“I think so. It’s upstairs, hang on I’ll go and get it,” Lyons said.
Lyons came back a few minutes later with Ordnance Survey sheet number thirty-seven covering Clifden and its environs to the north, and spread it out on the coffee table.
Hays leaned forward, wincing slightly as the muscles in his thigh were stretched.
They studied the map for a few minutes.
“The only thing I can see with ‘Glen’ associated with it in that area is the Abbey Glen Hotel,” Hays said.
“That’s funny. I was just looking at the Tribune earlier, and I saw an ad for a Stephen’s Day party that they’re holding out there. Apparently, it’s an annual event. Tickets are twenty euro, and I was actually wondering if you might like to go. My treat,” Lyons said.
“Well, maybe. But more importantly, if they have a big bash on Stephen’s night, that means they’ll have a right lot of cash to lodge the day after. And what’s more, with the banks closed from Christmas Eve, they’ll have all the takings from Christmas Eve night and Christmas Day as well,” Hays said.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Lyons said.
“I sure am. Tell you what. After we have both had a nice chat with Inspector Nicholson tomorrow, why don’t we head out there and have a talk to the manager. You can find out who he is in the morning and give him a call. Say we’re coming out to see him,” Hays said.
Chapter Seventeen
When Lyons arrived at Mills Street the following morning, Frank Nicholson was already there. He was looking even more dapper than he had the previous day, in a different navy pinstripe suit, the creases in the trousers of which were like blades.
“Come in, Inspector Lyons, this shouldn’t take too long,” Nicholson said with no hint of a smile.
They sat opposite each other in the small interview room. Lyons was glad that she had collected a cup of coffee from the Costa Coffee outlet across from the police station on her way in. Nicholson had none.
The man took out his leather-bound notebook and gold Mont Blanc pen, and prepared to take notes.
“I’d like you to outline the series of events that led up to the moment when you found it necessary to discharge your firearm out near Roundstone, Inspector,” he said.
Lyons began, picking up the story from when Hays and herself had approached the house on foot.
“No, Inspector. I’d like you to start from the point where you were in the Roundstone Garda Station when the civilian came in and told you that there was someone occupying Tigín.”
“Well, Inspector, firstly he said no such thing. He simply said that he thought that he had observed smoke coming from that direction, and he had surmised that it was from someone lighting a fire in the house,” Lyons said.
“And did it not occur to Senior Inspector Hays or yourself that this might be where the Geraghtys were hiding out?” Nicholson asked.
“You’ll have to ask Senior Inspector Hays what he thought when he was told of the smoke. I simply felt that it might be worth going up there to see if there was any actual evidence that someone was using the house.”
“Was that not a bit naive of you?”
“If that is your judgement, then so be it,” Lyons replied.
“Go on. What happened when you got to the cottage?”
Lyons went on to describe how both of them had approached the house, and as they did so, two men burst out the front door, the one in front brandishing a sawn-off shotgun which he fired at Hays, hitting him in the leg.
“And what did you do, Inspector?”
“I took cover to the side of the vehicle, and started removing my sidearm from its holster on my belt.”
“Did you intend to shoot the fleeing gunman?”
“No, I did not. I intended to defend myself and protect Senior Inspector Hays as best I could in the event that there were any further attempts by the gunmen to do us harm.”
“And were there?”
“Yes. As the jeep sped off, I saw the barrel of the shotgun appear out of the passenger’s side window of the vehicle, pointed in our direction. So, in order to deter the gunman from firing again, I put a single round from my pistol into the rear of the jeep. It appears that it had the desired effect, as the gunman didn’t shoot again,” Lyons said.
“When you fired your gun, did you intend to kill or wound either of the occupants of the fleeing vehicle?”
“No. That was not my intention. As I have said, I fired into the vehicle as a deterrent, and it seems to have been a successful one.”
“I presume you have returned the gun to the armoury here, and that the bullets have been counted back?” Nicholson said.
“No, Inspector, I haven’t returned it yet. In fact, I lent it to Garda Pascal Brosnan as he was left on point at the property. I gave it to him to defend himself in case the gunmen returned. As they left in a hurry, I thought they might come back looking for something that they had left at the house, and without a gun, Brosnan would have been a sitting duck.”
“And tell me, Inspector, do you normally just give away your firearm to anyone you casually meet whom you think might find it useful?”
“I was hoping to find another criminal to give it to, Inspector, but as they had all disappeared, I gave it to a firearm trained member of the force instead,” Lyons said, beginning to get very fed up with the way the interview was going.
“Now, if there’s nothing else, Inspector Nicholson, I have two potential cop killers to run to earth,” Lyons said.
“Very well, Inspector. We’ll leave it at that – for now,” Nicholson said.
Lyons got up, turned and left the room without another word.
When she got back to her desk, she called Hays on his mobile. He was on the way to the station in his car. Lyons relayed the details of the discussion she had had with Inspector Frank Nicholson, and they agreed that he would tell exactly the same story, which was, in any case, for the most part perfectly accurate.
When Hays went into the interview room to have his discussion with Nicholson, he exaggerated the extent of his wound somewhat. The interview went much the same as Lyons’, with Hays just adding that at the time he feared for his life, and had it not been for Inspector Lyons, he might well have been shot again by the fleeing gunmen, with fatal consequences.
Nicholson finished the interview by half past ten, and was slipping out of the station when the desk sergeant, Sergeant Flannery, caught his attention.
“Eh, I think the superintendent would like a word before you go, sir,” Flannery said.
Nicholson pretended not to hear, but to his surprise, found that he couldn’t open the outer door of the Garda station. Flannery had popped the electronic lock from behind his desk, so that Nicholson had to come back in.
“The outer door seems to be locked, Sergeant. I need to leave,” he said.
“Ah, yes, right. It gets stuck a bit from time to time, but as I was saying, Superintendent Plunkett would like a word before you go. You can go right on up – you know where his office is.”
Nicholson made his way up to Superintendent Plunkett’s office, and knocked on the door.
“Come in, Inspector, come in. Would you like a cup of coffee, I’m just about to have one myself?”
“No thanks. I need to be getting back. This is the last working day before the holidays, and I need to get my report written up,” Nicholson said.
“Oh, right. And how did that all go? Anything interesting come up?”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss it, Superintendent. I’ll be writing it up, and sending it on to the chief superintendent. You’ll hear all about it in due course.”
“Well, it’s usual in these cases, Inspector, to give a senior officer a ‘heads-up’ you know. It’s important for me to know how to deal with my own officers. It’s a sensitive situation.”
“I’m sorry, Superintendent, I have my procedures to follow. I’ll see that you are informed without delay,” Nicholson said.
“Very
well. You had better be on your way then. But Inspector Nicholson…”
“Yes?”
“Make sure you stay within the speed limit on the way back. My lads are very sharp with the speed traps on that road.”
With that, the superintendent put his head down and went back to shuffling papers on his desk, leaving Nicholson to exit his office without further ceremony.
* * *
Hays and Lyons were back in Hays’ office comparing notes.
“How do you think that went?” Lyons asked.
“I’m not sure. I’m sure we said more or less the same things, but I got no feedback at all from him. Seemed like a cold fish to me. What did you think?” Hays said.
“Same. He did make some smart-arsed remark about me lending my gun to Pascal, so I went back at him on that. Apart from that it was pretty straightforward. It just depends on his own agenda, I guess. We’ll just have to wait and see. Now, are you up for a trip to the Abbey Glen?”
“Yeah, sure. Just let me check in with Plunkett first. Then we’ll head off,” Hays said.
Hays called the superintendent and they exchanged a few choice words about the man from Internal Affairs.
“I’d say we’ll be all right, Mick. He can’t make too much of it, to be honest, and with a bit of luck, the chief super will give me a heads-up before anything is cast in stone. Don’t you worry about it in any case. Have a good Christmas, and let’s hope we sort out the Geraghtys as soon as we’re back,” Plunkett said.
“Same to you, sir. And we have a bit more on that front. We may get it sorted sooner than we think,” Hays said.
“Good man, Mick. That’s the spirit. And give Maureen my best,” Plunkett said finishing the conversation.
* * *
The two detectives set off for the Abbey Glen Hotel in Clifden. The traffic in town was manic, but once they got past the university, things thinned out remarkably, and they encountered very few hold-ups as they drove out along the N59.
The weather was grey and overcast – the kind of atmosphere that renders the landscape flat and uninteresting, though the rain was holding off well. They passed Moycullen where the shopkeepers were busy raking in the very last of the Christmas trade, and then on out to Oughterard which seemed eerily quiet given the day that was in it.
“This place is like a ghost town,” Lyons remarked as they drove along the main street past the triangle and on towards the narrow bridge across the river at the end of the town.
“Sure, half the place is boarded up and for sale. I don’t know what happened to it. I used to enjoy coming out to Sweeney’s Hotel here for a meal or a quiet pint, but even that’s closed now. It’s a shame,” Hays said.
Galway FM Radio was blasting out the usual mix of tired Christmas songs, punctuated by advertising from the various gift shops in the city, imploring last minute shoppers to get their loved ones something precious and expensive to mark the occasion. Lyons turned the radio off almost immediately.
“So, what’s the plan out here?” she said.
“We’ll have to play it by ear. Let’s see what the manager can tell us about their arrangements for their takings, and give us an idea of the sums they will be handling the day after St Stephen’s Day. When we have that, we’ll be able to decide what best to do. Do you think the Geraghtys would really go for it after what happened with the postman?” Hays said.
“Well, something is keeping them out here in the wild west, and it isn’t the weather. And I think they know that when they are caught they’ll be going down for a long time, so they probably want to get as much cash together as they can for their families for when they’re away.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ve known a good few criminals playing that game,” Hays said.
“Or, it could just be that they’re waiting for Christmas day to make their escape, thinking that there’ll be none of us around. Who knows. But we can’t afford to take any chances,” Lyons said.
Chapter Eighteen
The two detectives called in on Séan Mulholland as a courtesy before they reached the Abbey Glen.
“Ah, ’tis yourselves,” Mulholland said with a big welcoming smile.
“I hope you’ve brought my Christmas present? And there I was thinking you’d forgotten all about us out here in Clifden.”
They exchanged seasonal greetings, and then Mulholland offered them coffee, which they gladly accepted. They needed refreshment after the drive.
As Séan Mulholland put their two mugs of instant coffee down on the table, he asked, “Would you like a little drop in that to warm you up, given it’s the festive season?”
“Ah no, you’re grand Séan,” said Lyons, answering for both of them.
“So, tell us, this man Wallace out at the Abbey Glen, what’s he like?” Hays asked.
“He seems like a decent sort of a chap, for an Englishman. He’s been manager out there for about three years now, and he always treats us fairly. He’s nice enough too,” Mulholland said.
From what Mulholland had said, it seemed Mr Wallace had realised that a certain amount of generosity towards the local Gardaí was tactically a good idea, and while it hardly amounted to bribery, he felt sure that Séan and perhaps some of the others based in Clifden, had benefitted from the hotel’s hospitality from time to time.
“Well, at least the man isn’t stupid,” Hays thought to himself.
As they drank their coffee, Lyons shared their theory about the possibility of the Geraghtys hijacking the Christmas takings.
“God, Maureen, that could get very messy. Do you think they’d be that audacious?” Mulholland said.
“I do, to be honest. They’ve shown no fear so far, and if they’d kill a postman in more or less cold blood, and shoot a Garda, then they’re a pretty bad lot,” she said.
“Mmm, I see what you mean. OK, well why don’t you go on out to see Wallace and let me know what he thinks? You can rely on our help here in any case, whatever’s going down. The lads want to see those two put away for a very long time. Paddy McKeever was well liked in this place,” Mulholland said.
“Thanks, Séan. We’ll let you know, though I’ve a feeling we’ll be getting the heavy mob out again if there’s a chance the Geraghtys will be mounting a raid. But the more men we can get out the better,” Hays said.
“Oh, and by the way, Séan, Pascal Brosnan still has my sidearm,” Lyons said.
“Yes, I know. He was on to me about it. I told him to keep it till he can return it to you personally. It’s OK, he has a gun safe at his house. He has his own twelve bore that he uses to shoot rabbits out on the headland at Dog’s Bay,” Mulholland said.
“That’s fine. Maybe I’ll leave it with him till this lot is over,” Lyons said.
* * *
The Abbey Glen Hotel is situated down a private driveway off the Sky Road, on the far side of Clifden from the Garda Station. It’s built in the form of an old castle, and prides itself on being the finest lodgings available in the area. The hotel has an interesting history, having been originally constructed in the mid-nineteenth century. It started out as a family home, but later became an orphanage, and for a time was operated as the Glenowen Hotel, before being bought by the current owners in 1969, and then refurbished to a very high standard, and getting a new name.
When Hays and Lyons arrived at the hotel, it was quite busy, and they waited at reception for several minutes before being greeted by a male receptionist with a name badge identifying him as Edward.
“Good morning, sir, madam. How may I help you today?” Edward said.
Hays produced his warrant card and said, “We’d like to see Mr Wallace if he’s available please.”
“Certainly, Inspector. I’ll page him for you now. I think he’s in the banqueting suite getting things ready for Christmas dinner,” the young man said.
Edward used a small, discreet, walkie-talkie to contact the manager, and a few minutes later, a man wearing impeccable white shirt, black jacket and striped
trousers approached.
“Good morning, Inspector,” Wallace said, extending his hand to Hays. Hays shook his hand noting that Wallace had a good firm grip, and introduced Lyons.
Lionel Wallace was only about five foot nine in stature, yet he exuded the presence and confidence of a man much taller than that. This was a man well used to asserting himself, and Hays felt certain that he managed the establishment with a combination of charm and fear.
“Mr Wallace, I wonder if you could spare us a few minutes in your office. It’s rather delicate I’m afraid,” Hays said.
“Yes, of course, certainly,” the man said, ushering them down a corridor with his right arm extended. Lyons noticed that he gestured to Edward as they departed, and Edward must have understood the signal, for he nodded almost imperceptibly in response.
Wallace’s office was in keeping with the splendour of the rest of the place, with an antique desk and Chippendale styled dining chairs with genuine ceramic casters placed appropriately in front of it. Wallace’s own chair was of the captain’s variety, and Lyons didn’t miss the symbolism.
Wallace gestured for the two detectives to be seated, and almost as soon as they were, a knock on the door announced the arrival of a tray bearing a silver coffee pot, cups and saucers and a plate of delicious looking pastries, as well as a bowl of mixed brown and white lump sugar.
Wallace poured out the three cups of coffee, and offered cream and sugar, before asking, “Now then, folks, what can I do for you?”
Lyons explained their theory that there might be an attempt to rob the hotel of its takings on the day after St Stephen’s Day, and asked the manager about the arrangements for making the lodgement.
“It’s quite simple really. I take the money in my car into town and deposit it at the bank. There has never been any trouble. It’s very quiet around here at ten in the morning,” Wallace said.
“And how much cash would you expect to have in that lodgement, Mr Wallace?” Hays said.
“Well, it’s hard to be accurate, but last year if I remember correctly it was about twenty-two thousand in cash. I know it seems a lot, but most of our bar takings are in cash, and a lot of the ticket sales for the Stephen’s Night party come in cash too, so it soon builds up. But we have a very secure safe here on the premises. The room it’s in is alarmed, and there’s CCTV on the safe itself at all times.”
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 23