Read an exclusive extract from Paul Charles' Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove

An Irish music industry veteran whose remarkable story – including encounters with the The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, U2, Van Morrison and Tom Waits – was recounted in Adventures In Wonderland, published by Hot Press Books, Paul Charles also enjoys a hugely successful parallel career as a crime novelist.

Indeed, he has just signed a new US deal that will see the republication of 22 books, including 11 in the Detective Christy Kennedy series; three in the Inspector Starrett series; and five of his other books. The deal also involves the publication of three books in the McCusker Mysteries series, including the latest, Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove.

Here we unveil an exclusive extract, in which the titular cop discovers he’s heading to the Antrim town of Portush, whether he likes it or not! Written with Charles’s customary verve, it’s a perfect taster for the novel, another brilliantly compelling and atmospheric effort from a master crime writer…

Thursday 18th July 2019:

‘Do you still have a property up at the Port,’ Superintendent Niall Larkin asked McCusker, as he casually strolled into his office in the historic Customs House, a building designed by Sir Charles Lanyon in the Italianate Plazzo style and built in 1854 on the mud of the west bank of the River Lagan.

McCusker made a point of checking his watch, not so much for his own benefit, as for his Super’s. Larkin was casual with his permanent staff over timekeeping. McCusker however was an agency cop from the nearby Grafton Agency and Larkin was keen McCusker was not only on time clocking in and clocking out but was also seen to be on time clocking in and out, if only to avoid the naysayers such as DI Jarvis Cage, making an issue over the employment of agency staff. McCusker was ten minutes early as he always was. He would also ensure he was always well turned out. Today he was in a subtle blue linen suit with a crisp white shirt, no tie and clean shaven. There wasn’t much he could do about his copper-coloured hair though, apart from the occasional finger-comb through.

Initially McCusker needed the job, he really did, thanks in no small part to his wife doing an Amelia Earhart and disappearing to America with the proceeds from the sale of their retirement property portfolio. In fairness this wasn’t the whole story. His ex-wife, Anna Stringer, had met someone else while in the USA and had returned to Belfast earlier in the year to tidy up her business with McCusker. He’d received a very tidy cheque (albeit belatedly) for his share. But no-one, particularly the Jarvis Cages of the PSNI Custom’s House branch was aware of the windfall because they’d then have another gripe to target at one of the Yellow Packs.

The Yellow Packs was a derisory nickname given to the agency cops by the permanent and less well paid (they claimed) staff by comparing them to the cheaper, inferior (they boasted) yellow-coloured boxes and jars of household products currently available in the supermarkets around Belfast’s fair city. Actually, staff in the PSNI not knowing about his windfall was not exactly accurate. McCusker’s girlfriend Grace O’Carroll knew for sure, as did her sister, Lily O’Carroll, who was also a detective inspector of the PSNI, and his partner.

‘Funny you should mention this,’ McCusker said, following his boss into his office one flight up. ‘I’ve just been offered the house my wife and I lived in for nearly twenty years at a very good deal. The person who my wife sold our house to never actually moved in and now needs a quick sale, as her husband, who works for PetroChina, has been posted to SFO.’ ‘What did they do, stick a postage stamp on his forehead?’ Larkin offered, as he busied himself about his desk. As ever he was in his trademark threepiece brown pin-striped suit, the jacket of which was on a coat-hanger dangling from his antique hat and umbrella stand.

McCusker felt tempted to develop the theme but then thought better of it. He didn’t exactly give his boss the details of the deal in where he’d been offered the house for less than half what his wife had received and (eventually) shared with him, which in effect meant, even with his 50% pay-off, he’d make a profit on the deal. On top of which all the original furniture was still in-situ. The steal of the century (as McCusker saw it) was just due less to the quality of the property and due more to a need for a cash buyer in a big hurry, than the down turn in the property market in Northern Ireland in general and Portrush in particular. Although all the property heads were talking up Portrush – or Portmagic as they were now referring to it – mainly due to the fact the 148th UK Open Golf Tournament was being hosted at the Royal Portrush during July 2019. Allegedly a lot of Government money had been pumped into giving the wee toon a big facelift.

‘Anyway,’ McCusker started back up again, wondering where this was going. ‘I’ve been offered the house for a couple of weeks to try and persuade me to take it. The Chinese couple, who bought it, bought it sight unseen, thinking Portrush was in the south of Ireland and not the wee North or maybe not even aware there was such a thing as a border in the first place.

Anyway, it now transpires they cannot, for tax reasons, own a property in the UK, and so the Estate Agents have been accordioning the deal to facilitate a quick sale…’

‘All very interesting McCusker,’ Larkin cut in, looking at his diary while checking his watch, ‘but I have my barber coming in shortly so… am…' ‘Of course, Sir,’ McCusker replied, a little put off. ‘The quick answer is yes, well maybe… more like maybe, why do you ask?’ ‘I just needed to check because your old Super, my good friend Ivan, who persuaded me to take you on in the first place, has requested you to work on a murder investigation for him and he’s fighting budgets, as we all are, so we both needed to make sure there wouldn’t be an accommodation issue.

'You see your benefactors, the Grafton Agency, feel just because this would technically be seen as overnight work, they’d have to charge 175% of your normal rate plus accommodation plus travel plus blah blah blah!’ ‘Okay I see,’ McCusker offered, ‘look this’ll be totally fine, whatever I need to do for you and Super Valley… well… just count me in.’

‘Good,’ Larkin said, shaking his head in a satisfied manner, ‘Correct answer!’ he announced, sounding like a headmaster McCusker once knew, ‘this accommodation of yours,’ he continued, trying unsuccessfully to make it sound like an after-thought, ‘it’s good for two, yes?’ ‘Well yes, two? Why?’ ‘Well you’ll still be representing the Customs House and I need to ensure our reputation will be well taken care of, so I’m going to have to station you with DI Jarvis Cage.’ ‘You’ve got to be kidding. No way, just not possible. Sorry Sir I just couldn’t.’ ‘I thought you might say something similar, so I came up with plan B,’ Larkin offered, looking at his watch again. ‘So, it seems to me if I put you with Cage, you’ll complain, or if I put you with O’Carroll, she’ll complain. So, I’m going to leave it with you McCusker, if you can persuade O’Carroll to go to Portrush with you, I’ll live with it. However, if she won’t go then I’m afraid you and I won’t have a choice in the matter, it’ll have to be DI Jarvis Cage.’ ‘But she’s off on leave at the end of today’s shift, Sir,’ McCusker protested. ‘Is she really?’ Larkin offered faux sympathy, while throwing up his hands and rolling his eyes in a “well that’s that then” gesture. ‘Really?’ McCusker protested.

‘Really!’ Larkin offered in a “I’m the leader” voice. Mind you, McCusker thought, Paul Francis Gadd was the last person to make such a claim and look what happened to him. McCusker knew his solution needed to be an immediate one.

‘Leave it with me,’ McCusker sighed, ‘let me speak to DI O’Carroll. When do we need to go?’ ‘I told Superintendent Valley you’d be there by lunch time.’ ‘Ah come on Sir, DI O’Carroll is going to need to pack. We’re not talking about a chap chucking a few clothes in an overnight bag. DI O’Carroll is a woman, Sir.’ ‘Is she really?’ Larkin said, kicking the ball dangerously close to McCusker’s goal. ‘Well yes she is actually,’ McCusker replied, hoping he wasn’t making his answer sound like it was a debatable point; a point O’Carroll would certainly never debate with him. More importantly, a point O’Carroll would never forgive him for. ‘It’s just never going to happen.’ ‘Look on the bright side McCusker,’ Larkin said, rising from behind his desk to show the interview was over. ‘And what’s this illustrious sunny side you talk of, Sir?’ McCusker asked, the sun now very much missing from his morning. ‘She’ll have already packed her suitcases for her holidays, so she’ll be able to leave immediately. Please give Superintendent Ivan Valley my very best wishes.’

• Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove by Paul Charles is published by Level Best Books. It is set in Portrush, Co.Antrim.