by Ted Tayler
Saiorse and her younger brother Kevin thought missing the start of the new school term at the beginning of September was a hoot. It had become something for them to brag about to friends back in London. The longer they stayed here the better.
Maeve looked at the possibility of finding places in the local schools for their kids, but Sean kept telling her their stay was only temporary. Maeve remained unconvinced, and there were the grown-up children to consider too: -
“I miss Sean Junior, and Michael,” she said. “I know they’re married, and we hardly saw them while we were back home, but there could be grandchildren soon. Can’t we at least find out how long this will last? I can’t stand much more of this weather.”
Sean shrugged. They were halfway through the wet season. As well as seeing a lot of rain, it was very hot and humid. For weeks, conditions had become uncomfortable outside. Only the air-conditioning that made it bearable. There were another five weeks of this before the situation improved.
“Think yourself lucky we’ve only had the rain, and the heat,” he said. “It’s hurricane season, and until we get to the end of September, the island of Hispaniola is a high risk for a major storm.”
“How often do they hit,” asked Maeve.
“Every ten years, roughly,” replied Sean. “La Romana was devastated back in nineteen ninety-eight. Category three storm George cost hundreds of lives and thousands of homes. Flooding and landslides were widespread. This villa will withstand that type of storm, but there would be a major disruption if the area got hit again.”
“I wish we lived back in London,” said Maeve. “I used to moan at the weather there, but it was never as dangerous as this sounds.”
“Don’t worry, Maeve, we’re safe indoors here, whatever nature throws at us. Anyway, there’s still a good amount of sunshine during the wet season. It’s not prolonged periods of rain, it’s a sudden downpour.”
“You’re right, as usual,” sighed Maeve, looking at her tan. “I’ve spent many a day on the beach with the kids, and lying on the lounger by the pool here, and then watched it bucket with rain in the evening.”
“There you go,” said Sean, “we’ve got nothing to worry about, have we? I’ll call Colleen at the weekend to see how things are progressing. I don’t want to be stuck out here until Christmas either.”
Maeve was placated, as she and the kids watched a cable TV show from the States that everyone fawned over; another celebrity family with more bling than class. That never interested Sean Walsh. He walked outside to the verandah and sat alone with his thoughts.
Sean knew what he was; a gangster, pure and simple. He didn’t look forward to working for a living. He wanted nothing more than to be back in his old haunts, among the people he knew and understood. Why hadn’t Colleen been in touch? What game was she playing? Sean couldn’t make head nor tail of it, no matter how long he sat there in the sticky heat listening to the rain.
At La Romana International, Seamus McConnell made his way through customs and left the terminal. The heat was oppressive in the cab as it ferried him to the budget hotel where Hugo reserved him a room. The rain fell heavily, and the old taxi’s wipers fought a losing battle.
Seamus was confused. His role in the organisation that Tommy O’Riordan ran for years had been simple. Whenever they wanted muscle on a job, they gave him a call. He often only needed to stand by while Tommy, or Sean discussed things with someone who stepped out of line. The threat of violence was often enough.
If it was a bank raid or a jewellery robbery, then he did the heavy work, drilling, wielding a sledgehammer, overpowering the security guards, that sort of thing. He had never been required to do much thinking.
The money on offer for this job meant he could quit that life and return to Portmarnock. He could find a house near his family and see out his days in comfort. That was the easy part. The hard part was doing what Hugo had paid him to do. He wanted Sean Walsh dead.
The taxi arrived at the hotel. The driver left with a smile that told Seamus he should get used to this foreign money fast. He must have paid him twice what he asked for. Inside the hotel, when he reached his room, he learned what budget meant over here. He’d slept in worst places, but the Ritz it was not.
Seamus opened his suitcase. He had brought several changes of clothes, despite only being here for twenty-four hours. The separate elements of the 3D-printed weapon were concealed between his clothes, and in his wash bag. He assembled the gun and loaded it. He checked the instruction leaflet Hugo provided. It was fine.
Sean Walsh had never done Seamus any harm. He chose him as his lieutenant when Tommy went to prison. Hugo never agreed with the decision and cast Seamus adrift as soon as he could once Sean flew out here. Yet, he had been selected as Sean’s killer.
It was late. Seamus began to feel the effects of the long flight. He slept.
Tuesday, 5th August 2014
In the morning, the rain clouds had dispersed. A watery sun climbed in the sky. Sean could tell they were in for another hot, sweltering day. The best place for a pale-skinned Irishman was indoors, or on the shady verandah.
His kids were as noisy and boisterous as ever. They needed the open spaces, somewhere to get rid of that extra energy they possessed. He looked across the breakfast table at Maeve. We had the energy to spare at that age, he thought. In our twenties, it was as much as we could do to get out of bed, we had so much energy.
“Do you want to take a trip, kids,” he asked, “drive out into the countryside, go to the beach?”
The shake of the head told Sean that a trip with their parents was not required. That was not cool.
“We’re going into town later, Dad,” said Saiorse. “Then I want to swim in the pool this afternoon when it’s hot.”
“I have a hair appointment,” said Maeve, “can you run me into town for eleven o’clock?”
“Sure,” said Sean. “I’ll take you in, drop you off, and you can find your own way back.”
“Aw, Dad,” said Kevin, “the buses are always so crowded, and taxis are expensive.”
“Your Dad was only kidding, Kevin,” said his mother, “I’ll ring him when I’m finished at the hairdressers. You meet me there, and Dad will collect us, won’t you, Sean?”
“Yeah,” replied Sean, “or you can take the car, that would be simpler. I don’t need anything in town.”
“Whatever,” Maeve said.
In La Romana, Seamus McConnell made his way to breakfast. He was a simple man, who liked to start the day with traditional Irish fare. However, the budget hotel favoured introducing international travellers to native cuisine. Seamus looked at the plantains, salami, fried eggs and cheese on his plate. The sooner he got on a plane home the better.
Seamus returned to his room and collected the gun. He had brought a light, linen suit so he could wear a shoulder holster. When he was satisfied it didn’t make the jacket look too bulky, he checked his map and found the quickest route to the villa. Seamus was sweltering by the time he hopped onto a bus that took him to within fifty yards of where the Walsh family lived.
He watched the bus disappear into the distance and waited until the passengers that got off with him went their different ways with their shopping. Even in Portmarnock, he couldn’t recall women taking live chickens home, tucked under their arm/ He walked past the lane to the villa. There was nobody on the road. No sign of a car by the villa. Was the Walsh family even at home? He turned back and crept closer to the building. It was very quiet. No sounds of the children playing, or Sean’s wife giving him an earache.
Sean Walsh sat on the verandah overlooking the swimming pool. A Panama hat on top of his head at a jaunty angle shielded his face from the sun. Seamus stood and watched for a moment. The time had come. His day of reckoning.
When he heard Seamus give a deep sigh, Sean turned towards him.
“Seamus,” he cried, jumping out of his seat, “at last, what news have you got from Colleen? I haven’t heard a whisper from anyone
since we got here.”
Seamus approached the verandah.
“Are Maeve and the kids alright?”
“Yes, they’re in town this morning. They’ll be back by lunchtime. I don’t know why you had to hand-deliver Colleen’s message. We’ve got the phone and email out here, it’s not that backward.”
Seamus’s breakfast was repeating on him. If he hadn’t got his orders from Hugo, he might have argued the point with Sean.
“Come on, Seamus, when can I get home, what did Colleen say?”
Seamus drew the gun from inside his jacket.
“I didn’t bring a message from Colleen, Sean.”
Seamus fired twice.
“Sorry. That message was from Hugo Hanigan.”
Seamus looked at the dead body of his colleague. The look of confusion on Sean’s face would stay with him forever. He needed to get back to the hotel, confirm his flight details, and leave this hot, sticky country as soon as he could. Whatever Hanigan was paying him it wasn’t enough.
No passengers waited at the bus stop, so Seamus walked back towards town, keeping off the main road wherever possible. He didn’t want people to recall a huge, white man stood near the villa. If Maeve and the kids returned earlier than Sean said, they might recognise him.
Seamus heard the bus chugging along behind him as he neared the next village. He waved an arm. The driver stopped. He got to town and trotted up the hotel steps before noon. He stripped off, jumped in the shower, and tried to cool off. It was pointless. The only thing he saw when he closed his eyes was Sean’s face, fixed forever with a look that asked. ‘what the hell?’
While Seamus confirmed his flight time and decided whether to risk lunch in the restaurant, Maeve Walsh turned the car into the narrow lane that led to the villa.
“Ha, ha,” said Kevin, looking through the windscreen, “Dad’s nodded off on the verandah.”
Saoirse was first out of the car. She ran up the steps. When she saw the bullet holes in her father’s chest, she screamed and then fainted. Maeve had remained in the car. Thousands of miles from home, the thing she always feared had happened, given her husband’s chosen profession. It had to be a gangland hit. Why Sean? Why now?
Maeve knew she must be brave for the kids. She had things attend to here in La Romana. The one person she needed to talk with before they flew home with Sean’s body, was Colleen O’Riordan.
Colleen might know who was responsible. If she did, Maeve was certain her sister-in-law knew what to do about it.
CHAPTER 14
Thursday, 7th August 2014
“The job’s finished, and I’m home,” said Seamus McConnell.
“Come around later today and I’ll pay the balance,” said Hugo Hanigan, punching the air.
“You’ll have to transfer the money into my bank account,” said Seamus, “I’m in Portmarnock. I’m never returning to London. That was the dirtiest job I’ve ever had to do,”
“The man had become a liability,” said Hugo, losing patience with the slow-witted giant, “he and his sister were in league together, working against the interests of the Grid.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Seamus.
“Well, it’s done now. You’ll have your money tomorrow. Keep your head down, and your mouth shut, McConnell, do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear Mr Hanigan, as always.”
*****
In the Dominican Republic, Maeve Walsh’s world had turned upside down. Ever since she had returned from town on Tuesday, she knew nothing would ever be the same again. When she had finally got out of the car, she called the tourist police, the politur. It was what Sean had told her would need to be done if something happened.
Kevin and Saiorse were in bits. Maeve comforted them as best she could while being desperate to go to Sean. A police car arrived an hour later. The politur checked the body and called the coroner. It was three in the afternoon before he turned up to give the official certification her husband was dead.
When he solemnly told her the facts she already knew about how he died, he also told her the police would now arrest her.
“Why?” she asked.
“Normal procedure with sudden death in the marital home,” he replied.
“I drove into town with the kids for a hair appointment at eleven. Tell the police to ring this number. They’ll confirm I was nowhere near here when he died. This was no domestic dispute. This was a hit.”
The threat of arrest disappeared as soon as it came. A car from the funeral home for all ex-pats collected Sean’s body and took it for the autopsy required by international law.
Dusk had fallen before Maeve and the kids were alone. She called Colleen and broke the news to her sister. The silence on the other end of the phone unnerved her.
“It will be forty-eight hours before I can register the death at the Embassy,” she told Colleen, hoping she was listening, “once the official death certificate is issued, we can fly him home.”
“I’ll get Tyrone to fly out,” said Colleen, “he can help you with the arrangements. You need a man out there, to get things moving. I’ll talk to the priest too and get a date sorted for the funeral.”
“Thanks, Colleen. Who could have done this?”
“Not the time to be thinking about that, Maeve,” said Colleen, “when’s the earliest you think you will be home?”
“Next Tuesday, or Wednesday, I think.”
“Give those kids a hug from their Auntie Colleen. Tyrone will be with you in a day or two.”
The painful call had ended. Maeve had returned to cry with her children. Colleen was in her penthouse, instructing Tyrone.
“Pack your bags. Take a dark suit and a black tie. Do everything you can to make things as easy as they can be for Maeve and the little ones. When you’re at the villa, look for clues. If the police took anything away, bribe someone to discover what they have. Check the local hotels, see if anyone we know stayed there. Take enough cash to grease the palms of the staff at the hotel, and the airport. Find out if a familiar name appeared on a passenger list flying to the UK on Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“Got it, Mum,” said Tyrone, “leave it to me.”
*****
Tuesday, 12th August 2014
Sean Walsh returned to London in the afternoon. His coffin was carried from the rear of the plane and taken to his home. Tyrone, suited and booted, accompanied his aunt and cousins in the dark limousine Colleen had sent to collect them.
Colleen waited outside the Walsh residence when they arrived. She had let the funeral director indoors herself, so Sean’s body could go to the games room. It could stay there until the funeral on Monday.
Tyrone took the children indoors. Maeve ran to her sister-in-law. The two women hugged briefly.
“Our priest has arranged the funeral for Monday, at noon,” said Colleen. “I’ve contacted as many people as I thought you would want to attend. The list is in the kitchen by the kettle. If you need to call anyone else, you have a day or two to get your head together.”
“Thanks, Colleen, I don’t know how we would have got through this without your help. Tyrone was marvellous.”
“He’s his father’s son,” smiled Colleen. “Tyrone has hidden depths.”
While Maeve went to the games room to be with her late husband, the children settled back into their old surroundings. They were quiet, but they had British TV, their mobile phones to be reactivated, and cases to empty.
Tyrone was alone with his mother.
“What did you learn?” she asked.
“Seamus McConnell,” he replied.
“Hanigan sent him,” said Colleen. “Right, as soon as the funeral has ended, and the wake gets underway, you know what to do.”
“Death to all our enemies,” said Tyrone.
Colleen’s smile reached her eyes, a rare event. Her son was proving to be a priceless asset. His talents would be put to further use when the time came.
Monday, 18th August 2014
At
noon, the funeral service for Sean Walsh began at St Mary’s church. The Walsh family attended in numbers, Colleen stood beside them with her son and daughter. Rosie had flown in from Marbella on Saturday.
The priest glanced in Colleen’s direction as he passed. A mere six weeks had passed since Tommy’s funeral. Now her brother-in-law was dead. Too many of his parishioners were caught up in this madness. Too many lives ended prematurely. Would they never learn?
Although members of families who had arrived in the UK from the seven streets of Dublin filled the congregation, there was no sign of Hugo Hanigan. The service travelled its painful course, and at one o’clock Sean’s body went for cremation. Maeve and her four children followed the hearse, as did Colleen, Tyrone, and Rosie.
They held the wake at the same social club Tommy and Sean had drunk in together for years. Those mourners that wished to pay their respects went straight there after the church service. Maeve, Colleen, and their children joined them by two o’clock.
The club filled with people drinking, chatting, and reminiscing. Colleen nodded to Tyrone. He made to leave.
“Where are you going?” asked Rosie.
“Mum needs a matter dealt with,” replied Tyrone.
*****
Hugh Fraser arrived at Larcombe Manor at lunchtime, to take up his post as Logistics Chief. A steward met him in the car park as soon as he drew up outside the main building. He was informed he would be billeted in the stable block and escorted him to his door.
Hugh dropped his kit in his room and searched out Henry Case.
“Welcome, Hugh,” said Henry, “we’ve heard of good things about you. Phoenix has needed a helping hand for ages.”
“I’ll do my utmost to live up to the high standards you expect from your agents here, Henry,” said Hugh.
“Phoenix told me at this morning’s meeting you should get settled in, read the files he left you, and knock on my door at six this evening. I’ll give you the guided tour of the areas for which you have clearance. I’ll issue your passkeys later.”
