The Galway Homicides Box Set 2

by David Pearson

  “Funny, isn’t it?” Lyons said, “as soon as the kids go back to school, after the holidays, the weather picks up.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? I remember when I was at school and we went back the first week in September, it felt all wrong to be togged out for winter games with the sun beating down on us.”

  “And I bet you looked a picture in your tight little navy shorts and long socks!”

  “Feck off, Lyons. I was only fourteen for God’s sake!”

  * * *

  Nicola Byrne arrived on cue at Irishtown Garda station just before eleven o’clock. She was shown into an interview room and asked if she would like a drink of tea or water. She declined. Hays and Lyons came in carrying cardboard cups of coffee and took their seats opposite Ms Byrne.

  Lyons noticed that her hair was freshly washed and hung loosely around her shoulders, and there was a whiff of some expensive perfume in the air.

  “Thanks for coming in, Ms Byrne, we won’t keep you long,” Hays said noticing her bright blue eyes, which were locked onto him as if Lyons just wasn’t there at all.

  “We just wanted to go over a few things with you about the evening of the 22nd when you told us you were at home with Aidan. That wasn’t strictly speaking true, was it?”

  It was a moment before anyone spoke.

  “Listen, Inspector, things between me and Aidan haven’t been too good lately,” she said, looking down at her feet.

  “In what way?” Hays asked.

  “Well, you’ve met him. He’s a bit, well, rough, isn’t he?”

  “Go on,” Hays prompted.

  “When I first left David, I was very lost you see. I kind of hooked up with Aidan out of loneliness, and at that time he was kind to me. He’s been in a lot of trouble with your people. And I suppose I thought I could straighten him out. And I did – to some extent at least,” Byrne said.

  “Do you know that he stole a tankful of diesel from a petrol station in Loughrea on the night you gave him an alibi,” Lyons interjected.

  “No, I didn’t know that. Am I in trouble?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It depends on how things work out. You said things weren’t good between you. What’s going on?” Lyons said.

  “Recently he’s been very agitated, and he’s even hit me a few times. Nothing heavy, just a few slaps really.”

  “Did you report it?” Lyons said.

  “No. Not at all. It wasn’t much. Anyway, he could have his reasons.”

  “Oh. How’s that?” Lyons said.

  Byrne shifted nervously in the chair and wrung her hands together. They waited for her to speak.

  “I’ve been seeing someone,” she eventually said, calmly.

  Lyons sensed that Hays was about to tell the woman that her love life was none of their business, so she quickly gave him a little tap on the ankle under the table.

  “Who have you been seeing, Nicola?” Lyons said.

  “David. David Ellis. Look, I know it’s crazy. After all we split up years ago. But one night a few months back after Aidan and I had a big row and he’d gone off to the pub, I called David.”

  “And…?”

  “We met up, and got on like a house on fire. I don’t know what happened, maybe it was the secrecy and naughtiness of the whole thing, but David seemed much more exciting the second time around, and he always treated me properly. He was a nice man,” Byrne said. Her eyes filled with tears that ran down her cheeks.

  Lyons again offered Nicola Byrne some refreshment, and this time she accepted, asking for a glass of water. Lyons looked at Hays. He got the message after a couple of seconds of apparent puzzlement, and left the room to see to the drink.

  While Hays was out of the room, Lyons took the opportunity to probe a little further.

  “Nicola, do you think there’s any possibility Aidan could have found out about you and David?”

  “I don’t think so. We were very careful. We were never out together in public. I used to go to his flat in Rathgar, and once or twice we met in the cars out in County Wicklow. It sounds so seedy now as I’m telling it, but it wasn’t, not at all,” Byrne said.

  “Does Aidan know about the life policy on David’s life?”

  “Yes, he does. We used to joke about how I’d be a wealthy widow when I reached eighty. ‘Men always die first’ he would say.”

  “Do you think you and David might have got back together?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Maybe. We’ll never know now, will we?” She started to sob silently for what might have been.

  * * *

  At twelve o’clock, Nicola Byrne left Irishtown Garda station.

  She had been put on notice that she might be charged with respect to the false alibi, but that it probably wouldn’t amount to much.

  “Let’s get Doyle back in,” Hays said when Nicola Byrne had left.

  “OK. Can you arrange that? There’s something I have to do,” Lyons said.

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “You’ll see. Patience, Mick, patience.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  It was nearly four o’clock by the time Aidan Doyle had been located and brought back to Irishtown Garda station. He was ushered into the same interview room that they had used earlier for their chat with his partner, and asked if he needed anything to drink.

  “Would you like a solicitor present, Mr Doyle?” Hays asked him.

  “Do I need one?”

  “That’s entirely up to you, but you are entitled to legal representation if you wish.”

  “Na, don’t bother. I need to get outa here sharpish. I’m half finished a job down at the IFSC. What do ye want this time?” Doyle said.

  “Tell me about your work, Mr Doyle.” Lyons began when they were all seated.

  “I told you before, I do maintenance for factories, warehouses and the like,” Doyle said.

  “Which factories and warehouses exactly?” she went on. Hays was a bit puzzled by her line of questioning, but knew her well enough to let her continue. Was Aidan Doyle about to be ‘Maureen-ed?’ he mused.

  “There’s a few places out on the Naas Road, and I have some clients in Kildare and one in Meath.”

  “Names, Mr Doyle, I need the names of these places,” Lyons said.

  “Jesus, what the hell do you want that for?” But when Lyons didn’t reply, Doyle sighed heavily and went on.

  “There’s Zilink, Woodfords, DBL, Aero Services and Pharma Express. Look, what’s all this about, Inspector?”

  “What exactly do Pharma Express do, Mr Doyle?”

  “They’re a UK outfit with a warehouse in Ballymount. They supply stuff to independent chemists’ shops and some of the bigger hospitals. Why?”

  “And have you been working there recently?”

  “I have as it happens. They wanted some secure storage set up for some of their more potent products with electric keypads on them, so I did that,” Doyle said.

  “When exactly was that?”

  “Eh, end of July. What’s all this about?”

  Lyons tapped Hays under the table, signalling that he should take over the questioning. She excused herself from the room and went up to the open plan.

  “Do you know a Mr David Ellis, Mr Doyle?” Hays said.

  “Yeah, sure. Him and Nic used to be married. His loss.”

  “Have you ever met him?”

  “No, and I don’t effing want to neither. Why would I?”

  “I thought you might just have come across him somewhere.”

  “We don’t exactly move in the same circles, Inspector.”

  “Tell me again about your trip to Loughrea,” Hays said.

  “I told you already. I drove out there to meet a guy called Jimmy from ThermoPlant. He was going to liberate a control unit for me for three hundred euro. But he never showed, so I hung around for a while trying to contact him, but no luck, so then I drove home.”

  “That’s odd. Because we contacted ThermoPlant, and they don�
�t have a Jimmy in the warehouse – never had,” Hays said.

  “Well that’s the name he gave me. Probably didn’t want me to know his real name given the nature of the deal.”

  “And what time did you say that you drove back past the Esso station where you intended to pay for the fill of diesel?”

  “Must have been about nine or half past, but it was closed.”

  “You see, Aidan, we checked with them, and they told us that they don’t close until after midnight, and they confirmed that on that particular day, they closed up at 12:35 a.m. It’s recorded in their alarm system.”

  “I don’t know, do I? It was definitely closed when I went through,” Doyle said.

  “So that would make it after half-twelve then. What were you doing for those three or four hours, Aidan?”

  “I told you. Hanging around for Jimmy or whatever his name is.”

  Hays felt that without something new, he wasn’t really getting anywhere, so he called a fifteen-minute comfort break and went in search of Lyons.

  “Never mind,” she said when he told her of the lack of progress, “Let’s get back in and have another go.”

  * * *

  Lyons restarted the interview tamely enough, going back over some of Doyle’s inconsistencies. Then, out of the blue, she said, “I think on that night, Mr Doyle, you drove on out to Clifden, met David Ellis at the show grounds and killed him by lethal injection.”

  Hays was flabbergasted but somehow managed to keep a straight face.

  “But you made one dreadful mistake,” she went on, taking a plastic evidence bag out of her handbag containing a hypodermic plunger and putting it on the table.

  “You left a clear fingerprint on the plunger,” she said.

  “I never touched it. I was wearing gloves the whole time,” he blurted out.

  “Where did you get that? That’s nothing to do with me,” he protested, trying to bluster his way past the mistake.

  “Mr Doyle, a used hypodermic syringe that delivered a fatal dose of cyanide to David Ellis was recovered from a bin close to where his body was found. As you know, cyanide is a controlled substance. It took us a while, but we traced the dregs that we found in the syringe. It came from Zilink. They use it as you know in the manufacture of microchips for mobile phones. And the hypodermic originated in England. It’s from a batch supplied to the Pharma Express distribution warehouse in Manchester and trans-shipped to Ireland. You have told us that you have had recent access to both of those sites, and well, what with the fingerprint, I’d say it’s pretty watertight, wouldn’t you?”

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Doyle said, burying his head in his hands.

  “Right. Let’s start again, shall we, Mr Doyle?” Hays said.

  Over the next hour Aidan Doyle explained how he had by chance seen Nicola coming out of Ellis’s apartment one day when he just happened to be driving by. After that, he followed her a few times, and it was soon clear to him that she was having an affair with him. Doyle knew about the insurance policy, and reckoned if he could take out Ellis, it would solve two problems for him. Obviously it would end the affair that Nicola was having with her ex-husband so he’d get her back, and she would then come into some real money which clearly he would help her to spend.

  “How did you know where to find him?” Lyons asked.

  “Easy. I got his mobile number from Nic’s phone and called him. I told him I had some juicy information for him, and suggested we meet. He said he was in Clifden at the pony show, so we arranged to meet there at the show grounds at nine o’clock as my information was very sensitive, and I didn’t want to be seen talking to him in a public place. The poor sap fell for it handy. The rest of it you know, but I’m positive I didn’t handle the bloody needle,” Doyle said.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Before they left Dublin they called to Nicola Byrne’s house to give her the news. She was tearful of course, but seemed to be more concerned about her own position than that of her partner.

  “Are you going to arrest me too?” she asked.

  “For what?” Lyons said.

  “For the alibi I gave him.”

  “That’s not up to us, Ms Byrne. But to be honest I doubt if the DPP will pursue it. We’ll need to take the clothes Aidan was wearing that night, and his footwear. Could you get them for us please?” Hays said.

  A few minutes later when they had Doyle’s stuff secured in a large evidence sack, they left Nicola Byrne to ponder her fate.

  On the way back in the car Hays asked Lyons, “How in God’s name did you manage to get the syringe across from Galway so quickly?”

  “I didn’t. I went out and bought one in the local chemist.”

  “Jesus, Maureen. What about the fingerprints?”

  “There isn’t even one. But don’t fret, I’m fairly certain we’ll get a match from his clothing or footwear to the crime scene, and all the rest fits. And don’t forget, he confessed, and anyway, I never said it was the same syringe!”

  “Sometimes, Inspector Lyons, your methods don’t exactly fit too well with police procedure, do they? Remember the cable ties from that fella O’Shaughnessy in Cork?” Hays said.

  “Look, Mick. We are constrained enough by all the bloody do-gooders and bent solicitors these days. Sometimes you have to give yourself an edge, and after all, the little scum-bag is as guilty as sin.”

  “I just hope Plunkett doesn’t get to hear of it,” Hays said.

  “What? You think Saint Finbarr hasn’t bent the rules a few times to get a collar? Anyway, if he gets uppity we can always go after his good friend Oliver Weldon, or threaten to. That will shut him up.”

  “Jesus, Maureen, I hope I never get into your bad books.”

  “Just as long as you keep pampering me and buying me nice things and don’t go off with some blonde bimbo you’ll be fine,” Maureen replied.

  They dropped off Doyle’s clothes with Sinéad Loughran on the way back to the station. As soon as they got in, Sally Fahy told Hays that the superintendent was looking for him, and he didn’t sound too happy.

  Hays knocked on Plunkett’s door.

  “Come in, Mick. Sit down. Coffee?”

  “Thanks, yes please, sir.”

  Plunkett rang through to his secretary and asked for two coffees which were almost instantly provided along with a decent quantity of chocolate biscuits.

  “So, Mick, have you made any more progress on the two thugs that assaulted Oliver Weldon?”

  “They’re not saying anything at all, sir. We have them banged up, and depending on whatever judge is on the bench, I reckon they’ll get a couple of years apiece for ABH, but as to whatever lies behind their unprovoked attack, I don’t think we’re ever going to find out. But we have made an arrest in the David Ellis murder case, sir,” Hays said.

  Hays went on to describe the arrest of Aidan Doyle telling Plunkett that the man had confessed, carefully leaving out any reference to the syringe.

  “I’m expecting a call from forensics later on to say that they can place Doyle at the scene, just to make it watertight, sir.”

  “Good man, Mick, well done. And did Maureen Lyons play a good part in the investigation?” Plunkett asked.

  “Yes, sir, indeed she did. She was very helpful. It’s really her collar you know.”

  “Not up to her usual tricks, I hope?”

  “Perish the thought, sir.” The two men exchanged a knowing look.

  “Right, so, what about Weldon then?” Plunkett said.

  “I don’t think we should put too much more of our scarce resources into that, sir. After all, we have the two perpetrators for the assault.”

  “I know, but we can’t just have all and sundry going around dropping upright citizens into open graves, Mick. It’s not on.” Plunkett said, getting a bit redder in the face.

  “No, sir, of course not. But some evidence has come to light that would indicate that Oliver Weldon isn’t exactly squeaky clean. He’s tied up with some strange goings on
with a breeder across the water – a Jack Ashton,” Hays said.

  “Christ, Mick, are you sure? I’ve known Oliver a hell of a long time and the missus plays bridge with Laura you know,” Plunkett said.

  “Well we probably aren’t going to be able to prove anything or bring any charges. We’d need the co-operation of the British police, and to be honest, we’re finding it difficult to get them to show any interest. But I’m having another go through a friend of mine in the Northampton Police.”

  “So, what do you suggest? I can’t afford a shit storm coming down on me at this stage,” Plunkett said.

  “Let’s leave it for a few days, and see what comes back from Northampton. Then, depending on what we find out, we could give Weldon a call. Let him know we know what he’s been up to and suggest he should desist.”

  “Very well, Mick, but be careful now, I can hear the Aran Islands calling already!”

  “Don’t worry, sir.”

  * * *

  Hays was telling Lyons about his meeting with Plunkett and they were both enjoying the story greatly, when the phone rang.

  “Lyons,” she said.

  “Hi Maureen, it’s Sinéad. Good news. We found traces of horse manure on Doyle’s shoes. They match the samples we collected from the horsebox where Ellis was found, so that puts him at the scene for you.”

  “Excellent, Sinéad, well done and thanks,” Lyons said, giving the thumbs up sign to Hays who could only hear one side of the conversation.

  “That’s OK,” Sinéad said, “you know how much I love messing about with animal dung. Now, if only I had some roses in my window box at home, I’d be all set,” she quipped.

  Lyons relayed the information to Hays.

  “You must be the luckiest cop in Ireland,” Hays said when Lyons had hung up.

  “Didn’t you know, Mick? The harder you work the luckier you get!”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Hays was at his desk two days later when his phone rang.

  “Hays,” he said, answering the call.

  “Hi, Mick. It’s Richard Gibson here from Northampton.”

  “Oh, hi Richard. Did you get a chance to look into that thing we were talking about?” Hays said.