“I see. Well that’s very useful to know,” Hays said.
“Yes, Mick, but go carefully. You know I have big ideas for this place. I want to grow a serious detective unit here that will dominate the entire Western Region. And you and your team are very much part of all that. It’s the same old story. If we get a good result here, then we’ll be heroes, and I’ll get to do what I want. If we screw up, then they’ll move me to the Aran Islands and it will be game over.”
“No pressure then, sir, I see.”
“Things are getting a lot more political in the force, Mick. We have to deal with a lot of stuff that we never saw before, and most of it isn’t helpful. If I need to replace a squad car these days, they nearly want to have a commission of enquiry. So, let’s get the right result here, eh Mick. I have every faith in you and the team, and if you need anything, let me know.”
Hays drained his cup and stood up thanking Plunkett for the coffee and saying that he would keep him posted.
Back in the incident room, the team were all present and Hays lost no time in addressing them.
“I’ve just had a meeting with Superintendent Plunkett,” he said, “and here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to bring young O’Shaughnessy in for questioning – some fairly aggressive questioning at that. We’ll present him with the CCTV evidence, the tie wraps, his company’s finances, and we’ll sweat him about his whereabouts on the day of the murder.”
“You’re after a confession, boss,” Lyons said.
“I am, and I intend to get it. Now, John, can you get on to Anglesea Street in Cork and ask them to set up the most oppressive interview room that they have? Once we’re on the road we’ll get them to bring him in using a squad car with lights and all. I want you and you with me,” he said, indicating Lyons and Flynn, “and we play bad cop, worse cop, and nightmare from hell cop. Any questions?”
“What about Kelly?” Lyons asked.
“We’ll turn him over to Liam in the drugs squad. If there’s anything there for us, he’ll find it and let us know. Kelly’s days as a financial advisor are definitely up I’d say.
“OK. Let’s get going then. John, you stay close to the phone all day. We may need some coordination from here. And if you’ve nothing better to do, check out Kelly’s alibi with Ryanair and his hotel. Make sure he didn’t pop back mid-week to bump off the old guy. The guys at the airport should be able to tell you that from his passport scans. Maureen, will you bring the evidence, such as it is?”
“Yes, boss.”
Chapter Thirty-one
The three detectives were apprehensive about what lay ahead, but a little excited at the same time that they might actually close the case by that evening.
They made a pit stop on the outskirts of Limerick and Hays relayed the conversation that he had had with the superintendent that morning.
“We get one good shot at this, folks, and if he doesn’t come across, we’ll all be back in clothes writing parking tickets in Manorhamilton or Drumshanbo.”
“But, sir,” Flynn said, “there aren’t any cars in those towns.”
“Exactly my point, Eamon.”
It was nearly half past twelve by the time they arrived in Anglesea Street Garda Station in Cork. O’Connor had called ahead, and when they had introduced themselves, the desk sergeant told them that Detective Inspector Donovan would like to see them. They all trooped up the stairs and found his office on the third floor.
“Come in folks, come in,” Donovan said in a strong Cork accent, welcoming the visitors.
Introductions were made all round, and Hays and Lyons sat down leaving Flynn standing as there was no third chair.
“We have your man downstairs. Jesus, he’s livid. I’ve rarely seen someone so agitated, and of course he’s got himself a solicitor – a Mr Daniel Murphy. Seems quite a cute sort, so you may have your work cut out. One of my uniformed men will be in with you. Are you all going in together?”
“No,” said Hays, “Sergeant Lyons and myself will start proceedings. It’s important he sees her after the threatening email that was sent. Then we’ll rotate Detective Flynn in and out. I have someone looking to see if we can get a second twenty-four hours if we need it.”
“So, you’re fairly sure this is your man then?” Donovan asked.
“We are, but we only have some pretty circumstantial evidence so far, so we need a confession.”
“Good luck with that! Right, you’d better get moving before he starts shouting about lunch. Oh, and by the way, we got his fingerprints off him, ‘for elimination purposes’ as it were.”
“Excellent, thanks.”
* * *
The interview room was as drab and oppressive as they had requested. The green walls, and the dirty window positioned high in the wall opposite the door, combined with the smell of sweat, created a unique atmosphere which was just what the detectives needed.
When Hays and Lyons entered the room, O’Shaughnessy and his solicitor were seated side by side, and the uniformed Garda from the Cork station was standing at ease by the door.
“About bloody time!” O’Shaughnessy burst out, jumping to his feet. “What the hell do you think you are doing? I have a business to run, you know.”
Murphy touched his arm and made soothing gestures, asking his client to calm down, and they all took their respective seats.
Lyons read the man his rights very slowly and deliberately, staring him in the eye with a fixed gaze throughout the short speech.
“Do you require a drink of water, or tea, Mr O’Shaughnessy, or perhaps a toilet break?” she asked.
“I require to get bloody well out of here, that’s what I require!” he snapped back at her.
“Very well, then we’ll begin.”
Lyons explained that O’Shaughnessy had not, as yet, been charged with anything, and that they were there to progress enquiries about the brutal torture and murder of O’Shaughnessy’s uncle.
“Where were you, Mr O’Shaughnessy, on Wednesday afternoon two weeks ago?” Lyons asked.
“I don’t bloody know, do I, I told you I travel a lot for business. I’d have to consult my diary.”
“Do you have it with you?” she asked.
“Does it look like I have it with me?” he replied, spreading his hands to show that he had nothing with him.
“I thought you might keep it on your phone, Mr O’Shaughnessy, you know, along with your emails,” she said, drawing out the word ‘emails’ and staring at him coldly.
Daniel Murphy piped up. “Could we move along please, Sergeant? My client has answered your question.”
Lyons paused for a moment and turned to look at the solicitor.
“Mr Murphy, not only has your client specifically not answered my question, but he has been rude, aggressive, and offensive in failing to do so. May I propose that you advise your client to be more cooperative and less offensive, or we’ll be here for a very long time indeed.”
Murphy looked at his client and raised an eyebrow.
Hays had seen Lyons in this mood before, and he was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end.
“So, Mr O’Shaughnessy, I’ll ask again, where were you on the afternoon of Wednesday two weeks ago?”
Murphy gave his client what he thought was an imperceptible nod, which was picked up by both detectives, and O’Shaughnessy replied, “I was in my office. I had a business meeting in Limerick in the morning at eleven, and when that was over, I drove back to my office. I arrived back around two o’clock.”
“Thank you, Mr O’Shaughnessy, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” she said, “and I presume that you have people that can vouch for your presence at that meeting, and for your arrival back at your premises?”
O’Shaughnessy said nothing.
“We’ll take that as a yes for now then, shall we?” Lyons said.
“And can you tell us what the purpose of your meeting in Limerick was?” she continued.
Murphy interjected again. “I can’t see how tha
t’s relevant to your enquiries, Sergeant.”
Lyons had had enough of this. Time to put this guy in his box.
“Really, Mr Murphy. I’m very surprised that a man of your obvious legal talent can’t figure that out. We believe that your client’s business is in financial difficulty, Mr Murphy, and that Paddy O’Shaughnessy was murdered for financial gain. We need to establish if there is any possible connection between those two matters, so I’ll ask again…”
Murphy looked at his client and shook his head ever so slightly from side to side.
“No comment,” replied the man, and he sat back smugly in his chair as if the response had acquitted him of any possible wrong-doing.
The interview proceeded on the same lines for another tortuous forty minutes. At half past one, Lyons called a break for lunch, and said that food would be brought in for the solicitor and his client, and that they could use the time to consult if required. The interview would resume at two o’clock.
* * *
The detectives adjourned to a nearby office and were joined by Flynn who had procured sandwiches for them all.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Not much so far,” Lyons admitted, “that little prick Murphy is keeping him straight.”
“You did a pretty good number on him, though,” Hays said smiling.
“Not good enough. He’s a wily little fucker,” she said, between mouthfuls.
It was agreed that Flynn and Hays would resume the interview at two o’clock. Hays asked Lyons to find out what car O’Shaughnessy owned, and its registration details.
“If I remember from our last visit, it’s a blue BMW 3 Series. But I’ll get the number. I suppose you want me to get onto O’Connor and see if there’s anything on it?”
“Exactly,” Hays replied, heading back with Flynn to the interview room.
* * *
When the interview recommenced, Daniel Murphy had a go at Hays to see if he could wrestle his client free from the clutches of the Gardaí.
“Inspector Hays, we’ve had a good deal of questioning now, mostly fishing on your part. Have you any substantive evidence that can link my client to your investigation? If not, we’ll be leaving.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr Murphy. We’ve barely got started!”
Then, turning to Ciaran O’Shaughnessy, he said, “Mr O’Shaughnessy, have you ever owned a mobile phone with this number?” He showed him the number of the phone used to set up the arson attack on Paddy’s cottage.
“No, I don’t recognize it,” O’Shaughnessy said.
“Then how do you explain this?” Hays said, showing the suspect the photo taken from the Meteor shop’s CCTV footage.
“Explain what exactly, Inspector?” Daniel Murphy asked.
“Is this not a photograph of you purchasing a pay as you go mobile phone in the Meteor shop on Oliver Plunkett Street the day before your uncle’s house was burned to the ground?”
“This is a photograph of some random person who looks vaguely like my client from behind. Hardly evidence, Inspector.”
“And is this not a picture of you entering an internet café to send a threatening email to a member of An Garda Siochána, Mr O’Shaughnessy?”
O’Shaughnessy made to reply, but Murphy cut in ahead of him.
“Really, Inspector, you’ll have to do much better than that. Now I suggest you either charge my client with something or let him go immediately!”
Hays managed to string it out for another half-hour, not wanting to yield to Murphy’s demand at once, but it was clear that O’Shaughnessy was in no humour to confess to anything. They had to release him. Hays was expecting Murphy to threaten the Gardaí with all sorts of things, but to his surprise, no threat was made.
Going back in the car the mood was very glum and there were few words spoken. They dropped Flynn off at the station, and on the way out to Hays’ house Maureen asked him to give her a lift back to her own apartment with her stuff. It didn’t take them long to get her few belongings together, and he left her back at her flat by the river bidding her goodnight with a quick perfunctory kiss.
Chapter Thirty-two
The next day Hays reported the progress, or lack of it, to Superintendent Plunkett. He was expecting Plunkett to be angry, but to his surprise, the senior man was quite unperturbed.
“I know it’s a disappointment, Mick, but if you resort to good old-fashioned police work, you’ll nail him. You’re sure it’s him?”
“Yes, sir, certain. What about the fallout from up above?”
“You let me worry about that. If you’ve rattled him enough there won’t be any.”
Back in the incident room Hays called the team together again.
“Anything new?” he asked, expecting to be disappointed.
John O’Connor raised his hand.
“Yes, John, what have you?” Hays asked.
“Well, firstly, Kelly’s alibi holds up. Ryanair confirmed that he actually travelled on the flights he said he did, and there’s no sign of him coming back mid-week either. The hotel says he was there every night he said he was, so it looks like he was telling the truth. But there’s more.
“You know you asked me to check out Ciaran O’Shaughnessy’s car yesterday, sir? Well I did, and it turns out he was pinged at 15:21 p.m. doing a 130 kph heading north between Gort and Galway on the day Paddy was murdered.”
“Was he now. Good work, John. There can’t be any mistake about this, can there?”
“No, sir. I’m getting the Gatso folks to send over the photo, but they say it’s a slam dunk.”
“So, he lied to us about his movements that day. Good. We’re closing in.”
“Yes, boss, but it’s still all too circumstantial. We need more – something positive,” Lyons said.
“I agree,” Hays said, and thought for a minute.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you and I nip out to the cottage again? We haven’t been there for a while, and you have a happy knack of finding things. Remember last year when you found that boarding card in the ditch?” he said.
“Oh, that,” she said.
“Might as well,” Lyons said, “better than hanging around here doing nothing anyway.”
* * *
It was a fine spring morning as they drove out west from Galway. Beyond Oughterard the gorse was just starting to bloom, and as they passed a few of the bright yellow bushes, the heady scent of coconut wafted in through the open car windows.
The twelve pins looked magnificent in the distance, the sunshine giving them their famous blue tones. With fluffy cotton wool clouds drifting by slowly overhead, the two detectives could not help but be moved by the sheer beauty of their surroundings.
They stopped in Roundstone for an early lunch, enjoying a pair of Mrs Vaughan’s legendary smoked salmon salads, sitting looking out at the glistening waters of Bertraghboy Bay.
“How did you get on being back at home last night?” Hays asked his sergeant.
“Fine. Everything was just the same.” Then, unprompted, she reached across the low table and squeezed his hand, “but I missed you.”
“Me too,” he said stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.
“Fuck it, Mick, we’ll have to sort ourselves out,” she said.
“I agree. Let’s get this thing behind us first. Then we’ll take some time out and see what we can come up with.”
“You’re not messing now, are you? I’d prefer you to be straight with me.”
“No, I’m not messing, Maureen. That’s not me, but we need to think things out properly if it’s going to work out for us.”
* * *
They reached the burnt-out shell of Paddy O’Shaughnessy’s old cottage about half an hour after leaving Roundstone. It looked much the same as it did the last time they were there, except there were no vehicles around, and the blue and white crime scene tape was all but gone, with just a few scraps fluttering in the breeze.
They got out of t
heir car and deeply inhaled the pure air. The grass was starting to grow over the track leading to the old house, and a few clover plants had put out their small, pale flowers.
“What do you want to do?” Lyons asked.
“Just walk around. Get the feel of the place. Try to imagine Ciaran arriving to get his uncle to lend him money to save his business. See what comes to you,” he said.
They set off in different directions walking around the site, moving the grass and clover with their feet. After a few minutes Hays shouted, “Maureen, over here!”
He was standing quite still, looking down between his feet.
“What is it?”
“Look between my feet.”
Lying in the grass between Hays’ two large black leather shoes, was a coin. It was partly hidden by the grass, and he had only seen it because the sun had caught it, and it briefly flashed a beam of light at him.
“Very carefully, get that into an evidence bag. Don’t touch it, and don’t rub the surface, just pick it up by its edges.”
Maureen manoeuvred the two euro coin into a small plastic evidence bag.
“That could have been dropped by anyone, you know,” she said.
“Yes, I know. But it’s time we got a lucky break.”
“And what are you hoping to get from it anyway?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you on the way back.”
“And while you’re at it, I’ve been thinking if Ciaran drove up from Cork in his BMW, he would have needed to refuel before going back. So where would he have done that, I wonder?”
“Possibly in Clifden?”
“That’s what I was thinking, and didn’t the owner of that garage, what was his name, Ferris, that’s it, didn’t he say he had to fit CCTV at the garage because he was getting broken into so often?”
“Christ, Maureen, I think you’re right. Let’s head in and see what we can dig up.”
* * *
Out of courtesy they stopped at Clifden Garda station and found Sergeant Mulholland tucking into a cup of tea and a packet of chocolate biscuits.
“Ah, Séan, just in time. Yes, we’d love a cup of tea, thanks!” Hays said.
They explained the reason for their unexpected visit, and Mulholland quickly volunteered Jim Dolan to go to the garage and collect the CCTV footage. He said he would get Dolan to look at it, and they would let Hays know if there was anything significant. Lyons gave the sergeant the registration number and details of O’Shaughnessy’s car.
The Galway Homicides Box Set Page 25