Page 115 of Hang on St. Christopher

The interview room was too small to accommodate all the cops and all the lawyers, so we adjourned to a conference room. And there around a big oval table sat O’Roarke with two Dublin lawyers, Inspector O’Neill, me, Lawson, Crabbie, DS Clare, DCI Preston, DI O’Leary, DI McGuinness, and our two trainees standing at the back with a couple of Garda officers.

Everyone was wearing a proper suit or a uniform except O’Roarke and me. He was dressed as Farmer Giles in flat cap, tweed jacket, shirt, wellie boots, and tweed trousers. I was in my leather jacket, jeans, and lucky Che Guevara T-shirt.

O’Neill explained that O’Roarke was not under arrest but had asked to come here today to help the police with their inquiries. O’Neill started a tape recorder, and immediately one of the lawyers objected.

“No tape or videotape that may be used to incriminate my client,” he said in an accent almost as posh as Superintendent Clare’s.

O’Neill tried to protest, but I didn’t mind.

“We don’t need the tape; we just want answers,” I said.

O’Roarke looked directly at me. “We meet again, Inspector Sean Duffy of Derry, currently working for Carrickfergus RUC.”

“We do indeed.”

“So, what is all this about?” he asked me.

“Two people working for you were both murdered in Greater Belfast in the past week. What it’s about is the deaths of Alan Locke and Eileen Cavanagh.”

“I knew Alan a bit. He did some artwork for me a few years ago. He was in our bowling club. I don’t know this Eileen Cavanagh.”

“She called you a dozen times in the past month.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“She called you at the pay phone at the bowling club.”

“The pay phone?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone can call that pay phone. I’d like to see you prove that she called me.”

“You’ve used the pay phone at the bowling club. We’ve photographs of you on that phone,” O’Neill said.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” the other lawyer said. “You have no proof linking these two deceased individuals with my client.”

“Aye, I don’t know anything about any of that,” O’Roarke said.

“Mr. O’Roarke, these two people who were clearly working for you have been killed. We would like to know why. If they’ve killed Locke and Cavanagh, who’s to say you might not be next?” I suggested.

“I barely knew these people. They’ve got nothing to do with me,” O’Roarke muttered.

“We believe that they were both hit men,” Clare said. “And we think they might have been in Belfast under your orders.”

The lawyers were outraged by this suggestion. Mr. O’Roarke was a respected businessman. He had nothing to do with the IRA or hit men or anything like that.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in theSunday World,” O’Roarke said. “I’m just a businessman. I keep my nose out of politics. I don’t know these people.”

“You waked Alan Locke,” I said.

“The bowling club waked him. He was a club member.”

“Come on, Brendan, don’t you see that we’re trying to help you here? People are bumping off your guys. Eventually, they are going to move up the chain,” I said.

O’Roarke laughed. “Very dramatic, I’m sure. But it’s got nothing to do with me. I build houses. That’s all.”

“Then, why did you agree to this interview?” I asked.

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