Deadly Ancestors: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery (Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Book 5)

by Lyle Nicholson

  Sullivan drained his pint. “Then we’d best make plans. I’ll let the Garda know. I doubt we’ll get much backup other than a few officers on the road. I’ll put together some sandwiches and some tea. I’ll also get us some infra-red field glasses and a pair of wellies for you.”

  “What are wellies?”

  “I think you call them rubber boots. All of Ireland is awash in rain this time of year. I hope you’ve a good rain jacket.”

  “I do,” Bernadette said.

  “Good,” Sullivan said, “let’s get your things. My car is parked just up the road.”

  Bernadette got up from the table. She felt wobbly. She’d had only one and half pints of beer, but it had gone to her head. She steadied herself and realized it was the jetlag.

  “I think you’d better drive,” she said.

  “I think I’d best do that as well,” Sullivan replied.

  They left the pub with Van Morrison’s song “Into the Mystic” playing in the background.

  44

  The moon was peeking out from behind some clouds as they drove towards Kilmeague and the Gypsy camp. The rain had unleashed a torrent and then softened to a light patter. Sullivan had some Irish folk song playing on the radio as Bernadette sat in the passenger’s seat watching the road and houses go by.

  The small stone houses with wooden shutters looked picturesque in the rain. Some of the streets of small towns had cobblestones. There was a calm and idyllic quality to the place. Bernadette could not imagine Ireland to be anything but a peaceful island, almost suppressing some of its dark past.

  They arrived a few kilometers up the road from the Gypsy camp to meet with a Garda Police car. Sullivan got out to have a word with them. He spoke with them for a minute and got back in the car.

  “They’ll sit here on the side of the road and be our backup. I told them not to come until I call,” Sullivan said.

  Bernadette looked at the two young officers in the car. They appeared to be in their early twenties. She looked over at Sullivan. “I don’t see any side arms. What guns are they carrying?”

  “Oh, the Garda doesn’t carry guns. I didn’t have enough time to make the request for weapons for them,” Sullivan replied.

  “Then what’s the use of these guys for backup?” Bernadette asked.

  “I have a gun,” Sullivan said. “I think that will suffice for now.”

  Bernadette looked at him in wonder then back at the road. “Okay, I’ll find a big stick if I need it.”

  They drove down the road. Bernadette gave directions to pull off the road five hundred meters from the camp. They parked the car, took the binoculars, sandwiches, and a thermos of tea from the back and headed into the forest.

  The wellies that Bernadette were given were a few sizes too big. She’d put on two pairs of extra wool socks. It almost solved the problem, her feet still rubbed back and forth but the journey up the hill wasn’t far.

  The forest was thick with underbrush; they slogged through it pushing wet branches out of the way. After twenty minutes, Bernadette found the perfect spot in a clearing with a large willow that they could use as cover.

  Sullivan pulled a waterproof tarp from a backpack and laid it on the ground. He placed the sandwiches and tea on the tarp and took up position.

  “I see you’ve got this situation figured out,” Bernadette said.

  “Almost every stakeout is in the rain. It’s either raining or will rain. There’s an old saying that there’s no bad weather, only the wrong clothing.”

  “I think we have the same saying in Canada, only it’s to do with frigid cold,” Bernadette said. She picked up a pair of binoculars and focused on Francine’s place.

  “You see anything?” Sullivan asked.

  “I see movement inside the trailer. Hold on, someone’s coming to the window. Damn it, that’s Cahal. He’s looking right up the hill at us.”

  “I’ll call the backup.”

  “No, you won’t,” a voice behind them said.

  Bernadette whirled around to see Sean Murray and Jamie Kelly standing behind them. Jamie had a double barrel shotgun pointed at them.

  “Ease off that gun and throw it here, copper. I’ll put a full blast of twelve gauge shot in you. Make a hell of a hole at this range.”

  Sullivan pulled his gun out slowly and tossed it to

  Sean.

  Jamie smiled. “Cahal told us you’d be back. Now, put your hands behind your backs. Sean, tie their hands, and watch that wicked bitch. Don’t let her try any of her funny stuff.”

  Bernadette and Sullivan stood up on the tarp. There weren’t many options. Jamie had the shotgun pointed at Sullivan at close range. Sean took Sullivan’s radio and cell phone and tied his hands.

  When Sean came to Bernadette, he told her to turn around. He wanted nothing to do with the business end of her hands or feet.

  “Now, march down the hill,” Jamie commanded while waving the shotgun.

  Sean had the handgun pointed at Bernadette’s torso. He had an evil look in his eyes like he was looking for any excuse to the pull the trigger. His head had a large bandage where his forehead had met the wall previously. Nothing in him looked grateful for the experience.

  “You know I’m a Garda detective, don’t you?” Sullivan asked as they walked down the path.

  “Yeah, what of it?” Sean asked.

  “Serious time is what you’ll get for harming an officer of the law.”

  “Hear that Jamie? He thinks we’re scared. This man doesn’t know we have people in high places and well fixed. In two days’ time we’ll be right up there with you lot, we will. You’d be wondering why you never bowed low to us before, but then you’ll be dead tonight,” Sean said.

  They walked on in silence down the narrow path toward the Gypsy camp. Bernadette couldn’t help but notice a small clearing on the right. A small cross surrounded by flowers was in the center. They came to the camp and a door opened from Francine’s trailer.

  Cahal stepped out. “Well, if it isn’t my niece come to pay me a visit.”

  Bernadette stared at him, her face flushed with anger. “Cahal, you’re only charged with aiding a murder in Canada. If you kill us, you’ll never get out of prison.”

  Cahal smiled. “That is true, if I’m caught, but I don’t see that happening.”

  “We have backup down the road. They’ll be here soon,” Sullivan said.

  “Really, now, that does give me a bit of a fright it does. Two young men dressed in uniform with no weapons. What are they going to do, call Dublin then run and hide? All Jamie has to do is fire his shotgun in the air and they’ll be gone like scared rabbits.”

  “Where do we take them?” Jamie asked.

  “To the cliffs, and make sure you leave them at the bottom this time, none of the foolishness you did with O’Dea,” Cahal said.

  “Aye, we hear you,” Sean said. “We’ll take them all the way to the Cliffs of Moher and drop them off.”

  Cahal smiled. “That’s a grand idea.” He turned to look at Bernadette. “Those cliffs are on the western side. Maybe you can throw a kiss to your lover back in Canada as you plummet to the ocean.”

  Bernadette fists clenched in her bonds. If she could free herself, she’d take his eyes out with her favorite karate move. Seeing her fierce gaze, Cahal stepped back.

  Bernadette and Sullivan were taken to the back of the van, their feet were tied, and they were manhandled into the back. Sean and Jamie said goodbye to Cahal, and they started off.

  In a few minutes they felt the van pull out of the caravan park and drive onto the roadway. They sat in silence for a while as they listened to the two men arguing in the front of the van.

  “The Cliffs of Moher are too bleeding far away. That’s over a three-hour drive,” Jamie said. “I say we shoot them and dump their bodies over the cliffs of Brayhead.”

  “But it’s not steep enough,” Sean argued.

  “The gun will kill them, not the fall. Don’t be daft.”

/>   “But what will the Master say?” Sean asked.

  “That’s easy. Remember there’s toll roads and cameras on the way to the Cliffs of Moher. We say we saw coppers everywhere and decided to dispose of them closer to Dublin. And we’re back in time for a quick pint.”

  “I like how you think,” Sean said with a smile. He made a right turn and they continued their journey.

  Bernadette moved herself to a sitting position beside Sullivan. “Where are they taking us?”

  Sullivan leaned over to Bernadette so he could whisper in her ear. “It’s a long series of cliffs south of Dublin.”

  “How long until we get there?”

  “Probably take an hour on the back roads.”

  “That should be enough to get out of these ropes,” Bernadette said. “How about you?”

  “Might take me a bit longer. I’ve a buggered wrist, but I think I can manage. What are you planning?”

  “Not dying.”

  “Good answer.”

  45

  The van continued through the night. The men in front became quiet. Bernadette and Sullivan listened for any new information. There was none.

  They felt the van slow down, then move slowly over a rocky road. Bernadette could smell the sea. The air was colder; it made its way into the van and chilled her.

  She began to focus, slow her breathing, feeling her hands and her feet. They were her weapons. When the door opened, she would look for opportunities for mistakes.

  The van came to a stop. Feet crunched on stones; the back door opened. Two guns pointed at them through the open door.

  “Get out,” Jamie yelled.

  “You have our feet tied,” Bernadette said.

  “We’ll untie your feet, but one kick from you and I blow your head off. You hear me?” Jamie said.

  “I hear you,” Bernadette said. She moved her feet towards Sean. He cut them lose with a knife. He did the same with Sullivan.

  “Out you get now,” Jamie yelled. “The first one that gets funny is the first to die. Now move.”

  Bernadette shuffled her way out of the van with her hands behind her back. Sullivan followed her out.

  “Now, walk slow in front of us. The cliffs are two hundred meters. I’d rather you walk there than I carry your dead body,” Jamie said.

  Bernadette bumped into Sullivan. “Are you a leftie or a righty?”

  “I prefer left,” Sullivan said.

  Bernadette placed her foot in front of Sullivan’s, and he collapsed to the ground.

  “You bleeding idjit, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Get up,” Jamie screamed at him.

  “His hands are behind his back; you’ll have to help him,” Bernadette said.

  “Shoot him now,” Sean yelled at Jamie. “They’re just play acting. Kill them before they try something.”

  Jamie bent down to help Sullivan up. He put his hand on his shoulder. “Get up old man.”

  Sullivan rose to his knees. He reached both hands back, grabbing the back of Jamie’s head and throwing him over top of him. The shotgun went flying.

  Sean raised his gun. Bernadette came at him from the side throwing a phoenix punch into his temple. With one protruding knuckle on her fist, it produced an explosion of pain in Sean’s head.

  Bernadette followed through with her right foot to quickly stomp on the side of his right leg, just above the knee. She only needed four kilos of pressure. He screamed in pain as he dropped to the ground with a broken leg. He dropped the gun.

  She picked up the gun. “If either of you move or crawl towards the shotgun, I’ll end your lives right here.”

  Jamie lay on the ground, moaning.

  Sullivan got up from the ground. “I think he’s been shot.” He moved towards Sean, taking the shotgun as he did, looking down at him.

  “He’s been wounded in the stomach. Rather bad I think.”

  “I’ll guard these two while you call it in,” Bernadette said.

  “I’ll get my radio and cell phone. They left it in the van,” Sullivan said. He made his way to the van.

  Jamie rolled over and called to Sean. “I’m done for, Sean.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll get you help,” Sean said.

  “I don’t need their help. You know what we have to do.”

  “You’re talking shite, you are, Jamie. There’s no way I’m doing that.”

  “You know what happens to those of us that are caught. They kill everyone in our family. That’s the code. You want your girl dead? I don’t want my ma to die.”

  “Aw, Jesus, Jamie. You had to mention that.”

  “You know it’s true,” Jamie said lifting himself up off the ground. “You have to man up. It’s the only way to Valhalla.” He moved his left hand to his neck. An amulet of silver hung there with a silver chain.

  “I’m not doing that,” Sean screamed at Jamie. “You can’t make me.”

  Jamie started to cough. Blood came out of his mouth. “No, I can’t make you. But do you really want your entire family to die?” Jamie placed the amulet between his lips. He bit down hard on it and sucked it into his mouth. In seconds he was foaming at the mouth.

  Bernadette ran over to him. His body was convulsing. His eyes rolled back into his head. There was nothing she could do.

  She turned to look at Sean. Tears were in his eyes as he put his own amulet in his mouth. He bit down on it.

  “No, wait, don’t,” Bernadette screamed at him.

  It was too late. Sean was foaming at the mouth just like Jamie. Sullivan came back from the van on his phone. He put it down. “What’s this then?”

  “They committed suicide rather than be taken prisoner. Jamie said their families would be killed if they were taken prisoner,” Bernadette said.

  “Sounds worse than the Mafia,” Sullivan said.

  “Who are these people that we’ve run into?” Bernadette asked. “This is not your normal criminal behavior.”

  “The Garda patrol will be here soon. Would you mind coming back to our headquarters to go over a few things?”

  Bernadette looked down at the two bodies. “Sure, I hope there’s a stiff shot of whiskey at the end of this night, because this is really strange.”

  They both turned as two ambulances followed by several Garda police cars came blaring up the roadway. Bernadette sighed; this was going to be a long night.

  46

  Bernadette spent several hours at the Garda Headquarters. She had to give a statement that was written up by Sullivan and passed on to his detective sergeant, James Gallagher, who requested a meeting after he read it.

  Gallagher was tall with an athletic build. He wore no jacket and his tie looked like it had been through two days of use. He had a thick head of red hair and bushy eyebrows that showed a touch of gray. He looked all of fifty. He chewed a small toothpick as he glanced over the report.

  “This seems most unusual, Sullivan,” Gallagher finally said, looking up from the report.

  “Which part?” Sullivan asked.

  “All of it,” Gallagher said, throwing the report down on his desk.

  “Yes, at the face of it, it is a bit farfetched, but I can assure you, what the detective here overheard them saying sounds about right.”

  “But you didn’t hear them say anything about this Valhalla business, did you?”

  “No sir, not as such, I recorded that conversation from the detective here,” Sullivan said looking at Bernadette.

  “And, you’re certain, Detective Callahan, that you heard this man, the deceased Jamie Kelly, talk about going to Valhalla and they’d better do it or have their families suffer?”

  Bernadette sat upright. She felt like she was being grilled by her own chief of detectives back home. “Yes, sir, that is exactly what I heard.”

  “Hard to fathom,” Gallagher said. “How am I supposed to report this to my superiors?”

  “You could begin with the toxicology report of their bodies once they’ve been delivered. I’m sure the
report will come back as cyanide poisoning. That may be a bit convincing,” Sullivan said.

  Gallagher raised his thick eyebrows. “Yes, that is a good point.” He stared at Sullivan. “What’s your plan? How do you expect to get to the bottom of this?”

  “We’ve already decided that we’ll interview all of the people who knew the deceased and try to find some links that will lead us to who is behind their deaths,” Sullivan said.

  Gallagher looked at his watch. “It’s past midnight—well I guess that’s a good a plan as any. Carry on and keep me informed.”

  Bernadette and Sullivan walked out of Gallagher’s office. The evening shift of detectives and police was moving about the building with phones ringing in the background.

  “How about if I drop you back at your hotel. I’m sorry I can’t take you to a pub, they shut at half midnight. We’re a bit old fashioned that way here. There’s nightclubs open but none of them suitable for a quiet drink.”

  Bernadette rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s fine. I need some time to relax. How about I see you in the morning?”

  They drove through the streets of Dublin. People walked through the streets in crowds as the pubs were closing. Another drizzle of rain hit the streets. The people hardly noticed the rain. They seemed young and slightly intoxicated. Sullivan drove to the front of her hotel.

  Bernadette opened the car door to get out. “What time should we meet tomorrow?”

  “I’ll pick you up at half seven. We can talk about our plans over breakfast. I’ll draw up a list of people to interview.”

  Bernadette turned and looked at Sullivan. “I have a feeling all these people met somewhere long ago. I doubt they read a bulletin board looking for murderers for hire. Something in the way the two men talked at the cliffs. You have to have that kind of thing ingrained into you.”

  “I see where you’re going with that. Some good discussions for tomorrow,” Sullivan said.

  “Yes, until tomorrow,” Bernadette said. She got out of the car and went into the hotel. Trudging up the three flights of stairs to her room felt like a major workout. She was jet lagged and exhausted.