“I did indeed. Very interesting. Ashton came to our attention two years ago when there was an issue about the provenance of one of his horses. A local breeder made a complaint. We followed it up as best we could at the time, but with very limited resources, and more serious crimes taking place, we weren’t able to pursue it to a conclusion. I spoke to the DI that handled the matter – he’s not here anymore, but we still chat now and then – and he said he had concerns about the vet too – Carlyle I think his name is.”
“I see. That ties in with what we have found out too. I think there’s some sort of identity swap going on, and a breeder over here is involved. Is there any scope to take it further at your end, Richard?” Hays said.
“I’m not sure we can, to be honest. Tell you what. I’ll have a chat with a mate of mine in the fraud squad. It’s more in their line really, and maybe if you could provide them with some details of what you know, they might be able to make a move on them both.”
“Yes, of course, that’s not a problem. Feel free to give my details to your colleague. He can contact me anytime.”
Later the same day, a man called Warren Stokes from the UK’s Fraud Squad called Hays.
They talked about the case against Ashton and Carlyle for some twenty minutes, but Stokes said that unless there was some hard evidence against Ashton and Carlyle, there was little that they could do. Hays thanked the man, and hung up, feeling rather despondent.
* * *
Hays went back up to Plunkett and told him about the conversation that had taken place with the UK police.
“Well to be honest, Mick, I think it’s all for the best. There’s no point in us getting involved with a fairly tenuous case in the UK, even if there is Irish involvement. But if we could put an end to it without embarrassing ourselves further, it would be useful,” Plunkett said.
“Why don’t I give Mr Weldon a call, just to update him on progress as it were. I’ll be careful not to accuse him of anything, but he’ll get the message all the same,” Hays said.
Plunkett gestured with an open palm to his desk phone which had an additional earpiece fitted for just such an occasion, while Hays consulted his notebook for the number.
“Mr Weldon? It’s Senior Inspector Hays here. I just wanted to bring you up to date on our enquiries. How are you feeling, sir?” Hays said.
“Oh, fine thanks. It would take more than a night in a cold grave to see me off, Inspector,” Weldon said, full of cheer.
“Well as you know we have the two assailants in custody now, but they’re not saying anything about who was behind their attack. They appear to be frightened for their lives. But our investigations did turn up something a bit odd,” Hays said.
“Oh. How so?”
“We were led to the stable yard of a Jack Ashton in Northamptonshire. I believe he’s known to you?”
“Well, vaguely. I deal with a lot of UK breeders and trainers you know,” Weldon said.
“Yes, but I see you’ve had quite extensive dealings with Ashton. Pity he has such bad luck with his animals, isn’t it sir.”
“What do you mean, Inspector?”
“You know three of his animals have died somewhat mysteriously recently. And there seems to be some doubt as to the provenance of some of the rest of them. There’s an ongoing investigation by his insurers into it. It would be a terrible shame if somehow you got dragged into it, sir.”
“I see. Yes, well thank you for letting me know. Maybe I’ll steer clear of Ashtons for a bit then. And don’t worry too much about the other business, I’m over it now in any case,” Weldon said.
“Yes, sir, I think that would be very wise. If there are any further developments, we’ll let you know,” Hays said.
“Thanks, Inspector, and remember me to Superintendent Plunkett, won’t you?”
“Of course, sir. Goodbye.”
“Nice one, Mick. That should take care of that, well done,” Plunkett said, clearly relieved that the whole business wasn’t going to go any further.
“We won’t have any trouble from Lyons on this one, will we?” Plunkett asked as an afterthought.
“Not at all, sir, leave that to me,” Hays said.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Aidan Doyle was brought before the District Court charged with the murder of David Ellis. The judge knew Doyle well from several previous encounters and remanded him to appear in a fortnight’s time at Cloverhill. He warned Doyle not to attempt to contact any witnesses, and told him that if he did so, the ultimate sentence would be increased.
Lyons phoned Mr Warner at Consolidated Life and General and informed him that they had made an arrest for the murder of David Ellis.
“I see,” said Warner, “and is Mrs Ellis involved at all?”
“Only very marginally, Mr Warner. She initially gave the accused an alibi for the night that the crime was committed, but she has withdrawn it now,” Lyons said.
“Hmm, nevertheless, I think that gives us sufficient grounds to decline her claim, at least initially. Can you provide us with some details, Inspector?”
“Not until the trial is over. Do you think that’s a bit harsh, Mr Warner? She has no income now Ellis’s alimony has stopped, and she’ll probably lose her home.”
“Company policy, I’m afraid, Inspector. And you know a claimant can’t benefit from a crime involving the proceeds of an insurance policy. Will she be charged with aiding and abetting?” Warner said.
“Well that’s not up to us, but there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of actually assisting with the murder, and she may have given the alibi under duress as well, so I doubt if the DPP will proceed against her. She’ll probably just get a caution.”
“Pity,” he said.
You’re all heart, Lyons thought to herself as the conversation with the insurance company came to an end.
* * *
In the end, Nicola Byrne didn’t receive the insurance money. She managed to come to an arrangement with the building society to rent her cottage from them, and after two years she met another man whom she fell in love with and who treated her properly. They eventually bought the property back from the bank, and are still living there to this day.
When Doyle got to trial, he pleaded guilty to the murder of David Ellis at the Connemara Pony Show and was given a life sentence with a recommendation that he serve at least fifteen years before being considered for parole. He was taken away to Mountjoy prison.
Oliver Weldon had been given a good fright having spent the night in an open grave. What with that and the none too subtle warning from Senior Inspector Hays, he decided to give up his shady dealings and turned his attention to regular breeding at which, it turned out, he was very successful. In any case, he had made a lot of money from the business with Ashton, so he didn’t need to pursue the crooked trade.
Jack Ashton didn’t fare so well. After another death at his yard that couldn’t be accounted for within the bounds of reasonableness, the stable boy, Malcolm Fulton, went to the authorities and told them of his concerns. While no criminal charges were brought against Ashton, he did lose his breeder’s license and had to sell up. When last heard of, he was involved in timeshare sales on the Costa Del Sol in the south of Spain.
Jenny Gillespie continued to ride Lady. It took her quite a while to get over her experiences at the pony show and although she never went back, she continued to enjoy her favourite hobby. When she was eighteen however she had a bad fall from Lady during a cross-country hack and broke her pelvis. It was a bad break, and her mobility was affected permanently, so while she didn’t ride again, she continued to look after her pony, and, as she saw it, her best friend.
Tony Halpin, the amorous part-time school teacher was not prosecuted for his alleged abduction of Jenny Gillespie. Jenny wanted nothing more to do with the incident. She could imagine a courtroom scene with some sleazy barrister accusing her of coming on to Halpin, trying to make out it was all her fault, so she refused to co-operate in any prosecution.
Sergeant Mulholland was not best pleased. On his nightly visit to Cusheen’s where he enjoyed a few pints before heading home, he made sure that the locals were made fully aware of Halpin’s proclivities.
“And to think that the dirty pedo still has access to the town’s children. It isn’t right you know,” he would say to the locals in the pub. The men-folk of Clifden took the cue, and on a dark and damp October evening, four of them rocked up to Halpin’s house, armed with a couple of pickaxe handles and a short iron crow-bar. Halpin got a good hiding and was instructed to leave town the following day, and not to return, or next time he wouldn’t be so lucky.
The next day Halpin turned up at Clifden Garda station very battered and bruised and told Sergeant Mulholland that he had been set upon and beaten up.
“I see something has happened to you, all right, Mr Halpin. Four men you say? Have you got any witnesses?” the sergeant asked.
“No, just myself.”
“Right so. Did you recognize any of these men at all?”
“No, but I might if I saw them again, perhaps in a line up,” Halpin said.
“Ah that’s all a bit Hill Street Blues for us out here, Mr Halpin. We do things a bit differently.”
Sergeant Mulholland took Tony Halpin by the arm and led him outside into the cool October day.
“You know, it gets very dark at night up where you live, Mr Halpin. I’d say what really happened is you probably tripped over something in the dark and fell down awkwardly. This tale about four men sounds very far-fetched to me,” Mulholland said.
“Is that it? You’re not going to do anything about it? I could report you for this you know,” Halpin said incredulously.
“Mr Halpin, I’ve more to be doing than running after the likes of you that can’t find their way around in the dark. Now away with ye and don’t be bothering me with your nonsense! And as for reporting me, well good luck with that now.”
Halpin had no choice. With the Gardaí unwilling to pursue the assault on him, he took heed of the warning and left Clifden for good the same day. In an unusual twist of fate, his Land Rover was insured by Consolidated Life and General, and he collected eight hundred euro for the write off of the vehicle which still lay stuck in the sand out beside the causeway leading to Omey Island. When the tide was low, you could see the top half of the rusting hulk covered in shells, where the limpets had attached themselves to it.
* * *
One chilly night in November when it was all over, Hays and Lyons were sitting at home in front of a lovely warm turf fire having a glass of red wine after dinner.
“Mick, have you any life insurance?” Lyons asked.
“What? Thinking of bumping me off now, are you?”
Lyons gave him a dig in the ribs.
“Don’t be daft. But seriously, we’re both in a high-risk occupation, and if either of us got killed in the line of duty, the other would have a lot of financial issues. An insurance policy – you know, I insure you and you insure me – would help, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, I have a mortgage protection policy on this place, but that’s about it,” Hays said.
“Yeah, but if the worst happened, who gets the house. Not me, that’s for sure.”
“I see what you mean. Maybe we should think about it. Of course, there is another way around the issue.”
“What? Oh no you don’t, Mick Hays. If you’re going to propose to me, it will be on a white sandy beach on a Caribbean Island with you down on one hairy knee, and a bloody great diamond in your fist.”
“Well, that’s me told,” he said, putting his arm around her.
Maureen snuggled in close to him. Despite her rebuttal, she still felt butterflies in her stomach and a warm glow spread through her entire body, and it wasn’t from the wine.
List of Characters
Senior Inspector Mick Hays – an experienced detective based in the Galway Detective Unit in Mill Street. Hays is unsettled, contemplating his future in the force, and with his partner Maureen Lyons.
Inspector Maureen Lyons – a sassy Detective Inspector with a great nose for clues who is not beyond pulling the occasional stunt to bring justice to bear.
Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett – a wily senior policeman with friends in all the wrong places. He has plans to expand the unit and progress his career at the same time.
Detective Sergeant Eamon Flynn – a tenacious young detective who follows every lead until he gets a result.
Detective Sally Fahy – a very bright young detective making a name for herself with the other members of the team.
Garda John O’Connor – a nerdy technophile that likes nothing more than cracking computers and mobile phones to reveal the secrets people try to hide.
Sergeant Séan Mulholland – the laid back ‘member in charge’ at Clifden Garda station who turns out to be more steely that anyone would give him credit for.
Garda Jim Dolan – works with Mulholland in Clifden at a gentle pace.
Sinéad Loughran – the ever-cheerful forensic team lead who uses humour to offset the gruesome nature of her work.
Pascal Brosnan – the Garda from Roundstone that runs the local station single-handed.
Darragh Clancy – a sharp eyed Garda manning a roadblock on the Donegal Road.
Dr Julian Dodd – a highly experienced pathologist who is always at hand when there’s a corpse to be examined.
Jenny Gillespie – a young, attractive horse-woman who owns a Connemara pony called ‘Lady’.
Cathal Gillespie – Jenny’s father.
Máiréad Gillespie – Jenny’s mother.
Mrs Cathleen Curley – the rotund owner of the Ocean View Guesthouse who likes to know what her guests are up to.
John Curley – Cathleen’s industrious husband who is looking to extend their business.
David Ellis – the hapless victim of a brutal murder whilst investigating some funny business in the bloodstock trade.
Oliver Weldon – the somewhat snobbish head of the Connemara Pony Society who has made a great deal of money from dealing in horses, some of which may be from questionable sources.
Jack Ashton – runs a small stable yard in Northamptonshire that has had some success with racehorses, but seems to be blighted by bad luck.
Victor Carlyle – veterinary surgeon to the Ashtons’ stables.
Mr Warner – the rather heartless claims manager from an insurance company.
Gregg Newman – the managing agent at a Lloyds syndicate specializing in equine insurance.
Malcolm Fulton – the talkative stable boy at the Ashtons’ yard in England.
Laura Weldon – Oliver’s long-suffering wife.
Mrs Magee – Cathleen Curley’s home help at the Ocean View.
Nicola Byrne – David Ellis’s estranged wife.
Aidan Doyle – Nicola Byrne’s current partner.
MURDER
ON PAY DAY
DAVID PEARSON
Chapter One
Garda Pascal Brosnan finished his breakfast in the kitchen of his modest bungalow which was situated just a few hundred metres from the small Garda station that he ran single-handedly at the edge of the village of Roundstone in Connemara.
It was a cold December morning, and he knew that the windows of his car would probably be covered in a thin layer of frost, so when he had put on his uniform jacket, he filled a large plastic jug with warm water from the electric kettle, checked that the house was secure and left by the front door.
He had been right about the car. The windows were indeed covered in ice, so he gently poured the warm water on the front windscreen, side and back windows, dispersing the obstruction and leaving the glass clear.
He arrived at the Garda station a few minutes later. Today was pay day for the entire Irish police force. They weren’t usually paid until the last Friday of the month, but in December, payment was made early to allow people to fund what seemed like the ever-increasing cost of Christmas.
When Bro
snan had turned on the electric heaters in the small building, he powered up the station’s single computer, and went to put the kettle on while the rather old PC got itself ready for work.
When he had checked the overnight bulletins from Galway, Clifden and headquarters in Dublin, none of which thankfully affected him directly in the quiet backwater that made up his patch, he logged onto his own personal on-line bank account.
“Nice one,” he said to himself. Not only had his salary been deposited for him, but he had also been reimbursed for an amount of necessary expenditure that he had paid for out of his own pocket in the preceding months.
Brosnan would now be able to travel into Galway at the weekend and buy the small number of Christmas gifts for his immediate family, with whom he would spend the day on the 25th. His parents were still alive and well, living in a small terraced house in the city; his brother and sister would be there too, which was about the only time Brosnan got to see the rest of the family for the whole year. His father, now retired, had worked his whole life on the docks in Galway as a stevedore, and had retired at the age of sixty-two when those jobs came to an end. The work had provided his family with modest, but adequate means, and the three children had been brought up in a very traditional, caring manner.
Pascal had joined the Garda Síochána as soon as he left school, and had spent most of his career to date working initially out of Galway city’s Mill Street station, then later in Clifden, before volunteering to take on the station in Roundstone. It could be a solitary existence, but he could call on backup from Sergeant Séan Mulholland and his team in Clifden, when required, and despite the fact that Roundstone was a small village, there was a surprisingly vibrant social life, which Brosnan exploited to the full.
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 14