Murder on Clare Island: A Garda West Novel (A Garda West Crime Novel Book 3)

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘I wouldn’t have said so before,’ he said, ‘but after this...well, I think he probably did. Eoin might have found out about the drug-running somehow, and whereas I don’t think he cared much about Finbarr’s welfare, he seems to have cared about Sylvia. Having her son arrested wouldn’t have pleased her. So he might have threatened Finbarr in some way to make him stop. Problem is,’ he added, ‘drug-running is a very lucrative business. Even if Finbarr wanted to stop, the people he was dealing with may not have wanted him to.’

  He moved to signal again and this time it took him several minutes. His fingers felt thick, clumsy and even using both hands it was a struggle to finish. He stood for a few seconds, staring out at the dense blackness, wondering if he were wasting his time. He checked his watch, taking a minute to understand what the luminous dial was telling him. It was eleven, they’d been down here...he tried to calculate, but couldn’t and knew they were in more serious trouble than he’d realised. Hypothermia.

  Quickly, he moved back to Kelly’s side and snuggled up to her, trying to absorb some of her heat. She was shivering. Minutes later, so was he.

  The wind picked up. Minutes later, it started to rain, sheets of it, driven by the wind into their cave, soaking them. ‘We have to move into the stairwell,’ West said, opening his coat and pulling Kelly to her feet. ‘Kelly,’ he said, shaking her gently until she opened her eyes. ‘We have to move.’

  She didn’t help but or resist and he half carried, half pulled her to the stairwell. They should have moved further up, away from the wind that had started to wail but their co-ordination seemed to have gone and neither could manage the steps. They sat on the lowest one, wrapping their arms around one another. West looked for his coat to pull around them and realised he had dropped it. Rain had soaked through the thin jumper he wore but strangely enough, he didn’t feel cold anymore. Except for his fingers. They were so numb he didn’t bother trying to send any more signals.

  ‘Anyway,’ he whispered into Kelly’s ear, ‘I can’t remember what the sequence is, isn’t that crazy?’

  He’d stopped shivering but started feeling increasingly sleepy and knew they were reaching the more serious stage of hypothermia. They should probably get up and walk, he thought making a half-hearted attempt to wake Kelly, but she didn’t answer.

  He had one moment of clarity before he passed out.

  They were going to die there, and he hadn’t told her he loved her.

  26

  Garda Eamonn Hall arrived back on Clare Island just after two. He’d tried West’s mobile a number of times to let him know he was on his way but there was no answer. Arriving at The Quay, he tried again. When there was still no answer, he rang the guesthouse but the number was engaged. Cursing the mobile phone coverage on the island, he decided the best thing to do was go to there. If West had gone to Toormore House, he’d have left a message.

  Minutes later, he pulled up outside. Daisy, who’d been standing on the doorstep polishing the brass knocker, stopped and turned when she heard the car.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, walking up the short path from the gate.

  ‘Hi yourself, Eamonn,’ she smiled.

  ‘Is Garda West here?’

  She shook her head. ‘They left here a few hours ago. They decided to walk back to Toormore and have a look around. They said they’d only be gone a few hours so they’re probably on their way.’

  Thanking her, Hall returned to his car and sat. He tried West’s mobile, unsurprised when it went directly to voice-mail again. He left a message, saying where he was and then shut his phone.

  It was sit here and wait, or drive the road to Toormore House and hope to meet them on the way. Not a man for sitting around, he decided on the second option and headed off at a leisurely speed, enjoying the blue-sky day.

  The gate to the house was shut so he parked on the road and made his way down the pedestrian entrance to the house. Knocking on the front door, he whistled as he waited.

  ‘Hi Edel,’ he said, when the housekeeper opened the door. ‘Is Garda West here?’

  ‘No, thank the Lord, he isn’t.’

  Assuming she was going to say yes, Hall was temporarily lost for words. ‘Perhaps he’s out in the grounds, maybe with Jim?’

  Edel Higgins shrugged. ‘I suppose he could be. I haven’t seen Jim since lunch.’

  Hall thanked her and headed around to Jim’s workshop. The man wasn’t there so Hall went looking for him eventually finding him busy removing leaves from the swimming pool. ‘Jim,’ he greeted him, ‘have you seen Garda West?’

  ‘Not today,’ he replied, lifting the net and dumping leaves on the side. ‘Was he supposed to be here?’

  Hall shook his head. ‘Not really, I called to the guest-house. Daisy said they’d planned to walk here. Maybe they changed their minds, I’ll probably find them there when I go back.’ He frowned, not sure what he should be doing. ‘Is Finbarr around,’ he asked, thinking since he’d come here he may as well do something constructive.

  Jim jerked his head toward the house. ‘He’s in playing pool with that Tilsdale man.’

  Edel, looking less than pleased to be disturbed again, let Hall in and directed him to the games-room where Finbarr and Tilsdale were still playing.

  ‘Eamonn,’ Finbarr greeted him cheerfully, ‘come and play the winner. Me, of course,’ he added as he pocketed the final ball.

  ‘I’m working,’ Hall said, picking up Roger’s abandoned cue. ‘But I suppose I could classify this as building community relationships.’

  ‘Of course you could.’ Finbarr agreed.

  They spent the next hour shooting pool. A casual question as to how Sylvia was coping caused Roger to shrug and Finbarr to raise an eyebrow so he didn’t ask anything else. He had no idea what West had discovered from his colleagues in Dublin so he didn’t know what to ask. He was feeling slightly aggrieved. After all, it was his patch; West shouldn’t have gone off without involving him in the investigation. He needed to know what was going on.

  It was getting dark by the time he left. Returning to Clare Island Lighthouse, he expected to find West there, and entered with a scowl on his face, ready to show his annoyance.

  The scowl faded when Daisy told him she hadn’t seen West or Kelly since they had left earlier. ‘And they’re only wearing light jackets,’ she added, looking worried. ‘What should we do?’

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Hall said and went back to his car where he sat in silence for a moment. He checked the time, made a quick call, jotted down a phone number and, taking a deep breath, rang West’s Foxrock station and asked to speak to Garda Andrews.

  ‘Garda Andrews, it’s Eamonn Hall. On Clare Island. I was in Westport this morning but arranged to meet Garda Sergeant West back here when I finished. I haven’t been able to contact him. And nobody seems to know where he is. I know he expected to hear from you this morning, I’m just hoping you can tell me where he may have gone.’

  Peter Andrews caught the anxiety in the man’s voice. ‘I did speak to him, but that was at eleven. He didn’t mention he was going anywhere.’

  ‘Did you have any new information for him? Perhaps if you tell me what you told him, I might be able to figure out where he went.’

  ‘There wasn’t anything definite. We heard from the drug-squad that Zombie Zee is flooding the Galway area and they were interested to hear that your friend Finbarr was living on the island, but Mike didn’t think it warranted following up. We’re still digging into Breathnach’s life but, to be honest, we don’t really have anything yet.’

  ‘I’ve been out to Toormore House and spoke to Finbarr. West hasn’t been there today. According to the manager here, he and his friend, Kelly, went off on foot in that direction. I’m beginning to worry.’

  Peter Andrews frowned. This was out of character for Mike. Gripping the phone tightly, he spoke calmly to the island garda, trying to keep anxiety and frustration from colouring his voice. The man needed support, not more pressure. ‘Can you gather
a few people, head out in a few different directions? If he was definitely heading toward Toormore House, is there a short-cut or would he have gone by road?’

  ‘By road, I’d say,’ Hall said. ‘You’d need a good map and proper walking boots to go over land. He might have had a map, I’ll check with Daisy. But he certainly didn’t have proper walking boots.’

  Andrews thought a moment. ‘Right, you’ll need to do that walk then. Are there houses along that route?’

  ‘Just a few on the road, and a couple of farms just off it.’

  Andrews groaned. Farms, that meant numerous outhouses to search. ‘Ok. You need to get help. Call on every house, check every out-house. Let me know when you’re organised and ready to set off. I’ll stay by the phone.’

  Hall hung up and headed back in to the hotel. There were no other guests staying that night so Daisy, Tadgh and the chef, Tibor, were only too happy to lend a hand, all of them worried about what might have happened to West or Kelly.

  Daisy, when asked about the map, shook her head. ‘No, they didn’t take one.’

  Hall nodded grimly. ‘Ok, so they probably stuck to the road. Ring anyone you can, we’re going to need more help. And if you can contact the owners of the farms and properties between here and Toormore, get them to search their properties.

  ‘I’ll ring Joe Callaghan, and Dave Murphy,’ Tadgh said, taking out his phone, ‘they own the two farms.’

  ‘Ok, what about the houses?’

  Daisy looked at the others and then shook her head.

  ‘Ok,’ Hall said, ‘we’ll have to call on them. I’ll give Toormore a ring; they can give us a hand from their end.’ He turned to Daisy. ‘Can you rustle up some blankets to take with us? If they’re outside somewhere, they’re going to be cold. And torches too.’

  Daisy nodded and ran off to collect what they needed. Tibor suggested hot tea might come in handy and went to fill a couple of flasks.

  Hall got through to Toormore House and asked to speak to Jim Higgins. He reckoned he’d be the most useful in an emergency. ‘If you could search the road from your end,’ he said, ‘that would be of help.’

  ‘It’s bloody cold out there, Eamonn,’ Higgins said bluntly. ‘If they’ve been out in this since morning, they’re in big trouble.’

  Biting his tongue on the abrasive comment he wanted to make, Hall agreed, and with Higgins’ promise to organise from their end, he hung up. Seconds later, he was speaking to Andrews and filling him. ‘We’re going to set off in a few minutes. I think you should have a helicopter standing by; it’s been cold all day but since the sun went down the temperature has dropped dramatically and it’s going to get colder. If they’ve been outside for hours...’

  ‘I’ve already been in contact with emergency services,’ Andrews said quickly. ‘There’ll be a helicopter standing by to airlift them if necessary. I’ve also notified the coast-guard. They’re going to patrol from The Quay to Toormore just in case they fell or followed a pathway down and got stuck on the cliff-side somewhere.’

  It happened, but he just couldn’t imagine West being that stupid. Hanging up, Andrews shook his head. It was frustrating to be so far away. Checking his watch he saw it was almost six. He could be in Galway in two hours. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to get to Clare Island from there. Maybe another two?

  He’d filled Morrison in after Hall’s first call. Lifting the phone, he dialled his extension and gave Mother the update. ‘I want to go there, sir,’ he said. ‘I could be there in four hours.’ He waited for an answer, determined to get there, mentally planning his journey.

  ‘Ok,’ Morrison said, ‘get going, take one of the lads with you. I’ll give Galway a ring; get them to meet you somewhere en route. That’ll get you there faster.’

  Andrews breathed a sigh of relief and, hanging up, headed out to see who he could find. Both Sam Jarvis and Seamus Baxter were in the squad room, both instantly eager to go, worried looks on their faces.

  Andrews smiled. ‘Just one of you, I’m afraid. Seamus, you’re needed here, keep digging on Breathnach. When we find West, he’ll want good news.’

  After a quick phone call to his wife, Joyce, they headed out to the car park and within minutes were on the road.

  Twenty minutes later, Andrews’ phone buzzed, he handed it to Jarvis. ‘Garda Jarvis here.’ The younger officer listened intently. ‘Ok. Great. We’ll see you there then.’

  ‘A car is going to meet us in Athenry. There’s a small station there, they’ll be waiting and will drive us the rest of the way.’

  Andrews nodded, keeping his attention on the road, and his foot to the floor. Ninety minutes after leaving Dublin they pulled into the car park of Athenry’s small garda-station, locked their car, and jumped into the back of a squad car that had started its engine as soon as they’d arrived.

  ‘Thanks lads,’ Andrews said, fastening his seat-belt. The car took off immediately. ‘You know the story, I assume,’ he asked.

  Both uniformed gardai nodded. ‘Yes, we’ve been asked to put ourselves at your service. I’m Shane Rourke, and my partner here is Brian Costello. We’ll take the quickest route to Roonagh Pier and there’ll be a motor boat waiting to take you across to Clare Island.’

  ‘How long?’ Andrews asked.

  ‘An hour and a half, if we’re lucky,’ Rourke replied. ‘We’ll go across with you, help with the search. Garda Hall contacted Westport; a few lads from there have already gone over.’

  Andrews breathed a sigh of relief. All that could be done was being done. They’d find them.

  They reached Roonagh Pier in exactly an hour and a half, pulling up beside a large gathering of people. ‘It’s lads from the local GAA,’ Rourke said, recognising familiar faces. ‘They’ll be going across to help.’

  Andrews and Jarvis exchanged relieved grins. They weren’t going to be short of manpower.

  Getting out, they were approached by one of the men. ‘Tadgh gave us a shout,’ he said introducing himself to the uniformed gardai, and then at their nod, to the two plain-clothes detectives. ‘I’m Aidan Gibney. Tadgh Sullivan is on our GAA team, he asked for help. ‘We’re going over in groups. About ten have gone already. We’re happy to do whatever we can to help.’

  Just then the small motor boat arrived back from the island and he left them to arrange the next group. Andrews turned to Rourke. ‘Who’s Tadgh Sullivan?’

  Garda Rourke smiled. ‘He’s married to the manager of the Clare Island Lighthouse where Sergeant West is staying.’

  ‘Ah, ok,’ Andrews said, nodding. Obviously, community spirit was strong in these parts. He approved.

  ‘Our boat is just over here,’ Rourke said, leading the way to where another uniformed garda stood beside the pier.

  The boat was small. ‘Will it take all of us?’ Andrews asked, as the boat dipped lower in the water with each added body.

  The uniformed garda who was driving it grinned. ‘Relax,’ he said, ‘it can take up to six.’

  The boat pulled away from the pier and headed across the black sea toward the lights of the island. They heard the chat as soon as they arrived, directions being given to various groups. They were in luck, a dedicated search and rescue team from the Civil Defence had arrived two hours before and had already started co-ordinating a search of the entire island, directing groups to various sections on the detailed map they held, preventing it from descending into disorganised chaos.

  Andrews introduced himself to the man in charge. ‘Garda Peter Andrews, from Dublin. I work with the missing man. He’s also a friend.’

  ‘Gareth Dunne,’ the man replied. ‘We’ll find them. There isn’t an area we’re not searching and we’re also liaising with the coast-guard.’ He pointed to the map laid out on the roof of a car. ‘Have a look.’

  Andrews and Jarvis peered at symbols and abbreviations that meant nothing to either of them. Dunne moved a finger over the map, showing them how it worked. ‘I’ve divided the island into sections; each section
is covered by a team. That,’ he explained, pointing to the first number, ‘is the size of the team; that one, the time they headed out and that, the expected time it will take them to cover their allotted area.’

  Impressed, Andrews nodded. ‘Where do you want us to go?’ he asked.

  Dunne shook his head. ‘We’ve everything covered. To be honest, I’ve never seen such a turn-out for a search and rescue. It appears every garda and GAA member within a twenty-mile radius has turned up to help. It’s very impressive.’ He nodded toward the pub. ‘The owner has given us permission to use the pub as a base. It’s getting too cold to stand here. If all the teams come back without locating the missing people then we’ll send fresh teams out using a different grid, just in case.’

  They crowded into the pub, their faces grim and voices sombre. It was much colder. Minus four, Andrews heard someone say.

  Dunne, seeing his worried face, said, ‘Your friend is young, fit. He’ll have sought out shelter and he and his friend will have huddled together to preserve heat.’

  ‘Can they last the night?’ Andrews asked. ‘They must be hurt or trapped somewhere; otherwise we’d have found them by now.’ He frowned. ‘Maybe I should contact his parents. Warn them.’

  ‘There’ll be no harm waiting till morning for that. It won’t achieve anything by giving them a worrisome night.

  Andrews acknowledged the truth of that. Hadn’t he said much the same thing to people in his time? The morning might bring better news, he’d wait.

  At midnight, Dunne’s phone rang. His suddenly alert face stopped conversation around him. ‘Ok,’ he said, and then listened for a few minutes, nodding to whatever the caller was telling him. ‘I’ll ask and call you back.’ Shutting his mobile, he looked around the room. ‘Does anyone know of any caves in the south cliffs?’