“No, not any more. Aidan moved in last year and we’re together now. I’m not good on my own.”
“Aidan? May I ask his full name?” Lyons asked.
“Doyle, Aidan Doyle.”
“And what does Mr Doyle do for a living?” Hays said.
“He’s a maintenance man. He does work for a number of factories and warehouses out on the industrial estates, you know, electrical work, that sort of thing.”
“Sorry to have to ask you, Ms Byrne, but can you tell me where you both were the night Mr Ellis was killed?” Lyons said.
“Here, both of us. We were here in the house,” she said.
“I see. Just the two of you? No neighbours in for a while or anything, and you didn’t go out?” Hays said.
“No. We just stayed in and had a take-away from the Chinese on the corner,” Byrne said.
“OK. Well thank you very much for your time, Ms Byrne. We’ll be in touch if there’s anything further.” They both got up to leave.
“Just one last thing. What kind of car does Aidan drive?” Lyons asked.
“A VW Golf van. It’s pretty old now. He’ll probably change it when the insurance money comes through. He does very high mileage in it.”
“Well, thanks again,” Lyons said shaking Nicola Byrne’s hand on the doorstep as they left.
“What did you make of that?” Hays asked as they drove off towards the hotel they had booked for the night out at Lucan on the Galway Road.
“I think Nicola Byrne has more to tell, Mick. And that guy Aidan seems to be punching a good bit above his weight. She’s a very attractive woman,” Lyons said.
“Tomorrow, when we get back, let’s get Eamon to do a thorough background check on both of them,” Hays said.
* * *
After they had eaten a nice meal at the Spa Hotel in Lucan, Hays and Lyons went upstairs. This time there was passion and emotion in their love making, and Lyons felt a lot happier.
Maybe things might just work out, she thought.
* * *
They left Lucan at half past six the following morning so that they would hit Mill Street around nine, or maybe a bit earlier if Hays pushed on a bit. He wasn’t given to excessive speed, but on this occasion he could always claim to be on police business if he was pinged by a speed camera, so he let the car out on the virtually deserted road. When they got to Galway, they still had time to have a hearty breakfast and be at their desks before the rest of the team arrived.
“John, I’d like you to do a good thorough background check on one Aidan Doyle, maintenance man, or so his partner tells us, and a Nicola Byrne also known as Nicola Ellis. They live together in Pembroke Cottages in Ringsend. See what you can dig up,” Hays said as the morning briefing got underway.
“Sally, did you manage to contact Peter Hackett by any chance?” Hays said.
“Yes, I did indeed. What an interesting man,” she said.
“Yes, I’m sure, but can we just stick to the edited highlights for now?”
“Sure, sorry, sir. He told me that he has spent a good deal of time investigating Jack Ashton over the deaths of his horses at Spratton Dale Farm. He told me there’s definitely something iffy going on there, but try as he would, he was unable to find any actual evidence. He said it would have been a lot easier if the dead horses hadn’t been cremated, but he eventually had to call it quits, and the syndicate very reluctantly paid out. He has a theory about what’s going on, but maybe you’d rather hear about it later, sir?” Fahy said.
“Yes, later, Sally. Thanks. Do you think he might be amenable to doing a bit of sleuthing for us if it came to it?” Lyons asked.
“I think he’d love it.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Maureen, can you talk to Sally about Hackett’s theory. I have to go upstairs to update Plunkett?” Hays said when they were back in his office.
“Sure. Good luck!”
“Well, Sally, tell me all about Peter Hackett’s theory on the Ashtons,” Lyons said a few minutes later, having called Fahy into her own office.
“It all sounds a bit farfetched to me, boss, but he thinks there’s an identity swap going on.”
“How would that work?” Lyons asked.
“Ashton has a horse in his yard. It has a good pedigree, but is a bit of a donkey as far as racing is concerned. These animals aren’t worth a whole lot. They usually end up as show jumpers or even just pets, and they don’t fetch a lot of money. Apparently, some animals just aren’t into racing while others love it. So, Weldon sources a horse in Ireland that has not much breeding, but is a keen and quick racer. He has a very good eye for a young horse with potential, and he can pick them up for relatively little money. He keeps the animal for a few months and brings it on, then he transports the animal over to Ashton and they swap the horses’ identities. Now Ashton has a good race horse with a fabulous pedigree, probably worth upwards of 100k, and of course there’s now a spare horse. So, he kills off the spare, and claims on insurance. Between them, they pocket a right wedge of cash. He then sells on the newly created pedigree racer for big bucks and makes more money, which again he presumably shares with Weldon,” Fahy said.
“But what about DNA and all that?” Lyons said.
“Apparently it’s only in its infancy here and in the UK. And besides, Ashton is clever. He sells them on to little known trainers out in the sticks that run the animals at local meets. The new owners are so delighted to have a winning horse, they don’t look too closely at the background. In any case, Hackett says, quite a few mistakes get made in the breeding records. There are over two million animals in the system, and it’s far from watertight. And besides, everyone loves a winner, don’t they?” Fahy said.
“But what about the vet and the post mortems?”
“Well, either he’s in on it, or it’s being done very cleverly. Hackett reckons it could be sodium chloride poisoning,” Fahy said.
“What? Salt!”
“Yes, just ordinary salt. In moderate doses, it’s essential for a horse’s health, but in very large doses it can kill the animal, and it’s not a very nice way to go it seems. But oddly, it’s very hard to detect post mortem, and even if it was found, it’s easy to explain away as an accidental overdose,” Fahy said.
“Does Hackett think the vet is involved?”
“He doesn’t know. There doesn’t appear to be any other suspicious activity associated with his practice, but who knows?” Fahy said.
“Has anyone alerted the British police?” Lyons said.
“Hackett said he tried that, but they were completely disinterested. He got nowhere with it,” Fahy said.
“OK, thanks, Sally, I’ll talk to Mick about it and see where we go from here,” Lyons said.
* * *
“How did you get on with his Lordship?” Lyons asked Hays when he re-appeared.
“He’s still pretty grumpy. Wants to know why we haven’t made more progress with the murder enquiry. He was pleased to hear about the two boyos in the van though,” Hays said.
Lyons went on to tell Hays about Fahy’s interaction with Peter Hackett.
“Do you think we should get him to do some more digging?” Lyons said.
“I’d like to, but it’s going to be hard to justify. It’s not as if it’s on our patch, and it would be almost impossible to get any evidence that would stand up. I think perhaps the British police were right to park it. Tell you what. Why don’t I pursue that end of things a bit? There was a DCI on the course that came from Northampton. Perhaps I’ll give him a call and have a chat,” Hays said.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I hate to think of Weldon profiting from some serious fraud like that. It just annoys me,” Lyons said.
“Karma, Maureen, karma. He’ll get his, wait till you see.”
John O’Connor knocked on Hays’ door bringing their conversation to an end.
“Yes, John. Come in. What have you got?” Hays said, beckoning the young Garda into the office.
“Aidan Doyle, sir. Quite a character. I found him on a web site he uses to promote his services, and there’s only a photo of him standing proudly beside his VW Golf van. And there’s more.”
“Go on, John,” Hays said.
“The van’s reg number is JDI 9416, so I put that into PULSE and bingo! JDI 9416 was caught on CCTV when Doyle filled the van up and left the garage without paying. He’s a bad boy this one. Quite a rap sheet. ABH, burglary, vehicle theft and so on, but nothing too recent, except for the diesel thing,” O’Connor said.
“Where is the petrol station?” Lyons asked.
“Loughrea. Only about forty kilometres east of Galway. I’ve printed a few stills of the CCTV for you, sir.”
“Great, thanks John, good work,” Hays said.
Lyons studied the A4 prints that O’Connor had given them. There was a clear face picture of the man looking directly into the camera.
“Anything on Nicola Byrne Ellis at all John?” Lyons asked.
“I haven’t got going on her yet, Inspector. But I will now.”
“Thanks.”
“Spot anything helpful?” Hays asked Lyons when O’Connor had gone scurrying off to dig up information on Doyle’s partner.
“I sure do. Look at the date. Coincidence? And the time fits too.” Lyons said.
“Yes. And that’s the day Nicola Byrne said the two of them were tucked up in Ringsend eating a Chinese. You didn’t happen to clock the name of the take-away on the corner near her house, I suppose?” Hays said.
“Of course I did. It’s The Silver Orchid,” she said rather indignantly.
“OK. Well here’s the plan.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Hays went through the small batch of cards that he had collected whilst he was attending the course in Dunstable.
“Ah, here it is,” he said as he stared down at the name Richard Gibson, Detective Chief Inspector, Northamptonshire Police printed neatly on the card with a crest alongside it.
Hays dialled the number on the card, prefixed with the International code for the UK, 0044.
The phone was answered immediately.
“Gibson,” the voice at the other end said.
“Ah, Richard. This is Mick Hays from Galway. I see you’re back in harness already. Did you enjoy the course?” Hays said.
“Yes, yes, it was good. Very informative. You got back OK?” the man said.
“Yeah, no bother. But after I’d finished in Dunstable, I drove north to your area. Just something we’re investigating over here – rather a nasty murder as it happens,” Hays said.
“Really. You should have called in, we could have had a pint.”
“Well, maybe next time. But there is something you might be able to do for me, Richard. Our enquiries have led us to have a look at a Jack Ashton. He runs a stable and livery operation at a place called Dale View Farm near Spratton. Any chance you could have a root around and see if you have anything on him at all? There’s just a few loose ends I’d like to tidy up.”
“Yes, sure. Things are fairly quiet here just now. Ashton you say? I’ll have a bit of a snoop and see if there’s anything. Just give me your mobile number, and I’ll give you a call if I find anything.”
Hays gave Richard Gibson his details and thanked him for his help.
“Oh, and before you go Richard, you might see if there’s a guy called Hackett involved at all. He’s an investigator for Ashton’s insurance agents at Lloyds, and he may have provided some information,” Hays said.
“Hackett. Right, I have that now. I’ll get back to you.”
* * *
The Irishtown Gardaí lifted Aidan Doyle from his house that evening. They told him that they were arresting him on suspicion of stealing €58.46 worth of diesel from an Esso petrol station in Loughrea, County Galway, and that they would be taking him to Loughrea Garda Station for questioning. He protested loudly, but the Gardaí were having none of it, and soon he was handcuffed in the back of a squad car travelling across the country in a westerly direction.
It was a dismal autumn evening as the squad car sped down the N6 with heavy grey clouds overhead and just an annoying amount of light rain falling on the windscreen. They reached Loughrea at just before nine o’clock, and Doyle was booked in and shown to a cell for the night by the desk sergeant, a man well used to dealing with criminals protesting their innocence.
When Hays and Lyons arrived the following morning, Doyle was feeling really sorry for himself, but was angry too at being carted halfway across the country for the sake of fifty odd euro.
“Do you know why you’re here, Mr Doyle?” Hays began.
“No, I effing don’t. I ain’t done nothing,” he protested.
Hays said nothing but produced one of the photos John O’Connor had printed from the CCTV and placed it in front of Doyle.
“This was taken two weeks ago at the Esso station on the edge of town here. It clearly shows you putting fuel in your van, Mr Doyle.”
“Yeah, so? It doesn’t run on fresh air you know!”
“But it seems, Mr Doyle, that you drove off without paying for the tankful of diesel.”
“That’s not true. Of course I effing paid for it. Do you think I’m a fool?”
“Cash or card?” Hays asked.
“Card of course. That way I get the VAT back, don’t I?”
“So, your card statement will clearly show a transaction for €58.46 on that date then, right?”
“Eh, well maybe not. I might have forgotten to pay. I was exhausted after working all day and then driving all the way out to this dump. But I’ll pay for it now,” Doyle said.
“What were you doing out here anyway? It’s a long way from home,” Lyons asked.
“I had to collect a part for an air-conditioning plant I’m working on in one of the warehouses I look after,” Doyle said.
“What, at seven o’clock at night?” she said.
Doyle shuffled uneasily in his seat and looked down at the table.
“A mate of mine was going to meet me with it out at Ballybrit,” Doyle said.
“Can we assume that this was not an entirely legitimate transaction then, Mr Doyle?” Hays said.
“He only wanted three hundred euro for it, and I can rebill it at eight hundred and fifty euro plus VAT, so it was worth the trip.”
“And where does this mate of yours work?” Hays said.
“ThermoPlant. He works in the warehouse.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jimmy. I don’t know his second name.”
“And did you meet this Jimmy?”
“No. He never turned up, the lousy fecker, and me after driving all this way. I drove all around looking for him, but there was no sign, so I eventually had to drive all the way back without the part. Cost me a fortune in diesel.”
Hays decided not to mention that it had in fact cost him nothing in diesel as he had stolen a refill for his van.
“So, you drove straight back to Ringsend?”
“Yeah. I was going to stop at the Esso place and pay them for the diesel, but it was closed by the time I was passing.”
“What time was that then?” Hays asked.
“About half-nine. I got back home at around half-twelve. Nicola was in bed,” Doyle said.
“So, you admit to stealing €58.46 worth of fuel then?”
“I never meant to, honest. I’ll pay for it now, no bother.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Doyle, but that’s not how it works. The Gardaí take fuel theft quite seriously in these parts, there’s far too much of it. I want to check out a few things and then I’ll be charging you. But don’t worry, you’ll be bailed on this occasion despite your colourful past,” Hays said.
The Loughrea Gardaí had given Hays and Lyons the use of an office, and they retreated there following the interview with Doyle.
“Maureen, can you get the locals to check out a few things for me? Firstly, what time does that Esso station close up on a weekday, and in
particular, what time did it close on the night in question? Then ask them to call ThermoPlant and see if they have a warehouseman called Jimmy. Oh, and could you get the boys in Irishtown to call in to The Silver Orchid when it opens and see if they have a record of an order for Nicola Byrne on the same night. I have a feeling she may be a regular customer of theirs in which case they’ll probably have it in their computer,” Hays said.
“Sure. What will you be up to?” Lyons said.
“I’m going to call John back in Galway, see if he’s dug up anything on Nicola Byrne. It looks to me as if she’s been lying to us,” Hays said.
As the morning wore on, information began to flow back to Loughrea. The Chinese take-away did indeed have a record of Nicola’s order on the night of the murder, but it was just dinner for one, not two, and they had delivered it the fifty metres down the road to her house. So, she had given her partner an alibi. Hays wondered why that was necessary if all he was doing was collecting some dodgy parts. As he was pondering this, one of the uniformed Garda from the Loughrea station knocked on the door.
“Excuse me, Inspector. You know you asked me to check up on what time the Esso garage closes? Well it’s normally half past midnight, and that’s when they closed the night Doyle drove off without paying,” he said.
“Thanks. That’s very helpful,” Hays said.
He went and found Lyons.
“What are we going to do with mastermind downstairs?” she asked him.
“We’ve no choice. We’ll have to bail him till we can find out more. Charge him with the theft and then kick him out,” Hays said.
“Are we going to drive him back to Dublin?” Lyons said.
“No, we bloody aren’t, but I think we should arrange to interview Nicola Byrne again soon. Fancy a trip to Ringsend tomorrow?”
“Yeah, OK. But let’s go early. I’ll get onto Irishtown and get them to make an appointment for her to come in at around eleven,” Lyons said.
“Good idea.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Autumn was definitely moving in as the two detectives drove east across the country the following morning. The light had changed, and the air was cooler and fresher despite the bright sunshine.
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 12