“Yes, likewise. It’s just a shame it’s under such awful circumstances. But I suppose this is kind of normal for you,” O’Dwyer said.
“Well, it’s not usually an aircraft, but we do get to see some pretty terrible stuff. I’m sure you do too,” Loughran said.
“Not all of our investigations involve fatalities, but when there are, it can be pretty grim all right. Anyway, must get on,” he said, turning back towards the plane.
At half past five, all that could have been done at Site Alpha had been completed, and the helicopter made its final journey for the day carrying the entire crew back to Galway airport.
When they arrived back, Lyons asked everyone to wait for a few more minutes as she set out the plan for the following day. When this had been done, she walked back to her car with James Bolger.
“I need you to get out to Inis Mór first thing and interview everyone who was at the airstrip yesterday when the Fortunes took off, James,” Lyons said.
“How am I going to get out there at that hour of the morning, Maureen?” Bolger asked.
“Christ, James, did they not teach you anything at all in that university of yours? And by the way, it’s Inspector or Boss, OK?”
“Yes, sorry, boss. But the question remains, how am I going to get there?”
“There are scheduled flights from Inverin. Or you could get a boat, or failing that you could swim out there. Just get there and do the interviews with the airport people, use your initiative!” she said.
They travelled back to the Garda station in Mill Street in silence.
Chapter Five
As Ger Fortune’s prosperity increased, he had, like many other well-to-do trades people from Galway, built a large house for himself and his family out at Keeraun, just four kilometres from Galway city centre. Sites, and planning permission, had been readily available, and several large one-off houses now graced the narrow little roads in the area.
Fahy turned her Ford Focus in between the solid granite pillars, and drove up along the curved driveway. The front garden was composed largely of a vast expanse of neatly cut grass, bordered by granite edging stones. A few small trees punctuated the grass here and there, but these were clearly young, and probably recently planted. The house was a large double-fronted affair, with a sizeable bay window to the left of the front door. The bay construction continued up the front of the building to what Fahy presumed was the master bedroom above. Further to the left, a single-story orangery had been erected, with glass walls atop a two-foot brick base all around, and a slated roof. Much decorative wrought ironwork adorned the orangery, and a vine could be seen growing inside, trained onto wires as it spread upwards.
The roof of the house was steeply pitched, giving a sort of Hansel and Gretel appearance to the building, though it was much larger than anything to be found in nursery rhymes. The entire house was painted in a pale green-grey colour, with the woodwork around the windows and the front door coloured shiny black in contrast.
“It’s well for some,” she said to Garda Mary Costelloe, the uniformed officer that Fahy had brought with her, who had some experience in consoling families of the deceased.
Fahy’s car crunched over the loose gravel as she turned it in the wide circle provided in front of the house. No other vehicles were in evidence, although there was a large double garage standing off well to the right of the main building that could have housed a few cars.
The two Gardaí got out and rang the bell, which was fashioned in the form of a Victorian bell pull in polished brass. Fahy heard the unmistakeable tinkle deep inside the house.
A few minutes elapsed, and the two officers thought that perhaps there was no one at home, but just as they were about to leave, the door opened noiselessly. A slim woman in her mid-forties with impeccable make-up, dressed in a very expensive light tan two piece knitted outfit, and with scraped back blonde hair tied off in a short pony tail, appeared in the opening.
“Yes, can I help you?” the woman said in a totally nondescript, slightly posh accent.
“Mrs Fortune?” Fahy said.
“Yes, I’m Barbara Fortune. What can I do for you?” she said standing firm in the doorway.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Sally Fahy, and this is my colleague Garda Mary Costelloe, may we come in please, Mrs Fortune?” Fahy said.
“Well, it’s not very convenient right at this moment, I’m just on my way out,” she said.
“It’s quite important, Mrs Fortune, we really would appreciate a few minutes of your time,” Fahy said, trying not to lose patience with the obdurate woman.
Barbara Fortune said nothing, but turned away and walked back inside her house leaving the front door open. The two Gardaí looked at each other and followed her inside. The hall of the house was tiled in a black and white diamond pattern. On the right-hand side, an ornate wooden staircase with a solid polished mahogany bannister rail, finished in a monkey tail, curved up in a wide arc to the landing above. A Turkey red carpet, with an intricate pattern in navy and gold, adorned the stairs.
Mrs Fortune had gone into the room to the right of the hallway, and the two followed her in. They entered a large drawing room, lavishly furnished, with two three-seater sofas facing each other in front of a large marble fireplace. At the back of the room a substantial mahogany sideboard was resting against the wall, with a number of brightly polished silver ornaments on its top. In the corner, a half-glazed china cabinet stood, displaying a large collection of cut crystal glassware sparkling in the afternoon sunshine that was pouring in through the side window of the room.
Mrs Fortune gestured to the two women to be seated on one of the sofas, and as they took their places, they couldn’t help but feel like a couple of candidates for a job interview, such was the presence of the woman of the house.
“What’s all this about?” Mrs Fortune asked tersely.
Fahy was first to speak.
“Mrs Fortune, may I ask where your husband is today?”
Barbara Fortune rolled her eyes to heaven. “Gadding about in that silly little aeroplane of his somewhere, I suppose. Why, what’s he done?”
“Would he have gone out to the Aran Islands perhaps?” Fahy said, feeling her way gently into the conversation.
“Yes, I think so. He’s with that terrible bore Devaney, and our daughter of course, Emma. She follows him round like a puppy. It’s pathetic,” the woman said, looking away into space.
“I’m sorry to tell you, Mrs Fortune, but a light aircraft with three people on board was involved in an accident on its way back from Inis Mór this morning. Do you happen to know the registration of the plane?” Fahy said.
“Accident? What kind of accident?” Barbara Fortune said, wringing her hands together as she sat on the edge of her seat.
“I’m afraid it was very serious. None of the occupants survived the crash. We have reason to believe that the plane may have been carrying your husband, your daughter, and Mr Devaney,” Fahy said.
The two Gardaí paused, waiting for some kind of reaction or emotional outburst from the woman sitting opposite, but none came.
After a few moments of tense silence, Barbara Fortune eventually spoke.
“I see. Are you certain no one survived?” she said.
“I’m afraid that is correct, Mrs Fortune. Is there someone you can call to be with you?” Mary Costelloe said.
“That won’t be necessary. I’m going out shortly in any case. I have to be in Dublin later on.”
Sally Fahy was quite surprised at the reaction, or lack of it, from the bereaved woman. There were no tears, no hysterics, just a cold deadpan look in the woman’s eyes. Fahy pressed on.
“We’ll need you to come in and identify the bodies, Mrs Fortune, but tomorrow will be fine. We can send a car for you.”
“No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I’ll be in Dublin, I just said. You’ll have to get someone else to identify them. I’ll be busy.”
Fahy assumed that the news they had giv
en the woman simply hadn’t sunk in. She had seen this kind of reaction before. It would probably hit her later in the day, and then she would become inconsolable with grief.
“Perhaps it might be best to postpone your trip to Dublin, Mrs Fortune, under the circumstances. Mary here can stay with you until you get someone to come around. Have you any close relatives nearby?” Fahy said.
“I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life, Sergeant. As I have said, I’m driving to Dublin in a few minutes, so if that’s all, I’d like you both to leave,” Mrs Fortune said, standing up and expecting the two Gardaí to do the same.
Fahy was used to bad news being received in various different ways, but she had never witnessed anything like this. She had no idea how to handle it, except to give Mrs Fortune her business card, and ask the woman for her contact details. Barbara Fortune reeled off a mobile phone number, and Mary Costelloe jotted it down. Then the two Gardaí were bundled out of the house in short order.
“Jeez, what did you think of that?” Costelloe said as they got back into Fahy’s car.
“Ah, don’t mind her. She could just be in shock. She’ll probably dissolve in a heap in an hour’s time and have to stop on the road and call someone,” Fahy said. “Let’s get back to the station.”
Chapter Six
Back at Mill Street, Lyons arranged a briefing with her team before they all went their separate ways for the night.
Superintendent Mick Hays, Lyons’ partner in life, had heard about the plane crash, and when he was told that they were all back at the station, he came down from his office on the third floor and walked the few paces to where the detectives had been set up in another building by the Office of Public Works, their own station being full to capacity. Hays let himself in, and sat at the back of the open-plan room where the briefing was taking place.
Lyons acknowledged his arrival with a nod; she was standing at the top of the room beside the whiteboard.
“OK. This is what we have so far.” She went on to explain what they had discovered out at Site Alpha, and the surprise that the IAA inspector had found in the engine compartment of the stricken aircraft.
“When Sally and Mary went out to break the news to Mrs Fortune, she didn’t seem too bothered, according to Sally. So, I’m not sure what’s going on there, but we need to find out. Sally, tomorrow morning will you start digging on Barbara Fortune and see what you can get?”
“Sure, boss. Can I rope John in for some help?”
Garda John O’Connor was the squad’s techy guy. He loved exploring mobile phones and computers, revealing secrets that would otherwise have remained hidden from the detectives. He had developed some interesting skills in this area too, and there was no device that he couldn’t hack, if there was a need.
“Yes, of course. And if you find anything, let me know at once. Don’t wait for the next briefing.”
“James, you’re going to swim out to Inis Mór first thing. I want everyone who was at the airport out there interviewed, and then you can go to the hotel where they stayed overnight and interview all of them as well. Don’t leave anyone out, and get contact details for all the other guests that were there the night the Fortunes stayed over too,” Lyons said.
“Can I take someone with me, boss?” He was obviously a quick learner.
“Take Mary – she’s a good swimmer, or so I hear! Ask her to wear her own clothes – we don’t want to scare the natives. Oh, and James – remember she’s not your lacky just because she’s a lower rank. Treat her with respect and give her meaningful things to do,” Lyons said.
“Of course, boss. As if,” Bolger said, looking slightly offended at the suggestion.
“Eamon, what did you find out when you went to see the architect’s wife – Devaney, is it?” Lyons said.
“A very different story to Mrs Fortune, that’s for sure. She was a mess basically. Totally destroyed by the news. I had to get her sister over to stay with her. She didn’t like Ger Fortune much either, and as for that plane, she hated it when Fionn had to go up in it,” Flynn said.
“Anything specific about Fortune?” Lyons asked.
“She was too upset to be coherent, boss. But I think it might be worth having another word when she’s calmed down. I got the feeling there’s more to tell,” Flynn said.
This was typical of Eamon Flynn. He had a nose for information – especially when it was somewhat reluctantly given – and he was known for his tenaciousness. He often worried away at a witness long after everyone else had lost interest, only to reveal some vital clue that sometimes helped to solve a difficult case. Lyons was happy to let him at it.
“OK. Well, when you think the time is right, follow that up with her, but don’t harass her,” Lyons said. “Anything interesting about the daughter?”
“Not so far. Just a poor teenager in the wrong place at the wrong time as far as I can see. Very sad,” Flynn said.
“But remember what Mrs Fortune said about her following her father round like a puppy,” Sally Fahy said.
“Normal teenage behaviour, I’d say. Did you get the impression there was anything more to it, Sally?” Lyons asked.
“Maybe a bit of jealousy – you know – mother not getting enough attention. Daughter apple of daddy’s eye, that sort of thing,” Fahy said.
“Mmm, OK, well, keep it in mind when you go digging. Oh, and Eamon, could you find the headteacher of her school too? I know they’re on holidays just now, but he needs to be told, and he’ll have some way of advising the rest of the kids in her class. Right, plans for tomorrow then. Sally, James – you two are already assigned. I’m going out to the airport here in the morning, and I’ll take Liam Walsh with me. We need to interview the maintenance folks that looked after the plane, and anyone else of interest. I’ll give Fergal O’Dwyer a call and co-ordinate with him. And before we head out there, I’ll talk to Sinéad, see if she’s got anything from the bits and pieces she took away from the scene. That’s all for now, have a good evening everyone.”
Liam Walsh was the final new recruit to the Galway Detective Unit. He was young, and had been chosen from the ranks of the uniformed Gardaí by Hays after he had done some background checks. By all accounts, the young man was very keen, and had impressed his superiors with his natural aptitude for the job already, although he had been in the force for just over a year.
As the room thinned out, Hays came over to where Lyons was packing up her bag.
“How did I do?” she asked him.
“Great, as usual. You know I’m not scrutinizing you, Maureen, it’s just an interesting case, that’s all,” he said, trying to reassure her.
“Hmm. So, what’s your take on it?” she said in a slightly prickly tone. Although she had been responsible for the resolution of several difficult cases since she joined the Detective Unit in Galway, Maureen Lyons still had some doubts about herself and her abilities.
“It could be a triple murder from what you have discovered so far. Pretty nasty stuff. What I’d like to know is who was the intended victim. It was hardly all three of them,” Hays said.
“My money’s on Ger Fortune, unless someone was pissed off with Fionn Devaney over a house design that turned out a mess. But that’s hardly a reason to kill him and another two to boot,” Lyons said.
“So, who have you got to investigate Mr Fortune then?” Hays said.
“I was going to keep him for little old me. But if you have some spare time, you could lend a hand?” Lyons said.
Hays checked to see that all the others had left the room, then he put his arms around Lyons and drew her close.
“I could be persuaded, I guess,” he said with a mischievous grin.
“OK. Let’s get home and I’ll persuade you, but first – food. I’m starving!”
* * *
Over the meal in one of their favourite restaurants in Galway city – O’Connaire’s down by the docks – conversation turned to the new arrangements that they were both now working under.
“So, how’s it going upstairs?” Lyons asked as she tucked into a large bowl of seafood chowder and buttered a slice of homemade granary bread.
“So-so. I wasn’t aware that the entire force was run on spreadsheets. I have about two hundred of the damn things covering everything from Garda overtime to clear-up rates. God only knows if anyone actually reads them. What about you?” Hays said.
“Pretty good, thanks. The team are getting on well together. We’ll get Mary properly set up shortly, and it’s too early to make any judgement on Liam, but I’ll see what happens over the next month or so. Eamon doesn’t seem to be too peeved; if anything, it’s sharpened his focus, although he’s not wild about Bolger,” Lyons said.
“How do you rate the boy wonder?”
“A bit early to tell about him too, but unless I’m mistaken, somewhere behind all the fake tan, leather jacket and hair gel lies a half-decent detective. It just needs someone to bring it out of him.”
“No one better than Senior Inspector Lyons for that job, I’d say.”
“Flattery, Superintendent, will get you everywhere.”
Chapter Seven
It was a lovely summer morning when Lyons collected Liam Walsh at Mill Street Garda Station soon after nine o’clock. They battled with the normal heavy morning traffic on their way out to the airport beyond Ballybrit.
“How do you want to play this, boss?” Walsh asked as they edged along at a snail’s pace.
“We’ll find the manager of the flying club. He’s been told to expect us, so he should be there. Fergal O’Dwyer, the inspector from the IAA will be joining us too. I’d like us both to conduct the interviews. We need to see the maintenance guys as well, and anyone else that comes up in the conversation. I’ll lead, but feel free to come in any time you like, and watch the body language very carefully. We may learn more from what is not said, than what is,” she said.
When they turned off the main road, they followed the signs to the Atlantic Flying Club, and drove in through a set of open chain link gates. Lyons noticed that although there was a small hut where a security guard might have been posted, none was present. Lyons turned her car to the right, and pulled up in front of a large double portacabin with an Atlantic Flying Club sign affixed to it. Nearby, on the concrete apron, two smart looking Cessna 172 aircraft stood side by side.
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 31