BENEATH LOST GROUND

by G. D. Higgins

  Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, those sitting at desks and huddled in small groups immediately dropped what they were doing and formed a horseshoe facing the wall. Brophy stepped to the side to allow Bennett to take centre stage, a position he’d always relished.

  “As you’re all well aware, there was a large quantity of class A’s found on the property of the victims.” He half-turned to look at the exhibit photo of the drugs, an involuntary snarl raising his upper lip. “This is by far the biggest ever drugs seizure in the city, so now we have a double murder, a missing child, and what could be a few hundred thousand worth of synthetic amphetamine. A detective from Murder and one from Narcotics are on their way. I want you all out of here, following up on leads by the time they arrive. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Sir,” came a few hushed replies from some of the younger members of the squad.

  “Sergeant Kenneally is going to give a full rundown of what we know of the time-line, so far, then the rest of you can add what you know. I want you all to focus, and don’t forget a single detail. Write down what you think is important, and don’t be shy with suggestions.” The last comment forced Brophy to restrain an ironic scoff. They all knew full well how Bennett reacted to ideas, not in line with his thinking on a case, and the abrasiveness that would be directed their way should they dare offer something contrary. It was much more likely the lower ranking detectives and junior gardaí would consult with either Brophy or McCall after the meeting.

  So, what are you waiting for, Kenneally, a fucking standing ovation? Let’s get this thing going.”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Kenneally, awkwardly getting to his feet and positioning himself in front of the board in such a way he could keep his distance from Bennett, but still be able to point at the exhibits he would talk about easily. A difficult task for a man of his bulk. The heat was almost unbearable for everyone. Kenneally wore it the worst.

  “Aright ladies and gentlemen,” he started, wringing his hands, as he usually did. But this case wasn’t the one to be joking around with. Bennett cut him a vicious look. “Ahra, yesterday morning, Thursday, July 17th, Jordan Walters,” he said with a nod to the top of the board where Walters’ picture was hung, “arrived at his company, Bioford Laboratory, in the industrial estate, at the usual time of 9 a.m. This has been corroborated by CCTV footage and witness testimonies gathered by Detective Dunford and Garda Mallon this morning. The detective will fill you in on the details of that a little later. We have CCTV footage of Maura Walters passing the local shop, heading in the direction of the city, at around half-past eleven. She returned home at approximately two forty-five. Due to the angle of the camera, the tech team can’t be sure if she was alone or had passengers in the vehicle. We can’t even be certain it was her driving either time but close up analysis has put it at a high degree of probability.”

  “Based on what?” chimed Brophy.

  “Hair colour and the colour of the clothing she was found in at the crime scene.”

  Several people in the room made a note of that detail.

  “Jordan left his company at eleven-thirty, a little earlier than he had the previous three days, presumably to collect his son from hurling camp at Saint Xavier’s field. He returned to the office at about one o’clock. This would have given him enough time to drop the kid home in Woodstown and make it back, no problem. However, his car wasn’t picked up on the CCTV during that time. Now, he could have come and gone from the other direction, but that would have meant going through Dunmore East, which wouldn’t make a whole lot of sense unless he had something to do on the way.”

  “Were there any other black Mercedes spotted on the CCTV during that time?” asked Brophy, drawing a quizzical look from Kenneally and a furling of the forehead from Bennett. “I spoke to the hurling coach this morning. Said the kid left training early and got into a black Mercedes. Couldn’t be sure who the driver was from the distance he was away.”

  “Maura Jordan’s uncle, Barry Donahue, who they’re all very close with, also drives a black Merc,” added McCall.

  “We’ll have them recheck the tapes as soon as possible on that one,” said Kenneally.

  “Back to the time-line,” instructed Bennett with growing contempt.

  “Erm, of course. We haven’t picked up on what Maura Walters was doing at that time yet, but every camera in the area is being checked. We’re experiencing the usual delays with the phone company, but the court has issued the paperwork, so we should hear back on that soon. Hopefully, get a better read on where she was. Jordan left the lab at five-thirty and was captured on the pub CCTV returning home sixty-seven minutes later.”

  “It’s a twenty-minute drive to Woodstown. Are the other forty-seven minutes accounted for?” demanded Bennett, clearly frustrated with the lack of information on the victims’ movement during the day.

  “Again, we’re working on that. Hopefully know more by the end of the day. After that, all we know is the gunshots were heard by the neighbour out walking his dog. He called the local sergeant who was there within minutes. And we know what happened from there.”

  “Thanks, Sergeant Kenneally,” said Brophy, giving him a look that suggested he sit down as quickly as possible.

  McCall took a few steps forward, readying herself to address the small crowd with what she and Brophy had learnt that morning. Bennett turned dramatically, half-blocking her approach and said to Brophy, “Detective Brophy. Can you fill us in on what you found out this morning?”

  Brophy cut McCall a regretful look as she stopped in her tracks, sullen and stony-faced.

  Brophy hesitated for a moment, felt a cold chill trailing up his back. His vision became starry, and the thought of all those eyes on him, in his current predicament, exacerbated the slow descent.

  “When you’re ready, Brophy. We haven’t got all day,” said Bennett.

  The comment snapped Brophy out of it. He focused on Garda Mallon in the background and took a deep breath. “This morning, at nine-thirty, I paid a visit to the family home of Michael ‘Budgie’ Delaney in the Gleann Fia estate. It was reported that his Ford Fiesta was seen several times on the CCTV in the pub yesterday. He wasn’t present when I called to the family home, and his mother claimed not to have seen him since Tuesday morning.”

  Again, many in the room made a note of this information.

  One of the Drug Squad interjected, “I heard he knocked up a Polish girl recently. Might be worth looking into.”

  “His long-term girlfriend has just had a baby, too. She was furious he wasn’t around to help out.” Brophy momentarily felt familiar walls of dark shadow close in on his periphery and took another breath to keep composed. “Before that, I went to Saint Xavier’s to talk to the hurling camp coach. The boy attended all week but left early yesterday. Apparently, he was going to town to pick up new clothes for a trip to Dublin with the aunt, Ciara Walters, this weekend. Ms Walters was late coming down from Dublin, and we’re not a hundred percent sure who picked up the boy at quarter to twelve. It was likely his father, but we need to be sure of this. He was laughing, getting into the car, so definitely someone known to him. And, as Detective McCall already mentioned, the uncle, Barry Donahue also has a black Merc. His nineteen-year-old son drives it too, so we need to look into their whereabouts at lunchtime yesterday. We went to the family home of Barry Donahue this morning. McCall can fill you in on the details,” he said, giving her the nod.

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Bennett, his impatience now a ticking time-bomb, ready to wipe out the whole room. “Continue as you were, Brophy.”

  “The Donahue’s live over in Ferrybank, in a very exclusive community. He’s in the same line of business as the Walters’ family and was the main competitor of Jordan Walters’ father, now deceased, when they both started out in the eighties. As you all know by now, Maura Walters is his niece and lived with Barry Donahue’s family for much of her teen years. Her mother passed away when she was young, and her father travelled a lot fo
r work. Now, also deceased. When interviewing Ciara Walters last night, she mentioned her brother was a long-time friend of Bobby Quilty.”

  An audible gasp and a trickle of hisses permeated the air in the ever-increasing stuffiness of the overcrowded room.

  “When we asked Donahue if he knew anything about this, he became visibly uncomfortable. He then denied any knowledge of the friendship. In light of the discovery in the Walters’ garage today, the connection with Quilty will be one of our main lines of enquiry. Quilty has been hiding out in Bahrain for over six years now. He did a runner when the NBCI was said to have accumulated a fair amount of evidence implicating him and one of his crew in the murder of Detective Sergeant Ross O’Malley in a drug raid in the Drogheda in 2012. We need to trace-”

  Bennett interrupted, “DS Reagan,” he said into the assembled crowd, yet barely acknowledging Reagan’s presence, “Has there been any sign of methamphetamine on the streets recently?”

  “Sir, we haven’t made any arrests of anyone in possession of meth, but we’ve been starting to hear whispers from a couple of informants and some worried parents. We also took in Packo Lenihan yesterday, and he was out of it, but not in the usual way.”

  “Well, that’s hardly something new, is it?” hissed Bennett. “Where is he now?”

  “We released him this morning.”

  “That’s just fucking great,” said Bennett. DS Reagan lowered her head.

  “I bumped into Packo as I was leaving Budgie Delaney’s house. Looked like he was heading straight towards Delaney’s place but thought better of it when he saw me. I think it was the right choice to release him. Now we can keep an eye on him, see if he leads us to the whereabouts of Delaney or anywhere else useful. I assume a blood test was taken, DS Reagan.”

  Reagan perked up again. “Yes, Detective Brophy. It’s due to go off to the lab this afternoon.”

  “Let’s prioritise that, get it done as soon as possible, see if it matches the haul we found in the garage,” said Brophy.

  “Detective Dunford. Yourself and Garda Mallon went to Bioford this morning,” said Bennett, his tone softened, talking to the young detective he’d taken under his wing. “Can you fill us in on what you learnt there?”

  “Of course, Inspector.” Dunford didn’t bother moving to the front but instead puffed out his chest, making him even more imposing than he already was. Everyone turned to face him at the back of the group. “Firstly, there was mostly shock amongst the employees of Bioford. People were standing around, crying, or scratching their heads in disbelief. The receptionist, a fine young thing from Limerick, seemed a bit too upset if ye know what I mean? Like she’d lost the love of her life or something, which was odd, as she’s only been working there for the past three months. Worth following up. There’s four senior managers under Walters. Three of them are older gentlemen and have been there since the old man founded the place. They were in utter disbelief. But the other one, a Dublin 4 chap, who knows Walters since school, had a very different reaction.” Dunford glanced at Mallon, who was nodding in agreement at his statement. “Came across as though he wasn’t all that surprised, wouldn’t you say, Garda Mallon?”

  “That was certainly my feeling,” she replied.

  “David Hughes. He’s been with the company since 2008.”

  “Okay, that’s good work, Detective,” said Bennett. “Once we’ve made a bit more sense of this whole thing, we’ll follow up with Mr Hughes and the receptionist.”

  Dunford nodded to Mallon as if giving her permission to speak. Bennett cut her a sharp look.

  “What is it, Garda Mallon?” said Brophy.

  “There was one more thing. We were looking around, and I walked into one of the labs. There was a white-coated technician in there, working on something when I stepped in the door unbeknown to him. When he turned and caught sight of me and the uniform, he dropped a test tube and looked like he was considering bolting out the nearest window. I asked him what he was working on, and he could barely answer through the stuttering. Eventually said he was testing a food product from a local meat processing facility. When I asked him what he thought about hearing Walters had been killed, he became somewhat defensive and claimed he only knew him a little, was just an intern, and Walters didn’t give him the time of day. Maybe he just doesn’t like the police, but he was far too nervous for someone with nothing to hide.”

  “Well done, Garda Mallon,” said McCall. “If Walters was producing narcotics in the lab, he surely would have needed some assistance. Finding that person, or people might be the key to unlocking this.”

  “Detectives Reagan and Hogan, after we receive a full analysis on the drugs, I want you two to interview the intern,” ordered Bennett, directing the order more to Hogan than to Reagan. “Okay, everyone. I expect you all working overtime this weekend. We can’t waste a single second on this. I’ll be doing a press conference with Superintendent Russell in a couple of hours. If any of you learn something significant before then, let me know immediately. If you can’t get hold of me, pass the information on to Detective Brophy.”

  Brophy knew exactly what that meant. Bennett would be acting as if he were leading the investigation and taking all the credit, whilst Brophy would be the one heading up all details of the case. A nod that usually would have cast a certain amount of frustration over Brophy, but this time he thought it irrelevant, given that the NBCI was on the way and would take over anyhow.

  “I believe you’ve all been given your briefs,” said Bennett. “We’ve plenty of hours of daylight left today. I suggest you make the best of them.”

  “And let’s make finding the boy a top priority,” added Brophy. Bennett gave him a look as if to say that was obvious.

  “Every known druggie, every street thug, every sex offender is to be treated with suspicion. Question as many of them as you can,” said Bennett. “And needless to say, tracking down that hard-man arsehole, Budgie Delaney, is imperative. I want him off the street and in here for questioning. The eyes of the country and possibly the world will be on us on this one. Let’s show them we’re more than capable of bringing these scumbags down. Alright, that’s it. Dismissed.” After a few silent beats, he shouted, “Well, what are you all waiting for? Get out there and solve this damn thing.”

  Most of the twenty or so people in attendance turned and headed for the door, leaving only a few detectives hanging back.

  “Reagan and Hogan have something to tell us before you all head back out there,” said Bennett. “This information comes from the top and is to be kept in this room for now.”

  DS Reagan perked up and glanced back towards the door to make sure everyone else had left. “We’ve been working closely with the Drug Squad in Dublin the last couple of months due to several sightings of Clarence Veale in the area recently. Veale is said to be Quilty’s right-hand man and has been for many years but has always done well to keep himself out of the public gaze. His name has hardly been mentioned, even by some of the more bottom-feeding tabloids.”

  McCall asked, “Has he been seen with anyone in particular?”

  “Not really, no. He was tailed leaving Dublin, but officers there didn’t want him to know he was being followed, so let him go and put the word out to other drug divisions in the south to keep an eye out for him. He was picked up on a traffic camera just outside the city, and then again passing the bus station.”

  “Why the hell wasn’t I informed of this?” said Bennett, his face reddening.

  “Orders from the top, Inspector,” interjected Detective Hogan. “We were instructed to tell absolutely no one about it and to just keep our eyes and ears open. The Superintendent knows all about it. There’s been a big operation against him for years. He’s an elusive beggar.”

  “And there’s been more sightings of him?” said Brophy.

  A couple of unconfirmed reports from one of our informants, but nothing concrete. There hasn’t been any more footage since those two times,” said Reagan.

 
“Can they bring him in for questioning? Find out where he was last night?” asked Bennett.

  “Not gonna happen, Sir,” said Hogan. They’re afraid he’ll do a runner like Quilty if they put the fear in him too much. They’ll only bring him in if they have something solid that can put him away. Getting to Quilty somehow is their main objective. Ross O’Malley was a popular copper in Drogheda. Came from a long line of gardaí. They’re determined to get someone for it.”

  “We’re all aware of who the O’Malley’s are, Detective Hogan,” said Bennett with a sharp edge.

  “The Narcotics detective coming down from Dublin said he’d give us more details when they get here.”

  “Okay, back out there with ye,” said Bennett. “It’s forecast to be a roaster this weekend, and the city is going to be thronged with people. Try not to make a scene, but if ye have to, then bust some heads.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement without saying a word.

  “There’s one more thing, Inspector,” said Reagan.

  “What is it?” asked Bennett.

  “Veale has only one conviction to his name. When he was eighteen, he was done for molesting a nine-year-old boy. There’s been rumours about him ever since.”

  Brophy made eye contact with McCall. They’d surely had the same thought.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “What’s the plan of action, Boss?”

  “I told you before not to call me that,” said Brophy with a forced smile at McCall, who he knew was trying to get a rise out of him. “We’re equal in rank, so how about you lead the way this time?”

  “We could head out to Woodstown and have a chat with the local sergeant. I’d like to hear his view on what’s happened.”

  “Good thinking. I thought he might have been at the briefing here today.”

  Voices were being raised, as a dozen other officers were getting into squad cars where Brophy and McCall stood talking in the station’s car park. There was partial relief from the heat outside the stuffy incident room, but Brophy still felt agitated.