“Are you sure that’s the best use of our time, Mick? If we have the two lads, isn’t that enough for us?”
“Well I’d like to see it through, sir. These boys are just the infantrymen, I’m looking for the generals.”
“That’s all very well, Mick, but we have to be careful how we use our resources these days. I’d be just as happy to see this whole thing wrapped up to be honest, and there’s no shame if we have enough to put our two heroes away for a few years.”
“I understand, sir. But can you give me a couple more days pursuing enquiries, and if I don’t get anywhere, then we’ll call it a day?”
“All right, Mick. Let me know if there are any developments.”
“That went well then,” Lyons said.
“We’ll have to stitch this up in the next two or three days or he’ll go nuts. And we need a result as well. Why don’t you get back onto DCI Russell in the Met and see if she can do a bit more digging for us. I’ve a feeling the mastermind behind all this is on that list.”
Back at her own desk, Lyons called DCI Russell in Scotland Yard. When she had introduced herself, she went on to ask Russell for some further help.
“We were wondering if you could help us find out a bit more about Eddie Turner’s known associates. Inspector Hays thinks there’s a definite link there to the people behind this, and he’s anxious to bring them in if he can,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Inspector Lyons, but I simply can’t afford to put any more time into this for you. We’re up to our eyes here just now,” the chief inspector said.
“Oh, right. That’s a shame. You see if we could nab whoever is behind this, it would probably make your life a bit easier too. One less villain to worry about on your patch.”
“I see what you mean. I’ll tell you what… Now this mustn’t go any further, it’s more than my career is worth. Have you got a spare burner phone handy?” Russell said.
“Eh, not just here, but I can get one easily enough,” Lyons said.
“OK. Well when you have it, call me back with the number. I’m going to send you a link to one of our systems. You’ll be able to log in over the internet, but for God’s sake use a proxy server in the UK. That will give you access to everything we have on these blokes, but if you tell anyone about it, I’ll have to shoot you. Oh, and I’ll be changing the password tonight, so you’ll have to do whatever you need to today.”
“That’s terrific, Inspector, thank you. I’ll treat it with respect, don’t worry.”
Lyons wasted no time in slipping out to the nearest phone shop and buying a cheap pay-as-you-go phone. Back in her office, after she had unwrapped it and put it on to charge, she called DCI Russell back with the number.
A few minutes later her new phone pinged, and Lyons opened the text message. It contained a www.metsafe999.co.uk hyperlink.
Lyons then asked John O’Connor if he could set up a PC using a UK proxy, so that she could connect to the web site Russell had given her and make it look as if she was located in the UK.
“That’s no problem, Inspector, give me ten minutes and I’ll have it set up. I assume you want to be totally anonymous?”
“Definitely John, can you fix that up?”
“Sure. I can use the little phone you just bought as a hotspot. I’ll tether a PC to it, and then we can destroy it as soon as you’ve finished on the site and no one will ever be able to trace it.”
Lyons hadn’t a clue what he was talking about but trusted him to ensure that she would be able to use the link without getting either herself or DCI Russell into trouble.
Lyons gave the list that they had previously received from DCI Russell to John O’Connor when he had finished setting up the PC.
“John, I want you to go through this list using the database and get me as much information as you can on each of the names. If these names link to other names, get the low down on them too. Print the details off as you go, and make sure you don’t leave any traces behind you. And you’ll need to work quickly, we don’t have a lot of time.”
“No problem, boss. Any chance I could get Sally to help me? She’s good at this kind of thing.”
“Yes, of course. But be sure to swear her to secrecy. If it was revealed that we had this link it could cause a major diplomatic kerfuffle!” Lyons said.
Lyons relayed the information to Hays who was delighted with the support coming from London, and the way Lyons had handled the whole thing.
“That’s great. Let’s see what comes up,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-one
Sergeant Séan Mulholland started his trawl through various sets of records in search of information on Sheila O’Rourke, the girl that had died in such forlorn circumstances after McFadden had crashed the getaway car. He started with the Department of Social Welfare, and followed a trail of obscure references till eventually he had a more or less complete picture of Sheila’s family and some insight into her circumstances.
Sheila was one of two girls, the other being five years younger than her, and she had been born to Marie and Liam O’Rourke in 2001. Sheila’s parents had married in 1999 and Sheila had come along just over a year later. There was nothing untoward recorded in their history. Liam was a PAYE worker in a factory on the Ballybritt estate just outside Galway, and Marie worked in administration for the local authority in the city. They lived in a modest semi-detached house in Ardilaun Park on the outskirts of Galway, and were, according to the records Mulholland was able to consult, Catholic.
In 2010 Liam developed cancer, and was in and out of Galway Regional Hospital for just over a year till the disease finally claimed him, his death occurring in 2012, by which time the O’Rourkes had added another daughter, Amy, to the family.
The next appearance in the records was the re-marriage of Marie O’Rourke to a Pat Bolger, a previously unmarried man from Galway. Mr and Mrs Bolger, the newly-weds, had retained the O’Rourke family house in Ardilaun Park, and as far as Mulholland could tell were living there to this day.
When Mulholland had as much information as he felt he needed, he telephoned Sally Fahy to share it with her.
“That’s great, Sergeant. I’ll see what they want to do here. There’s no point you driving all the way in from Clifden just to give them the bad news,” Sally said.
When she relayed the information to Hays, her worst fears were realised.
“OK Sally, thanks. I’d like you to go round there and break the bad news to the girl’s mother. Are you OK with that?” Hays said.
“Well, I guess so. Could I take someone with me? I haven’t done this before,” she said.
“Yes, of course. Bring a uniformed Garda, oh and go in an unmarked car. We don’t want to make a show of the Bolgers.”
* * *
When Sally knocked at the door of the Bolger’s house, it was answered by a young girl of about twelve who had apparently just arrived back from school, as she was still wearing her green school skirt and matching green jumper with a white blouse and a red hairband in her long dark brown hair.
“Is your mother in?” Sally said.
The girl said nothing, but turned her back on the two officers and went back into the house shouting, “Mum, it’s for you,” and promptly disappeared.
Marie Bolger appeared at the door a few seconds later. Marie was a woman in her mid to late forties, with short, dyed blonde hair, brushed back at the sides of her head. She was around five foot four in height, and a little plump. She was dressed in grey leggings, with a floral top – an outfit which didn’t do much to flatter her – but Sally could still see where Sheila had got her looks.
Sally introduced herself and her uniformed assistant, and asked if they might come in for a moment.
Marie Bolger showed them into the front room of the house, which was decorated in a rather dated style, with a dark brown sofa and green patterned wallpaper that was none too fresh. Nevertheless, the room was clean, as were the windows, and the two Gardaí were happy to take a seat, whil
e Marie sat in the armchair closer to the fireplace.
“How can I help you officers?” Mrs Bolger said.
“Am I right in saying that you have a daughter, Sheila, from your first marriage, Mrs Bolger?” Sally said.
“Oh that one. Oh yes, she’s mine all right. What has she done now? She’s nothing but trouble.”
“May I ask if she’s living here with you and Mr Bolger?” Sally said.
“No, she left last year. Mind you it doesn’t stop her coming round pestering me for money every now and then, but I soon send her packing, I’ve more to be doing with the little we have. She’s no good you know, never was.”
“Mrs Bolger, I’m sorry to have to tell you that I believe your daughter may be no longer with us,” Sally said.
“No longer with us. What do you mean? Is she dead?”
“Well, a girl named Sheila O’Rourke was involved in a road traffic accident out in Connemara, and passed away from her injuries. We think this girl may be your daughter. I’m very sorry Mrs Bolger. Is there someone we could call for you, a relative or a neighbour maybe?” Sally said.
Marie Bolger sat silently for a moment or two, remembering her daughter, and the great times that she and Liam had had with her when she was growing up. She had been a good child, full of fun, and always well behaved until Liam had passed on and Pat Bolger had come into their lives.
“There’s no need for any of that. I’m fine. I always thought she’d end up in big trouble that one. She was always up to no good,” Mrs Bolger said. Inwardly, her heart was breaking.
“Mrs Bolger, I’m sorry to have to ask, but can you tell me why Sheila left home last year? I understand she would have been sixteen then. That’s quite young, even these days.” Sally said.
“Who knows what was going on in her twisted little head, officer. One day, she just upped and went without so much as a by your leave. Left a note saying it was best for all of us that she went. That was it.”
“How did she get on with Mr Bolger?” the uniformed Garda asked.
“Fine. Of course she missed her real dad, but herself and Pat seemed to get along OK. They weren’t particularly close – not like Amy, she adores him,” the woman said.
“I see. Well, we will need you to come to the mortuary to identify Sheila’s body for us. Would tomorrow morning be convenient, when Amy is at school? We can send a car for you, and if you’d like someone with you, that’s fine too,” Sally said.
“Tomorrow’s fine, say ten o’clock, and I’ll not be bringing anyone with me.”
“Oh, and we’ll need to speak to Mr Bolger too at some stage. Have you got a mobile number for him?” Sally said.
“Why do you need to talk to Pat? He won’t be able to tell you anything I haven’t,” Marie Bolger said.
“Just routine, Mrs Bolger. You wouldn’t believe the amount of paperwork these things generate and we have to dot the eyes and cross the tees.”
“Very well, I’ll jot Pat’s number down for you. You can see him after work.”
When the two Gardaí had left, Marie Bolger sat at the kitchen table and wept silently. She cried for what was, and for what might have been. When Liam had died, she had been left a relatively young widow with two young girls to bring up, and only half a wage to sustain all three of them. Liam had no life assurance, but at least the mortgage on the house was paid off with his passing, so she didn’t have to worry about keeping a roof over their heads.
Once she had got over Liam’s death, Marie smartened herself up and made sure that she got out to social gatherings and parties, and it wasn’t long before she caught the attention of Pat Bolger.
Pat was no great shakes, but he was a good earner, and at first at least, he was kind to her and the children. Their love life was adequate, not as good as it had been with Liam, but Marie knew that she had to make some sacrifices in the difficult circumstances into which she had been plunged with the death of her husband, so she settled for what was on offer. She had seen the way Pat looked at Sheila from time to time, especially when the girl would dress up in a short skirt on her way out to a disco or a party at a friend’s house, but she dismissed any thoughts of impropriety. It would have been much too difficult to go there.
Chapter Twenty-two
By late afternoon, O’Connor and Fahy had printed off more than thirty pages of information. They had used the names on the list and burrowed deep into the database provided by DCI Russell to establish as many links as they could. They carried the stack of paper into where Hays was seated at his desk.
“Crikey, you’ve been busy. Are you still digging, or is that it?” Hays said
“That’s it for now, boss. If you think any of them are worth a closer look, we can do some more,” Fahy said.
“Could you ask Inspector Lyons to come in please?” he said.
Lyons and Hays took half each of the pile of sheets that Fahy had brought in and spent the next hour reading through the information. Eddie’s cronies were mostly a rag-bag collection of small time villains. There were a good few who had been involved in the motor trade. One of his mates had been caught running a chop-shop down in the East End of London, and a couple of others had been involved in taking and exporting high-end motors to the Middle East.
“This looks interesting,” Lyons said.
“What’s that?”
“There’s a Samuel Chapman here. Seems he’s been connected with printing forged designer labels and boxes for luxury perfumes like Chanel. It’s quite recent too.”
Hays smiled, “I remember that wheeze from when I visited London years ago. They sell the stuff on Oxford Street and around Leicester Square. They have one genuine bottle of the perfume that they use to draw in the gullible punters, and a suitcase full of forgeries with nothing but yellow water. At ten quid a pop they can clear five hundred pounds in half an hour,” Hays said.
“Why don’t the punters, as you call them, open their purchase and smell it?” Lyons said.
“Oh, that’s the clever bit. The vendor tells them it’s stolen gear, and they had better hide it away in their shopping bag till they get home,” Hays said.
“Cute. Sounds like you were had,” Lyons said, smirking.
“No comment.” Hays replied.
“Well this Chapman fella was caught with a whole garage full of printed labels and boxes for various expensive brands. It wasn’t his first offence either. He got eighteen months for forgery, but only served half. He was released about two months ago,” Lyons said.
“Why do you think he might be important?” Hays said.
“Dunno. Just a feeling, and the obvious printing connection. Wasn’t Bernard Craigue in that line before he retired?”
“I think he was, you’re right. It’s a bit tenuous, but let’s ask Sally to go back into the database while we still have access and do a deep dive on Chapman,” he said.
* * *
When they arrived at the Craigues’ house the following morning the weather had changed dramatically. The wind was blowing hard in from the sea carrying a fine spray, and overhead thick grey clouds reached right down to skim the hill tops as they scurried past.
Inside the bungalow, large cardboard boxes were scattered throughout the hall and lounge. Pictures had been taken down off the walls, and bookshelves that had previously been laden with popular fiction and books about the west of Ireland, were now bare and forlorn looking.
“We’re packing up,” said Bernard Craigue. “We’re taking our stuff back to London, and we’re going to put this place up for sale. Hannah says she can’t be here anymore. Too many memories.”
“Sorry to hear that, Mr Craigue, but it’s perfectly understandable. We were just wondering if we could clarify a few things with you?” Lyons said.
“Of course. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? The machine is still working.”
When the coffee had been brewed, the four of them sat around the kitchen table. The room was at the back of the house where the rocky land rose steeply
, but even in the harsh Atlantic rain, Hays thought the view and the unique position of the property were spectacular.
“What’s on your minds?” Bernard Craigue said.
“I understand you used to be in the printing business, Mr Craigue,” Hays said.
“Yes, that’s right. I sold up a few years back, but that was my trade.”
“Did you ever come across a man by the name of Samuel Chapman?”
Craigue visibly flinched at the mention of the name. His hands jerked, and he spilled some coffee on the table.
“Why do you ask, Inspector?”
“It’s just that when we were here the other day, we showed you a list of names, and Chapman was one of them, but you told us you didn’t recognize any of them.”
“Well I was pretty upset at the time, Inspector. My only son had just been killed.”
“So you do know Chapman then?” Lyons asked.
“I used to work for a Samuel Chapman in London, but it’s a long time ago now. I doubt if he would remember me,” Craigue said.
Hannah Craigue got up from the table and left the room without speaking. Lyons noticed she was wringing her hands as she hurried away.
“Can you tell us a little bit more about your relationship with Mr Chapman?” Hays said.
“There’s not much to tell. I worked for him for a few years. He made me up to manager, but he had a son, Peter, who was being lined up to take over the business, so I knew I wouldn’t get much further. I left and started up my own printing firm,” Craigue said.
“And did you part on good terms, Mr Craigue?” Lyons said.
“Oh yes, very good terms. He even said to me if it didn’t work out he would take me back,” Craigue said.
“But that didn’t happen I presume? How long did you have your own company?” Lyons asked.
“Twelve years. I built it up quite quickly once we got going. I worked really hard for the first five years taking almost any work we could get, and then we sourced the magazine contracts. It got a lot easier from then on.”
“Did you ever do any work for any of the big cosmetic companies?” Lyons said.
The Galway Homicides Box Set Page 39