The Galway Homicides Box Set 2

by David Pearson

  On the way back from the school in the car, Lyons asked Hays what he thought of the headmaster’s performance.

  “Well, he was clearly aware of Williams’ tendencies, even if he didn’t know any of the details. But I suppose when you have someone who appears dedicated to their work, and goes the extra mile, you’re inclined to overlook some aspects of their less professional behaviour. A bit like me with you,” Hays said.

  “Cheeky bugger,” she said, giving him a hard slap on his thigh.

  “But in my experience, schools are a hotbed of rumour, gossip and intrigue of all sorts. They can be quite detached from reality, and all caught up in their own little world. I’m sure lots and lots goes on that we never hear about,” Hays said.

  * * *

  Back at the station, they brought everyone together to see what developments had happened while they were out at the school.

  There was little to be reported. The team were quite despondent that they had had to let Williams go, and that the judge had seen fit to release the school teacher on bail, but there was nothing that they could have done about it. They simply didn’t have enough to charge him with anything further, and while Eamon Flynn had done his best with Judge Meehan, saying that there would likely be further charges to be brought in due course, the law was the law, and the man had to be released.

  “I have a feeling Meehan may know the accused. They might even know each other socially to some extent. Galway is a small town, don’t forget,” Flynn said.

  “Has anyone been in touch with Sinéad?” Lyons asked, taking charge of the meeting.

  “Yes, boss,” Sally Fahy said, “but she says we have to be patient. She’s getting the hair samples from the boat analysed, as well as the sheets – she says there are signs of a lot of bodily fluids on them – and they are bringing in an expert to look at the two samples of plastic tubing too. But it will be tomorrow at least before she has anything useful to tell us.”

  “Thanks, Sally. Anybody else got anything?” Lyons said.

  An uneasy silence pervaded the room.

  “Right, well then, if there’s nothing else, you can all get back to work. I presume we’re keeping an eye on Williams?”

  “I’ve advised Amy Armstrong – or should I say her mother – that Williams has been released on bail, and if she sees him, or if he attempts to make contact, she should call us at once,” Eamon Flynn said.

  “OK. Let’s hope for better news in the morning then,” Lyons said.

  * * *

  When the room had cleared, Hays and Lyons went off to her office.

  “I’m very uneasy about Williams,” she said.

  “Me too. What happened with his car?”

  “It’s still out there somewhere, I guess. We didn’t move it anyway. Why?” she said.

  “Two things. Firstly, if he’s used to having his wicked way with the fifth and sixth form girls, then I suspect the back seat of his car might provide some interesting samples for Sinéad to analyse. And secondly, if we had his car, then he couldn’t use it, could he?”

  “Very true. Why don’t we go back out to the school and find out from him exactly where it is and get the keys? Then we can drive out and collect it. It’s better than sitting here doing nothing waiting for the forensics,” Lyons said.

  “Good idea. I’m sure Mr O’Connell will be delighted to see us so soon again. Oh, and we’d better put Pascal in the picture too. It’s his patch, after all.”

  * * *

  “Ah, hello again, Mr O’Connell. We just need a word with Mr Williams. Is he in?” Lyons said as they met the headmaster coming out of his house.

  “I don’t think so, I haven’t seen him. I thought he was helping you with your enquiries.”

  “He’s out on bail for the moment,” Hays said.

  “Well I don’t think he’s here, but go on up to his flat if you like. The door is open,” O’Connell said, and he walked off across towards one of the classrooms.

  Williams wasn’t in his flat, and there was no sign that he’d been there at all.

  “That’s a bit odd. Where else would he go?” Lyons said.

  “Search me. Anyway, I’ll give Pascal a call and see if he has any idea where Williams’ car is, and then maybe we can go and get it. At least then the whole day won’t have been a complete waste of time,” Hays said.

  Hays dialled the number for Roundstone.

  “Ah, hello Pascal, it’s Superintendent Hays here.” As he spoke into the phone, he could almost see the young Garda sitting up straight on hearing who it was. “We were wondering if Williams’ car had showed up anywhere around?”

  “Oh yes, right. It has, as it happens. One of the patrols saw it parked over near the harbour at Carna. It’s a blue Ford Focus 09 G something or other. It’s registered to him,” Brosnan said.

  “OK, Pascal, good work. Inspector Lyons and I are going to come out and collect it. We need to bring it back in for forensics to have a look at. So, if anyone reports someone breaking into it and taking it away, don’t panic, it will be one of us,” Hays said.

  “Oh, right so. I’ll let the lads know. Will you be calling in?” Brosnan asked.

  “No, not this time, Pascal. Your stash of chocolate biscuits is safe! Thanks, bye.”

  “How are we going to get into his car and get it started without the keys, Maureen?” Hays said when he had finished the call.

  “Fear not, Superintendent. But you may have to hide your eyes for a minute or two!” Lyons said.

  * * *

  It was a fine summer evening as Hays and Lyons drove out towards Carna. The scenery was stunning, and as the sun began to set gently in the western sky, the long shadows cast by the mountains created a pretty pattern on the bogland. The water in the many lakes that they passed looked like silver as the low sun reflected on the still surfaces.

  They found Williams’ Ford Focus where Pascal Brosnan had said it would be. It was in pretty good condition for a car almost ten years old. Lyons got out of Hays’ Mercedes and walked over to it. She waved back to Hays, gesturing for him to turn away, as she took the little black plastic device out of her jacket pocket, and pressed the larger of two buttons. The red light flashed for a few seconds, and then as it went green, the door locks on the Focus popped, and she was able to open the door.

  She walked back over to where Hays was parked with the driver’s window wound down.

  “Not just a pretty face, are you?” he smiled.

  “Isn’t eBay wonderful? And for my next trick, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, taking an exaggerated bow, “I’ll start the old banger and drive away. Bye now!” And she did just exactly that.

  On the way back to town, Hays called Sinéad Loughran on the hands-free phone and advised her that they were bringing in Williams’ car. He asked her to get someone working on it as soon as possible, and to concentrate on the back seat and floor area to see if any traces of either Emma Fortune or Amy Cunningham could be found in it.

  When Lyons had left the car in the secure yard at the back of Mill Street Garda station, she got back into Hays’ Mercedes.

  “Where did you get that natty little gizmo?” he said.

  “On eBay. It only cost thirty quid. Came from eastern Europe. I didn’t think it would work, but there you go.”

  “I presume it’s highly illegal to even have one of those in your possession,” Hays said.

  “Oohh, are you going to arrest me and put me in handcuffs, Superintendent?” she said, laughing.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The following morning, Maureen received a call from forensic services.

  “Hi, Maureen, it’s Sinéad. Listen, we have some results back on various things now. Is it OK if I pop over in a few minutes?” Loughran said.

  “Great, yes, sure. See you soon.”

  Lyons got the team together in the briefing room. They were all there except for Hays, who was off on some official duty somewhere.

  Sinéad Loughran came in, and wasted no
time in getting started.

  “OK. Well, we have a few different sets of results. Firstly, we found hair samples from both Amy Cunningham and Emma Fortune on the duvet in the forepeak of Williams’ boat. And some other hair samples from other girls, as yet unidentified. We also found several semen stains and other bodily fluid residue on the bed, and that’s away for analysis as we speak. It seems Mr Williams wasn’t too careful about laundering his bedlinen.”

  A murmur went around the room.

  “And now for the good news,” Loughran went on, “the plastic tube. The piece taken from the plane matches exactly the tubing we recovered from Williams’ flat. It’s not that it’s just the same type – the cut at the end of the pipe that was connected to the carburettor shows that it was taken from the same length of piping that we found at the flat. And it gets better. There was a small smudge of blood caught in the ragged cut end. It looks like the tubing was cut with a rather blunt knife, maybe a Stanley knife or something, and we found such an implement in the boot of Williams’ car. I’m having it tested as we speak.”

  Eamon Flynn spoke up. “Oh, wow, that figures. I remember when I was taking Williams’ fingerprints, he had a small nick on the pad of his thumb. Just like you’d get if you were rolling a plastic thing against the blade of a knife, and it cut through.”

  “Nice one. Let’s hope the blood sample on the pipe is a match for Williams. That would be very hard for him to explain,” Lyons said.

  John O’Connor, who had been listening intensely to Loughran’s revelations, put his hand up.

  “Yes, John. What have you got?” Lyons asked.

  “Well, I finally managed to get into Williams’ chatroom activity. I was able to match messages with a timeline where he and Emma were chatting. Some of it was pretty salacious. But, perhaps more importantly, just recently, Emma must have found out something about him that she didn’t like. She started calling him all the names, and said she was going to tell her parents and the school what he had been up to. She was pretty het up,” O’Connor said.

  “That’s great work, folks. We have enough now to hold him for the murders. John, keep digging on his computer. See if you can find any searches where he was looking up aircraft engines or anything like that. We’re going to nail this bastard, and soon. Trouble is, we have to find him first! Sally, will you alert everyone that Williams is wanted for questioning in connection with a triple murder? Eamon, can you take Mary out to the school, and see if there’s been any sign? James, you come with me. We need to try and figure out where this dude is hiding out,” Lyons said.

  Back in her office, Lyons and Bolger were getting their heads together when the phone rang.

  “Inspector Lyons? This is Pascal Brosnan out in Roundstone. Listen, I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.”

  “Hi Pascal. Go on.”

  “You know that boat that we had tied up down at the harbour here? Well, it’s gone.”

  “Gone! What do you mean, gone? Where has it gone?” Lyons said.

  “I don’t know, Inspector. I was down there early this morning getting the paper, and I went down to check on it, and there it was, all gone,” Brosnan said.

  “Jesus, Pascal. It must be Williams. He’s disappeared too. He must have taken off in it. He could be anywhere. Look, can you stay in the station there till I get back to you?” Lyons said. Bolger was signalling furiously with his hands to attract Lyons’ attention, so she told Brosnan to hold on, and put her hand over the telephone receiver.

  “Ask him if he knows anyone with a fast boat out there, maybe a RIB or something,” Bolger said.

  Lyons relayed the message.

  “There is a fella out the road a bit that has one, I think. He uses it to take tourists out to some of the islands close to the village here. I’ll give him a call and see if he can bring it down to the harbour. Will you come out?”

  “Yes, we’re on our way.”

  Lyons and Bolger grabbed radios and some waterproof jackets and ran to the car park. Lyons took one of the marked cars, and left Mill Street with the sirens screaming and blue lights flashing as she drove quickly towards the N59.

  When they were underway, Lyons said to Bolger, “James, get onto air sea rescue at Shannon. See if they would be prepared to get their helicopter up to scour the area out west of Roundstone. I don’t know where this guy is headed, but we need to find him. There’s a radio in my jacket that you can use once they are airborne.”

  It took them just over an hour to get to the harbour in Roundstone. Brosnan was there, and the man with the bright orange RIB was there too, with the boat already launched and bobbing about in the water.

  Brosnan introduced Darragh Egan as the owner of the powerful looking vessel.

  “Don’t worry, Inspector. He only has nine horse power, we’ll have seventy. If he’s out there, we’ll catch him.”

  As they boarded the inflatable, they heard the heavy throb of the coastguard helicopter overhead.

  Lyons spoke to the pilot and explained what they were doing, and agreed that the helicopter would search the sea space and report back to the RIB if they found anything. It wasn’t long before they heard from the chopper.

  “There’s a yacht under sail heading north, some six nautical miles from your position.” The pilot went on to give the co-ordinates of the boat.

  “I have GPS on board. I can steer to that location. We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Egan said.

  It wasn’t long before they could see the shape of the thirty-foot sloop with its large white sails, gently heeled over, using the south westerly breeze to ply along at a brisk pace.

  “Any chance we could try and sneak up on him, approach from the lee side where his sails might obstruct his view of us,” Lyons shouted to Egan.

  “I can try, but he’ll probably hear my engine if he’s just on sail power,” Egan said.

  They ploughed on through the gentle aquamarine swell until they could see Derek Williams clearly on board, sitting down low in the cockpit of his yacht.

  He saw them too, and must have realised what was happening. He disappeared below decks for a couple of minutes, and then reappeared.

  As the RIB got close, Egan said to Lyons, “There’s something wrong. She’s lying too low in the water. Look, the sea is slopping over the side. I think she’s sinking!”

  On board the yacht, Williams had gone below and opened the sea cocks. Seawater was rushing into the boat at a fast pace, and the main cabin was already calf deep in it. Williams reached to the stern of the boat, and pulled the small Avon dinghy that was being towed along behind the yacht by its painter, till it was up against the pushpit. He then climbed over the rear guardrail and dropped into the dinghy, untying the painter from the mothership and drifting away. By the time Egan had caught up to him, Williams’ yacht was awash, and close to going under. There was nothing anyone could do – the boat was heading for the bottom, and any further evidence that it contained was going with it.

  Egan, who turned out to be a very skilled helmsman, brought the larger orange RIB alongside the smaller Avon dinghy.

  “We need you to come aboard, Mr Williams,” Lyons said as the two boats chafed against each other uncomfortably.

  “You want me, come and get me,” Williams replied defiantly.

  “Right, James, over you go,” Lyons said.

  Bolger gave her a dirty look, but did as he was told. A couple of seconds later, he was in the Avon with Williams, and had the suspect handcuffed, with his hands behind his back. Bolger then passed the long rope attached to the bow of the dinghy to Egan who made it fast, and they began to tow it back towards Roundstone.

  As they motored away from the scene, Williams’ yacht gave a few bubbly gasps and went down by the head, never to be seen again.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “And what have you charged my client with this time, Inspector, littering the pavement?” Ernest Joyce said when he entered the station at Mill Street and got talking to Lyons.


  “How does three counts of murder, one of attempted murder and arson grab you, Mr Joyce, plus a whole host of other offences to do with aviation? The list is so long, I can’t remember it all,” Lyons said.

  “And I presume you have…”

  “Yes, Mr Joyce, we have lots and lots and lots of excellent evidence, so can we stop wasting our time and get on with it?” Lyons interrupted.

  In the interview room Williams was bombarded with all the evidence that the team had gathered.

  There were the hair samples that had been found on his boat, and the other bio material that Sinéad Loughran had recovered before Williams had scuppered the yacht.

  There was the plastic pipe, complete with a trace of Williams blood on it, and a cut across it that exactly matched the corresponding pattern on the tubing found in Williams’ home wine making kit.

  There was the Stanley knife found in the boot of Williams’ car.

  There was the chatroom interaction between Emma Fortune and Williams, where Emma had threatened to expose him for having sex with his pupils – some of whom were underage, making it statutory rape.

  John O’Connor had found that before the plane crash, Williams had been searching for details of the fuel system on Lycoming engines, as fitted to almost every Cessna 172 that was ever made.

  There was the thumb print on the lock that had been found in the grass out at the hangar at Galway airport.

  Print outs and screen shots of the incriminating messages and Williams’ search activities were produced.

  Throughout the interview, Williams, and surprisingly, his solicitor, remained almost completely silent. When Lyons had exhausted all the evidence, she looked Williams dead in the eye, and said, “You must have something to say, Mr Williams. Your silence could be interpreted by a jury as an admission of guilt, or at least as contemptuous. It isn’t going to do you any good in the long run.”

  Joyce responded on his client’s behalf.

  “I wonder if I could have a few minutes to confer with my client, Inspector.”

  “Certainly. I need a break anyway. Shall we say fifteen minutes?”

  “Thank you, yes, that would be fine.”