A few minutes later, both women were tucked up for the night. Lyons lay awake for some time, going over the events that had led to her partner being nearly killed. A cold shiver went down her spine when she remembered him lying in the dirt, the lifeblood oozing out of his damaged leg. She wondered if there wasn’t some easier career that they could both pursue, with less chance of getting killed at work, and as she drifted off to sleep, unpleasant images flitted across her mind.
Chapter Fifteen
The following morning, Sinéad drove Lyons back to the hospital where she had left her car overnight. Sinéad didn’t go in, but Lyons did, just to see Hays for a minute to make sure that he was OK and had spent a comfortable night.
She looked in through the little window of room 212A. Mick was sitting up in the bed finishing his breakfast. Lyons went in.
“Hi, you’re looking a bit perkier,” she said to Hays as he smiled warmly at her.
“Hi you. Thanks for coming in. Are you on your way to work?”
“Yeah. Sinéad was here last night just as I was leaving, so she drove me home and we had some grub. She stayed over,” Lyons said.
“Oh, I didn’t see her. Tell her thanks for coming in.”
“She said she might stop by later. So, what have they got lined up for you today?” Lyons said.
“Well, as soon as the physio gets here, they’re going to get me up and see if I can walk around a bit.”
“Nice. I hope it’s not too sore,” she said holding his hand.
“Nah, it’ll be fine. Now why don’t you get off to work and don’t worry about me. See if you can nail those bastards before I get out of here.”
“Yeah, OK, I’ll stop by later. Do you need anything?” Lyons said.
“No, I’m fine thanks. See you later.” They kissed briefly before she left.
* * *
Lyons got into the station just before nine. She got a cup of coffee from the kitchen, and took it into the open plan where the rest of the team were already assembled.
As she stood at the whiteboard that had pictures of Paddy McKeever and the Geraghty brothers pinned up, she was conscious that everyone was looking to her to provide some inspiration about the case. For the first time in a long time, she actually felt nervous.
“Right,” Lyons said, clearing her throat, “what have we got? Eamon?”
Eamon Flynn shifted nervously in his seat.
“Nothing, boss. I thought you might have something,” he said rather sheepishly.
“Sally, have you anything? Anything at all?” Lyons said.
“Sorry, Inspector. They’ve been searching all over the place out near the cottage, but there’s no sign of them. Not a trace,” she said.
Lyons swallowed hard before she spoke.
“Right. This is what we’re going to do. I want the search team out there increased. I want every single house in the area checked, and then re-checked. Eamon, will you get onto Séan Mulholland and get him to put every available man he can spare on it? Tell him overtime is no problem, and tell him leave is cancelled till we find these two – except for Christmas Day and St Stephen’s Day that is.”
Lyons judged the mood amongst her colleagues before pressing on.
“And I want all of you to give your snouts a good rattle. There will be some word on the grapevine as to what’s going on, and a lot of the lowlife we deal with don’t go along with shooting Gardaí, so it may be possible to get some information there. Use every contact you can find. Right – let’s get to it. If nothing breaks, we’ll meet back here at five,” she said with as much authority as she could muster.
* * *
Hays had done better with the physio than he had hoped. He was able to get in and out of bed unaided, and he could even walk around without a stick, provided he could hold onto things. The physiotherapist was well pleased, and confirmed that he could go home that evening, as long as there was someone available to dress the wound every day for another four or five days till it healed up. Hays assured her that he had a partner who would be happy to oblige, hoping that Maureen would step up to the job.
He was tired after the exertions, and was just dozing off in the late morning before the lunch came around, when to his surprise, Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett arrived in to see him.
“God Mick, how the hell are ya?” he said, full of cheer.
“Hello Superintendent, it’s good of you to come in to see me. How are you keeping yourself?”
“It’s Finbarr now Mick, no need to stand on ceremony, or even lie down on ceremony,” he said, chuckling at his own joke.
Plunkett sat down in the visitor’s chair, and tenuously brought the conversation around to the events that had put Hays in hospital in the first place.
“You see, Mick, I’ve had a call from The Park. Internal Affairs don’t you know. They’re keen to understand how this all came about, and the fact that Inspector Lyons fired off a shot has complicated things a bit. Now I think we can handle it all right, don’t worry, and it’s important that we do in view of the plans we have for the unit. But there’ll be some difficult questions to answer, that’s for sure,” the superintendent said.
“I see. Like what for instance, Finbarr?”
“Like what the bloody hell you two were doing confronting two armed suspects without any backup – that sort of thing. Do you see what I mean?”
“Ah, look, it wasn’t like that. We only had the flimsiest of information that there was anyone up at the house. And I was damned if I was going to get the ARU out just on the off chance after the fiasco out at Clifden. We were just doing a recce on the place when it all went to shit,” Hays said.
“And what about Ms Smarty Pants firing one off into the back of the jeep? How are we going to explain that?”
“She says she saw the shotgun being poked out through the passenger’s window of the Pajero, and she feared for her own safety and for mine, so she got her retaliation in first, if you see what I mean. Anyway, it worked.”
“Ah, right. Well that sounds kind of feasible, I suppose. It’s a good job she’s a lousy shot! It just depends on who they send down, and what sort of an agenda he has. I’ll know later who’s coming, and I’ll do some checking around to see what way the land lies. You might polish up that version of events a bit with Lyons before they start asking awkward questions. It sounds fairly OK to me,” Plunkett said.
“Do you think we’ll be all right, boss?”
“Ah, we’ll do our best anyway, Mick. I’ve survived worse, believe me. It just depends what yer man is like. Some of those fellas have to find a scapegoat to blame, and some of the rest of them are pretty relaxed. We’ll see. You get some rest, and get yourself back in after Christmas. I’ll leave you to it now,” Plunkett said, getting up to leave.
* * *
Lyons was just sitting down at her desk when her phone rang.
“This is Rollo,” said the husky voice at the other end of the phone. “I had a call from Mr Hays. Do you want to meet?”
“Oh yes, eh… Rollo. Where? When?”
“Half an hour. Usual place. And bring me a nice Christmas present.”
Hays had briefed Lyons that she would need a bottle of Powers Whiskey and fifty euro in small notes when she met Rollo, so she had no time to waste. She dashed out of the warm Garda station into the cold and wet of the street to get her ‘gifts’ for Rollo before retrieving her car and heading out to Salthill.
Lyons didn’t know what to expect when she met Mick’s favourite snout. She had heard him talk about this Rollo, but she had no idea what he looked like, or how he would behave towards her. She parked up along the promenade in Salthill, and walked nervously towards the concrete shelter, her body bent over against the strong, moist wind.
* * *
Rollo was seated inside the shelter backed up against one side wall in an attempt to make himself invisible. He was more of a down and out than she had expected. His clothes were old, filthy and torn and threadbare in places, and the
soles of his shoes were parting company with the uppers, revealing a very dirty pair of socks full of holes. Lyons hadn’t expected sartorial elegance, but this man was more like a tramp than an informant.
Lyons sat down a good two feet away from him, but could still get the strong whiff of stale body odour and pee from the man. Her stomach turned over, but somehow she managed not to show it.
“How’s himself?” Rollo said.
“He’s in hospital, but he’ll be OK,” Lyons said rather glumly.
“Sorry to hear that. Did you bring me my pressie?”
Lyons slipped the bottle of whiskey out from under her coat, and Rollo’s scrawny, filthy hand reached out and took it, opening the screw cap and taking a good swig of the amber liquid.
“Ah, that’s good. So, what do you want?” he said.
“Information. You know what happened. We’re looking for the two clients. Have you heard anything about where they might be hiding out?” Lyons asked.
“Well, I don’t think they’re back in the town yet anyways. They must be still out there somewhere,” the man said, and took another good measure of the whiskey.
“Is that it?” Lyons said. She wasn’t warming to this man at all. She felt very uncomfortable, and the smell was overpowering. She wanted to go.
“Maybe I heard a bit more,” he said.
Lyons looked at him, and then the penny dropped. She slipped the five used ten euro notes across. Rollo snatched the money quickly, and it disappeared from sight immediately.
“Glen. Glen something, or something Glen. I just heard a couple of blokes talking. I think they know them boys. But I couldn’t get no more. I’m risking my life telling you this, you know,” Rollo said.
“Damn it, Rollo, that’s not much to go on, is it?” Lyons said.
“It’s all I got. Take it or leave it.”
Lyons got up to leave, giving the snout a long look.
“Tell Mr Hays I was asking after him now, won’t ye?” Rollo said.
“Hmph,” Lyons said and walked back to her car.
Chapter Sixteen
Inspector Frank Nicholson sat down opposite Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett in the superintendent’s office.
“Sit down, Inspector, can I get you some coffee or tea?” the superintendent said.
“No, thanks, I’m fine.”
“Good drive down?” the superintendent went on, trying hard to break the ice.
Frank Nicholson looked more like an expensive solicitor than a Garda from Internal Affairs. He had neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair, a lean, angular face, with narrow eyes and almost no lips at all. He was dressed in a very sharp grey suit, with an impeccably ironed pale-yellow shirt and navy tie. Despite the inclement weather, his black leather lace up shoes shone like beacons in the dull late afternoon light, and his hands were beautifully manicured. Before he replied, he took out a brown leather-bound notebook and gold Mont Blanc pen, and placed them carefully on the desk in front of him.
“Well, the weather deteriorated the further west I got,” he said in a manner that made Finbarr Plunkett think it had to be his fault, “but I made good time all the same.”
“And where are you staying tonight?” the superintendent said.
“They booked me into the Imperial, but I changed to the G,” Nicholson said.
The superintendent said nothing, but raised his eyebrows in response. The Imperial was a good, modestly priced commercial hotel right in the city centre, whereas the G was a very upmarket boutique style place, festooned with expensive artworks. For some, it was considered the place to stay when in Galway.
“So, what have you been told about this incident then, Inspector?” Plunkett said.
“Just an outline of events. I’ll need to speak to the officers involved as soon as possible, but I understand one of your men was hit with a shotgun blast while pursuing two potential killers more or less on his own. Is that right?” Nicholson said.
“No, not really. I’ll let you get the real story directly from the officers involved, but you should know that they were not in pursuit at all, they were simply following up a very tenuous lead about some unusual activity at what should have been a deserted property,” Plunkett said.
“I see. And are you saying that they were completely unaware that two armed and dangerous suspects were hiding out at the property?” said Nicholson, writing notes in his notebook.
“I believe that is the case. But, as I said, I’d rather you spoke to them yourself. What I’m telling you is only hearsay, and therefore not relevant,” Plunkett said, keen not to implicate himself in any way, given the attitude of the man from Internal Affairs.
“I understand Senior Inspector Hays is still in hospital. When is he getting out, do you know?”
“He may already be home by now. They were releasing him today. And his partner, Inspector Lyons, is probably downstairs as we speak.”
“Right, could you give him a call and see if he would be available for an interview tomorrow morning? I can call out to his house if that makes it a bit easier,” Nicholson said, showing an unusual degree of empathy for the wounded officer – or did he just want to snoop around Hays’ house?
The superintendent said nothing, but picked up the phone and called Mick Hays’ mobile.
“Hello Mick. How are you feeling?” Plunkett said when Hays answered.
“And are you home now?”
Hays confirmed that he was at home.
“Well that’s good anyway. Listen, I have Inspector Nicholson from I.A. here with me. He was wondering if you could be available for an interview tomorrow morning? He can come out to your house if you like.”
“Oh, right. Yes, I understand, of course. Ten o’clock you say. Hold on a second,” Plunkett said.
Nicholson nodded.
“Ten it is then, here in Mill Street. You can use my office. What? Oh, right, the ground floor, yes of course. I’ll reserve a room for you both down below so. Thanks Mick. All the best,” Plunkett said.
Nicholson stood up.
“Well, if that’s all, Superintendent, I’ll get out to my hotel and check in. I’ll see you in the morning, perhaps.”
“Fair enough, Inspector. Would you like me to stop by the G and we could have a drink later?” Plunkett said.
“No, you’re fine, Superintendent. I have a good bit of paperwork to get done tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The two men shook hands, and Nicholson departed.
As soon as Nicholson had left and was out of earshot, Plunkett called Lyons at her desk.
“Maureen. If you have a minute, we need to talk,” he said.
* * *
When Lyons got back to her desk having spoken to Superintendent Plunkett, she was very unsettled. From what Plunkett had told her, it looked as if this Inspector Nicholson was out for blood. Maybe that’s what got you promoted in Internal Affairs, or maybe the man was just vindictive – it didn’t matter, the result would be the same.
“Damn it,” she said to herself, “if only I hadn’t fired off my gun at the departing jeep, they would probably never have got involved.”
She was pondering all sorts of dire scenarios in her head, when her phone rang.
“Lyons.”
“Maureen, its Séan here out in Clifden.”
“Hi, Séan. What’s up?”
“We found the old green Pajero, Maureen. It’s been burned out, but there’s a good lot of it still intact. It’s out near Murvey stuck in the old ruined barn beside where that fella Maguire used to live. Remember, the man we got for the murder of the Polish girl?” Mulholland said.
“Nice one, Séan. Yes, I remember the place well. How the hell did you find it?”
“Well, at this time of year we do the rounds of the places where the local men distil their poitín. They’re often active coming up to Christmas, there’s a good market for the stuff at this time of year. Peadar was out there hoping to catch them. He overheard an old fella in the pub saying he had seen smo
ke which he assumed was from a still, but when he went out to investigate, he found the jeep.”
“OK, well I’ll get Sinéad out to see what she can get off it. I don’t suppose there was any cash in it?” Lyons said.
“Ah now, away with ye, Maureen. Fat chance.”
Lyons called Sinéad Loughran and told her of Mulholland’s find, asking her to get out there to see what they could get off the old jeep, and to confirm that it was definitely the one used by the two Geraghty brothers.
“Are you coming out too, Maureen?” Sinéad asked.
“No, no I’m not. Get Eamon to go with you. I need to be here. Mick is out of hospital and needs minding at home.”
* * *
When Lyons got home she found Hays in good form. He seemed to be largely mobile, albeit with a pronounced limp, and he had prepared a meal for them both, complete with Maureen’s favourite red wine – Valpolicella - which was served at just the right temperature.
“God, this is great, Mick. We must try and get you shot a bit more often if this is the result!”
As they ate their meal, Hays asked if Lyons had made contact with Rollo.
“Oh, yes I did. Crikey, Mick, you sure know how to pick them! He stank!” Lyons said between mouthfuls.
“I know he’s no oil painting. But we have talked about that before. He says old fellas like him are completely invisible to most people. They just never see him, and that gives him the chance to eavesdrop on all sorts. Did he tell you anything that could help us with the Geraghtys?”
“He said he heard some blokes talking about them, and that the word ‘Glen’ came up in the conversation. That’s all he knew,” Lyons said.
“Is that all? And that cost you fifty euro!”
“No, Mick, it cost you fifty euro – and a bottle of whiskey. You can pay me later,” she said smiling.
After they had finished eating, and polished off the bottle of wine, they sat over on the sofa in front of the fire.
“Glen, Glen,” mused Hays. “Have you a map of Clifden and the nearby surroundings?”
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 22