“When did you see Amy last, Mrs Cunningham?” Lyons asked when she sat down at the kitchen table with Amy’s mother, the neighbour, Sally Fahy and the inevitable large pot of tea and cake.
“Last night. She went up to bed after the television news at half past ten, and we assumed she was still there. She sleeps late during the holidays – I rarely see her before noon. But I should have checked on her – it’s my fault,” Mrs Cunningham said, and her tears began to flow freely again.
The neighbour tried to comfort her friend, with limited success.
Lyons turned to Fahy.
“Has her bed been slept in?”
“She doesn’t always make her bed, it seems, so it’s hard to tell.”
“Hmm, OK. No sign of her phone, I suppose?”
“No. Her mother says she’s never without it. I’ve tried ringing it, but it just goes through to voicemail,” Fahy said.
“OK. Well, get the number and phone it through to John O’Connor. See if he can find out where it is now, or when it was last used. And then check with the neighbours – see if they saw anything last night, like a strange car in the road or anything else out of the ordinary,” Lyons said.
“Right, boss.”
“Mrs Cunningham, did Amy have any other especially close friends, apart from Emma Fortune, I mean?” Lyons asked.
“No. Well, not really. But I’ve called the only others that she hangs around with, and no one has seen her. God, what are we going to do?”
“To be honest, Mrs Cunningham, we don’t usually start a missing person’s investigation till someone has gone for at least twenty-four hours. But I know this is a bit different, given recent events,” Lyons said.
“Amy wouldn’t just go off like that. That’s not her. She’s a careful girl. Look, Inspector, you have to find her. Anything could have happened!”
* * *
Hays stopped off at the overflow unit close to Mill Street Garda station to collect Lyons for lunch. When he reached the detective’s room, there was hardly anyone there, except for John O’Connor who was working away on a number of computers as usual.
“Hello, John. Is Inspector Lyons here?” Hays said.
“Oh, hello, sir. No, I’m afraid not. She had to dash off a while ago. One of Emma Fortune’s friends has gone awol, it seems,” the young officer said.
“Oh. Which one?”
“The Cunningham girl, Amy, I think her name is.”
“I see. I’ll give Maureen a call on her mobile then. Have you made any progress with any of the PCs?” Hays said.
“I’m trying to locate the Cunningham girl’s mobile just now, but I managed to get into Emma Fortune’s laptop earlier before the sh... sorry, before all this latest fuss started,” O’Connor said.
“Anything of interest on it?”
“I’m not sure. I was just getting started on it. It looks like she was fairly active in some sort of chatroom. It’s not one that I know much about, but there’s a lot of traffic. I’ll get a better look at it later if we can find this missing girl.”
“Anything I can help with, John?”
“I don’t think so, sir. Thanks.”
“Right, I’ll let you get on then,” Hays said, and left the office feeling less connected to real policing than he had in a long time, and he didn’t like the feeling – not one little bit.
When Hays had left the office, O’Connor turned his attention in earnest to trying to track Amy Cunningham’s phone. He had contacted her airtime supplier, and he was working with them to trace the phone to the nearest transmission mast. The phone had stayed switched on until after 1.30 a.m. and had been pinged at a number of masts leading out of the city. Judging by the rate at which the phone logged on to each successive mast, Amy was being transported by car, and at some considerable speed. The last tower that reported the phone was out west of Moycullen, near Oughterard.
O’Connor left instructions with the phone company to contact him immediately if Amy’s phone was turned back on.
Next, he phoned Lyons and relayed the information to her.
* * *
When Lyons got the call from John O’Connor, she went outside the house with Sally Fahy.
“It looks as if Amy has been taken out west. I don’t know if she went willingly with someone, or if she’s been taken against her will. Get on to Séan Mulholland out in Clifden, and get him to mobilize his resources, and all the other stations in the area. Can you get this photograph of Amy out to him somehow?” Lyons said.
“Yes, I’ll take a picture of the photo on my phone and email it to him. I’ll get him to set up roadblocks on the N59 and the N341. What are we going to tell the mother?” Fahy said.
“Nothing. Not till we know a bit more.”
* * *
Inspector James Bolger arrived back into the Garda station just after lunch. When he found the place virtually deserted, he asked John O’Connor what was going on, and O’Connor brought him up to speed.
“Did you get anything yourself, sir?” O’Connor asked.
“Maybe. I went to all the shops in town that sell home brew stuff, and had a look at their list of regular clients. Amazing. Most of them keep mailing lists so they can send out promo messages when they have a sale on, or something. Only one name came up that we have encountered on this investigation,” Bolger said.
“Oh, who’s that?”
“Williams, Emma Fortune’s form teacher. He’s big into wine making it seems and he buys a lot of stuff in McCanns.”
“Have you told Inspector Lyons?” O’Connor said.
“Not yet. Do you think I should? I’m sure she’s busy enough without me bothering her with trivial details.”
“She likes to be kept informed, sir.”
“Oh, right. I’ll just get a cup of tea, then I’ll give her a call.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Bolger called Lyons and told her about what he had found at McCanns.
“It’s probably just a coincidence, boss,” he said.
“Hmmm. I don’t like coincidences, James. Could you give him a call at the school? Just ask him about his wine making hobby. Make up some bullshit to get him talking. Just see how he reacts. And let me know,” Lyons said.
Lyons went back inside and explained to Mrs Cunningham that there were now roadblocks arranged in several locations, and all the Gardaí in the area had been alerted to be on the lookout for Amy. She didn’t fill the woman in on the information about the last known location of the girl’s phone.
Minutes later, James Bolger was back on.
“I called the school, boss. Williams isn’t in today. They thought he would be – apparently there are exam papers that need to be corrected this week – but the headmaster explained that once the holidays set in, the teachers mostly come and go as they please, as long as they get the results out on time.”
“Ok, well I’d like you to call the school back. Get Williams’ address and go round to his house – see if he’s at home. If he’s there, question him about Amy Cunningham. Everything he knows about her. And keep me posted,” Lyons said.
Lyons beckoned Sally Fahy into the lounge out of earshot of Mrs Cunningham and her neighbour.
“I’m going back to the station, Sally, to coordinate things. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I have a feeling Amy may be in danger. We need to nip this in the bud before it gets any worse. Will you stay here in case anything breaks, and let me know immediately if it does?”
“Yes. Sure, boss. God, I hope she’s OK.”
“Me too. See you later,” Lyons said, and left.
* * *
On the way back to the station, Lyons tried to figure out what their next move should be. Once again, she was beginning to feel that the situation was slipping away from her. She silently cursed the fact that Hays had been booted upstairs. Then she had an idea.
“Mick, it’s me. Sorry about our lunch date, but things took a turn here, and I had to go,” she said when she called Hays ba
ck at the station.
“Don’t mind me – poor starving Superintendent that I am. Anyway, what’s happening?”
Lyons explained the latest developments.
“I don’t suppose I could drag you away from your precious spreadsheets for a wee while to lend a hand, Superintendent?” she said in a plaintive voice.
“Well, I don’t know, Inspector. Security planning for the Taoiseach’s visit to the Wild Atlantic Way is pretty important, you know. Yes, of course you can. In fact, I’d be delighted. See you in ten minutes.”
When Hays joined her in her office, he asked for a thorough update on the latest developments. As Lyons finished the briefing, her phone rang.
“Inspector, it’s James here. I’m out at the school. Williams apparently lives here. He has a small flat upstairs in the main building. It used to be a dormitory once when the school took boarders, but they have converted it, and Williams lives on site.” Bolger said.
“Have you been inside the flat yet?”
“Yes, the headmaster opened it up when we couldn’t get a reply at the door, just in case he was inside and poorly or something.”
“Right. Well, call a uniformed Garda out to stand outside the flat while you come back into town here and get a search warrant. Superintendent Hays can issue it – he’s not actively involved on the case yet, but he’s here with me. Then get back out there and have a good nosey around. You know what we’re looking for – oh, and James, get details of Williams’ car and text it to me. I want the reg number, the make, model and colour,” Lyons said.
“OK, boss. On my way.”
“Do you think Williams is connected to this somehow?” Hays asked.
“It’s a bit of a long shot, but definitely a possibility. What do you think?”
“Williams… Williams – what’s his first name?” Hays said.
“Let’s see. Derek, yes that’s it, Derek Williams. Why do you ask?”
“There was a Williams I met in connection with the sailing at the start of the season. I think he said he was a teacher. He bored me to death out at the club one evening with long, uninteresting stories about his own boat. What does this guy look like?” Hays asked.
“He’s about five feet nine inches tall, curly fair hair, cheeky face, average to skinny build.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. Now if only I’d listened a bit harder about his blessed boat. Give me a few minutes and it may come back to me. I’ll have to get the search facility on the hard disk in my brain going!”
“Talking of which…” Lyons said.
She called John O’Connor on the internal phone.
“John, could you pop in for a second please?”
Lyons had barely replaced the receiver when John O’Connor appeared in the doorway.
“Hello, Superintendent; Inspector. How can I help?”
“Just wondering if you have got any further with Emma Fortune’s PC, John,” Lyons said.
“Yes, I have as it happens. She was a big user of this chatroom – BuddySpeak. She talked to some bloke on it nearly every day. Pretty steamy stuff too. But the messages changed in the weeks before the accident. It looks like Emma was changing her mind. She didn’t want whatever was going on to continue. I have more work to do to make up a storyboard, and I’m trying to track down his I.P. address at the minute, but he used a proxy server, so it’s not straightforward,” O’Connor said.
“Any clue as to his identity in any of the messages?” Hays said.
“I’m not sure. There’s one message that’s signed with several rows of x’s and the letter d. It’s a capital D. It could be a typo. From the rest of the message, it looks as if the sender might have been a bit drunk, so it’s hard to tell.”
“Interesting. Another coincidence. That’s one too many for me!” Lyons said.
James Bolger was next to appear at her door. Lyons gave Hays a shifty look, and he got the message.
“Just seeing if Inspector Lyons was free for a coffee, James. What can we do for you?” Hays said.
“I’m here to get a warrant to search Derek Williams’ rooms out at the school, sir. I believe you can authorize it as long as you’re not directly involved with the case,” Bolger said.
“Quite correct, Inspector. Give it here, then. I’ll sign it.”
Bolger handed over the warrant, and Superintendent Hays signed it.
“Now, James, get back out there and see what you can find. Take Mary with you, if you like. This will give you a chance to do some proper detecting,” Lyons said.
When he had gone, Hays said, “Proper detecting – what was all that about?”
“He’s been giving out that his job is too mundane. I think he thought he was joining CSI or Starsky and Hutch or something when he signed up. He’s been talking about leaving – I was supposed to discuss it with you, but I never got the chance,” Lyons said.
“It’ll keep. Anyway, maybe he’ll change his mind with this lot going down,” Hays said.
“I hope he doesn’t.”
Chapter Twenty-three
“Carna, that was it!” Hays said as they sat in the little café across from the station having a coffee. Hays was tucking into a chicken fillet wrap as well, as he had missed his lunch.
“What about Carna?”
“That’s where Williams keeps his boat, or at least he did earlier in the summer. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Hays said.
“I sure am. Finish your grub and let’s go!” Lyons said, draining her coffee cup.
Hays and Lyons collected Eamon Flynn from the station and took a marked squad car from the pool before driving out through the city towards the N59. The city centre was thronged with tourists enjoying the afternoon summer sunshine, and many of them didn’t seem to care if they were run over by a speeding Garda car.
Lyons was driving with Hays in the front passenger seat. He was soon on the phone, organising things.
“Pascal, it’s Superintendent Hays here. I’m on my way out to you with Inspector Lyons and Sergeant Flynn. I want you to see if you can arrange a boat down at the harbour in Roundstone. We need someone who knows the waters around there well, and a boat that will look fairly inconspicuous – maybe a fishing boat or something. Can you do that?”
“I’ll give it a go, Superintendent. How long till you get here?” Brosnan said.
“Probably about forty minutes or so. We’ll see you down at the harbour.”
“Right. I’d better get busy. See you then.”
* * *
Garda Pascal Brosnan ran the small Garda station on the edge of the village of Roundstone single-handedly. He was in his thirties, and although the job could be quite lonely at times, Brosnan got on well with the local community, policing the village with a sensitive but thorough approach. He was familiar with many of the fishermen who eked out a meagre living from their boats and the seas around Bertraghboy Bay.
You wouldn’t have known it from the calm summer’s day that Brosnan looked out on, but the seas around the village could be vicious, and the boatmen knew, to their cost, just how hard a life fishing in the area could be.
Brosnan made his way down to the first of the two bars opposite the little harbour at Roundstone. Inside, the barman greeted Brosnan warmly.
“Ah, how are ye, Pascal. We don’t expect to see you in here at this hour. Are you OK?” the barman said.
“Yes, fine thanks, Shay. Have you seen Paddy Lavelle today?” Brosnan asked.
“I have. Sure, wasn’t he here a few minutes ago? That’s his pint there on the bar. I think he said he was going across to the shop for a paper. He’ll be back in a minute or two. Will you have a drink while you’re waiting?” the barman said.
“Ah, no, you’re grand. I just want a word with Paddy. I’ll stroll across and catch him outside,” Brosnan said.
Paddy was walking back across the road reading the front page of the paper when Brosnan approached.
“Hello there, Paddy. Listen, I have three colleagues o
n their way out from the city. They were wondering if you’d take them out in your boat. They want to go across Carna way,” Brosnan asked.
“I suppose I could, all right. Would this be official Garda business now?” the old timer said.
“I imagine it is. Oh, I see what you’re getting at. I’m sure we can get you a tankful of diesel at least out of it. But let’s see how we get on. I’ll see you down there in a few minutes, good man, Paddy.”
* * *
James Bolger returned to the school armed with his search warrant and showed it to Donal O’Connell, the headmaster.
“Is this all really necessary, Inspector? I have no objection to you having a look around Mr Williams’ rooms. There’s no need for that.”
“We have to do everything by the book, headmaster. Now, excuse me, I must get on.”
Bolger and Costelloe donned blue vinyl gloves, and started searching Derek Williams’ rooms. Bolger found a laptop computer on a coffee table in the living room and placed it in a large evidence sack, labelling it in black felt pen. Mary Costelloe searched the bedroom, and found little of interest. Then she opened a door to the left of the hall that gave into a small, dark room that looked as if it might have been a pantry at some stage. She switched on the light, and found one of the shelves packed with home wine making equipment. There was a demi-john filled with a deep ruby-coloured liquid on the largest shelf, with a plastic air lock stuck in the top of it, and beside it, Mary spotted a coil of clear plastic tubing.
Costelloe called Bolger to share her discovery with him.
“Take this back in an evidence bag to Sinéad Loughran in town, and get her to see if there is a match to the tubing recovered from the aeroplane. Don’t handle it more than you have to. Off you go now,” he said rather condescendingly.
Bolger called Lyons on her mobile, and she answered using the Bluetooth hands-free in the squad car.
Bolger updated Lyons with the latest developments.
“Thanks, James. Get the PC back to John O’Connor and get him to prioritize it. See if he can match it to Emma’s computer. I don’t understand all that mumbo-jumbo, but he’ll know what to do,” Lyons said.
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 40