“Ouch. That could provide a motive, if she was only going to get a pittance for a divorce settlement,” Hays said.
“We checked. She has a cast iron alibi. And anyway, I doubt if aircraft engines are among her core skills.”
“She could have hired someone to do the deadly deed.”
“That’s a good point. Maybe we should have a look at her bank account, see if there are any payments or sizeable cash withdrawals unaccounted for recently,” Lyons said.
“See, I’m not just a pretty face!”
“There’s an answer for that, but I’m saying nothing,” she said smiling. As it happened, she thought he was a fine-looking man – not exactly ‘pretty’, but handsome – certainly.
* * *
The following morning, Lyons was in flying form. She arrived at the office early, and as soon as Bolger appeared, she cornered him in the makeshift canteen where he was hoping to get himself a cup of coffee to start the day.
“Would you like a coffee, boss?” Bolger said.
“No time for that, James. I want you to get out and find me Mr Tony Fallon. I don’t care if you have to climb every tree in that Terryland place – just bring him in. I want him sitting in front of me before lunchtime. OK?” Lyons said.
“Right, boss. I’ll take Eamon and Mary with me, and we’ll find him, don’t worry,” he said, realising that she was in no mood for procrastination or argument. He did however continue to prepare a cup of coffee for himself, but Lyons was having none of it.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she said.
“Just on my way, boss,” he said, putting down the spoon and slinking out past her to go and find the other two.
Back at her desk, Lyons followed up with Sinéad Loughran.
“Hi, Sinéad. Just wondering if there was anything significant in the post-mortems on the bodies we pulled out of the plane in the bog?”
“Hi, Maureen. No, nothing strange at all, I’m afraid. Dr Dodd did input his report into the system yesterday, I think. Did you not see it?”
“Haven’t had a chance to look, Sinéad, anyway I’d rather hear it from you,” Lyons said.
“Let’s see. Yes, here it is. The girl, Emma, had some slight traces of weed in her system. Nothing major. Dodd said it was probably a few days old. And before you ask, we didn’t find any in her baggage, so she probably has a small stash for personal use at home somewhere. Fortune had been drinking the night before the fateful flight, but it had almost all gone from his system. He certainly wasn’t over the limit for flying in any case. And Devaney was completely clean. Nothing. Not even an aspirin in him,” Loughran said.
“I see. Well, that’s useful. Gives us a reason to go back into Fortune’s house, if we need it. What sort of general health was Fortune in?”
“There’s nothing noted in the file. He was a bit overweight, but everything seems to have been in working order,” Loughran said.
“Did you get anything from the fire scene out at the airport?”
“Very little, Maureen. The accelerant was taken from the flying club’s supply of aviation fuel, and the place had been well-doused in it. Someone was making sure there would be nothing left. The lock on the main hangar door had been forced. It wasn’t very secure to begin with – just an average padlock. We found it in the grass. There were no footprints of any use, I’m afraid; we did get a thumb print off the lock, but no matches in the system,” Loughran said.
“Great. Oh, just one thing, is the thumb print from a man or a woman, or can’t you tell?”
“Almost certainly a man’s print. Why do you ask?” Loughran said.
“Oh, nothing. Just curious.”
* * *
When Lyons had finished the call with Sinéad Loughran, she went looking for John O’Connor. She found him with three PCs open on his desk, and he appeared to be working all of them pretty hard. He looked up as Lyons approached.
“Good morning, Inspector,” O’Connor said.
“Morning, John. What have you here?”
“This is the daughter’s laptop,” he said, pointing to a neat little device with a pink plastic cover on the left of his desk. I haven’t really got into that one yet. I’m more focussed on Fortune’s one.”
“Anything of interest?” Lyons said.
“I’m going back over his old emails. There’s only about a year’s worth stored on the machine itself, but I’ve got into his archive now, and there’s loads of stuff in there going back a good while.”
“Anything nasty?”
“Well, as I was telling Inspector Bolger yesterday, there are a few choice ones from a guy called Tony Fallon who seems to have been owed a pile of cash for work carried out in 2006 and 2007. Then there are a few more from people who were owed smaller amounts, but Fallon seems to be the one who was hardest hit, and he wasn’t happy about it,” O’Connor said.
“Right. Well, can you print out those for me and leave them on my desk? Thanks, John. And when you get around to the girl’s machine, let me know if there’s anything there too, will you?”
“Yes, no problem.”
Chapter Eighteen
Eamon Flynn asked Bolger to excuse him from the trip out to Terryland, saying that he needed to follow up an interview with Amy Cunningham, Emma Fortune’s best friend. Bolger agreed, which left him going out to the forest park with just Mary Costelloe.
When they got to the park, Bolger told Mary to head off around the track to the east, while he would go in the other direction. She was to call him if she encountered Tony Fallon, so they could bring him in together.
Mary set off on the designated route, but after a minute or two, when she was sure Bolger was well out of the way, she doubled back and made for the cottage where the workmen had their breaks. There was no one there, but she waited around outside, and a few minutes later, a gang of five men approached the building.
“Which one of you is Tony Fallon?” she said as they approached.
“Oi, oi, Tony, what have you been up to then?” jeered two of the others, nudging one of their number on the shoulder.
“Who wants to know?” he said in response.
Fallon was a well-built man in his late forties with a head of dark hair sticking out from under a baseball cap, wearing work overalls and big heavy boots.
Costelloe held up her warrant card, and said nothing.
“What do you want?” Fallon said, the cheeriness gone from his voice.
“I’d like you to come with me to the Garda station please, Mr Fallon. We’d like to talk to you about Gerald Fortune.”
“That bastard. What’s he done now?” Fallon said.
“If you could just come along please, Mr Fallon, we can have a chat about it.”
“OK. But I can’t stay long. I need to finish my shift here, or they’ll dock my pay.”
Costelloe called the station on her mobile and asked for a squad car to come and collect herself and Tony Fallon to bring them back to Mill Street. The car arrived three minutes later, and they were back in the station another five minutes after that.
Costelloe phoned Lyons on the internal phone.
“I have Tony Fallon here in Interview Room Two, Inspector, if you’d like to interview him,” she said.
“I thought Inspector Bolger was with you. Can’t he do it?”
“He’s still out at Terryland, Inspector. I kind of lost him out there,” Costelloe said.
“Terrific! OK. I’ll be down directly. Get him a cuppa, will you, and settle him in?”
* * *
“Good morning, Mr Fallon, my name is Senior Inspector Lyons. Thank you for coming in,” Lyons said, sitting down alongside Mary Costelloe opposite Tony Fallon.
“We’re looking into the sudden death of a Mr Gerald Fortune. I believe he was known to you, is that correct?” Lyons said.
“Fortune the builder. Yeah, you could say that. I did a lot of work for him back in the day, and when the Celtic Tiger stopped roaring he left me high and dry. I lost
my business. Had to go to England for a year or two to get back on my feet,” Fallon said.
“How much did he leave you short?” Costelloe asked.
“I dunno. Lots. Anyway, that’s all over now. I’m working up at the park earning a good wage. I don’t want to get back into that game – ever.”
“When were you last in touch with Mr Fortune?” Lyons asked.
“God, ages ago. Probably around 2008, or thereabouts. I can’t remember.”
“But you haven’t been in touch recently at all, as in the last month?”
“No, course not. Why do you ask?” Fallon said.
“Where were you on Monday last, Mr Fallon?” Costelloe said.
“I was at work of course.”
“And in the evening?” Lyons asked.
“We work late on these summer evenings when it’s still light. I didn’t finish up till about nine o’clock, and then we went to the pub for a couple of pints before I went home.”
“And who were you with in the boozer?” Costelloe said.
“Paddy and Séamus from the job. Look, why are you asking me all this stuff?” Fallon said.
“Tell me, Mr. Fallon, have you ever made any homemade beer, or wine?” Lyons said.
“Jesus! What the hell is going on here? Do I need a solicitor?”
“Just answer the question please, sir,” Costelloe said.
“No, I bloody haven’t.”
“Calm down, Mr. Fallon. You’re not in any trouble. We just have to complete our enquiries. Now can you tell me what you did when Mr Fortune left you short of the money he owed you?” Lyons asked.
“I called him. Went round there a few times, but he wouldn’t see me. Sent him a few emails. I even got one of your bloody solicitors after him, but all he did was take my money. Useless bugger.”
“Is that all? Did you ever threaten Mr Fortune?” Costelloe asked.
“No, of course not. Look, I need to get back to work. Are we done here?” Fallon said.
Lyons opened her folder, and took out a copy of an email that John O’Connor had retrieved from Ger Fortune’s archive. She turned the paper around to face Fallon.
“What about this? Looks like a threat to me,” she said.
The email didn’t make any direct threats against Fortune in terms of bodily harm, but it did contain the rather telling sentence, “You had better not continue to ignore me – I know where you live.”
“So?” said Fallon.
“I would consider that a threat if I received it, wouldn’t you?” Lyons said.
“No. I was just saying I knew where he lived. It’s not a secret. His address is in the phone book,” Fallon said.
Lyons said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes as she glared at the man.
“Yes, all right, Mr Fallon. That will be all for now. But we may need to speak to you again, so don’t leave town please,” Lyons said, taking back the printout of the email and putting it back in the file.
* * *
When Fallon had left, Lyons said to Costelloe, “Mary, can you get back out to Terryland. See if you can find Bolger and get him back here, and talk to the other two blokes that Fallon cited in his statement – check out his alibi.”
“Right, boss.”
It didn’t take Costelloe long to get back out to the forest park, and she was able to drive in and right up to the place where she had collected Fallon earlier. Standing outside, and looking somewhat bewildered, was none other than Inspector James Bolger.
When she got out of the car, Bolger said, “Where the hell did you get to? I’ve been standing here like a spare for ages. And I didn’t find Fallon either.”
“It’s all sorted. I took him in, and Inspector Lyons has interviewed him. He’s on his way back here now, on foot.”
“Why the hell didn’t you call me to let me know?” Bolger said angrily.
“I tried, but I couldn’t. Your phone rang out, and as I had the suspect with me, I thought it best just to bring him in before he took fright and did a runner, sir,” Costelloe said.
Bolger searched in his jacket pocket and took out his phone. He shook it a few times before announcing, “Bloody battery is flat. This thing is worse than useless!”
Costelloe tried not to let him see her smiling.
“Well then. We’d better be getting back to Mill Street,” Bolger said.
“Not yet, sir. I need to speak to two of Fallon’s pals first. They’ll be back here in a few minutes for their lunch break,” Costelloe said, and she told Bolger about the alibi that Fallon had given.
As Mary Costelloe had predicted, four of the forestry workers came sauntering towards the house a few minutes later.
She identified Paddy and Séamus, and asked about the previous Monday when Fallon had allegedly been drinking with them after a late shift in the park.
“Monday, let’s see. I don’t think he was with us on Monday, was he, Paddy? No, that’s right, he buggered off straight after we’d finished work at six. Said he had something to see to. Didn’t see him again till the following morning,” Séamus, the self-appointed spokesman for the two men said.
Costelloe made a note in her pocket book before leaving with an even more perplexed James Bolger, and driving back to Mill Street.
Chapter Nineteen
Eamon Flynn called St Begnet’s Secondary School from his desk. The phone rang ten times before it was eventually answered.
“Saint Begnet’s,” a man’s voice said rather impatiently.
“Good morning. I wonder if I could speak with Mr Williams if he’s available please?”
“Oh, yes, well I’m not sure. I’ll have to go and see if I can find him. The school is closed, you know. Who shall I say is calling?” the man said.
“Detective Sergeant Eamon Flynn, thanks.”
“Hold on.”
Flynn heard the soft thud as the receiver of the telephone was placed on the desk, and he could hear various background noises, and then the distinct sound of a door opening and closing in the distance.
Flynn held on, as directed.
It seemed an age before once again he heard the sound of the door, followed by the sound of the telephone receiver being lifted up again.
“Williams.”
“Sorry to trouble you again, but I’ve been informed that Emma’s best friend in school was Amy Cunningham. I’m hoping to speak to Amy a bit later on today, and I was wondering if you would like to come along?” Flynn said.
“Oh yes, well, all right, I suppose. How do you think I can help?”
“Just a friendly face, Mr Williams. I’m sure Amy is not used to dealing with the police, so it may help her to have someone she knows along. Would it be OK if I picked you up in about half an hour?” Flynn said.
“Eh, yes, I suppose so. How long do you think it will take? We’re still quite busy here.” Williams said.
“Not long. I just want to ask her a few questions, that’s all. See you shortly.” Flynn hung up rather abruptly as he sensed that the teacher could easily change his mind.
* * *
Amy Cunningham lived with her parents in a much more modest house than the Fortunes. It was a semi-detached in one of what James McMahon would have called ‘park houses.’ The front garden was tidy, but simply laid out, and there was a ten-year-old Volkswagen Golf in the drive which also looked to be in reasonably good condition.
Flynn and Williams got out of Flynn’s car, and knocked on the front door, which was a glass panelled affair with the surround painted in a very old-fashioned bottle green. The door was opened by a woman who was probably in her forties, but looked older, with a heavily lined face, and short hair that had once been auburn, but was now yielding to an unflattering grey colour.
Williams greeted the woman as Mrs Cunningham, and introduced Flynn to her.
“Oh, yes, thank you for coming, Mr Williams. Come in, Amy is upstairs, I’ll go and get her in a moment. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee gentlemen?”
“No, we�
�re fine, Mrs Cunningham, thanks,” Flynn said before Williams had a chance to speak.
Mrs Cunningham showed the two men into the front room of the house, to the left of the hallway. The room was furnished in typical 1980s style, with a patterned floral carpet, and a three-piece suite that had seen better days. The wallpaper was also in a floral pattern, and the well-used fireplace was crafted in local stone with a solid wooden mantelshelf. Despite the rather aged decor, the room was spotlessly clean, and there was a smell of furniture polish in the air.
Mrs Cunningham went upstairs to get her daughter, and a few moments later, Amy came into the room. She had long red hair that was quite unkempt, and a round face dotted with freckles. She was a little on the plump side, but not seriously overweight. Amy was wearing black jeans, with a blue-grey roll neck sweater, and plain slippers. Flynn wondered why teenage girls tended to hang around in twos, where one of them was much prettier than the other. It seemed a common enough phenomenon – he was curious as to exactly what kind of strange symbiosis was at work in these relationships.
Amy said hello to Mr Williams, and Eamon introduced himself, saying how sorry he was for her loss.
“Amy, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if Emma ever talked about her father at all?” Flynn asked when they had all sat down.
“Yes, she talked about him all the time – how cool he was, and how generous he always was at birthdays and Christmas, that sort of thing,” Amy said.
“Did she ever talk about Mr Fortune’s friends, or business acquaintances?”
“No, never.”
“Did you ever visit Emma at her home?” Flynn said.
“Yeah, sure. They have a fabulous house. I loved going there. Emma had a cool Bose stereo system. We just have an ancient old system, it’s pants,” Amy said, rolling her eyes to heaven.
“Did you see Emma’s mother at their house?” Flynn said.
“Yes, of course.”
“Did you form any opinion of Mrs Fortune?” Flynn asked.
“I’m not sure that’s a fair question, Sergeant,” Mrs Cunningham said.
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 38