Badfellas

by Paul Williams

  The Tidey kidnap drama was a disaster for the security forces and resulted in bitter recriminations between the Army and the Gardaí. It led to a complete overhaul of operational procedures between the two organizations. Some time later it was also discovered that Associated British Foods had secretly agreed to pay the IRA over Stg£2 million to ensure that none of its executives, including Tidey, were kidnapped again. The money was paid into a Swiss bank account controlled by the IRA and it was then transferred to a bank in Navan, County Meath. When Garda Special Branch and MI5 traced the money, the Government rushed legislation through the Oireachtas to freeze the funds. In February 1985, the State seized £1.7 million of the money.

  No one was ever convicted of the double murders in Ballinamore or the kidnapping of Don Tidey. It was the last high-profile kidnapping carried out by the Provos although they continued to be heavily involved in protection and extortion rackets. But they had given other criminals the template for an alternative method of raising easy money.

  Mickey Boyle from Bray, County Wicklow, was a one-man serious crime wave. Over four decades he did it all – progressing from burglary and armed robbery to extortion, kidnapping and gangland murders. But, like Paddy Shanahan or Dutchie Holland, Boyle did not fit into the stereotypical profile of a career gangster. Born in November 1946, he came from a respectable family background. The second eldest of six children, Boyle’s father was a sergeant in the Irish Army and his mother was a legal secretary. He grew up in Scott Park, a modest terrace of ten houses in the seaside town. In his early years Boyle was described as a quiet, intelligent young man who played hurling and football for his county. He was a hard-working, trouble-free student who could have achieved considerable success. When he left school, however, Mickey Boyle quickly showed where his real talent lay.

  He immersed himself in crime and by the age of 22 his CV included dozens of convictions for larceny, burglary and car theft. Boyle was a complete maverick who mostly operated alone and earned a reputation as a dangerous, unpredictable villain. In 1969, he received his first four-year jail term for armed robbery when he held up an elderly widow at gunpoint in her own home. While inside Boyle married his girlfriend, Breda Moran, from Dundrum, and the couple would have two children together.

  In prison Boyle’s reputation as a young desperado impressed the older lags. He befriended Saor Eire members, including Simon O’Donnell and Joe Dillon, and learned a lot from his new admirers. But Boyle didn’t like prison and hatched an elaborate escape plan. He inveigled his way into the Central Mental Hospital in Dundrum when he convinced doctors that he was unstable – something that former associates and Gardaí would agree on. He absconded but was recaptured and returned to Mountjoy.

  After his release in 1972, Boyle briefly joined the British Army but deserted. When he returned to his wife and family in Bray he went on a crime spree, committing burglaries, armed robberies and shootings. His reputation as a head-case grew and he was eventually charged with robbing two banks in Enniskerry and Rathdrum. Boyle had no intention of making things easy for the Gardaí. When he was arrested he told them: ‘I think the best chance I have is to keep my mouth shut. I have nothing to gain by helping and nothing to lose by not helping.’

  In April 1975, he stood trial in the Central Criminal Court, Dublin. On the second day Boyle, who was heavily guarded because of his earlier escape, asked to be escorted to the toilets. The officers dutifully stood outside a lavatory cubicle while he relieved himself – and retrieved a pistol which had been hidden in the cistern. Boyle flushed the toilet and walked out, holding the gun. He ordered the wardens to lie on the ground, slipped out a door to a waiting car and vanished. He was recaptured two months later at a race meeting and jailed for a total of ten years.

  When he was released in 1982, Boyle decided to apply his criminal mind to taking advantage of an opportunity his native county offered in abundance – North Wicklow is a kidnapper’s dream. Some of the country’s wealthiest businesspeople live there, in magnificent mansions, nestled into the breathtaking landscape. Mickey Boyle spent his childhood trekking through the hills and mountains and knew every back road in the region. Within weeks he was back in business.

  In March, Boyle and his accomplice, Eugene Prunty, a 32-year-old unemployed fitter from Old Court in Bray, forced their way into the home of Belgian-born publisher Albert Folens and his wife, Juliette, near Enniskerry in the foothills of the Wicklow Mountains. After the Second World War, Folens was jailed for ten years for collaborating with the Gestapo against his own people. He escaped and made his way to Ireland where he made a fortune as a publisher of educational books. Boyle took Juliette Folens from the house and told her husband that she would be held in the woods until £25,000 (around €90,000 today) was handed over. If Folens called the cops, his wife would be shot. The publisher was instructed to collect the cash from his bank in Tallaght and deliver it to a pre-arranged location. Boyle reckoned that £25,000 would not arouse suspicions at the bank. After the money was paid Folens was told where his wife was being held – she’d been locked up in their garage.

  In April 1983, the daughter of businessman Peter Simms was abducted at their home in Shankill in South County Dublin, and a ransom of £10,000 was paid over. Garda intelligence reports from the time suggested that there had been four other similar abductions in the same area but the victims had not contacted the police. Boyle was soon nominated as the most likely suspect – after the IRA – and was taken in for questioning. He told the police nothing and was released without charge when two people provided him with alibis, one of whom was a well-known Provo.

  After his release Boyle began looking for a new target and quickly found one. William Somerville was a wealthy solicitor with a successful law practice in Enniskerry. He lived with his family at Dargle Hill, a large house on a 50-acre farm less than a mile from the picturesque village. In July, Boyle put them under surveillance, logging all their movements. A few weeks later, at 10 p.m. on 9 August, William Somerville and his wife, Manon, went for a short drive, leaving their 14-year-old son, James, feeding his dogs in the backyard. As the Somervilles’ car pulled out of the driveway, Boyle appeared from the undergrowth, wearing a combat jacket, a stocking over his head and carrying a sawn-off shotgun. He ordered the startled teenager back inside.

  When the Somervilles returned an hour later they found Boyle holding a gun to their son’s head. The kidnapper told the terrified couple that he was taking the kid hostage and demanded a ransom of £50,000 for his safe return. James’s father pleaded with the kidnapper to take him instead and Boyle agreed. He ordered Somerville to drive his car to a lane near Stillorgan, in South County Dublin. A plastic bag was placed over his head and he was bundled into the back seat of another car. Boyle and Prunty drove to a forest near Kilpeddar, County Wicklow, where they tied the solicitor to a tree. They taped his knees, ankles and hands together and gagged him before leaving. At 2.15 a.m. Mrs Somerville called the Gardaí and arranged to meet them away from her home, in case the kidnappers were watching from the hills.

  Detective units across South County Dublin and North Wicklow were alerted. Later that morning Boyle phoned the Somerville home. He told Mrs Somerville her husband was in good health and, if she did as instructed, he would remain so. The ransom was to be in £10 and £5 notes and placed in two sacks. A location for the drop-off would be given later. By then the Gardaí had a tap on the phone and detectives instantly recognized Boyle’s voice. Surveillance teams were ordered to locate the violent criminal and keep him under observation until the solicitor was rescued.

  At noon, when Boyle called again, Mrs Somerville wanted assurances that her husband was safe. She told Boyle that her husband’s business partner was arranging the collection of the ransom from the Northern Bank on College Green and it would not be ready until 4 p.m. Ten minutes before the phone call, a team of surveillance officers had spotted Mickey Boyle with Prunty, walking along the Main Street in Bray. The officers had watched the two hoods
making the call to Mrs Somerville. The pair were tailed to Wicklow Town, where they stopped for lunch. Later they drove back to Bray, where Prunty called into the local Garda station – the headquarters of the kidnap investigation – to present his driving licence and insurance documents. Sometime earlier he had been stopped at a routine Garda traffic checkpoint and told to present his documents under the Road Traffic Act.

  When the kidnappers had gone, their victim’s business partner was brought into the Garda station, through a side door. The ransom money was then initialled, photographed, and the serial numbers were noted. The evidence against Boyle continued to mount, as the surveillance units watched him make another phone call to the Somerville home from a phone box on Putland Road in Bray. He again reminded Mrs Somerville of the consequences for her husband if she didn’t follow his instructions. Forty minutes later Boyle made a fourth call and spoke to Mrs Somerville’s brother, Norman Brittain. He informed the kidnapper that the money was ready and asked about the drop-off. The gangster said he would call back at 5 p.m. with the location.

  Shortly after 5 p.m. Eugene Prunty phoned and instructed Brittain to leave the cash in a burned-out car on Sandpit Lane, near Enniskerry. Boyle watched from a hide in the bushes as Mrs Somerville and her brother dropped off the money. When he saw that the coast was clear the kidnapper snatched the bags. At the same time, a team of heavily armed police was ordered to move in on the kidnapper – but they’d surrounded the wrong area. By the time they discovered their mistake Boyle was well away. There was considerable embarrassment among the Garda top brass that Boyle had managed to escape with the ransom money. A major search operation was ordered across Dublin and Wicklow to find him.

  A short time later, one of the surveillance teams spotted Prunty in Bray and he was promptly arrested. At 12.10 a.m. that night Boyle phoned the Somerville home and told them where William could be found – he had been tied to the tree for almost 24 hours. On the same day, without Boyle’s knowledge, Prunty was charged with demanding money with menaces from Norman Brittain.

  On the morning of 12 August, the Serious Crime Squad located Boyle’s safe house in Harold’s Cross, South Dublin, and raided it. As they burst through the front door, the kidnapper jumped out the back. He was chased and managed to escape, after scaling several walls. Four days later the cops finally caught up with him when he was arrested in Mulligan’s Pub on Poolbeg Street, Dublin, wearing a wig and glasses. When he was taken to Bray Station for questioning, Boyle at first refused to say anything during the 48-hour detention period. However, the officer in charge of the investigation, Detective Inspector Mick Canavan, convinced him that he had nothing to lose by giving up the ransom money. Boyle eventually brought Gardaí to the spot where it was hidden. He was charged with the false imprisonment of William Somerville and demanding money with menaces. Incredibly, despite strong Garda objections, the kidnapper was released on £10,000 bail.

  On 21 October, he was due to appear in the local District Court for a further remand. But Boyle had a prior engagement of a less legal nature to take care of first. At 7 a.m. that morning, 46-year-old businessman Robert Manina and his wife, Alma, woke up in their home on Somerby Road in Greystones to find a masked man standing at the bottom of their bed, pointing a gun at them. A second man stood at the bedroom door, cradling a rifle in his arms. Boyle ordered the couple to turn on to their faces and demanded to know if they had a safe – there wasn’t one in the house. The gunmen rummaged through the house to see for themselves. After about ten minutes the couple were ordered to dress, told to ‘keep your fucking mouths shut’, and herded downstairs. One of the raiders grabbed Robert Manina by the back of the neck and began choking him. When he let go, Alma Manina was ordered to put on a coat and flat shoes and to wear a scarf over her face. Before leaving, Boyle warned Alma’s husband not to phone the police and told him that if he wanted to see his wife alive again he would have to a pay a £60,000 ransom. The kidnappers brought their terrified victim to a disused shed near Enniskerry and locked her inside. Meanwhile, a distraught Robert Manina called a friend and asked for help in raising the ransom money. The friend decided to raise the alarm. The police knew straightaway who they were looking for.

  Less than three hours later, detectives from the Special Task Force got a call to go to Stylebawn near Enniskerry. A local man had reported spotting two men acting suspiciously. Four officers, with their weapons drawn, approached an area around a farmhouse called ‘Cataldus’. Behind the house, they saw Mickey Boyle standing beside the door of the concrete shed where he had imprisoned his latest hostage. Detective Garda Michael Merrigan shouted: ‘Drop the gun Michael.’ Boyle crouched down and darted across a garden, diving for cover between a wall and another shed. He lifted a gun to aim at the pursuing cops who fired two warning shots in the air. Boyle bolted across a road and fired a number of shots as he struggled to shake off the cop who was on his tail. He ran through thick, thorny bushes, but as he reached the roadway Detective Sergeant Basil Walsh jumped on him.

  At the same time his colleagues found Alma Manina in the shed – she was shaken but uninjured. Had things gone according to plan, Boyle could still have made it to Bray Court for his remand hearing. As he was being placed in a squad car, he pleaded with the detectives: ‘Shoot me, shoot me, I will get life for this anyway. I may as well be in now, there is nothing else left for me now, come on, come on do me a favour, shoot me now.’

  Back in Bray Station he told Detective Inspector Canavan: ‘It’s all over as far as I am concerned, I don’t wish to talk about this thing any more; what is the point. I have let down everybody that meant something to me.’ Boyle buried his head in his hands and refused to speak any more.

  The Gardaí ensured Boyle still made it to the District Court on time. He was charged with four charges: of false imprisonment, demanding money with menaces, possession of a firearm with intent to endanger life and using a firearm to resist his arrest. Spotting that the game was up he did not seek bail. In July 1984, Boyle pleaded guilty to a total of six charges relating to the two kidnapping incidents. While awaiting trial he suffered from depression and tried to kill himself. The judge described his crimes as ‘detestable, appalling and horrid’ and sentenced him to 12 years. Boyle’s partner in the Somerville kidnap, Eugene Prunty, was also convicted and sentenced to ten years in prison. Mickey Boyle spent the rest of the 1980s behind bars.

  But Boyle’s incarceration and the obvious risks inherent in kidnapping people for ransom didn’t deter other gangsters, who thought they could do better.

  John and Michael Cunningham were no different to other criminals – they dreamed of pulling off one big job which would set them up in the good life, permanently. Living the great ‘underworld dream’, the brothers, like the Dunnes, enjoyed wining and dining in the best restaurants, bars and clubs. They drove big cars and regularly brought their families on lavish holidays in places like Barbados, Florida and Spain. But the high life was a big drain on cash and took a lot of armed robberies – and risk – to sustain.

  The O’Connor’s heist was the last major job John ‘the Colonel’ Cunningham took part in with the General. He didn’t agree with Cahill’s modus operandi, which invariably involved large teams and meant that the share of the loot was much less than it could be with a smaller group. Instead, the brothers teamed up with another armed robber from Tallaght, Tony Kelly. Thirty-two-year-old Kelly, who was originally from Dublin, had spent most of his life in Leeds in the north of England. He had a string of convictions for larceny, forgery and burglary and had served seven years behind bars. Like the Cunninghams, Kelly had expensive tastes and was known for his flashy Miami Vice suits and relaxing sojourns in the Bahamas.

  In the early 1980s, the three partners began doing armed robberies in Leeds, where Kelly had extensive underworld contacts. Back in Dublin the extra armed cops on the streets were making life hazardous for the ambitious blagger. The gang adopted a business-like approach to their work and regularly commuted betwee
n Dublin and England to do robberies in Yorkshire – taking a flight from Dublin in the morning, doing a job and then catching a return flight home the same day. Business was good. Police estimated that the ‘Irish crew’ had robbed in the region of Stg£1 million from banks and security vans during a three-year period, up to 1984. They became so successful that a special police squad was set up to target them. In October 1984, however, the lucrative day-trips came to an end when the three hoods were named as the chief suspects for the murder of Police Sergeant John Speed, shot dead during a chase after a robbery in Leeds. After that the hoods decided to do their robbing at home.

  Early in 1986, the West Yorkshire police, who had been building a case against the gang, decided they had enough evidence to charge the three hoodlums with Sergeant Speed’s murder. While awaiting extradition warrants, they requested assistance from the Gardaí in arresting the Cunninghams and Kelly. The three robbers were tipped off that they were about to be pulled in and the Colonel decided that they needed to pull one big job as soon as possible. This time the money would be used to skip the country with their families. Their new home would need to have plenty of sun – and no extradition agreements with the UK or Ireland. The Colonel had read the newspaper reports about how the IRA had been secretly paid up to £3 million from the Dunne and Tidey abductions alone. He knew that the only realistic chance of a massive payday was to kidnap a member of a family worth millions. He was also aware of the large number of kidnappings that had never been reported. The confident crook reckoned he could do a better job than the Provos or Mickey Boyle.