“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 half past nine 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 minimum 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 half past five, 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 no
t 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 half past six in the morning. 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 realistic 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 halfway 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.”
Lyons went on to tell Bridget O’Toole about the attack on the post office van, and that the driver appeared to have been badly wounded or maybe even killed in the ambush.
“Good God, the poor man. I hope he will be all right. He has a wife and two daughters you know,” Bridget said.
“Well Inspector Hays is on his way there now, and we’ll know more in a while. But listen, won’t you need to get another delivery of cash out here or you’ll have a hundred angry pensioners on your hands?” Lyons said.
“I suppose so,” Bridget said with little enthusiasm.
“Give me the number that you call in Galway and I’ll arrange it for you. Could you make us all a cup of tea, Bridget?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll get the number for you now. Thanks inspector.”
Lyons telephoned the number Bridget had given her and got through to the main post office in Galway. After a few false starts, she finally established contact with the cash office and explained the situation to the manager there.
“You’ll need to get another delivery out to Mrs O’Toole in Clifden as soon as possible. The pensioners are starting to arrive to collect their double week. I’ve put a notice on the door saying that benefits won’t be available till two-thirty for technical reasons, but we won’t be able to hold them back much beyond that. If you get it ready, I’ll arrange an armed escort for the delivery van. They’ll be with you in half an hour or so. And if you have any information of the serial numbers of the notes that were stolen, could you call it through to Garda John O’Connor at Mill Street?” Lyons said.
“Yes of course. There were a lot of new notes in the van. The Central Bank increase the money supply at this time of year, and they push the extra out through the post office system, as well as through the banks. We should be able to identify which notes went out to Clifden. And tell me, is Paddy McKeever OK?” the manager asked.
“We’ll know more when the team get to where the ambush took place. Right now all we know is that it was an armed raid, and we think there was violence involved,” she said, not wanting to pass on the bad news till it had been confirmed.
Next Lyons rang John O’Connor in Mill Street and asked him to arrange for more ARUs to accompany the second delivery of benefits money to Clifden, and to liaise with the cash manager at the main post office to set it up. She requested that the ARU remain in Clifden outside the post office, front and back, till it closed at five o’clock. She also told O’Connor that the man should be calling through with information about the serial numbers of the stolen notes, and that he should get the list out to all the banks in the area as soon as possible.
Then Lyons sat down with Bridget O’Toole and her daughter in the back of the post office and had a cup of tea. The post mistress was visibly shaken by the events that had taken place, so Lyons tried to get her to focus on the main business of the day.
“I’ve arranged for another delivery of cash for you, Bridget. It sh
ould be here at around half past one or two o’clock. It’s coming with an armed guard, and they’ll stay here until all the money has been handed out just in case there are any more shenanigans. I have to go now, but Detective Fahy and Detective Flynn will stay around here, and you have the two uniformed Gardaí out the back too, so you should be OK,” Lyons said.
* * *
Hays pushed his Mercedes as fast as he dared along the old bog road between Clifden and Roundstone. He sped through Ballyconneely, and on past Murvey and Callow before arriving at the scene of the heist just before Dog’s Bay.
Brosnan, who ran the little Garda station on the edge of Roundstone village single-handedly, had put up blue and white tape all around the small green and white An Post van that stood forlornly at the side of the road. The windscreen had been blown out, and blood and brain tissue were spread all over the panel behind where the driver would have been sitting. Paddy McKeever’s body was still in the van, slumped across the two front seats. The side door of the van was open, and through it the open safe could be seen with its door hanging open, and the contents clearly missing.
The rain was holding off for the moment, but it wasn’t far away. Heavy dark grey clouds hung low over the scene, adding to the grimness, and the top of Errisbeg was shrouded in a thick mist.
“Good morning, Inspector,” Brosnan said, walking over to Hays’ car as the senior man got out.
“Morning, Pascal. This is a rum do. I presume the poor man is dead?”
“He sure is, sir. Not much of him left above the neck to be honest. They must have fired through the windscreen and the pellets got mixed with glass splinters to do that much damage to a man,” Brosnan said.
“Bastards! Right. I have the doctor and the forensic team on the way out. How long ago did it happen do you know?”
“I can’t be exactly sure, sir. But I heard the shot at about half past nine. There’s no shooting in these parts at this time of year, so I came out to investigate, and found poor Paddy here myself,” the Garda said, clearly shaken by the discovery.
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 17