by John Mooney
When the gardaí arrived at Jessbrook looking for him, Geraldine was cordial and polite. She was far too clever to argue with detectives; a lifetime of answering the door to policemen had taught her that. She told the police her husband was out of the country but she would gladly pass on the message when he next called home. Days went by and the message was indeed passed to Gilligan. At this point he entered into a cat-and-mouse game with the investigation team, making appointments to meet but failing to show up. It was not long before business forced his return to Ireland.
He arrived home on Friday, 10 November, and rang Detective Sergeant Michael Ryan from the Garda Special Branch, who had been seeking his whereabouts. The two made an appointment to meet on the following Monday, 13 November. Even if he was charged for the assault there and then, he would have no fears, safe in the knowledge that Baltus, Rahman and Meehan were capable of looking after the business. The meeting place would be the car park of Scott’s restaurant in Blanchardstown on the outskirts of Dublin: the time 12.20 p.m.
Gilligan was pacing up and down impatiently when the detectives pulled into the car park. Ryan was accompanied by Detective Garda Howard Mahony and they arrested Gilligan under Section 30 of the Offences Against the State Act, 1939, for the suspected commission of a scheduled offence under the Act: the possession of a firearm within the State.
Gilligan was placed in the back seat of their patrol car and driven at speed to Santry Garda Station via the West Link road. The party arrived at Santry at 12.42 p.m. Detective Inspector Gallagher had in the meantime been made aware of Gilligan’s arrest, and he headed towards Santry. On arrival at Santry Garda Station, Garda Sergeant James Murphy took Gilligan’s details and filled out his custody record.
Name: John Gilligan
Address: 13 Corduff Avenue, Blanchardstown
Date of Birth: 29-3-52
Sex: male
Marital status: married
Nationality: Irish
Height: five foot five inches
Eye colour: hazel
Facial hair: none
Gilligan was given notice of his rights. He declined an offer to ring a solicitor, saying he had ‘already done that’. ‘I have a mobile phone,’ he remarked in a matter-of-fact way. The garda took note that he was in good humour. At 12.50 p.m. he was brought into an interview room where Ryan cautioned him: ‘You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so. And anything you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.’
The interview commenced. Ryan asked about the assault on Guerin and the threats he had made against her. Gilligan answered that he had already been tried and convicted by the Sunday Independent. His answer was clearly rehearsed and designed to frustrate the line of questioning. In the meantime, Gallagher had arrived accompanied by Detective Garda James Phelan. They entered the interview room at 2.26 p.m. and took over the interrogation.
‘You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so but anything you do say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence,’ repeated the detective inspector.
Gilligan sat motionless and listened attentively, his face expressionless.
‘We are investigating an alleged assault on Veronica Guerin, which occurred on 14 September 1995 at Mucklon, Enfield, County Meath. Do you wish to give your version of the events as they happened or do you wish to make a statement?’
Gilligan answered: ‘On the advice of my solicitor, I have already been tried and convicted by the Sunday Independent and he has advised me to say nothing.’
An efficient and well-mannered policeman, Gallagher maintained his composure, in the know-ledge that this was no ordinary suspect sitting in front of him. Gilligan was well used to police interrogations and was going to answer all his questions with this line.
‘The day after the alleged assault, that was 15 September 1995, you telephoned Veronica Guerin on her mobile at approximately 1.05 p.m. and threatened to shoot her.’
‘I have never had a gun in my life. I wouldn’t know where to get a gun and I wouldn’t want a gun.’
‘Did you ring Ms Guerin on that day?’
‘On the advice of my solicitor, I have nothing to say.’
‘Do you know Ms Guerin’s phone number?’
‘I have already been tried and convicted by the Sunday Independent and on the advice of my solicitor, I have nothing to say.’
Gallagher tried another line of inquiry. ‘Can you tell me where you were on the 15 September this year?’
Gilligan responded: ‘As I said, on the advice of my solicitor, I have already been tried and convicted and I don’t wish to say anything.’
‘When you telephoned Ms Guerin on 15 September 1995, you identified yourself to her and made her aware of a matter relating to the property at Mucklon, Enfield, that you were legally separated. All this could be confirmed by Hanahoe Solicitors, is that right?’
‘I have nothing to say. I have already been tried and convicted.’
‘Did you threaten Ms Guerin’s son and family if she “wrote a word about you, that you would ride her son and kill her”’?
‘That’s all untrue.’
‘Did you say, “I’ll fucking shoot you,” to Ms Guerin?’
‘No, never in my life.’
‘Did you say, you were “going to kidnap her son and ride him”’?
‘No such thing, never in my life,’ he answered.
The detective inspector proceeded to ask Gilligan more simple questions.
‘Can you account for your movements on 15 September 1995?’
‘On the advice of my solicitor, I have already been tried and convicted by the Sunday Independent.’
‘On 14 September 1995 were you present at Mucklon, Enfield, County Meath, on the date of the alleged assault on Ms Guerin?’
‘On the advice of my solicitor I don’t wish to say anything.’
‘Do you own or have access to a house and property at Mucklon, Enfield, County Meath?’
‘That’s my wife’s house.’
‘Were you there on the morning of 14 September 1995?’
‘On the advice of my solicitor I have already been tried and convicted by the Sunday Independent. I have nothing to say.’
‘Did you assault Ms Guerin at that address—punch her about the face and head?’
‘No way. I never assaulted a woman and never will.’
‘How do you account for damage to her T-shirt and jacket, both of which were torn?’
‘Certainly nothing to do with me.’
‘Do you recall Ms Guerin introducing herself to you at that address and you being asked if you were Mr Gilligan, you said “Yeah” on the 14 September 1995?’
‘On the advice of my solicitor, I have been tried by the Sunday Independent and convicted. I have nothing to say.’
‘Have you ever received a letter from Ms Guerin requesting a meeting?’
‘No, never.’
‘Did you ever meet her?’
‘I have been tried and convicted by the Sunday Independent.’
‘Do you know Veronica Guerin?’
‘No.’
‘Do you own a Land Rover vehicle?’
‘I don’t own any vehicle,’ said Gilligan, wondering where this particular line of questioning was leading.
‘Did you ever reside at Mucklon, Enfield, County Meath?’
‘I lived there until myself and my wife happily separated sometime this year, early in the year, it was a happy separation, she received everything,’ Gilligan said smirking.
‘Are you saying you haven’t been there since then?’
‘As I’ve said, I have been tried and convicted by the Sunday Independent.’
‘Do you own an Eircell telephone?’
; ‘On the advice of my solicitor, I don’t wish to say anything.’
‘What is your permanent address?’
‘I have lived at 13 Corduff Avenue since 1977. That was my first house and with the exception of a few weeks, I live there with my son.’
‘You were aware that the gardaí wished to talk to you concerning the alleged assault and threats to shoot Ms Guerin. You made a number of appointments and failed to keep them. Why? Was it because you had something to hide?’
‘No, I have nothing to hide. My solicitor contacted the gardaí and asked if they had a charge sheet or a warrant sheet there for John Gilligan and he was told that the gardaí said they just wanted to talk to him and also on another occasion we rang to be told that the particular policeman was off for a few days. Twice that happened. Once I heard that there was no charge sheet or warrant, I didn’t want to talk to the police. I had done nothing wrong.’
The detective inspector continued. ‘Where have you been living since 14 September 1995, since the alleged assault?’
‘I have been out of the country since 25 September 1995 on business and returned on Friday last,’ said Gilligan.
At 3.40 p.m., Gallagher and Mahony left the interview room to allow Gilligan to rest. A short while earlier, Garda Sergeant Michael McGarry had taken over as house sergeant in the station. He entered the interview room and offered the suspect dinner. Gilligan in his customary fashion asked if it would be possible to order a breast of chicken, a portion of chips and a can of Coke from a nearby fast food takeaway. He didn’t want the gardaí to pay and so offered some spare change from his pocket. The food was fetched and Gilligan wolfed it down.
At 4 p.m. his two interrogators returned. Gallagher continued to ask the questions.
‘Are there any witnesses to the assault if it does get to court?’
‘Yes, there is. I have six witnesses—none of them have previous convictions.’
‘Can you give their names?’ enquired the garda, causing Gilligan to lose his temper.
‘If there’s a court case they will be in court. You can write this down, I am not going to open my mouth again. Charge me or do whatever you have to do, 48 hours or whatever, I don’t care. I believe she abused a 70-year-old woman that day.’
Gilligan had become highly agitated and aggressive. The detective inspector was in no doubt that he had beaten Guerin and continued to ask relevant questions, much to Gilligan’s annoyance. ‘What evidence have these witnesses to offer?’
Gilligan remained silent and refused to speak.
At 4.40 p.m. the gardaí stepped outside the interview room. They returned at 6.10 p.m. with two packages. Gallagher produced the plaid jacket and T-shirt which he had two months beforehand taken from Guerin. He showed them to Gilligan and asked him to comment on damage done to both items, pointing out the pocket of the jacket, which was torn, and the ripped T-shirt.
‘I never saw these items before. I didn’t tear them, I mean, pull the stitching out of the jacket pocket. That’s what it looks like happened to me,’ was Gilligan’s only response.
In accordance with procedure, the notes of the interview were read out to Gilligan. This took place at 6.30 p.m. and he agreed with the contents. He then asked for the following words to be taken down by the gardaí.
‘I wish to add that since I left the country in September, I have contacted the gardaí at Santry on a weekly basis. I gave them the number of the Hilton Hotel, Schiphol Airport. As soon as I came back to Dublin Airport, I rang looking for Detective Sergeant Ryan and he rang me back there and we made an appointment to meet.’
Gilligan was released from custody without charge at 6.40 p.m. He made no complaints about his treatment and signed his custody record to that effect. He had been in police custody more times than he cared to remember and was well used to the routine. It didn’t bother him too much and he went on his way, saying goodbye to the gardaí on duty in the station before he left.
Gallagher submitted the file on the assault to the Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP). His work in pursuing Gilligan paid off when the DPP ordered that he be charged with two offences: the unlawful assault of Veronica Guerin; and criminal damage to a cotton T-shirt. The case would proceed on 14 May 1996 at the District Court in Kilcock in County Meath. Geraldine Gilligan was coincidentally one of the main witnesses, having overheard the exchange between Guerin and Gilligan.
John Gilligan put the impending court appearance to the back of his mind for the moment. More pressing problems were troubling him. He had come to the notice of the IRA. They were in the process of reorganising in Dublin and had taken a policy decision to start tackling drug dealing in the city. The Provisionals were under intense pressure to move against the dealers. The leadership of the organisation was not enthusiastic about fighting a drugs war in Dublin. But the grassroots membership had a utopian idea of ridding the streets of drugs by assassinating the dealers. None thought for a moment they could solve the problem, but they knew the IRA was capable of making life more than a little difficult for the pushers.
The republican movement’s campaign took three different forms. Certain targets would be assassinated. Others would be abducted and questioned. The third policy was to afford protection to community groups and leaders who came out and marched on the homes of drug dealers. ‘Ireland’s not like England, where the criminals have only got the police or other criminals to worry about,’ said one IRA man. ‘There was a third force here.’
Thousands of people—parents, politicians, trade unionists—were turning out on the streets, holding vigils outside the homes of the pushers. Most of the bigger fish fled Ireland in fear for their lives. Gilligan was one of the few who stayed. The IRA operated by abducting criminals off the street and forcing them to talk. On other occasions, they would simply ask criminals to turn up and provide whatever information they had to assist in the inquiries. This created a climate of fear among the criminal class. Most didn’t know who to trust or which way to turn.
It was out of paranoia that Meehan decided to try to kill Martin Foley, a veteran criminal. Foley was a one-time friend of Gilligan’s. He had come under pressure from the Provisional IRA in bygone years. The IRA had kidnapped him in March 1984, but he was rescued by the gardaí after they stumbled upon his kidnappers bundling him into a Hiace van. The IRA lost an entire active service unit, who were all subsequently jailed despite Foley’s refusal to testify against them. The Viper, as Foley was known, was one of the first now taken in by the IRA. When Gilligan heard this he jumped to the conclusion that Foley had told the IRA about his business.
Foley was reversing his car into the driveway of his home on Cashel Avenue in Crumlin on the morning of 1 February 1996 when he saw Meehan approach in a car.
Meehan sat in the passenger seat looking anxiously at him. He thought nothing of it until it slowed down to a standstill.
Earlier that week, Meehan had said that he wanted to eliminate Foley. Bowden, as the gang’s quartermaster, decided the best gun for the job was a Sten sub-machine gun. He retrieved this from the gang’s arms dump in the Jewish cemetery. He loaded and handed the would-be killer a .45 pistol in case the machine gun should jam.[2]
Meehan was sure Foley had been telling the ‘politicals’ that he was selling heroin and cocaine. If the IRA took him seriously, they would likely kill them all. There would be no backhander and the INLA would be no match for the Provisionals. Gilligan had decided Foley had to go. Although Bowden was by far the best member of the gang qualified to kill, he hadn’t got the nerve. Instead it was left up to Meehan, though Bowden offered to teach him about the black art of assassination. He took Meehan to a field at the back of the graveyard and test-fired the sub-machine gun. They tied a white plastic bag to a tree as a target. Meehan wasn’t very good shot.[3]
After preparing the weapons for use, Bowden headed off to a house in Crumlin and li
stened to a radio scanner monitoring Garda messages. Bowden would later admit: ‘On the day of the shooting Meehan rang me and told me to go to a house. When I got there Peter Mitchell was sitting in the living room listening to a scanner. Earlier that day Meehan had told me to get a gallon of petrol in a container and give it to Shay. I did this. I joined Mitchell listening to the scanner. It was scanning police messages. After a while Shay Ward came in. He told me that Brian had arranged to meet Martin Foley and that they were going to shoot him at this prearranged meeting place. Shay also told me that he had delivered a stolen Honda Civic LS1 earlier. It was going to be used in the shooting.’
Hours later, he heard there had been a shooting. When he spotted Foley, Meehan jumped out of the car and sprayed Foley’s vehicle. Foley put his car into reverse and bent down across the passenger seat while keeping his foot on the throttle. Meehan fired a burst of bullets at the car; one bullet struck the top of Foley’s right ring finger. Foley scrambled out of the car and jumped over a wall into a neighbour’s back garden, pursued by Meehan who continued firing at him. Foley then saw an open back door and ran for it. The family was sitting in the kitchen having dinner when he ran past followed by an angry Meehan. Foley made for the front door, then straight up the stairs, still being pursued by Meehan who was still shooting off rounds. He ran into one of the bedrooms; Meehan fired a volley of shots through the bedroom door. Realising he would certainly be killed if he didn’t escape, Foley jumped through the window onto a flat roof. Meehan fired again, hitting him in the back. Meehan, fearing the gardaí were on their way to the scene, ran back to the getaway car and made his escape.
Bowden later recalled: ‘Almost immediately after the shooting, Brian Meehan came into the kitchen. Shay also came in. He was carrying the guns and a black woollen balaclava and leather gloves. He put those in a plastic bag and went out through the house. Brian began to undress. He was wearing overalls and a jacket. He told me that he had fired off the entire magazine of the machine gun in one go at Martin Foley. He said Foley ran from the car into a house and he followed him there, he said he fired a shot from the .45 semi-automatic on a roof. He said the .45 had jammed. He was cursing. He said he hit Foley in the back and he was wondering whether he was dead.’