“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, how did we miss a twenty- by forty-foot mound of dirt with a diving board sitting at one end? How’d you pick that up?”
Mickey smiles. “Occasionally I hitched a ride in a TV station’s traffic helicopter on loan to the city’s License and Inspection Department. They do flyovers looking for swimming pool code violations mostly in northeast Philly. Basically, when L&I has a number of complaints from neighbors ratting out pool owners for code infractions, they send up an inspector to eyeball the pool locations. Anyway, because of all that, it became easy for me to pick out all kinds of neat stuff from the air. The skill really comes into play flying over large crime scenes. Or tracking suspects in the park.”
“That’s great. You a pilot, Mick?”
“I am. But strictly on a recreational basis.”
“Ya know, I’ve got access to a Eurocopter International, AS355N Twin Ecureuil Helicopter, and a fixed-wing Pilatus Britten-Norman Defender 4000.”
“Access?”
“The Garda is evaluating both aircraft. The IMES, Irish Marine Emergency Service, has had a handful of Sikorshy S-61N’s since 1991. All based in Shannon. We’re in the process of purchasing a couple of aircraft ourselves. Probably gonna run around six million Irish pounds. The new Garda Air Support Unit will take possession of them next summer. The plan right now is to have them piloted by the Air Corps. And we’ll provide specially trained Garda observers.”
“Sounds like the Philly PD. We’re supposed to get a couple of Bell 206L-4 Longranger helicopters in a year or so. It’s all about the bottom line. Guess till somebody finds the dollars we’ll keep hitching a ride on a traffic helicopter from some TV station.”
“Nobody wants to spend the money. Eventually, we’ll have our own Garda pilots working ‘round the clock. The Defender is tied down at Dublin Airport. The Ecurewil is based beside the ferry terminal on Dublin Bay. We’re limited in their use right now. Mostly search and surveillance stuff. It costs eight hundred to one thousand pounds to operate them. Maybe I can, in fact I’m certain I can, set you up on a ride-along. How would you like that?”
“If time permits, that would be great. But my commissioner only approved me for two days in country. Then he wants me back to work. Like the mean streets of Philadelphia aren’t safe unless Mickey Devlin is out there on patrol. The only way I’ll be able to extend my stay here is if I can come up with a solid rationale. And I mean really solid. Like saving-the-president’s-life kinda rationale.”
Both men laugh loudly over Mickey’s storybook reason to lengthen his stay in Ireland.
“Otherwise I’m catchin’ a flight back to Philly tomorrow.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to change your commissioner’s mind-set, I’ll do it, Mick.”
“Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate it. That reminds me. At some point I gotta call the commish and—”
Buzz. Kevin’s intercom goes off.
Kevin’s pushes and holds one of the four buttons along the bottom of his black desk phone. “Yes, Peg.”
“Matt is here with your pictures.”
“Send him right in.”
“Yes, sir.”
Young Garda Kelly comes through the door holding several eleven-by-sixteen color photos and Mickey’s camera.
With a smile Superintendent O’Clooney asks Kelly, “What took ya so long, lad?”
“Sorry, sir. I’ll do better next time, sir.”
Matt lays the photos on the superintendent’s desk and leaves, closing the door behind him.
Mickey chuckles. “You’re a hard man, Kevin O’Clooney.”
Kevin joins the silliness. “He’ll thank me one day.”
Mickey chuckles again, “Just not today.”
CHAPTER 23
“The seeking of one thing will find another.”
Irish Proverb
Mickey and Kevin start to systematically peruse the photos Mickey took at the Drum sheep ranch in Castleknock. Kevin is scrutinizing these pictures a little better than he did his own bureau’s aerial shots. He doesn’t want to be embarrassed again by his eagle-eye American guest. So he starts to give heightened emphasis to every little item in the photo.
“That’s something that could be used for…Seems suspicious that…If someone really wanted to they could…”
With each photo, Mickey politely listens to Kevin’s assumptions, inferences and reasoning for all of his observations. Even though to Mickey’s trained eye and as Humphrey Bogart would say, “They don’t amount to a hill of beans.”
About three-quarters through the stack are the photos Mickey took of the inside of the barn using the auto-flash function on his Casio. He points back and forth between three similar shots of the interior of the barn. Then stops at one.
“Bingo!” Mickey points to the middle photo. “That’s the money shot. That’s the baby that’s gonna help extend my stay in the Emerald Isle.”
“I’ll be darned. Just as you thought last night at O’Leary’s. That is a yellow Volvo inside the barn. And there’s your canvas backpack hanging from that hook.”
“And does that backpack look familiar?”
Kevin feeling pressured to get this one right spends a little extra time examining Mickey’s barn photo. He goes so far as to take out a small magnifying glass to get a better perspective.
Through a big smile Kevin responds, “Yes! Yes! That’s the same backpack with all those police patches seen on the surveillance tape at the museum and the Bank of Ireland.”
Mickey takes out one of the Philly PD patches he brought with him with hopes of trading for Garda patches or insignias. He lays it beside the photo that clearly shows the canvas backpack in the barn.
“Just as I thought, that’s a PPD patch.”
Kevin slides the patch next to the enlarged photo on his desk. “What’s that you said? Bingo!”
“The pieces are starting to come together. I gotta go back out there to check out that Volvo.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to get a closer look at that backfilled swimming pool and these flatbed trucks either. How can I help, Mick?”
“Not sure it’s a cinch I can’t do what I want with Drum watching. Even though the guy thinks I’m Ernie Evans, tow-truck driver and good friend of his brother Jerry.”
“Ernie Evans?”
“It was the best I could do at the time. I was hoping Patrick, if that’s really who he is, wasn’t a hard-core rock-and-roll buff.”
“Who is Ernie Evans? I never heard of him.”
“It’s a takeoff on Chubby Checker’s birth name, Ernest Evans.”
“Chubby Checker? I love it.” Kevin snaps his fingers. “I just thought of something. It’s Thursday. That means Paddy Drum will be takin’ his wool to market in Clonee.”
“Clonee?”
“It’s a town a few miles east of Castleknock. I know Drum goes over there every Thursday. When we had surveillance on him, I remember the Thursday market trip was like clockwork. He’d leave at 07:00 hours and get back to his ranch at 18:00 hours. His whole crew goes with him.”
“That fits with Patrick’s claim that it’s ‘harvest time’ for him. And I didn’t know he had a crew. When I was out there, he was alone, unless someone was hiding in the house. How many guys does he have working for him?”
“Six, off and on. All from the Castleknock area, I believe. I can make a call out there to have the area Garda station check if Patrick is there.”
Mickey looks at his watch. “No time. It’s a little past eleven. If I leave now I should have plenty of time to get out to Drum’s place and back to Trinity College by twoish. I checked early this morning, Professor Collins is scheduled to teach an American History Through Film class from two fifteen to three thirty.”
“I have nothing planned for the rest of the day, Mick. If it pleases you, I can go with ya out to Castleknock. What do they say on TV? I can be your backup.”
“As my Da used to say, ‘Two make the road shorter.’ So yes, it would please me
a great deal to have you as my backup.”
“Splendid! We can take one of the pool cars. Less suspicious.”
“Sounds like a plan. Besides, Paddy Drum has already seen my rental. Don’t want to spook him any more than he may already be.”
“So since we’re on a schedule…”
Mickey interjects his old standby line. “Let’s make like a tree and leave. We can resume our chat on the way.”
Kevin laughs. “You Americans have some of the most jovial lines.”
“I guess! But we can’t hold a candle to you Dubliners.”
The men start to collect their things and head for the outer office.
Kevin hands Mickey his Casio camera.
“Don’t forget this, Mick.”
Kevin addresses Peg. “Mickey and I are gonna take a little ride through the countryside. We’ll be takin’ the black Fiat. If ya really need to get hold of me…” Kevin raises his cell phone head high with his right hand. “Call me.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll call the motor pool and have them bring the 1992 Fiat to the courtyard.
“That would be grand, Peggy.”
“Pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Scullion.”
“You too, Captain Devlin.”
With that the two men are off down the hall to the steps and out the front door, to the waiting black Fiat.
Student Garda Kelly is standing by the open right door of the Fiat holding the keys for the superintendent.
“Is there anything I can do for you while you’re away, sir?”
“Stay out of trouble and see if Peg needs anything.”
Kelly answers, “Yes, sir.” But he doesn’t move. Just stands beside the car at attention.
“Okay then. Stop lollygagging. Be off, lad.”
The young Kelly quickly moves toward the building’s main entrance, never looking back, disappearing behind the double blue doors.
“All right, Mick. Let’s get on our horse, as you say. And see how many more pieces of the puzzle we can assemble so you can convince that commissioner of yours to extend your stay with us.”
“Let’s do it, Kev. Gotta stop by my car first. Wanna grab my binoculars. I’m parked just outside the gate.”
The black Fiat sedan rolls up to the front gate. The superintendent signals Garda Kerr to raise the lift arm. Mickey gets his binoculars. Then Mick and his backup are off to Castleknock, hoping to find a deserted Drum ranch.
Mickey looks at his Timex. It was Mickey’s Da’s work watch. Every time he looks at it he hopes his Da would be proud of the man, the cop, he’s become.
“Eleven twenty-five.”
“No problem, Mick. Castleknock is only a stone’s throw from here. You’ll get back in plenty of time to scout around Trinity College.”
Kevin gets away from Phoenix Park and is on the toll road, N3, in less than five minutes.
“Six is the next exit. That’s ours. What kind of music do you prefer, Mick?”
“I’m strictly an oldies guy. Sixties music actually.”
“Me too. Motown is my favorite.”
Mickey gives a thumbs-up. “Great minds think alike.”
Kevin points to the in-dash radio-cassette player between them. “See if ya can find us some good Motown on that thing, Mick.”
Mickey unsuccessfully scans the channels. “Sounds like the Irish are hooked on B and B music.”
“B and B?”
“Beatles and Bee Gees.”
Kevin chuckles. “It’s the kids. They play that stuff all the time. No mind. Our exit is coming up anyway.”
The shiny four-door Fiat turns off M4. Kevin pays the toll, and within a few minutes they do their first drive-by of the Drum ranch.
CHAPTER 24
“It is a wedge made from itself that splits the oak tree.”
Irish Proverb
Kevin continues on Road Clancy for about a quarter mile to a little one-lane sheepherder’s dirt road. He steers the Fiat right and follows the winding road up about a hundred meters straddling sheep droppings all the way to a small clearing. Mickey takes out his binoculars and surveys the area below and above the clearing. Except for the guy watching sheep graze on the hillside above him, no one else is around. Mickey waves at the thirty-something man dressed oddly for a sheep farmer. The man gives a halfhearted wave, then hustles his small herd of red-tagged sheep further up the rocky hill.
“Not very friendly, is he, Kev?”
Kevin guffaws. “Must be a Brit.”
Mickey leaves the conversation at that. From his vantage point Mickey has a good view of the Drum property.
“What do ya think, Mick? Looks unoccupied from here.”
“Looks that way. Guess Drum goes to market to sell his goods regardless of any other shenanigans he may be into.”
“Putting food on the table is always a priority for we Irish.”
“Another thing we Americans have in common, Kev.”
Mickey scans Drum’s front drive, zooming in on his house, the barn, and the bog field just past the grazing sheep, some still with the remnants of red-dye circles on their back.
“Red seems to be the color of the day.”
“What was that, Mick?”
“Red. All the sheep today have red markings. At Drum’s ranch. Up here. Red circles everywhere.”
“Probably all part of the same herd. See any humanity down there, Mick?”
“Not a soul. Let’s do this thing, partner.”
Mickey and Kevin get back in the Fiat and drive back down the tiny dirt road to Road Clancy. He drives back to Drum’s private drive and follows it to the two-story white-and-green home. Kevin slowly circles the house, then pulls over and parks in front, facing the main road. He beeps his horn a couple of times to see if anyone is around.
“If that don’t bring them running, nothing will, Mick.”
Mickey exits the Fiat, bringing his binoculars with him. He points toward where the mound of dirt should be, behind the barn.
“Hey, Mick. Where’s your camera?”
“On the floor behind my seat.”
“I’ll grab it.”
“Okay! Thanks. Let’s check that swimming pool area first, Kev.”
Kevin picks up the mud-covered shovel lying on the ground next to the house and follows Mickey to the large dirt mound they saw in the aerial photos. Kevin starts to probe with the shovel, feeling for where the deep end of the pool should start.
“Take some shots, Mick.”
Mickey starts taking photos. He does a three-sixty, photographing the immediate area.
“Find anything, Kev?”
“Not yet. The pool coping should be right…” The shovel hits something hard. “Found it.”
Kevin starts to gently excavate the area nearest the white diving board. After a few minutes he once again strikes something solid.
“Got something else here, Mick. Sounds like iron or steel.”
Kevin digs a little deeper and finds a steel plate about a foot below the surface. Then, he uncovers a two-by-two foot square area.
“There’s no end to this thing. May cover the whole darn pool. We’re gonna need a bigger shovel.”
Mickey laughs.
“What? What did I say, Mick?”
“Gonna need a bigger shovel. Reminds me of the original Jaws movie. After the guy saw the size of the shark he said, ‘We’re gonna need a bigger boat.’ You must have seen Jaws.”
Kevin snickers. “Sure! Grand movie.”
Kevin steps out of the way while Mickey takes a few close-ups of the exposed steel plate. Then Kevin shovels all the dirt back over the area and puts the shovel back where he found it.
“Let’s check out those flatbeds.”
“What about the barn, Mick?”
“I’d like to leave that for last. ‘Sides, I have a bad feeling about it. Can’t explain it. There’s just something about it that looks different.”
“Your call. The flatbeds it is then.”
Mickey gets to where they
were parked.
“Hey, Kev. Only one flatbed is here.”
“Drum musta used the other one to haul his wool to Clonee this morning.”
Mickey takes several shots of the flatbed, including the underside for comparison to the photos he took the day before. Kevin helps him pull two bales of hay piled against the back of the barn beside the flatbed. He climbs over the hay bales lined up around the edges and into the empty cavern-like interior.
Out of view Kevin calls to Mickey. “See anything, Mick?”
Mickey doesn’t respond, so Kevin yells again.
“What do we have in there, Mick?”
Mickey answers, “A great big nothing. I’ll be right out.”
Mickey climbs out of the flatbed. Back on the ground he rubs his fingertips together and smells them. Then asks Kevin what he thought about the oily substance on his hands.
Kevin takes a couple of careful sniffs of Mickey’s fingers. “Smells—smells like oil or tar. Smells oily for sure.”
“I agree. Smells oily. Can you get a bomb dog out here?”
“Sure! But my phone is in the car.”
“Let’s walk back. I want to drop off my binoculars anyway.”
Mickey feels better about Kevin using his cell phone a distance from what his gut is telling him may be a hot zone—a location where explosives are or were stored.
Kevin makes the call to the Dublin Metro Bomb Unit. “Superintendent O’Clooney here. Is Sergeant Lynch there?…Well, then I’m sure you can help me. I want him and his bomb dog at 27 Road Clancy, in Castleknock. And I want him here yesterday.…Good. Okay, then.”
Kevin hits the end button on his phone and puts it back in its pouch.
“We’ll have a dog here within thirty minutes, if not sooner. Ya think Drum is using that truck to transport explosives, Mick?”
“Unless hay can leak methyl mercaptan, my guess is Paddy Drum or somebody out here has been hauling C4. The more difficult question to answer is why.”
“We always said he was up to no good. But whenever we had him in for a sit-down he always had a solid yarn for his shenanigans. If he’s hauling explosives around in that thing, then we may finally get him.”
Dublin Odyssey Page 16
