Well, by this stage… Taylor is seethin’, like… And that’s when Aaron leaves. They said Taylor must’ve rattled him so much that he left. But apparently during the conversation and the… You know, ‘roughin’ him up a bit,’” he air quotes and shrugs, “Taylor had managed to steal his phone. So he couldn’t call a taxi. He looked around the hall a bit, where he was sittin’ and all that, tryin’ to find it, but came up short… They guessed he would walk out onto the main road to try and flag one down, ‘cause if he had to return to reception to request one then he'd have to walk past them again. So apparently that’s what he did, and when he came away from the hotel and the cameras, Taylor’s cronies jumped him and shoved him into the boot of their car.”
Everyone looks at him shocked. Michelle’s hands are over her mouth and Danielle and Steph have silent tears running down their faces. Nuala looks confused more than anything, even more so now when Chris stops talking.
“Well?” she finally cracks, waving her hand in his direction, “then what happened?”
“Dave said they wouldn’t say any more. One shushed the guy who was chattin’ after that… He thinks it might’ve been ‘cause they realised he was earwigging, but he was too scared to look around. So, he finished his pint and left. Called me and told me everythin’. But he made me promise that this wouldn’t come back to bite him… So, ye have to promise that it doesn’t.”
Nuala stands and puts her hands behind her head, circling laps of the coffee table. Everyone else continues to look at Chris like he has just burst into flames. Dermott coughs and sits forward, a hand to his mouth.
“Okay, okay… We won’t, won’t we not guys? But, Chris… Son… You’re going to have to tell DI McNally all of this. Officially.”
Chapter Thirty-Six:
“What an absolute arsehole.”
They’re coming back over the bridge towards the Waterside, McNally cocking his head around Ferguson to take a better look at Boyle’s house from this angle. He half expects to see his figure gleefully looking out from the giant window, tracing their movements like a villain in a film. The sergeant just chuckles along, putting down his sun visor to see the road better.
“I hate to say I told you so…”
“I’m an absolute idiot,” McNally scrunches his face up as he digs his fingers into his hands, falling against the headrest once more, “how the hell could I have been so stupid?”
“Well… Easy mistake, sir.”
It isn’t, but McNally admires him for his attempts to make him feel better.
“Anyway,” Ferguson clears his throat, quick to change the subject, “I’m sure you’ve seen in the records that Boyle Senior was questioned, but there was apparently no beef between neither himself nor Parker. Not dissimilar to his son, he wasn’t entirely worried about Parker taking his voters. The majority of them have been voting for the party since its founding decades ago, nothing anyone can say or do would or will change that.”
McNally considers this.
“True… So, you think that Boyle Senior had nothing to do with this?”
“Well, that’s what Quigley and everyone in the station came to an agreement on. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he was heavily involved in the underground scene in his younger political days, but stopped shortly before the Good Friday Agreement. Since then, he was often criticised by republicans for not listening to their requests or taking their advice, which he seemingly did before.
“You could say he was paving the way for Boyle Junior, who seems very different to his father. He became immersed in history and politics at a very young age, and is said to have been in the underground scene from when he was a teen. Once he got a taste of power, it engulfed him. To be honest, I think he enjoys the money and fame, as I’m sure you can guess after being in his house. I mean, compared to his son’s luxurious house, Boyle Senior lived and died in a pokey little hole at the top of Rosemount. Bought the house for what we would consider to be near pocket money now and never left. Seems he was not one to forget where he came from. Believed to have been ‘the voice of the people’ of his generation. Well, before he turned a political curve, so it seems.”
“What do you think happened?”
Ferguson shrugs.
“Old age? The decline in the Troubles? I don’t know… I suppose we’ll never know now.”
McNally nods, looking at his phone where he had Googled Boyle Senior’s name. It’s incredible how alike they are. They could pass as twins when they were the same age. He clicks onto a photo of him in his late fifties. He notices Boyle Senior has a more rounded nose and slightly darker hair, but apart from that it’s truly hard to tell them apart. That, and the name, makes him believe that he isn’t the only one
