The Galway Homicides Box Set 2

by David Pearson

  “Jesus, you smell awful! Your hair is full of smoke,” he said, turning Lyons’ face up to his and kissing her slowly on the mouth.

  “Now, go and have a bath,” Hays said.

  “Only if you come and scrub my back, Superintendent,” Lyons said, pulling him along by his tie.

  * * *

  The following morning Hays and Lyons arrived in Mill Street together. Hays accompanied her as she assembled the entire team.

  “What about your precious spreadsheets?” Lyons asked him as they went into the overflow building just down the road from the Garda Station.

  “They can bloody well wait. There must be some advantages to being a senior officer,” Hays said.

  Fahy and Bolger had stayed with the fire brigade till well into the evening, and they remained with the forensic team at the airport too, as they went about trying to find evidence of the cause of the fire.

  Despite their late shift, all of the team were present in the briefing room, and they each asked after Lyons in turn when she came in. They were surprised at how well she looked after her ordeal, although inside, she felt quite badly shaken up.

  “Now, you’re all aware of what took place last night out at the flying club. It looks like it was a deliberate attempt to destroy evidence, although to be honest, we had already removed the offending part from the plane long before it was left in the hangar. But it’s clear, someone felt the necessity to burn the place down just in case. But that’s not all. Superintendent Hays has received information about a Tony Fallon as well that we need to follow up. So, who can make some room in their busy day today to sort that out?” Lyons said.

  Liam Walsh put up his hand.

  “I can make some time, boss. What do you want me to do?”

  “See if you can find out where he is these days. He had a showroom and workshop on the industrial estate round by Sandy Row. Go and have a look – see if anyone remembers him, or knows where he is now,” Lyons said.

  “And James, when you’re going through the paperwork from Fortune’s office, keep an eye out for the name Fallon, or Floors and Doors. There might be something,” she said.

  “Sally, did you get in touch with Barbara Fortune?” Lyons asked.

  “Yes, sorry, what with all the fuss out at the airport, I’d forgotten all about her. She’s coming in later, boss,” Fahy said.

  “Good. Remember now, she has a motive for the death of her husband, and she didn’t seem to be too bothered about the daughter either when we broke the news to her, so better take James along. Oh, and find out from her if Fortune was insured too,” Lyons said.

  “What about Devaney? Has anyone followed up on him? We’ve all been totally focused on Fortune, but we mustn’t overlook the fact that three people died in this thing. Mary, can you do some more digging on Devaney? And listen, folks, we need to pick up the pace on this a bit. It’s been a few days now, and we don’t seem to be any further on yet,” Lyons said.

  Just as Lyons was bringing the briefing to an end, a uniformed Garda from the main station appeared in the doorway.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Inspector, but there’s a Mr O’Dwyer from the Irish Aviation Authority asking for you at the front desk.”

  “Thanks, Padraig, I’ll be along directly. Show him into the better interview room and see if he wants a cup of tea, will you?” Lyons said.

  * * *

  Lyons joined Fergal O’Dwyer in the small, but newly painted interview room, bringing her own cup of coffee in with her.

  “Good morning, Mr O’Dwyer. Thanks for coming in. I suppose you’ve heard about the goings on out at the airport last night?” Lyons said, taking a seat in front of the low coffee table that had replaced the previous one that had been bolted to the floor.

  “Yes, indeed. That must have been very frightening for you. Are you OK?” he said.

  “It certainly was. But I’m OK, thanks. I’m made of pretty tough stuff,” she said.

  O’Dwyer decided not to comment, though he was sure she was right in her self-assessment.

  “Any sign of whoever it was that started the fire?”

  “No, none. He, or perhaps she, must have been there at the same time as I was, and when they saw me going into the hangar they must have decided to kill two birds with one stone, as it were. Our forensic team found a trail of fuel leading from a grassy patch to the left of the hangar, in under the door. So that’s where the fire was started from,” Lyons said.

  “Anything else of interest? Footprints? Tyre tracks, that sort of thing?” O’Dwyer said.

  “Maybe, but the fire department will have obliterated anything useful tramping all over the place in their big boots.”

  “Look, I know this may sound a bit odd, but the fire has left the IAA with a dilemma. I’ve been speaking to my boss back in Dublin, and he’s very concerned about the destruction of any evidence linked to the accident. These small planes don’t have black boxes, but we can often re-construct the final minutes of flight from the instruments, and Alpha Tango was pretty well equipped in that regard. All the latest stuff. But now that it’s been destroyed, well that’s that,” O’Dwyer said.

  “So, what’s the dilemma?” Lyons said.

  “It’s been suggested that we do a reconstruction. You know, take one of the other Cessnas up, follow the same route, and see what happens when we switch off the engine. I need to get some measurements under the same circumstances as the accident just to make sure that there was nothing else going on.”

  “Isn’t that a bit reckless?” Lyons said.

  “No, not really. I’d be at the controls. I’m about the same height and weight as Ger Fortune, and I can assure you if it came to it, I have landed many an aircraft with the engine out over the years. But that won’t arise in any case – all we need to do is restart it before it gets too low and slow.”

  “Hmmm, I see. And who else would be with you?” Lyons asked, but she already knew what was coming next.

  “Well that’s just it. We need two more passengers that are the same weight and height as Devaney and Emma. I was hoping to persuade Charlie Willis to play the part of Devaney,” O’Dwyer said.

  “And what about someone for Emma?”

  “That’s where we have an issue. Sandra is too tall and a good bit heavier than Emma was, and I don’t mean that in an unkind way. But we have to get as close to the actual event as possible, and payload is an important factor in the sink rate of the plane once the engine has cut out. You see the thing is, Inspector, you’re just about a dead ringer for Emma as far as stature and build is concerned.” O’Dwyer had the good sense to say nothing more.

  Lyons digested his suggestion. Not content to have her roasted alive, they now wanted to put her into a lethal aeroplane crash as well, just to finish the job off. Well, she was damned if she was going to let this get the better of her!

  “Well it is a bit unorthodox, Mr O’Dwyer, but if it will help you to determine the exact cause of the crash, then I suppose we could give it a go. But I should warn you, killing off Garda Inspectors doesn’t go down very well in these parts, so you had better be the ace aviator you say you are,” Lyons said, and fixed him with an earnest stare.

  Again, O’Dwyer remained silent.

  “When do you want to do this?” she asked a moment later.

  “I was thinking tomorrow. The forecast is just about the same as the day of the accident, and visibility should be similar too. Now we won’t be going out over the sea this time, I have worked out a flight plan that will simulate Alpha Tango’s trip without doing that. And don’t worry, Inspector, you’ll be perfectly safe. Trust me,” he said.

  “Of course, what could possibly go wrong?” she said ironically.

  “But I want this done by the book. I want a letter of authorisation from the IAA, and I’ll get one from Superintendent Hays too. You’ll need to indemnify all the civilians involved as well. Can you see to that?” Lyons said.

  “Yes, Inspector, all in hand.”

&nbs
p; “And what exactly are you hoping to achieve with this daredevil stunt, Mr O’Dwyer?” Lyons asked, having some second thoughts about the whole caper.

  “Once I switch off the engine, I will have some extra gear connected up to the plane to monitor and measure various metrics. The time and distance to the ground will tell us how the pilot reacted to the emergency, and if he followed normal ‘dead stick’ procedures. I’ll be straight with you, Inspector. There are some in head office who have suggested that Ger Fortune’s actions may have been deliberate,” O’Dwyer said.

  “What? Suicide?”

  “Exactly. It happens, you know. Not very often, thank heavens, but it does happen, and the strange thing is that it is perfectly straightforward to land a Cessna 172 with a dead engine if you know what you’re doing, as you will see tomorrow. So, the question remains,” O’Dwyer said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Liam Walsh brought the squad car to a halt outside the unit that was designated number eight on Boolavogue Road, part of the Sandy Row business complex. He had come alone, as all the other members of the detective team were engaged on other tasks, so he was acutely aware that his performance on this particular mission would be critically appraised by Inspector Lyons.

  Walsh was a young detective Garda, but he was ambitious. He was keen to make detective sergeant as soon as possible, mostly to get a better pay grade, so that he could get a mortgage on a house. He was dating a pretty nurse from the regional hospital, and he wanted to propose to her before some other Lothario with deeper pockets stepped in and snatched her away from him. He also knew that although Eamon Flynn had been passed over for promotion to inspector in the recent re-shuffle, it wouldn’t be long before that appointment was made, leaving a gap at sergeant level for him to fill. If only they could get rid of that fool Bolger!

  Number eight was now a busy coffee shop with a sign over the door announcing ‘Kool Koffee – the coolest place for a hot drink.’ The shop front was painted a dull but fashionable grey colour, and inside the floor was bare boards, adding to the din being made by the patrons as well as the inevitable hiss and gurgle of the coffee machine itself. Walsh asked for the manager, and after a moment or two waiting at the cash register, a tall dark-haired girl with a long ponytail and a tag bearing the name ‘Klara’ appeared.

  Walsh asked Klara if she had any knowledge of the previous owner of the unit, explaining that it had been a showroom for wooden floors and doors.

  “No, I’m sorry. I am only here a few months. But maybe you could try the hardware shop two doors down. I think he has been here a long time,” Klara said.

  Walsh left, feeling a bit hard done by that he hadn’t been offered a coffee.

  The shop two doors down was one of those country hardware shops that sells absolutely everything, most of which was on display both outside and inside the premises. With so much stock, there was hardly any room inside, but Walsh found a man, clearly in his sixties, wearing a brown shop coat standing behind a small clear area of counter space that also accommodated a cash register.

  “Can I help you?” the man said as Walsh entered the shop.

  “Hi. I am Detective Garda Walsh from Mill Street. I’m trying to find out about a man who ran the place two doors down before the coffee shop took over,” Walsh said, indicating the direction with his hand.

  “Ah, Tony. Yes, I remember him OK. Floors and Doors, he called it. He did well there too, until the crash came. Nice fella. He always seemed cheerful, except at the end, of course, when he had to close the business. He’d been there a good few years by then. Not as long as me, but he was no blow-in,” the man said, apparently reminiscing fondly about what he undoubtedly saw as better times.

  “Yes, that’s him. What was his surname, do you recall?”

  “Fallon, Tony Fallon, that was it. He had his name over the door,” the man confirmed.

  “Any idea where he is now, Mr eh …?” Walsh said.

  “Byrne, Tommy Byrne, that’s me. Now, let me see, the last I heard of Tony Fallon he was working with the forestry up at Terryland, out on the Headford Road. But I don’t know if he’s still there. Funny how you lose touch, isn’t it?” Tommy said.

  “Terryland, yes I think I know it. You haven’t seen him in a while then?” Walsh asked.

  “No, not since he closed up here. Oh wait, I did see him in O’Flaherty’s Bar up the town once or twice last year, it must have been. We said hello, but that was all, he was with a bunch of mates from the job.”

  “OK. Thanks, Mr Byrne. That’s been most helpful. I’ll leave you to it then,” Walsh said, and headed back to the car.

  Walsh drove out to Terryland, a sprawling urban park that had been opened in 2000 by Galway Council with the ultimate aim of planting half a million trees as part of a reforestation campaign in the area.

  He found the workmen’s small cottage easily enough, but there was no one there, and he didn’t fancy trying to locate Fallon on his own by simply walking around the park. Eventually, he left a note pinned to the door asking Tony Fallon to call Liam Walsh and giving his own mobile number.

  * * *

  When Lyons appeared back at the overflow unit that they were housed in, Inspector James Bolger asked for a word in private.

  They went to Lyons’ office.

  “What’s on your mind, James?”

  “Look, Inspector, I’m not happy being asked to go through piles of paper and computer records here in the station, when there’s a triple murder to be solved. I’m not a bloody pen pusher, you know?” he said, his normally calm face reddening somewhat as he spoke.

  “I see. So, what is it that you think you ought to be doing then, James?”

  “I don’t know. I need to be out there – detecting, not shuffling paper with some rookie here in the station. That’s not what inspectors do.”

  Lyons was loving it. She was going to enjoy the outcome of this discussion greatly, and she wondered just how much rope Bolger would need before he hanged himself.

  “You’re right, of course, James. I’m sure you’d much rather be locked into a burning aircraft hangar with the flames licking up around your man bits, or maybe struggling through three feet of bog water in your waders looking for evidence in the rain. Is that more what you had in mind?” she said.

  “No, of course not. But there must be something meaningful I can do. I’m going stir crazy here.”

  “Tell you what, James. Why don’t you go right back to your pile of old papers and keep digging for a while, and I’ll see if I can think up something more suitable for an action man that you can do this afternoon. How’s that?”

  “Great. Thanks, boss. Talk later.” He left the room feeling reassured.

  “God, give me strength,” she said to herself, shaking her head, when he had gone. Then an idea struck her.

  She called Fergal O’Dwyer on his mobile.

  When she had finished the call, she went and found Inspector James Bolger.

  “James. I have just the thing. Tomorrow morning, I want you out with me to the airport. We have a little job to do that will take an hour or two. OK?”

  “Yes, thanks, boss. Nice one.”

  “Oh, and James, I suggest you wear your brown trousers,” Lyons said.

  Bolger looked perplexed, but said nothing, and went back to shuffling through the contents of Ger Fortune’s office.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The following morning, just as O’Dwyer had predicted, was largely clear, with only a few small clouds high up in the sky passing slowly out to the east.

  “So, what’s this job then, boss?” Bolger asked Lyons as they drove out towards the airport in Lyons’ car.

  “All in good time, James. You’ll see. But it’s not pushing paper, that’s for sure.”

  When they arrived at the airport, they made their way into the flying club portacabin, where Willis, Normoyle and O’Dwyer were already assembled, poring over an Ordnance Survey map of West Galway.

  “Ah, Inspectors, come
in. We’re just going over the route here. Fergal has mapped out a trip that’s about the same distance as the Fortunes took, but it doesn’t involve any over water flying,” Charlie Willis said.

  “Good,” Lyons said, and turning to Terry Normoyle, she asked, “and is the plane we’re going to use in top class order?”

  “Yes, of course, it’s Yankee Zulu which is a sister ship to Alpha Tango.” Normoyle said, looking a little forlornly out of the window to where another Cessna 172 stood gleaming in the bright sunshine.

  “And is all the paperwork in order now, Fergal?” Lyons said.

  “Yes, yes it is. I have the indemnities you asked for, and I’ve left a copy of my PPL and log book with Charlie here. He’s going to man the radio, and we’ll be in touch constantly,” he replied.

  “Right then, if we’re ready. Let’s go,” O’Dwyer said.

  James Bolger took Lyons aside as they left the portacabin.

  “What’s going on, boss. What are we doing?” he said.

  “We’re going to take part in a reconstruction of the accident so that we can find out exactly what happened. We’re going up in the plane, James, and when we have been flying around for about an hour, the engine will cut out, and Fergal O’Dwyer is going to take measurements from the instrumentation,” Lyons said, deadpan.

  “You’ve got to be joking! I’m not getting up in that thing! That’s suicide,” Bolger stuttered.

  “Now, look here, Inspector Bolger. You wanted some adventure – I’m giving you adventure. Now stop being such a bloody wuss and let’s get on with it. You’re making a show of us. And anyway, if it all goes belly up, the death in service benefit in the Garda pension scheme is quite generous!” she said.

  She turned away, as she couldn’t help smiling to herself.

  * * *

  Lyons sat in the back seat of the Cessna just as Emma Fortune had done on the ill-fated flight. Bolger got into the right-hand seat in front, and Fergal O’Dwyer did the walk-around checks, making sure that the control surfaces were free and there were no loose bits hanging off the plane.