“I’ll check with them, but I imagine they would be quite happy with it. We have enough to be doing with our own criminals without getting involved with this lot. But we’ll need to close down any local connections here. We don’t want this whole thing starting up again after he’s gone. Let’s see what information he can provide.”
Chapter Nineteen
Batty McCutcheon left home just before eight o’clock to go back into Westport.
“I’m just going back to the office for an hour or so, I have to do my emails, and there’s no signal out here as usual,” he said to his wife.
He drove directly to the secondary store that he kept down by the harbour. Ineke had already let herself in, and was sitting in the large comfortable sitting room above the storeroom, sipping a glass of white wine that she had taken from the well-stocked fridge.
When McCutcheon arrived a few minutes later, they embraced, and then he too went to get himself a drink. They sat and exchanged small talk for five minutes on the sofa, and then McCutcheon took the girl by the hand and led her to the bedroom, where a comfortable double bed was positioned opposite the window with a magnificent view out over the sea. The two undressed each other slowly, kissing and stroking as they did so, and soon they were both naked between the sheets.
“Go, go, go,” Flynn shouted into the radio he was holding, and Liam Walsh, Mary Costelloe and three uniformed Gardaí descended on the building, the lead officer pounding on the door.
After thirty seconds there was no response, so the door was kicked in, and the entire party scrambled up the stairs.
Flynn was the first to arrive in the bedroom where McCutcheon and his lover were sitting up holding the bedsheet in front of their nakedness.
“What the fuck! Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?” McCutcheon shouted at Flynn.
“My name is Inspector Eamon Flynn from Galway Gardaí, and I have a warrant to search this entire premises. Please put some clothes on. My colleague Garda Costelloe will stay with the girl.”
“By Christ, I hope you’ll enjoy walking the beat out on the Aran Islands, Flynn, by the time I’m finished with you,” McCutcheon ranted, grabbing his underpants and struggling into them.
The uniformed Gardaí were busy making a methodical search of the store beneath McCutcheon’s love nest. They were recording the whole thing on various phones, and going through each of the boxes one by one, most of which had Chinese symbols in black stencil on the outside.
After twenty minutes or so one of the uniformed officers let out a shout.
“Sir, down here, sir. I’ve got something.”
Flynn heard the call and went down to the storeroom which was now in some disarray with opened cartons all over the place.
“Yes, what is it?” he said to the excited young Garda who was holding a package of what looked like tea towels in his hand.
“Here, sir. Look. Beneath the towels, there’s a tray of small gold bars. There’s thirty of them in this lot alone.”
“Right. Good work. Bag it up, tea towels and all, and keep looking, there may be a lot more.”
Upstairs, another uniformed officer was disassembling McCutcheon’s computer. He separated the keyboard, monitor and mouse from each other and placed each component into a large clear plastic bag.
“You can’t take that. That’s my private stuff. I need it for my business,” growled McCutcheon. The young Garda ignored McCutcheon’s protestations and continued bagging up files and papers.
In the bedroom, Mary Costelloe was trying to console the poor Dutch girl, who was now fully clothed but in a very distressed state.
“It’s OK, Ineke, you’ve done nothing wrong. Don’t worry, it will be fine,” Costelloe said, with her arm around the girl’s shoulders.
By the time the search had been completed, ten trays of thirty gold ingots each had been recovered. They were in varying sizes, but represented many thousands of euros worth of the precious metal.
Flynn approached McCutcheon, who had gone uncharacteristically quiet.
“I presume you can provide customs papers and VAT receipts for this lot, Mr McCutcheon.” But there was no reply.
McCutcheon was handcuffed and taken away to Westport Garda Station where he was booked in, the desk sergeant being told that serious charges were likely to follow. The belt from his trousers and his shoe laces were removed, and he was shown to a cold, rather damp and none too clean cell for the night.
Flynn thanked the Gardaí for their help, and asked Mary Costelloe to see Ineke to her home. Walsh was to go with Flynn to see Mrs McCutcheon who by now must surely have been wondering where her husband had got to.
“How do you want to play this, sir?” Walsh asked as they drove out to the McCutcheon house.
“Just follow my lead, Liam. But if you get the chance, have a snoop around. He has a laptop at home, and if we see it, we might persuade the missus to let us have it, although his house isn’t covered by the warrant, so we can’t just take it without permission.”
“Right, boss. I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
Eleanor McCutcheon opened the door, expecting to find her husband on the doorstep having left his house keys at home again.
“Yes, can I help you?” Mrs McCutcheon said with a concerned look on her face.
Flynn introduced them both, and Eleanor McCutcheon immediately jumped to the conclusion that her husband had been involved in an accident.
“No, it’s nothing like that, Mrs McCutcheon. May we come in, please?” Flynn said.
“Sorry, yes of course. Please, go through to the kitchen,” she said and stood aside to let them pass.
“Your husband is quite safe, Mrs McCutcheon. In fact, we have him in custody,” Flynn said.
“In custody? God, I suppose he was caught drink driving. I’ve warned him before about that, but of course he takes no notice of me.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. We arrested your husband at his storage depot down at the harbour in the town. He was upstairs, and I’m afraid to say he wasn’t alone.”
“What storage depot? He hasn’t got a warehouse down at the harbour. It must be someone else you’ve taken in.”
Flynn and Walsh exchanged glances.
“I’m afraid there is no mistake. I have met your husband here at the house. It’s definitely him, and he’s given us his name in any case.”
“Not alone, you say. So who was he with then? That mad eejit that manages the shop, I suppose.”
“No, in fact it was a young woman, and they were, how shall I put it, not fully clothed when we arrived. In fact they were in bed together.”
“What! What are you saying? What girl? This is all nonsense, Batty doesn’t have any girl. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”
“Certain, I’m afraid. Listen, could you get someone to come over maybe, stay with you? This has obviously been a terrible shock. I didn’t realise you knew nothing about it.”
The distraught woman sat down at the kitchen table and took a tissue from her pocket to wipe her streaming eyes. She shook her head slightly from side to side.
“I’m all right. There’s no one near in any case. My sister lives in Dublin.”
They all remained silent for some minutes and then Mrs McCutcheon asked, “So, what did you arrest him for, anyway, unless the girl was a hooker!”
“No, nothing like that. The girl works in the shop in the town. No, we arrested him for VAT fraud and smuggling, although there may be other charges to follow. We discovered quite a large quantity of Chinese gold on his premises, and we believe he may be involved in some other related business too,” Flynn said.
“Chinese gold! God, I’ve heard it all now. Listen, Mr Flynn, are you sure this isn’t some kind of dreadful mix up? My husband isn’t that kind of man at all. He’s not – really.”
“Everything we have told you so far is true, I’m afraid, Mrs McCutcheon. But I really think you should have some company tonight. Would you like m
e to arrange something?”
“Do what you like. I don’t care. It’s not going to make it all go away, is it? God, I feel as if I’m in a dream, or a nightmare, more like it.”
Flynn signalled to Walsh to go and get Mary Costelloe out to the house with just a simple nod of his head, and the junior officer walked out of earshot to make the call.
“We’ll have Mary stay with you tonight, Mrs McCutcheon. Then, if you want to, she can bring you in to Westport tomorrow morning to see your husband. Does he have a solicitor, do you know?”
“Eh, I think so. Some smarmy streak of misery from the town. O’Donnell I think his name is. I never liked him.”
“Thanks. We’ll contact him later on. Can I ask if your husband’s laptop computer is here, Mrs McCutcheon?”
“Yes, it’s over on the sofa. He has another one in town, I think.”
“Would you mind if we borrowed it? There may be some useful information on it.”
“No, go ahead. You can keep it for all I care. Bloody thing doesn’t work out here anyway.”
Flynn and Walsh waited for Mary Costelloe to arrive at the house. Walsh briefed her before she went inside, and asked her to record anything relevant that Mrs McCutcheon might let slip about her husband and in particular his business arrangements.
“Are we going to caution her?” Costelloe asked.
“No, we’ll keep it informal for now. She’s very shocked, so just keep her calm and listen to whatever she has to say.”
When Liam Walsh and Eamon Flynn had left the McCutcheon house, they called in to Westport Garda station. They got the number for Cecil O’Donnell from the desk sergeant, and telephoned him to advise him that his client was in custody, but that there would be no interview until the morning. O’Donnell was emotionless on hearing the news, and simply asked Flynn to ensure that there would be no questioning of his client until he was in attendance.
Chapter Twenty
The following morning the team held a full briefing, bringing everyone up to date on the find out in Westport, and the fact that Batty McCutcheon was now in custody.
Mary Costelloe had spent the night with Mrs McCutcheon. The woman was now a lot calmer, but her initial disbelief had turned to anger. She wanted to do damage to her husband for his infidelity and for the trouble he had brought down on them, but she didn’t know how. It was clear that she knew nothing of his nefarious dealings.
McCutcheon’s computer was given to John O’Connor along with the laptop that Flynn had borrowed from the house. O’Connor relished the thought of having two machines to explore, and asked to be excused from the rest of the briefing to get on with it.
Westport Gardaí sent a van down to the harbour to take away all the cartons from the store for safe keeping. When the load was back at the station, the desk sergeant – a wily old timer – summoned the owner of the nearby Chinese takeaway to help them decipher the writing on the sides of the boxes that would give the Gardaí information about their origin.
Just before ten o’clock, two things happened. Firstly, McCutcheon’s solicitor arrived at the Garda station full of bluster, saying that there must be some mistake, his client was an upstanding member of the community and should be released at once with an apology from a senior officer. He was shown into the interview room and told that he had an hour to consult with his client before the formal interview would take place. Detectives from Galway were on their way.
At the same time, Lyons was summoned upstairs to Chief Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett’s office. When she arrived on the top floor, she was shown into the office and found her partner, Superintendent Mick Hays, already seated, chatting to the chief.
“Come in Maureen, have a seat. Would you like a coffee or a cup of tea?” Plunkett said. Lyons was used to reading the signals, and knew that if she had been offered refreshments, at least she wasn’t in for a bollocking.
“Thanks, sir, yes, a coffee would be lovely.” She stole a quick glance at Hays who was smiling back warmly. So far, so good.
“Now, Maureen, I understand you have arrested some foreign bloke for the murder of Maria Geller out in Clifden, is that right?” Plunkett asked.
“Yes, that’s right, sir. And we are fairly certain he’s responsible for the death of another foreign national as well – a Matis Vitkus. He was shot in a bedsit on Buttermilk Walk.”
“So now we have three foreigners all involved in very serious crimes on our patch. Is there any local involvement at all?” Plunkett said.
Maureen went on to explain as briefly as she could how the gold scam was operating. She knew Plunkett had a short attention span, and wouldn’t want to be concerned with the detail. When she got to the bit about Batty McCutcheon, Plunkett’s interest began to show.
“Now, what about this fella, McCutcheon? How is he tied into all this?”
“We’re not sure at the moment, sir. We found a stash of gold bars in one of his warehouses out in Westport, so it looks as if he may have been involved in the distribution end of things. But it’s quite complicated. We’re working through it now. What’s your thinking?”
“Ah, you know how it is, Maureen. All these moguls are connected in some way. Your man has political clout, or at least he thinks he has. He’s a contributor to the local party out there and he reckons that gives him license to act the maggot with us. But what have you actually got on him?”
“Well, VAT fraud for sure – and we’re talking substantial amounts. And if we can make a connection back to the gold business, and prove that he was a player, then he could be implicated in organised crime,” Lyons said.
“Hmm. And what about this Essig chap? What are you planning to do with him?”
“That’s more straightforward. I’m sure Sinéad Loughran will be able to tie him back to Geller’s killing, and we have him banged to rights for the Vitkus murder, as well as the attempted murder of a serving officer, robbery with menace and a few other things.”
Hays could sense the way the senior man was thinking, and decided that this would be a good time to intervene.
“But, Maureen, you see all this is a bit fanciful for us. Sure, crimes have been committed on our patch, but we’re not in a position to go chasing down Lithuanian gangs or whatever. That’s best left to Europol or the local police out there. What if we were to say that you can have McCutcheon and do your worst? We need to send a message to the likes of him anyway that these small town businessmen can’t get away with these kinds of fiddles. But do you think we could get rid of the other bloke, Essig? Find a way of sending him off somewhere, into the custody of some European police force of course, I don’t mean let him go. As you know our resources are scarce enough, without trying to solve all of Europe’s crimes as well,” Hays said.
Lyons was no fool, and she knew when she was being sand-bagged. Hays and Plunkett had obviously discussed this, and had come to an agreement.
“I tell you what. If we can get enough on McCutcheon to close down this business with the bogus gold sales in Ireland, and the burglaries that go with it, and he is hung out to dry, then I’ll go for it. I know just where to send Essig as well, where he’ll be well taken care of for the next hundred years or so!” Lyons said.
“Good, Maureen. I knew we could rely on you for a pragmatic solution. Oh, and pass my congratulations on to the team for me. They have all done well, as you have yourself,” Plunkett said.
“On that point, sir, Superintendent Hays and myself both believe that Sergeant Sally Fahy acted well above and beyond the call of duty, putting her own life at risk, in order to prevent further loss of life and bring Essig to justice,” Lyons said. She was determined to milk the situation for all it was worth, given the concessions she had appeared to make.
“I hear you,” Plunkett said. “I’ve been looking for a good candidate for a commendation from Mill Street in any case, just to show the boys up in Dublin we’re not all bog men down here. Leave that one with me, and I’ll look after it. God, detective, you strike a hard ba
rgain!” he said, smiling.
“Thank you, sir, that will be very motivating for the whole team, and she really does deserve it,” Lyons said.
“Away with you now, before I change my mind,” Plunkett said. He took Lyons’ empty coffee cup and put it on the tray, signalling that their meeting was over.
* * *
Lyons went back downstairs and was quickly followed by Mick Hays, who indicated that he needed to speak to her. They went into her office.
“That was brilliant, Maureen. You’re some operator!” Hays said.
“Thanks. I think it might all work out, but I want to roast McCutcheon’s balls. That poor wife of his is in bits. I don’t blame the little Dutch tart. I doubt he pays them much, and she saw an opportunity and went for it,” Lyons said.
“Crikey, remind me never to stray – not that I would ever, you understand.”
“You have no idea, Mick. You think hell hath no fury – just see what happens when some eejit who thinks with his prick gets on the wrong side of me.” And then, checking that there was no one observing, she went across the room to him and kissed him.
“Right, Sally and I are off to Westport to see the infamous Mr McCutcheon. Us girls are going to take him down!”
“God help the man, philanderer and all as he is. Don’t let him buy you off with some gold bars.”
“As if!”
* * *
Lyons collected Sally Fahy from the office and they drove out to Westport. On the way out, Lyons told Fahy a little of what had been discussed in Plunkett’s office.
“The boys on mahogany row were well impressed with your actions in the jewellers, Sally,” Lyons said.
“Ah, well, you know. I’m not in love with Eamon or anything, but I wouldn’t like to see him with a big hole in the middle of his chest. He’s not that bad! Have you handed in your gun yet? The guys in the basement were asking about it.”
“No, not yet. In fact, I was thinking of keeping it. I’ll have to get the permits sorted out and all that palaver, but things are getting rougher around here these days, and it might just come in handy to have it with me.”
Murder at the Holiday Home Page 14