“Christ, Mick, what a day. Are you OK?” Lyons asked.
“Yeah, I wasn’t too scared. I knew Tom and Ronan had me covered, but it wasn’t nice. You?”
“A bit shook up, but I’ll get over it. It wasn’t nice seeing that gun aimed at your chest. And it was horrible because I couldn’t do anything about it without making the situation worse for you.”
Hays leaned across and squeezed her hand.
“And what was that business about Joey?” she said.
“Oh, that. I was puzzled myself at first, but now I remember. Joey Geraghty was a bad lad I was responsible for putting away about twenty years ago when I was a humble detective constable. It was that time when robbing post offices and cash in transit vans was all the rage. We nabbed Joey following a tip off when he was blagging a cash van. The driver got shot, but survived, and Geraghty got fifteen years for attempted murder. Then, about two years into his sentence, he was found dead on the floor of the toilets with his throat cut. He must have made a lot of enemies. Joey was Anselm’s father,” Hays said.
“Wow. Do you think they set out to trap you?”
“I doubt it. I’d say it was opportunist. But he knew who I was all the same. Anyway, he got his.”
“That was some shot Tom took,” Lyons said.
“Sure was. I talked to him after and he said it was a ‘maximum debilitation, minimum lethal damage’ shot. Bloody hell!” Hays said.
“Anyway, it did the trick, thank heavens,” Lyons said.
“That reminds me, you’d better get your gun back from Pascal. Give him a call later and we can pick it up tomorrow. No doubt the lovely Inspector Nicholson will want to talk to him about shooting Geraghty in the knee,” Hays said.
“Hmm. I hope he’s up to dealing with that. He won’t be used to being assumed to be in the wrong in that odd way that Nicholson works,” Lyons said.
“Yeah, I think I’ll step in and provide some support to him. It’s not fair to hang him out to dry when he probably saved Deasy’s life,” Hays said.
“So, do you think we should go into Mill Street now?” Lyons said.
“I’d prefer to go home to be honest. I need to have a shower and relax for a few hours. Why don’t I call the office and see if Plunkett is around? With a bit of luck, he’ll be off for these few days, and if he’s not there, we can bunk off too,” Hays said.
Hays was correct. Superintendent Plunkett was available on an emergency basis only till next week – the first week of January.
“Excellent. Let’s go home!” Lyons said.
Chapter Twenty-five
Paddy McKeever’s funeral was, as Séan Mulholland had predicted, a large event in Roundstone. The weather was overcast and cold, with a stiff breeze blowing in from the Atlantic, but the rain appeared to be holding off – at least for the moment.
The Gardaí were represented in numbers, with Hays, Mulholland and Brosnan all in full uniform, and Lyons dressed in a neat navy suit with a smart white blouse beneath.
At the front of the church, Paddy’s wife, Breeda, sat forlornly with their two daughters on one side, and Paddy’s brother Tommy on the other with his wife and family. In the second pew, just behind the family, workmates from An Post in Galway along with a number of managers from the organisation, squeezed in.
The priest spoke eloquently about Paddy’s years of service to the community, coming out in all weathers to deliver and collect the mail, and often bringing errands to some of the less able-bodied parishioners who were living in some of the very remote cottages out by the coast along what was now fashionably called the Wild Atlantic Way.
Tommy spoke from the altar of how Paddy had selflessly left the small family farm many years ago, realising that it was unable to sustain both brothers, and had gone to work in the city, where his sacrifice had been rewarded by his meeting with Breeda, and the wonderful happy life that they had had together, producing two lovely daughters, before he was so cruelly cut down. Tommy thanked the Gardaí for bringing the culprits to justice so quickly, and expressed his hope that they would be incarcerated for a very long time indeed.
The priest eventually brought proceeding to an end, advising the congregation that the family had extended an invitation to all present to join them in the Roundstone House Hotel for refreshments after the burial.
Paddy McKeever was wheeled slowly out of the church, and as he was being manhandled into the hearse for the short journey to the local graveyard, Ivan, Paddy’s nephew, opened the boot of his car and served generous glasses of whiskey to the mourners, in time honoured fashion, “just to keep out the cold”.
The funeral procession made its way slowly from the church, out along the old bog road for about a mile, before turning down towards Gurteen Bay, and the graveyard that stood on the high ground between the Gurteen and Dog’s Bay beaches. As Lyons walked along sombrely behind the slow-moving hearse, she couldn’t help but recall the last time she had visited that same graveyard when Oliver Weldon had been discovered, alive, in a freshly dug grave during the pony show murder that they had solved the previous year.
As Paddy’s coffin was lowered into the rocky earth, the sunshine finally gave in to a blustery shower. The priest invited the mourners to recite a decade of the rosary as a final farewell to their friend and loved one, and the grave was covered over before several wreaths were placed on top.
Hays left Séan Mulholland to represent the Gardaí at the hotel, while he and Lyons set off with Pascal Brosnan to the young Garda’s house to retrieve Lyons’ weapon.
“We won’t keep you long, Pascal, you’ll want to be joining the rest of them in town, but we need to get Maureen’s gun back and hand it in,” Hays said.
“Will there be any bother over the shooting? After all, the gun wasn’t even assigned to me,” Brosnan said as they entered his neat detached bungalow situated just a few hundred metres from the one-man Garda station in Roundstone.
“I was going to talk to you about that. Inspector Lyons has been getting a bit of heat from Internal Affairs over the shot she fired at the departing jeep the day I got hit in the leg, so you can expect a visit from an Inspector Nicholson at some stage, unless we can head him off,” Hays said.
Brosnan collected the pistol from the locked gun safe he had in his kitchen, and gave it to Maureen Lyons. Lyons counted the bullets, confirming that just one had been used, and ensured that the magazine was removed and the chamber emptied before placing it on the table.
“I lifted the spent bullet case off the floor of the yard too, Inspector,” Brosnan said, producing the shiny brass item from his jacket pocket.
“Good man, Pascal. It all helps,” she said.
“So, this is what we’re going to do, Pascal. If you get a call from Nicholson, or anyone else from IA, let me know at once, and set up the meeting for a day or two after the call. I’ll come out, and we can do the interview together. That way I can cover your back, and make sure he goes away with nothing. Be sure to tell Séan of our plan to keep him in the picture,” Hays said.
“There’s nothing in it anyway. If I hadn’t fired at Geraghty, we’d be going to Shay Deasy’s funeral tomorrow, plain and simple. I don’t see why we have to be so defensive about it,” Brosnan said, rather annoyed.
“Easy, Pascal. No one is saying you didn’t do exactly the right thing, but these IA boys have their job to do too. They are very often officers who had some issues or just couldn’t cut it in the front line, so they have a chip on both shoulders. And I know Nicholson – he can be slippery enough, so just go with the flow and let me deal with anything awkward if it arises. Have you written up a report of the incident yet?” Hays asked.
“Not yet. Séan wants it in by tomorrow.”
“Right. Well do yourself a favour. Email it to me first before you file it. It’s not so much what is said in these reports, as how it is said that counts. Put plenty of emphasis on the unstable state of the gunman, the unpredictability of his actions, that sort of thing. If it needs a
bit of tweaking, I’ll polish it up a bit. Is that OK?” Hays said.
“Yes, thanks, that would be great. I’m not that good with these reports and the like,” Brosnan said.
“Good man. Now, away with you to the hotel, and let us get back into town before the weather really sets in.”
* * *
Lyons and Hays got back into Mill Street Garda Station soon after lunch. There were mounds of paperwork to be generated around the entire episode, and they both spent the afternoon writing it up in their respective computer systems.
Lyons took both Sig Sauer P220s back to the armoury and signed them back in. The officer noted that two bullets had been fired, and reminded her that a full report would have to be completed and filed before the week was out.
As she continued with the boring job of typing up the long and detailed account of the original crime, and the subsequent pursuit of the Geraghtys, she tuned into Galway FM radio, where news of the events of the day were making headlines. A member of the Garda press office was on the case, and told a convincing tale of how the two criminals had finally been run to earth and apprehended through the bravery of a crack team of detectives and other officers from the Galway station.
They had managed to get a taped interview with Lionel Wallace as well, and he was obviously enjoying the limelight, and dramatized the whole thing like an episode of EastEnders, much to the delight of the journalist involved.
Chapter Twenty-six
It was the first week of January, and things were slowly returning to whatever ‘normal’ was in the headquarters of the Galway Detective Unit. The Geraghtys remained under close arrest at the hospital, and would be taken, as soon as they were sufficiently mobile, before a judge where they would inevitably be held on remand while the Gardaí prepared their book of evidence.
Hays had arranged a meeting with Superintendent Plunkett for eleven o’clock, and at quarter to the hour, he walked into Lyons’ office.
“I’m going up to see himself in a few minutes. Is there anything we need to watch out for?” Hays said.
“Nothing special, Mick. Just see if you can find out what IA have said and if there’s anything coming at us from that quarter,” Lyons said.
“Righto. I’d forgotten about the fragrant Inspector Nicholson. And I never heard anything from Pascal about an interview either. I’ll ask himself what the story is. See you later,” Hays said, and disappeared upstairs.
“Come in, Mick. Happy New Year to you,” said Finbarr Plunkett, obviously in a cheerful mood.
“Thanks, sir, many happy returns.”
“Coffee?”
“No thanks, sir, I’ve just had one downstairs. Did you have a good break, sir?” Hays said.
“Well, a good bit better than yours, that’s for sure. That was a bad business with those two lads. Are we sound for a conviction?” the superintendent said.
“We will be. We should have enough to get them life anyway, at least the older one. Young Emmet may get away with ten or twelve if he has a good brief,” Hays said.
“We’ll try and get them up before Judge Meehan. He has very little sympathy for those types, and if he’s doing it, I can have a word in his ear in advance,” Plunkett said.
“Good idea, sir. So, what’s on the agenda for now?” Hays said.
“We need to get moving on our new plans now that we’re into the new year. You’d be surprised how time goes by with these things. Have you figured out how you want to arrange things yet?”
“More or less. I still have to talk to Eamon Flynn, but that apart, I think I have everything more or less ready to go. I haven’t heard from the OPW yet though. Have you?” Hays said.
“Not at all, dozy lot. I’ll get someone to give them a nudge this week. I’ll need you to set aside a couple of hours for me later in the week to start work on the budgets, shall we say Thursday afternoon?” Plunkett said.
“Yes, Thursday should be fine. By the way, did you hear anything from Internal Affairs? Nicholson should have written his report by now.”
“No, no I didn’t, now that you mention it. I think I’ll give the chief a call later on. A sort of pre-emptive strike, if you know what I mean,” Plunkett said.
“Good idea. Inspector Lyons is a bit anxious until it’s all cleared up.”
“OK. Well I’ll let you know if I find out anything. I wouldn’t be too concerned if I was her. Once the final outcome was positive, they might huff and puff a bit, but I doubt if it will lead to anything.”
“Thanks, sir. Will that be all?” Hays said.
“Yes, Mick. See you Thursday. Thanks.”
* * *
When Hays had left to go upstairs, Lyons was still working on the seemingly endless paperwork associated with the Geraghtys when her phone rang.
“Hi, Maureen. It’s Sinéad. Look, this may be something and nothing, but I thought I’d give you a call all the same,” the forensic team lead said.
“Sounds ominous, Sinéad. What’s up?”
“Well, an ambulance crew were called out to a deceased in one of the yards down by the docks this morning. Some rough sleeper succumbed to the frost and apparently died of hypothermia. But they found a Post-it Note stuck to the front of his coat with just two letters written in pencil on it, and they called it in as being potentially suspicious,” Sinéad said.
“Oh? And what were the two letters?”
“A.G. Doesn’t mean anything to me, but it is a bit odd, so we went down to take a look. There’s no sign of any kind of attack or anything, it just looks like the man died from exposure. He was in poor condition anyway,” Sinéad said.
“Any idea who he was? Any I.D.?”
“Nothing on him, but a couple of other rough sleepers turned up when they saw the ambulance, and someone said his name was ‘Rollo’,” Sinéad said.
“Shit! He’s one of Mick’s snouts. He gave us some information about the Geraghtys just before Christmas. Are you sure there’s no sign of foul play? The older Geraghty brother is called Anselm – A.G.”
“Wow. Well in that case I’ll have a good thorough look around, and I’ll get Dr Dodd out and he can do a PM on the poor old fella too. Do you want to come down?”
“Yes. I’ll get Mick and we’ll be down in a few minutes. Mick is just upstairs at the moment, but he won’t be long. Where exactly is it?” Lyons said.
“It’s the fuel depot – McIntyre’s – on the east side of the harbour. I’ll preserve the area till you get here.”
“Great. See you soon.”
* * *
It was a wretched scene down at McIntyre’s fuel depot where Rollo had been found. Amongst the piles of peat briquettes, bags of smokeless coal, and sacks of logs, partly covered with a dirty green tarpaulin, the lifeless body of the old man, still wrapped in his filthy old herringbone tweed coat, lay in the dirt.
Hays donned a pair of blue vinyl gloves and went carefully through the pockets of the old man’s coat. In the inside pocket of the jacket, he found a naggin bottle of whiskey with about a tablespoon full of amber liquid left in the bottom. He lifted it carefully out and handed it to Sinéad.
“Have this analysed, will you, Sinéad?” Hays said handing her the bottle.
In another pocket, Hays discovered a ten and a five euro note, and three more euro in coins. He lifted the money carefully, and placed it in a plastic evidence bag.
As Hays straightened up, the figure of Dr Julian Dodd, dressed immaculately as ever, loomed into sight.
“Good morning Inspector, Maureen, Sinéad. What am I doing here?” the doctor said.
“This is Rollo,” Hays said, indicating the prone figure of the dead man on the ground. “There are some aspects of his death that may be suspicious, so we need you to have a look, and then do a PM to see what took him,” Hays said.
“You’re joking! Two or three of these old guys die out here every week. What makes you think this one is a bit off?” the doctor said.
Lyons explained the note they had found stuc
k to Rollo’s coat, and the tentative connection to the Geraghtys.
“Very well. If you insist, Inspector. Can we get him out of this dreadful place?”
“Yes, sure. Give me a call later when you have some news.”
As Rollo was loaded up into the anonymous black Mercedes van, Lyons turned to Hays.
“I’m really sorry, Mick. I know you had known him a long time. Are you OK?” she said.
“Yeah, I’m fine. He wasn’t a bad old bugger you know. I realise we didn’t move in the same social circles, but still.”
“Yeah, I know. Never mind. If there’s anything iffy about it, Dodd will find it, don’t worry.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett’s secretary put the call to the chief superintendent through to him.
“Good afternoon, Chief Superintendent. Thanks for taking the call. I just wanted to have a quick word with you about the Internal Affairs enquiry into Inspector Lyons’ use of a firearm,” Plunkett said.
“Oh, yes, Finbarr. Hold on, I have the draft report here somewhere. I was looking at it yesterday,” the chief said.
“Yes, here it is. Let me see. Well, Inspector Nicholson has formed the view that Lyons discharged her gun unnecessarily, but that in doing so, she did not endanger life. He recommends some re-training for her in the use of firearms and a note on her file. Is that how you see it, Finbarr?” the chief superintendent said.
“Well, not exactly, sir. It’s clear to me that she felt her life, and that of her colleague, were directly threatened, and she discharged the weapon in an effort – successful as it turned out – to deter the gunman from firing again. We must remember that these two lads had already shot and wounded an officer. I’d be happy to leave it at that, but of course, I’ll be guided by you, sir,” Plunkett said.
“Hmm, I see what you mean. It might be best if we could play it down a bit, in view of the upcoming changes in the structure out there all right. Are you happy that this Inspector Lyons isn’t a hot-head?” the chief superintendent said.
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 27