“OK, will do,” Lyons said, and then went on, “Mick, are you sure that Rollo’s information is good? We’re going to look very foolish if nothing happens.”
“Not half as foolish as we will if something goes down and we failed to act on information received,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
* * *
On Friday afternoon, Superintendent Plunkett asked Mick Hays to go for a drink with him at the Golf Club out at Bearna. Although this was unusual, Hays gladly accepted. When they were seated in comfortable chairs each with a pint of Guinness in front of them in the largely deserted Golf Club members’ lounge, Plunkett opened the conversation.
“Well, Mick, did you think any more about the new plans for the unit?”
“Yes, sir, I did. I think it’s really good news for us. I’m happy to accept the new role, even if it does mean more emphasis on administration. I’ve given a bit of thought to the rest of the team too,” Hays said.
“Good. What are your thoughts?” Plunkett said.
“I think Maureen would make a good senior inspector. She’s got a few years under her belt as inspector now, and she handled that thing at the pony show really well. She has a lot of respect from the rest of the team too – they look to her for inspiration, and they all recognise that she’s a tough cop. Would you agree?” Hays said.
“I can’t disagree, Mick. Even if you may be slightly biased,” Plunkett said, looking sideways at Hays with a wry smile.
“I’m trying to be objective, sir.”
“And what about the rest of them?”
“I’d like to keep Eamon at sergeant for now. He’s coming along, but he’s not ready for inspector yet, so I’d like to bring in someone from outside for that position. That will give us the two inspectors,” Hays said.
“OK, Mick, but do you not think that could be very de-motivational for him?”
“Maybe, but I’ll talk to him and explain that it’s not his turn just yet, but that if he continues to progress, we’ll pick him up next time. Then I’d like to make Sally Fahy up to Detective Sergeant. That gives us the two we need at that level, then we can recruit three detective Gardaí from the uniformed ranks. I’ll talk to Liam Dunne and he’ll point a few good ones out for me.”
“And this new inspector – could we take him or her from this new-fangled Graduate Entry programme they are experimenting with to keep them happy up in the Park? God, Mick, I don’t know what this job is coming to at all, saints preserve us,” Plunkett said.
“Well, sir, I suppose we have to move with the times. That should be fine. Expectations will be modest in any case – it might work to our advantage,” Hays said.
“Good man, Mick. Will ye put all that in a memo to me next week and we’ll get the thing moving before they change their minds up in Dublin. I’d hate them to think we’re dragging our heels. Now, tell me, what about this thing out in Clifden?” Plunkett said.
Hays explained their plan for the following Tuesday. He had another go at getting Plunkett to agree to use more of the ARU, but Plunkett would have nothing to do with it.
“Sure you’ll be grand. Yourself and Lyons will be armed, and you’ll have a good few uniformed officers as well as your own team for backup. We have to be very careful about expenditure these days, as you’ll soon discover, and those ARU boys charge us nearly five grand a day for their services,” Plunkett said.
“I hope you’re right, sir.”
At that point a friend of Plunkett’s came into the lounge, and Hays used the opportunity to make his excuses and depart, leaving the two men to catch up. There was only so much of Superintendent Plunkett’s company he could take at a time.
Outside in the car park Hays called Lyons on his mobile phone.
“Hi. Where are you?” she said.
“I’m just leaving the Super out at the golf club. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes. Are you at the station?”
“Yeah, but I’m ready to leave. I don’t feel like cooking. Shall we meet somewhere?” Lyons said.
“Good idea. What do you fancy?”
“Oscar’s on Dominick Street. I need a good feed of seafood, OK with you?” she said.
“Sure. Give them a call and book a table. I’ll see you there in half an hour,” Hays said.
“Great. See ya, bye.”
* * *
When they were seated in Oscar’s, their favourite seafood restaurant in the heart of the city, Hays started to outline the plans that had been approved for the unit. He explained the new positions, and emphasised that none of it would take effect for six months or more, and that she should tell no one for the moment.
“Cripes, Mick, that’s great news. Congratulations to you, but listen, do you think I’ll really be able to step up to your job?” Lyons said.
“Yes, I do. But seriously, it’s much more important that you believe you can do it. It is a lot of responsibility, but I have every faith in your ability, and remember, no one gets it right every single time. And anyway, I’ll still be around getting in the way.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll be off to your budget committee meetings up in Dublin and all that palaver, and I’ll be left to sort out all the shit round here. But I’m not saying I can’t handle it – it’ll just take a bit of getting used to, that’s all.”
“Do you think Eamon will be OK with staying as sergeant?” Hays asked.
“I do, to be honest. He knows he has more to do before getting inspector, I don’t think it will be a problem. And Sally will be thrilled,” Lyons said.
“Yes, she will, but don’t breathe a word of it to her till it’s all official now. And there’s something else. Plunkett wants us to fill the vacant inspector’s job from this new scheme the powers that be are piloting – Graduate Entry no less!”
“Bloody hell! That’s all we need. Will you have to follow through on that?” she said.
“Probably. It keeps him right, and it wouldn’t be a good time to piss him off.”
“’Course not. I’m sure we’ll survive. But listen, will you be OK giving up operational control? I figured you for a real hands-on type of cop, not a desk jockey,” she said between mouthfuls of delicious pan-fried scallops.
“I don’t know to be really honest, Maureen, but I think so. Anyway, I can always muscle in on some of your cases if I get bored,” he said smiling.
“No chance!”
Chapter Six
It was Monday morning when the extended team assembled in the open plan office at Mill Street Garda Station. Jim Dolan had arrived in with Peadar Tobin, a uniformed officer from the Clifden station, and Detective Sally Fahy. Detective Sergeant Eamon Flynn, Garda John O’Connor, Hays and Lyons were all dotted around.
Hays outlined the information that he had been given by Rollo, and they all agreed that if a post office heist was to happen, this would be the week to do it.
Hays outlined his plan. Hays would position himself in the front lounge of Foyle’s Hotel which had a bay window affording him a good view of the street and the entrance to the post office. It would only take him a few seconds to get out of the hotel to the post office if he saw anything developing. Lyons volunteered to go inside the post office and stay with Aoife and Bridget who would have to be informed of the possibility of a robbery. Flynn and Fahy would park up opposite the post office and be on standby. They would also be responsible for communications back to Galway, where John O’Connor would man the radios at this end. Dolan and Tobin were to hang around in the lane at the rear of the post office, and observe, reporting as postman Paddy McKeever arrived and keeping a sharp lookout for anything suspicious. He would leave the two ARU boys to look after themselves, as long as they were in radio contact with the rest of the team.
All of them were to be in place by nine thirty on Tuesday; they were to leave Galway city spaced ten minutes apart, from eight, so that they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves. Everyone was to be in unmarked cars. Radio use was to be kept to a mi
nimum once a radio check had been carried out when everyone was in position. The team were advised that the two senior officers would be armed, but that the intention was to preserve life as much as possible, and only to use the guns if an officer, or a member of the public, was directly threatened.
“Will Paddy McKeever be in the loop?” Flynn asked.
“No. The fewer people that know about this the better. We can’t afford a leak. That would blow the entire operation,” Hays said.
“But he could be in some danger, sir,” Flynn persisted.
“Well, it’s up to us to protect him, isn’t it, Eamon. But he’s not to know, my decision. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Flynn said, somewhat uneasily.
* * *
The team spent the rest of the day preparing themselves for the stake out the following day. They made sure that the radios were fully charged, and at five o’clock, Mick Hays and Maureen Lyons, accompanied by Sergeant Flannery made their way to the armoury in the basement where guns for the Gardaí were kept securely in locked cages.
It took them a few minutes to sign the paperwork, check the guns by cycling them a couple of times with no ammunition, and counting out the fifty Parabellum 9mm rounds allocated to each officer.
“Remember now, if you use these, collect any empty shell cases if you can, and the live rounds will have to be counted back in when it’s over, and any used ones accounted for. Are you happy you can keep these in a safe place overnight?” the sergeant said.
“Yes, that’s not a problem, we have a safe at home, and we’ll put them both in there,” Lyons said.
“Grand. Off you go then, and Inspector, good luck!” Flannery said to Hays.
As they left the station, earlier than usual for them both at five thirty, Lyons said, “I hate those damn things. I know it’s good to have them just in case, but I hope we don’t have to use them.”
“I know what you mean. But we don’t know what we’re up against here – better to be well prepared,” Hays said.
* * *
Tuesday morning was a dark winter’s day in Galway. It didn’t get bright in the area till nine o’clock at this time of year. People forget that the west of Ireland is almost forty minutes behind London in terms of the arrival of the morning light, although all of Ireland maintains Greenwich Mean Time. This results in the dawn coming later to the city, and some say, accounts for why the locals are perceived to rise later than their counterparts on the east coast of the country.
The rain was persistent, and thick heavy clouds overhead ensured that even well after sunrise, the day would remain gloomy and miserable. The weather reflected the mood of the detectives as they drove out towards Clifden with their car heaters struggling to keep the windscreens clear of mist and dampness that seemed to get into your bones.
They arrived in Clifden at roughly ten-minute intervals. Hays parked opposite the post office. It was too early for Lyons to go to the post office, so she stayed in the car while Hays crossed the road and went into Foyle’s Hotel which was just waking up. He ordered coffee and toast, and took a seat in the window overlooking the street.
Fahy and Flynn arrived next, and parked a few cars down from where Lyons was waiting in Hays’ car. They got out, despite the rain, and strolled slowly down Main Street browsing the shop windows at a leisurely pace. There was no one else around at all, and the two detectives tried hard not to look conspicuous in the early winter morning.
At ten past nine, Lyons saw Bridget O’Toole lift the blind on the door of the post office and turn the hanging plastic sign in the window from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’. She waited a few minutes more, and then got out of the car and crossed the road, entering the post office. A bell attached to the top of the door gave a loud ‘ping’ as the door opened, and Bridget looked up from behind the counter, surprised to have a customer so early at this time of year.
Lyons approached the counter, warrant card at the ready.
“Good morning, Mrs O’Toole,” Lyons said, “my name is Inspector Maureen Lyons from the Galway Detective Unit. May we have a word please?”
“Yes, of course, inspector,” Bridget said, moving towards the door at the end of the small counter. The post-mistress admitted Lyons in behind the glassed-in counter, and the two women moved around each other trying to find a comfortable position so that they could talk without being on top of one another.
“Mrs O’Toole, we have received information that there may be an attempt to carry out a robbery here this morning at your post office,” Lyons said in as low key a voice as she could muster. She went on, “We have armed officers positioned out front, and two more waiting at the rear of the building for when Paddy arrives with the benefit cash.”
“Oh, good God, not again. This place will be the death of me yet, I swear. And it’s a double week this week too. It would be a right haul. Do you think they’ll be armed?” Bridget O’Toole, who had gone several shades paler, asked, “Oh and by the way, call me Bridget – everyone does.”
“We don’t know, Bridget, but we’re not taking any chances. What I need you to do is behave just as you usually do. If it’s OK with you, I’ll stay out front here with you, acting as your assistant for the day,” Lyons said.
“What about Aoife? She usually helps out on benefits day.”
“That’s fine. Tell her if you like, but let’s keep her out the back. She’ll be safer there if anything goes off. What time does Paddy usually arrive with the cash?” Lyons said.
“Depends on the traffic in the city, but he’s nearly always here by about ten past ten. I don’t even have time to give the poor man a cuppa tea after his long drive like I do every other day. It’s all go once the cash is here. They start coming in at round ten minutes to eleven, even though we don’t start handing it out till the top of the hour. Then it’s non-stop till dinner hour,” Bridget said.
* * *
Paddy McKeever arrived into the depot at his usual time of 6:30 a.m. Given the time of year, even at this early hour, the place was a hive of activity. A large green pantechnicon was parked in the yard, with forklift trucks darting to and fro unloading pallets of parcels and sacks of mail, and taking them indoors to be sorted and sent back out for delivery. The truck had driven up from Shannon where it had been filled with items that had arrived in from the USA by freight plane earlier in the night.
Paddy’s bags were ready for him, and he loaded them into his van in the correct order, so that he would have the right one to hand when he reached Moycullen and Oughterard. Parcels filled the back part of his vehicle, mostly wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, with large flowing handwriting to direct the goods to the sender’s relatives to let them know that although they were far away, they were not forgotten.
With the van sitting low on its springs, Paddy made his way to the cash office where he withdrew the Social Welfare money bound for Clifden and signed all the required paperwork. He then took the package of notes and coins directly to the van, observing that it was significantly heavier than usual, and locked it into the safe that had been fitted inside the side door of the vehicle, putting the keys carefully into his coat pocket.
He left the depot again soon after seven, and made his way to the N59 that would take him out through Moycullen, Oughterard, Maam Cross, Recess, then into Roundstone and finally on out to Clifden where he would arrive at around ten o’clock. He was thankful that although the day was dark and wet, the temperature was well above freezing, and although it was Christmas week, he would have the road largely to himself for the journey so early in the morning.
Chapter Seven
By ten o’clock everyone was in place. The two local Gardaí were positioned outside the post office yard in plain clothes. To make it look authentic, they had the bonnet of a car raised, and were poking around in the engine compartment.
Hays was on his third cup of coffee in the hotel keeping a sharp eye out on the street. Fahy and Flynn were still window shopping, but it looked more rea
listic now. The street had become busier as the rain had eased off, and the sky was brighter, if only a little.
Lyons was trying to keep out of Bridget O’Toole’s way as she busied herself in the little office getting ready for the onslaught. Lyons fingered her gun every few minutes which was clipped into a holster on her belt with her civilian jacket just about concealing it, and all the other paraphernalia she was carrying to defend herself if things got rough.
By twenty past ten, Bridget was getting extremely restless.
“God, I hope he comes soon. We have to unbag the cash and make up stacks of fifties, twenties and tens below the counter, not to mention the coins, before things get too busy, or we’ll never get done,” she said.
Just as she was about to offer the woman some soothing words, Hays came hurrying into the shop. He was half-way in when he said, “Maureen, I need a word, now!”
Lyons let herself back out into the shop through the door at the end of the counter.
“What’s up?”
“Outside,” he said, nodding towards the door.
When they were both outside, Hays started talking quickly.
“Mulholland has just been on the phone. He’s had a call from Pascal Brosnan out in Roundstone. The postman’s van has been ambushed, and the driver is dead. The money is gone.”
“Jesus Mick! What do you want me to do?”
“I’m going up there now. Will you stay here for a few minutes? Get Sally to stay with the post office woman. They’ll need to organise more cash or there will be a riot. Get Eamon to stay here too till things become a little clearer. When you have that set up, follow me in to Roundstone. The ambush was on the road just this side of the village. I’ll get the doctor and forensics out,” Hays said.
Lyons went back into the post office, and when Bridget opened the door, she re-entered the area behind the counter.
“Is there somewhere we could sit down, Bridget?” Lyons said.
“What’s wrong girl?” the woman said. “You’ve gone fierce pale.”
“I have some bad news, Bridget – very bad news.”
Murder on Pay Day Page 3