“Sure, why would I do that, and you a property mogul,” he jibed back at her.
“So, what are your plans?” Hays asked. He was very mindful that it was still her case, despite him being the more senior officer.
“I think I’ll head to the wee North in the morning with Eamon to collect McFadden. We’ll look pretty inconspicuous driving to Dungannon, just like a couple out for the day. Can you get to work on our latest client and see what you can get out of him other than ‘no comment’?”
“That sounds like a plan. Do you think he’s the brains behind all this?” Hays said.
“I doubt it. In fact, I think both he and McFadden are pretty thick. That was very amateur tonight – not well thought out at all. He was asking to be lifted if you ask me,” Lyons said.
“I’m not sure. If he thought that they still had the boy in captivity, then the bagman would just have been dealing with an irrational parent, not Galway’s finest. Their communication has definitely broken down somewhere along the line, that’s for sure, but I think McFadden is probably the thick end of the plank. What about the girl?”
“I think we’ll leave her to the super-sleuths out in Roundstone and Clifden. It will give them something to do and keep them involved in case anything else blows up.”
“OK. But do you think they’re up to it?” Hays said.
“Probably. But I don’t think she was very important in the grand scheme of things anyway. She probably just went along with McFadden for the adventure and the chance of a few bob. It’s a shame about her though, she looked like a nice girl,” Lyons said.
“OK. It’s your call, and I’m happy to go along with it. I think we may have to step in at some stage if they’re getting nowhere. We can’t just ignore the death of a young girl out in the bog,” Hays said.
“I agree. But we have enough to be doing for now, so let’s give them a few days and see what they come up with. When I’m up north tomorrow, why don’t you assign Sally as their contact for the case? That way we’ll get to know what’s happening, and they’ll feel that they need to be doing something as well,” Lyons said.
“Excellent. Good thinking. I’ll tell Mulholland in the morning. That should cheer him up no end,” Hays said.
Chapter Seventeen
When the bagman arrived in Galway’s Mill Street Garda station, Sergeant Flannery, the night man, processed him as if he was being charged, even though he was officially only helping the Gardaí with their enquiries. He took the man’s fingerprints, and relieved him of his bag of cut up newspapers, placing it in an evidence sack, and locking it into the secure store. When the man emptied his pockets, a wallet, mobile phone, driving license, set of car keys and a Ryanair boarding card were all collected. The man was then ushered to a cell, offered some basic catering, and locked up for the night where Flannery would check on him every half hour, and write up the log. During the night, with little else to do, the sergeant examined the contents of the man’s wallet, and wrote up the information it revealed on a single sheet of paper, ready to hand to Senior Inspector Hays the following morning.
Hays arrived at the station before eight o’clock. Sergeant Flannery gave him a brief account of the night the man had spent in the cells and handed over the one-page catalogue of the contents of his pockets. Hays studied the sheet with interest.
“Ah yes, Eddie Turner, the twenty euro note man. Forty-seven years old, and from London, no less. Well done, Sergeant. Give me ten minutes and then bring him into the interview room. I’ll be down then to start questioning him,” Hays said.
Hays spent a few minutes in his office studying the sheet that the sergeant had given him. He then lifted the phone and dialled a UK number. The phone he was calling was answered on the second ring.
“Irene Russell,” said the woman’s voice on the other end of the line, in an educated British accent.
“Hi Irene. It’s Mick Hays here from Galway. How are you keeping?”
“Oh, hi Mick. Haven’t heard from you for a while. Yes, all good here. What about with you?”
“Can’t complain. Up to my neck in impossible cases as usual. And the do-gooders have us demented. Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a small favour?” Hays said.
“Sure, I didn’t think this was a social call. What do you need?” Russell said.
Irene Russell was a Detective Chief Inspector with the Metropolitan Police in London’s Scotland Yard. She had been injured in a shooting during a botched bank raid some years previously, and was now desk bound, serving as a senior officer in the Serious Crimes Division of the Met. Hays had met her before she was injured when they were working on a case involving subversives at the tail end of the Troubles in the 1990s, and they had got on well. Using their combined skills, they had managed to lift two very nasty types off a plane at Luton bound for Dublin, and they had assembled enough evidence to put them away for twelve years, although both had since been released under one of the many amnesties that the politicians had arranged since the Troubles officially ended.
“We’ve lifted a fella by the name of Eddie Turner, or so it says on his driving license. His date of birth is October 3rd, 1970. He’s got a London accent, and he came in recently on a flight from there. Just wondering if you have anything on him. I can send over his dabs by email if you like?”
“Ok, well send them on as soon as you can, and I’ll have a look for you. What’s he done anyway?” Russell said.
“It’s messy. He’s involved in some way in the kidnapping of a young English guy who was on holidays over here. It all went badly wrong, and the lad died. We lifted Turner trying to collect the ransom last night. Another girl died during the kidnap too, so it’s all a bit complicated. And as if that wasn’t enough, he also seems to be connected to some dodgy euro currency going around, but I’m not sure of his involvement in that yet.”
“Wow, sounds like you have your hands full, Mick. What was the victim’s name?”
“Craigue, Jeremy Craigue, son of Bernard and Hannah Craigue. I think they’re from Hendon or thereabouts,” Hays said.
“Do you want me to have a look at them too, just in case?” Russell said.
“Oh, right. Yes, if you don’t mind. Though they seem straight enough, but there might be something. That would be great. Thanks.”
Hays and Russell stayed on the phone for a few more minutes chatting about the old days, and how things had changed in policing in recent times, and not for the better, they concluded.
* * *
“Well, Eddie, did you have a good night in the Mill Street Hotel?” Hays asked Eddie Turner when the interview started.
“No comment,” Turner replied sullenly.
“Ah now Eddie, you’ll have to do better than that I’m afraid. You see we have some pretty serious charges to bring against you here. It would be much better for you if you started talking to us, much better. Now what do you say?”
“No comment.”
“Very well. If that’s the way you want to play it. But just so you don’t get any surprises, here’s what we’re looking at. Obviously, there’s the kidnap. But it’s a lot worse than that Eddie. You see, when McFadden and the girl collected their victim, they had a car crash. The lad that was kidnapped died as a result, and then the girl, who was badly injured in the crash, also died. McFadden then absconded and was picked up in the North by the police, on his way to Belfast.”
Hays waited for some response from Turner, but none was forthcoming.
“So, you see, Eddie, it seems that you are involved in the death of two people, a kidnap, and a host of other crimes. In fact, the list so far is as long as your arm. So, if you ever want to see daylight again, I suggest you start talking,” Hays said.
“I can’t. It’s more than my life’s worth. I ain’t saying nothing.”
“Well, that’s fine, Eddie, just as long as you’re happy to take the rap for the whole thing, but by the time we’re finished, you’re looking at fifteen years. The judges in this count
ry take kidnapping very seriously since the Troubles, and an Englishman in an Irish jail – well, I’ll leave you to figure out how well that will go for you,” Hays said as he stood and picked his file up from the table, preparing to leave the room.
When he got back to his desk, there was a note to call DCI Irene Russell in London.
He got through almost immediately.
“Hi, Irene. That was quick. What did you find, if anything?” Hays asked.
“Well, your friend Eddie has quite a bit of form. It’s mainly burglary, a bit of GBH and aggravated assault, nothing like kidnapping that I can see though,” she said.
“Has he done time inside?” Hays asked.
“Yes. He did a six month in The Scrubs a few years ago, and he has a couple of suspended sentences too, and he’s wanted for questioning about a few other capers. Is he talking yet?” Russell asked.
“No. Says it’s more than his life’s worth, but that could all be nonsense. Could I ask you to do a little more digging for us if you have the time?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I was wondering if you could have a quick look at his known associates. There’s someone bigger than Eddie Turner behind all this stuff, and someone that scares Eddie too, so probably not an amateur. Any information we can get will help us,” Hays said.
“Ok. I’ll have a dig around, see what I can come up with. I’ll try to get back to you later today.”
“Thanks very much, Irene, I’ll owe you one,” Hays said.
“You’re dead right there, and don’t think I won’t collect!” she replied.
* * *
Hays busied himself with writing up the considerable amount of paperwork that the case had generated and updating the Garda PULSE system with everything they knew so far. Then he put a call through to Sergeant Séan Mulholland in Clifden, asking him to get busy with the female passenger that had died in the car crash to see if he could locate her next of kin, who needed to be informed. Mulholland, who was pleased for once to be involved in a genuine criminal case, agreed to take on the task, and said he would inform Hays as soon as he had any information. Hays then briefed Sally Fahy on her role in the matter of the girl, and the Gardaí out in Clifden, and asked her to make sure that progress was being made, and that he was fully informed of any developments.
At twelve o’clock, Superintendent Plunkett phoned him for an update.
“Well, we have the bagman in custody, though he’s not saying much, and Lyons has gone North with Eamon Flynn to collect McFadden. So, by evening we should have the two perpetrators safely tucked away,” Hays said.
“Hmm, those of them that are left alive at least. Ok, well keep me posted, Mick. Let’s get this thing tidied up as soon as possible. We don’t want the press getting hold of it. And the boys in Dublin are now calling Galway the murder capital of Ireland, so let’s have some good news soon.”
Hays had decided to leave Eddie Turner alone for a few hours to stew. He felt that when they got McFadden back, the young man might readily give up a lot more information about the whole thing that would enable them to find out what was really going on.
Hays went out to Doherty’s pub for lunch and returned to the station soon after two o’clock. He was sitting at his desk about half an hour later when his phone rang.
Chapter Eighteen
It was almost a four-hour drive to Dungannon from Galway, so Flynn and Lyons left early, just after seven o’clock in the morning. It was a bright day, with just the odd brief shower every now and then. Apart from that, it was sunny and clear, and they made good time on the road.
Granard was about half way, so they stopped there soon after nine o’clock at the café in the main street and had a quick breakfast. They reached Dungannon just after eleven, with Lyons who was driving cursing the fact that the speed limits were in miles per hour as soon as they crossed the border, and her car’s odometer showed only kilometres per hour. Flynn had translated for her, so that they remained within the law. The last thing they needed was to be pinged by traffic cops for exceeding the speed limit. Their presence would be very awkward to explain.
At the police station in Dungannon, Lorcan McFadden was waiting for them in the main interview room, accompanied by a uniformed PSNI officer. He was handed over without ceremony, and with no paperwork changing hands. He said very little, only grumbling a bit about living in a police state. But he was quite subdued, and they soon had him seated in the rear of Lyons’ car, handcuffed, with his hands behind his back. Flynn sat in beside him and made sure that the doors were kiddie locked before they set off so that McFadden couldn’t jump out along the way.
The Gardaí didn’t feel much like talking to their client, but Flynn was curious about one thing.
“How did you and Sheila meet anyway, Lorcan? She seems to be a bit out of your league,” Flynn asked the fugitive.
“Aw shit man, she had to leave home after her ma married that prick Bolger. He’s a fucking pedo.”
* * *
When they got back across the border, the two detectives relaxed a little. McFadden said he was famished, so they arranged to stop in Cavan, and Lyons went into the Supermac shop and purchased food for the two men. She herself wasn’t hungry. After the stop, Flynn transferred to the front passenger’s seat, so he could eat his food and give their prisoner a bit of space to do the same. McFadden’s handcuffs had been released, and he had been re-cuffed with his hands in front of him so that he could eat his meal.
Lyons set off again as she had no food to eat and was keen to get the rest of the journey completed as soon as possible. Just a few kilometres outside the town, with Flynn still eating, McFadden made his move. He stretched forward and put his cuffed hands over Lyons’ head, and then pulled back hard so that he was choking her against the headrest. Flynn dropped his food and released his seatbelt in an effort to get control of the situation, but by now Lyons was choking badly and lost control of the car. The vehicle left the road and careered down an embankment, smashing into a fir tree. Flynn was catapulted forward, and without his seat belt to save him, his head hit the windscreen hard, and he fell in a heap in the passenger footwell, covered in chips and bits of burger.
Lorcan released some of the pressure on Lyons’ neck, and instructed her to undo his handcuffs, or he would strangle her there and then. Lyons knew enough to realise that he probably meant it, so reluctantly she reached into her pocket and retrieved the keys, which she then used to release McFadden’s handcuffs.
With his hands free, Lorcan elbowed the window in the rear door, shattering it. He then reached out and used the outside handle to open the door. He scrambled out, wrenched open the driver’s door and grabbed Lyons roughly by her jacket hauling her out of the car.
“Have you got a gun?” he rasped in her ear.
“Don’t be silly, Lorcan. Of course not. We’re not armed,” she replied.
“Give me your phone,” he demanded. “C’mon. Hand it over – now!”
Lyons reached into her jacket pocket and retrieved her phone, handing it to the fugitive.
“Right. We’re going back up on the road, and you use your warrant card to stop the first car that comes along. We’re taking it,” he said.
“What about Eamon? He’s badly hurt. We can’t just leave him here. He needs medical attention.”
“Good enough for him. He’ll be fine. Now c’mon, stop wasting time. He dragged her back up the embankment to the road.
“Now, no funny business. Stop the car and then leave it to me, and I strongly suggest you don’t try anything funny or you’ll regret it.”
The first car to appear on the road was a Nissan Almera, driven by an unaccompanied female driver. Lyons held up her hand displaying the warrant card while McFadden stood behind her with her other arm held firmly behind her back.
When the car stopped, McFadden opened the driver’s door.
“Out. Now!” he barked at the startled driver. “And give me your phone! Hurry!”
The woman was startled but did what she was told. McFadden pushed Lyons into the car and used his own handcuffs to fasten her wrists together and lock them onto the arm rest. He then got into the driver’s seat and restarted the car. As he drove off, Lyons managed to shout to the bewildered woman that there was an injured Garda in a car down in the ditch, and he needed medical help. She hoped the woman would have enough of her wits about her to stop the next car that came along and get help for Flynn, as well as alert the Gardaí to the situation.
McFadden drove the car at alarming speed for about a mile and then turned down a narrow side road which was little more than a track. They bumped along for a short distance, and then he turned into a gateway that led to an old, disused barn. He drove the car partly into the barn and stopped it.
Lyons had not been in this position before, but she had been on courses where this sort of scenario had been played out. She realised however that roleplay on a training course and the real thing were very different.
“What are you going to do, Lorcan?” she asked.
“Watch and learn, Inspector; watch and learn.”
McFadden had picked up Lyons’ phone and was scrolling through the list of recent calls. He saw that ‘Mick’ came up quite a bit.
“Who’s Mick?” he asked.
“He’s my boss. Senior Inspector Mick Hays to you,” Lyons said.
“Excellent. Let’s see if he’s got his phone switched on, shall we?” Lorcan said with a slightly evil grin.
He called Hays’ number.
* * *
Hays was at his desk in the Galway station when his phone came to life. He looked at the screen and saw that it was Maureen Lyons calling.
“Hi. What’s up?” he said cheerfully.
“I’ll tell ya what’s up buddy, so listen carefully. This is Lorcan McFadden. I’ve got your girl here with me now, and she’s, well let’s say, tied up at the moment. Now if you want to see her in one piece again, you’ll get together ten thousand euro in used notes and wait for my next call. See ya, Mick!” He hung up and turned Lyons’ phone off. He didn’t want anyone phoning back that might give them the ability to trace their location.
The Galway Homicides Box Set Page 36