On the way to Blarney, Hays asked if she thought the trip had been worthwhile.
“Yes, I think so,” and then she nudged his thigh and held up two plastic tie wraps in her left hand.
“Christ! Where did you get those?”
“In his office. They were on top of the bookcase.”
“I must be getting old,” he laughed, “I didn’t see a thing!”
“Classic diversion tactic. I was fiddling with the settings on the chair, and he was looking at me thinking ‘she can’t even adjust the height on an office chair’, when I reached behind me with my other hand and slipped them into my pocket. And yes.”
“Yes what?”
“You are getting old!”
He slapped her leg playfully.
“Watch it, Lyons, or you’ll be back on the beat catching bank robbers.”
“At least I’ll get some recognition for that!” she jeered.
They took their time over an excellent lunch in Blarney, and Lyons drove them back to Galway. They hit the city traffic just at the start of the rush hour, and the road in from Oranmore was clogged with slow moving vehicles. They got back to the station just after five o’clock, but decided it was too late for another meeting with the team, and that it would all keep till the morning in any case.
Chapter Twenty-one
The team had all arrived by nine o’clock on Wednesday, so Hays decided to have their briefing without delay. It was a miserable day in the city, with incessant heavy rain lashing the streets and thick grey clouds overhead. The team seemed to be as glum as the weather as Hays outlined the trip to Cork and their meeting with Paddy O’Shaughnessy’s nephew.
“So, where does all that leave us?” Eamon Flynn asked.
“Well, we know O’Shaughnessy hasn’t been completely open with us. He said nothing about his call to Boston, and even feigned surprise that Paddy had Coca Cola shares, which he already knew. It may be innocent enough, but it needs to be checked out.”
“John, can you get those two tie wraps over to forensics? I’d like to see if they are the same brand that we found on Paddy,” Lyons said, holding them up in a clear evidence bag.
“And, Sally, I’d like you to do a deep dig into ITOS. I want as much detail as you can find. Accounts, press releases, client lists – everything. Who owns it, how solvent it is – the whole deal. And while you’re at it, have a good snoop around on one Jerome Kelly, QFA that was – he’s a bit tricky for my liking, and he wasn’t entirely honest with us when we called on him. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sure, Sergeant. I’d love to. But it will take me most of the day. Is that OK?”
“Of course, Sally, however long it takes. Just make it thorough.”
The team spent the rest of the day getting the case file into proper order, updating the computers with as much information as they could find, but for some reason the day dragged terribly. When the clock finally crawled round to five, Hays told them all to go home. On his way out, he stopped at the front desk and asked Sergeant Flannery if Kelly had left an envelope in for him.
“Sorry, Inspector, nothing, and I’ve been here all day,” the sergeant said with a weary sigh.
“Damn!”
* * *
Maureen Lyons got home to her apartment down by the river Corrib at ten to six. She had stopped off along the way to buy a few ready meals, and when she had changed out of her work clothes into jeans and a T-shirt, she popped a chicken curry in the microwave to heat up. When the cooker pinged, Maureen poured herself a generous glass of red wine, and settled in front of the telly with her feet up to watch the news.
When she had finished the meal, she moved over to the table in her small lounge and logged onto her laptop computer. She opened her email which had half a dozen spam mails from various shops that she had enrolled with, and another one from an obscure address with just a single word in the subject line – O’Shaughnessy.
Curious, she opened it.
GIVE UP THE O’SHAUGHNESSY CASE. HE DIED OF OLD AGE. LEAVE IT OR YOU WILL BE SORRY. WE KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE AND WE’RE WATCHING YOU.
Maureen felt a nasty chill creeping all over her. She had never received anything like this before, and the fact that it had come through to her personal Gmail account was scary. She looked around the room, half-expecting to see a villain in a hoodie hiding behind the curtains. She felt very uncomfortable, as if her own private space had been invaded.
After a few minutes, when she had checked out the flat to make sure there was no one there apart from herself, she went into the bedroom and retrieved the pay-as-you-go phone that was taped to the back of her underwear drawer. She turned it on, and mercifully it had still got some charge left in the battery. She launched the text messaging application and keyed in Hays’ mobile number from memory. The message itself was just four words – “Sa bhaile, cuidiu liom” – and she pressed send. This was the Irish words for “at home, help me” and it was a protocol that Hays and herself had set up in case either of them was ever in trouble. She knew he would respond urgently, and alone, until the nature of the situation was established. Maureen knew enough not to use her normal phone for this communication. Whoever was threatening her could easily be eavesdropping, her home could even be bugged.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Hays pulled up outside Maureen’s apartment. He had a good look round, and then sounded three very short beeps on his car horn. Anyone listening would think that it was just a car alarm setting. Maureen knew the signal and pressed the door release button on her intercom to admit her colleague.
When Hays came into her apartment, he raised his index finger in front of his lips. He took a small black electronic device from his pocket, turned it on, and swept each of the rooms in turn, searching for a listening device.
“Nothing,” he said, “are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry for the three nines, but look at this,” she said gesturing towards the open laptop on her desk. Hays read the email and let out a low whistle.
“We’ve hit a nerve somewhere. I wonder who is behind this?”
“The bank guy; the nephew; the QFA; someone we haven’t seen yet – who knows, but it’s a bit scary.”
“Damn right it is. OK. Here’s what we’re going to do. Pack enough for three or four days and bring your toothbrush. You’re coming to stay with me till we get this sorted.”
“Is this how you get all your girlfriends to move in with you, Mick? So romantic!”
He walked over to her and took hold of her upper arms and kissed her forehead.
“Just looking after the team. No, but seriously, I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. You know that.” He kissed her again, properly this time.
* * *
Maureen had never been upstairs in Mick Hays’ house out in Salthill. It was a pretty average three-bedroom semi, the main bedroom looked out to the front, and there was a half-decent view of the sea. She noticed that the place was typical of a man living on his own. It was tolerably clean, but the curtains, carpets and bed linen were old and tired looking. She settled in quickly, putting her few clothes into an empty drawer and her wash things in the bathroom. Before going back downstairs to join him, she had a quick look round for any traces of another woman, but found none.
Downstairs, they drank a couple of glasses of red wine, and Maureen finally began to relax.
“I want you to take the day off tomorrow. Drop me in and take my car. I’ll bring in your laptop and we’ll see if we can trace the sender of the email. Keep your main phone off. I’ll contact you on the stand-by one.”
“I’m not sure, Mick. Do you not think that’s giving in to them a bit?”
“No. Your safety is what matters, so please don’t fight me on this. I know what’s best.”
“Thanks,” she said, and snuggled in a bit closer to him.
Chapter Twenty-two
Lyons dropped Hays off at Mill Street at half past eight the following morning and drove bac
k to the house in Salthill in his car. She hadn’t showered yet, so she washed and tidied up, but by this time it was only half past nine and she had no idea how to fill the day.
She went back to the bedroom where they had spent the night together and looked at the bed.
“This won’t do at all, Mick Hays, it’s just not good enough,” she said out loud to herself.
Half an hour later Maureen found herself in Eglington Square in the heart of Galway city. She made straight away for Brown Thomas and headed directly to the household linens.
Hays’ bed was a standard four foot six double, so there was lots of choice available in sheets, duvet covers and pillowcases. She browsed the linens carefully and selected two fitted sheets in cotton with a high thread count. They felt luxurious to the touch, and the assistant assured her that they were the most popular in their luxury range and would last for ten years or more.
God knows where I’ll be in ten years, she thought to herself, maybe still sharing Mick Hays’ bed – and maybe not!
Next, she chose a bright patterned duvet cover and a set of matching pillowcases, and then she doubled up on the purchase to ensure that it would be safe to throw Mick’s current stuff away. Finally, she equipped herself with two complete sets of fluffy cotton towels. One was pale blue, and the other a rich cream colour. Each set went all the way from face cloth to bath sheet.
She left a small fortune behind her in the shop and struggled back to the car with the three enormous carrier bags. She locked all the stuff in the boot out of sight and set off again – she wasn’t finished yet!
Maureen went back to Dunnes Stores and quickly found the homewares section. She spoke to a very helpful girl about curtains, not having measured the ones in the bedroom before she set out. The girl pointed Maureen to a range of ready-made curtains that she assured her would fit the window in the upstairs bedroom, and Maureen took her time browsing the various offerings before settling on a nice pale pair with a sculptured pattern. She bought them and added a couple of cushions that matched the curtains to scatter at the top of the bed.
By lunchtime, Maureen was back at the house unloading all the new purchases when Mick called her on the stand-by phone.
“How’s things? Any more surprises?”
“No. How’s things there?”
“We’re making progress. I’ll fill you in later. I just wanted to see that you were OK.”
“Never better. Just sorting out a few bits and pieces. I’ll see you around six. God! Listen to us, like an old married couple. Go on, will ya?”
Hays laughed and hung up.
When Maureen had taken a light lunch of soup that she had found in the fridge, she set about Mick’s house with a vengeance. She changed the bed clothes, took down the old drab green curtains, and replaced them with the fresh bright ones she had bought earlier. Then she got busy with the bleach and cream cleaner and attacked the bathroom. She cleaned out all the grouting between the tiles, and down where the shower doors ran in a rail, which had become black and stained. She scrubbed the floor, putting out the new towels on the towel rail. She stood back to admire the makeover. “Christ, I hope he doesn’t throw me out on my ear,” she said to herself, but inwardly she felt that he would be quite pleased.
Chapter Twenty-three
Mick Hays brought Maureen’s laptop into the station with him when she dropped him off. Sally was already busy on her PC, and Eamon Flynn was at his desk.
“Morning, Sally. A bit later on when things get going, could you get on to the technical bureau in Dublin? We need a good computer guy to do some digging on an email Maureen has received.”
“Sure, boss. But you know my brother is studying computers at the university here in Galway. He’s pretty good at stuff like that. Would he be any help?”
“Well perhaps, but we need to get this done as quickly as we can. Do you think he might come in and have a look for us?”
“Why don’t I call him and see what he’s up to?” Sally said.
“Thanks. Oh, and have you found anything out about ITOS?”
“Yes. I’m just typing it up now. It makes very interesting reading!”
“We’ll have a chat at twelve and you can tell us all about it. Oh, and did the front desk say there was an envelope for me?”
“No, sir, nothing.”
No sooner had Hays sat down at his desk than the phone rang.
“Plunkett here, Mick. Could you pop up to me for a few minutes?”
“Of course, sir. Is now OK?”
“Yes, fine,” and the superintendent put the phone down.
* * *
In Plunkett’s office, Hays was invited to sit in front of the large mahogany desk.
“Just wondering how this O’Shaughnessy thing is panning out, Mick?”
“Well, we’re making progress. It’s tricky, because we don’t know exactly when he died, and there’s very little forensic evidence. But we’re getting there.”
“I understand you have interviewed his nephew, Ciaran.”
“Yes. He’s probably going to be a beneficiary of the will in due course, him and his sister.”
“You need to go easy there, Mick. Your man is connected. Apparently, he does a lot of work for various TDs and even the Taoiseach.”
“Have you had a call from Merrion Street?”
“The usual bullshit, carefully phrased, but basically asking us to back off.”
“I think you know me better than that, Superintendent. And you should know that one of my officers has received direct threats too. I’d like to see this one through, sir.”
“No chance it could be put down to an old man dying of natural causes then? Get the clowns off my back?”
“Afraid not, sir, unless you’re giving me a direct order to drop it?”
“You know me better than that, Mick. But be careful. I don’t fancy a transfer to the Aran Islands, and you could end up back in clothes.”
“Thanks. I hear what you’re saying. I’ll go carefully, but the very fact that someone is that rattled tells us something.”
“Who was it that got threatened?”
“Sergeant Lyons. A nasty email to her personal account. Said she was being watched, and they know where she lives.”
“Is she safe?”
“I have it under control, sir, she’ll be fine.”
* * *
At twelve o’clock they had a meeting. Hays filled them in on why Sergeant Lyons was taking the day off. Sally said that her brother would be in at around two o’clock and was looking forward to the challenge. Hays emphasised to her that the entire matter had to be kept totally confidential, and she confirmed that she had made that abundantly clear to Trevor.
Hays then asked for an update on ITOS.
Sally handed round a two-page set of typed notes.
“The company is basically broke. They have debts of over a million euro, and it seems to be getting worse every day. They are heavily bank borrowed, and there are other loans too, but I haven’t found out who they are from yet. Ciaran is the only shareholder, and he put the entire proceeds of his father’s will into the company by way of a debenture.”
Sally noticed the puzzled looks on the faces of Eamon Flynn and John O’Connor.
“It’s a way of lending money to a company that’s more secure than just putting in more shareholders’ funds. A debenture holder has first call on the assets if the company is liquidated.”
“And did that not solve its financial woes, Sally?” Flynn asked.
“No. It was a mere drop in the ocean, but it allowed him to keep the doors open for a few more months.”
“So, let’s just speculate for a minute,” Hays said. “Say he knew that Paddy had over a hundred grand in Coca Cola shares. If he could have got hold of that money, he might have been able to use it to buy some more time at least.”
“Yes, sir, and the shares are as good as cash. He wouldn’t have had any trouble converting them into readies,” Sally added.
&n
bsp; They all remained silent for a few moments, digesting the news.
“And what about our QFA, Sally?” Hays asked.
“I’m still working on that, boss, but there have been quite a few complaints about him to the regulators. He’s no longer a QFA as you know, but he still poses as one. I’m getting his phone records sent to me, although I had to pretend to be a Garda before Tesco would talk to me – I hope that’s OK?” she said, looking nervous.
“Of course, that’s not a problem. Let me know when you get them, and can we see if we can find out who he banks with?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Right, Eamon, your turn. What of our two clients from Limerick?”
“Clients is right. Your friend Pat Dineen got very fed up with them. He’s charged them with taking and driving away, and two counts of arson and conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, and obstructing. He says he’ll dream up a few more charges before he’s finished. They’re on remand – they didn’t even ask for bail. He wants them off the streets. He says they should get two years when it comes to court.”
“Excellent. Thanks, Eamon, that’s cheered me up no end,” Hays said, smiling. “Now, for the rest of the day I’m going to stay close to Sally’s brother to see what he can get from Maureen’s PC. Sally, can you keep digging into Ciaran O’Shaughnessy, see if you can find out anything more about him? If he’s desperate for cash, he could be up to all sorts. Check his passport records too. Eamon, you and John had better take a look at this burglary at the Centra store that came in this morning. I think it’s just the usual fags and booze, but you never know what you might turn up. And when you’ve done that, I want you round at Kelly’s address on the Shantalla at six o’clock. Bring him in for questioning, and make sure you bring his diary, his mobile phone and his laptop with him.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Trevor Fahy arrived at Mill Street Garda station just after two o’clock. He was tall, rakishly thin, with a mop of fair, curly hair, and was dressed in the typical student’s uniform of black jeans and T-shirt, and a grey zipper jacket bearing the North Face logo.
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