by John Mooney
‘What business do you mean?’
‘Selling drugs, that’s my only involvement with them.’
‘How long were you at this?’
‘About two years. I got to know Peter Mitchell first through his mother, Eileen. She gets her hair done in the shop. Peter helped me out with a spot of trouble I was having with a sign writer from Gardiner Street.’
‘What do you mean by this?’
‘The sign writer was threatening me, saying I owed him money for a job he had done for me. Peter talked to him and warned him off. After that I got involved in selling a bit of hash for Peter, through the hairdresser’s, just a bit—about a kilo a week.’
‘How do you know Brian Meehan and the Wards?’
‘They were involved with Peter, they were all working together. We would meet regularly in the POD and System. We would hang out together.’
‘How much money have you made altogether?’
‘I don’t know, a lot. Lately I couldn’t handle the amounts. It was getting in on top of me.’
‘Where is it all now?’
‘I will show you, I have it offside, it’s in a flat near Lesson Street Bridge. I don’t know the address, it’s a friend of a friend of mine who has it. He doesn’t know anything about it. He was just asked to mind a bag.’
Bowden made his first direct reference to the murder but attempted to give Meehan and Mitchell an alibi. He said he saw them outside Klips when Guerin was shot, but conveniently left out the details. ‘I was in the shop at the time, I wasn’t talking to them.’
‘Are you agreeable to bring us out and show us the flat where the money is?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much is there?’
‘I couldn’t tell you, there must be about IR£100,000. I haven’t counted it,’ he added. The cash was that week’s takings.
The suspect returned to the question of the murder. He explained where he was on the night of the killing.
‘Now I remember, when I was talking to them on the phone, I arranged to meet them that evening in the Hole in the Wall pub in Blackhorse Avenue, to see the football match between England and Germany. We all met there that evening. There was Brian Meehan, Peter Mitchell, my girlfriend Juliet.’ He also named others who attended the party.
At 10 p.m. Bowden was driven into Dublin city by O’Mahony and Hanley. They pulled up outside Klips before heading across the Liffey to the financial district where Bowden directed them towards to a flat off Mespil Road. On the way he engaged O’Mahony in conversation. He said he lied about how he first met Mitchell. It was a conversation of half-truths. The pressure was on and Bowden knew it. He could take a fall or save his own skin. He chose the latter.
Unknown to him, the investigation team had discovered Greenmount through surveillance on Meehan and Mitchell. The investigation team procured a search warrant and went into the office unit Bowden had rented at Harold’s Cross the next morning. It was a Sunday. Inside they found 25 cardboard boxes of hashish. There were seven bags of white powder and an electric weighing scales. The workspace was littered with cannabis. There were drugs everywhere—wooden boxes full of hashish slabs. There was a black Nike sports bag containing 115 bars of vacuum-packed dope ready for delivery. Bars of cannabis sat neatly beside the claw hammers and jemmy bars used to prise open the wooden crates the drugs arrived in. There was rubbish strewn everywhere. Amongst the debris was a green, covered file containing the tenancy agreement. A list of names was found pinned to a partition wall.
Bowden was blissfully unaware of the find, not that his interrogators knew he was stringing them along. He had slept well the night before. He was brought back to the interview room at 1.55 p.m.
O’Mahony asked him to be honest. ‘Tell us the full truth about Veronica Guerin’s murder.’
‘I am not involved in the murder. I am not a heavy. I just do the drugs for Meehan and Mitchell, for the money.’
‘Where do you get these drugs from?’
‘They are delivered to me or else I meet Meehan or Mitchell and they give the drugs.’
‘Do you know where the drugs are stored?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know where they come from?’
‘No, I don’t ask any questions, I just deliver the hash to the list of customers given to me by Meehan or Mitchell.’
‘Charlie, the gardaí have located a warehouse at Greenmount Industrial Estate, Harold’s Cross, and they are searching it. They have discovered a large quantity of cannabis and other suspected drugs there.’
‘Have ye found it? I should have told ye last night. Fuck it, I was going to tell ye when we were stopped at Harold’s Cross lights. Now ye have found it I will tell you everything. I am sorry for not telling ye about it already.’
‘Charlie, all we want is the full truth, we want you to tell us all you know about the drugs operation and give us whatever information you have regarding the murder of Veronica Guerin.’
‘I will tell the full truth now. It is not true to say that Brian Meehan and Peter Mitchell deliver the drugs to me for delivery. I have over the years organised a few lock-ups where we store the drugs when we get them.’
‘Where do you get the drugs from?’
‘I will tell you that too. I am scared if Gilligan hears that I have ratted, I am dead. I rented the lock-up in Greenmount about a year ago.’
‘How much did you lease it for?’
‘IR£500 a month.’
‘How did you pay for it?’
‘By cash. I have the key for it on my keyring. Shay Ward and I delivered the drugs from there. We had a blue Kadett van which we used for the delivery. It is parked up on St Peter’s Road, Walkinstown. I was making up to IR£3,000 a week on the drugs. Brian Meehan and Peter Mitchell were in charge of the drug operation, but I know that John Gilligan was in overall charge.’
Bowden said that the drug consignment found in the warehouse was hash that had been returned because it was poor quality.
‘The last supply was delivered to the lock-up on the previous Monday. Drugs came in from Cork. They were imported as a legitimate cargo by Seabridge Freight, Little Island, Cork. The fellow involved was a John Dunne who was originally from Dublin but now lived in Cork. Gilligan knew him from way back. It was Gilligan who arranged the importing of the hash.’
‘Tell us how the drugs are taken from Cork to Dublin?’
‘It is delivered by a courier in a white van. Shay and I meet them at the Ambassador Hotel and drive the van to Greenmount where we unload the drugs and then bring the van back to the Ambassador. The driver used to stay in the Ambassador. I know that the boxes of drugs were addressed to a company in Little Island, Cork. I used to take the labels off the boxes in Greenmount.
‘I also want to say that there is a cover for a machine gun in the lock-up. That was a cover that was on a gun that came in with the hash. We got a good few guns in on different times. Firstly, the sub-machine guns and ammo for them. I put these guns in an old graveyard up near Bridget Burke’s pub. Brian Meehan and Peter Mitchell told me where to put them. I will show you the place.’
‘Are those two guns in the cemetery still?’
‘Yes, one of them was used to shoot Martin Foley. I took the gun back up to the graveyard after the shooting. Meehan did the shooting.’
Neither O’Mahony nor Hanley could believe their ears. ‘Martin Foley was shot at twice—which one are we talking about?’
‘The one in Cashel Avenue. They made a bollocks of it. They allowed him to reverse the car and he got away. Meehan couldn’t handle the gun. I had shown him how to fire it in a field out at the back of the graveyard. I got the gun ready for them and collected it afterwards.’
‘Why was Foley shot?’
‘Because Foley mouthed to all the politicals that Gilli
gan and Meehan were selling heroin.’
‘Does Foley know it was Meehan who shot him?’
‘He does. They have patched it up.’
‘What other gun did you get?’
‘I remember another time when Meehan, Mitchell and [named another man] were on holidays, a box with five 9mm semi-autos came in with the hash. I put those in the graveyard too. John Gilligan told me that these were coming in and he asked afterwards if I had got them. In January of this year another sub-machine gun and a .357 Magnum and 12 rounds came in.’
‘Where is the .357 gun now?’
‘I know that is the gun you are looking for for Veronica Guerin’s murder.’
‘How do you know what type of gun we are looking for?’
‘I got it wrapped up and put it up in the graveyard too. Right. I might as well tell you everything. There is a name you haven’t mentioned at all, the person who shot Veronica Guerin. Can I trust you? I have told you so much now I might as well tell you all. Pat the Hat, do you know him?’
‘No, I never heard of that name for any criminal.’
‘You must know him, he has done a few hits around town.’
‘Do you know his correct name?’
‘He is called Pat the Hat but we call him The Wig. Be careful of that, there is only a few of us that know him by that name, only five of us.’
‘What is the correct name?’
‘Don’t know it, call him The Wig.’
‘Give us a description of him.’
‘He might be called Paddy too. I am not sure.’
‘What’s his description?’
‘Forty-five years approximately, maybe more. Bald on top, sandy kind of hair, about 5 foot 8 inches or 5 foot 9 inches. He has a bent nose. I met him often. I used to give him some hash.’
‘How can you be so sure that the .357 Magnum was used for the murder of Veronica Guerin?’
‘Because I cleaned it and got it ready before the murder. There were refill bullets in it. Brass with silver heads, the tops were turned in, rather than coming to a point.’
‘Where did you get this gun when you cleaned it?’
‘Shay Ward brought it down from the graveyard.’
‘Who did you give it to?’
‘I left it in the lock-up with Brian Meehan, Peter Mitchell and Shay Ward. They had been talking about shooting Veronica Guerin. Traynor had told them that she was up in court in Kildare.’
‘Tell us everything you know about Veronica’s murder.’
‘Well, I knew they had planned to shoot her, and when I cleaned the gun I knew that that was the gun that was to be used in the shooting.’
‘Why was she shot?’
‘John Gilligan wanted her shot. I often heard Meehan and Mitchell talk about her and how upset Gilligan was about her charging him for assault. I didn’t know where she was to be shot, I had nothing to do with it. I am telling the truth about that day. I was at work, they wouldn’t involve me in it. I am not into heavy stuff, they never asked me to do anything else in the murder. I met Brian Meehan and Peter Mitchell that night of the murder in The Hole in the Wall pub. Meehan told me about the murder, he said that he drove the bike on the job and The Wig did the shooting. Meehan changed into his clothes in the Greenmount lock-up. The Wig was real cool. Shay said that he said something about his fine house. Shay didn’t tell him how The Wig went away. I heard that Russell Warren got the bike for them.’
‘Do you know if John Traynor was involved in the murder?’
‘The only thing I heard about him was that it was he who told them that she was in the court in Kildare. I don’t know anything else about him. I gave him two guns—this was before the murder. Traynor wanted to give the guns to politicals as a sweetener for something. I gave him a .38 snub-nosed and a Browning semi-automatic. I was told to give these guns. I left them on the roadside near the graveyard.’
O’Mahony and Hanley eased back into their chairs. It was over.
Chapter 15
The Usual Suspects
‘John’s only answer to everything was “I’ll bump him off.”’
MICHAEL GRIMES
When Guerin was shot, Gilligan’s world changed irrevocably. He could spend only a few days in any one place at any time. He correctly suspected that every police force in Europe was looking for him. His instinct, a trait he heavily relied on, told him he was being followed. Paranoia consumed him. The criminals he listed as friends now shunned him. He was fast losing control of the gang at a time when he needed them most. He found himself trapped in London with hundreds of thousands of pounds, which he needed to smuggle to Amsterdam. With no one available to transport the cash, he was put in the position of doing the unthinkable—carrying it himself. This was risky. Ever since he had threatened the staff in Holyhead, he was wary about making a mistake on British soil. Her Majesty’s Customs would be looking for him. Although he didn’t know it at the time, this assumption was correct. Roger Wilson had made sure Gilligan’s name and passport number remained on the intelligence database. He believed that it would only be a matter of time before the pint-sized Gilligan made a mistake.
Gilligan did just that on the morning of Friday, 4 October, when he presented himself at the KLM ticket sales desk wanting to purchase a ticket for a flight bound for Amsterdam the next day. He paid for the ticket in cash. There was no problem. The next day he checked in late, just 30 minutes before his flight was due to depart. His only luggage was a metallic, hard-backed suitcase, which he pulled along with little difficulty. He said he’d carry it on board as hand luggage. It weighed just 23 kilos. His decision to check in late sparked off a security warning on the airline’s computer, which immediately alerted Customs intelligence staff at Heathrow. The names of all passengers who arrive late for outbound flights are referred to Customs for security checks. The intelligence staff didn’t pay too much attention to the referral until one recognised Gilligan’s name. He took the flight details and logged on to SEDRIC, the Customs database of criminal intelligence. Gilligan’s name showed up.
A surveillance team was mobilised. By the time Gilligan was located, he was already boarding the flight. They learned that he was due to return on another flight later that day and decided to wait. He never showed up then, but he did the next morning, on 6 October, when he did the same thing. Obviously he had re-entered the UK by another means of flight and perhaps under another name. He made his way towards the KLM flight desk and purchased a ticket for flight No. KL120. It was bound for Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam. He handed over a fistful of notes. With the ticket in one hand and the suitcase in the other, he checked in late. The receptionist glanced at his photograph and smiled before handing him a boarding card. She looked at the suitcase but before she could say a word, he interjected: ‘That’s hand luggage.’ She said it was necessary to weigh it to make sure. It weighed 23 kilos. He went to the departures lounge. This time, Customs were waiting for him. He didn’t notice the officers staring at him from the security gate until it was too late to turn back. One stepped forward and asked him if he had anything to declare. He said he didn’t.
They took him aside into a small room. He still had a firm grip on his suitcase. He was asked to open it, which he did. Inside was a pillow and a shirt. There was an anti-bugging device and a loan agreement for IR£4 million from a Lebanese man, Joseph Saouma. There were also bookies’ cheques. The officer searched further, moving his hands about. In the bottom, he felt soft plastic. He gently removed the pillow to uncover a package enfolded in bubble-wrap. It was filled with notes. Inside was £330,000 in sterling, Northern Irish sterling and Irish currency.
The blood drained from Gilligan’s face. Alone in the room, he knew he was in the hands of the same security agency whose members years before he had tormented and threatened. He was placed under arrest for concealing money in
order to avoid a drugs charge. More Customs staff entered the room. He was then taken away for interrogation which lasted two days.
With audacious calm, Gilligan started explaining that he was on his way to Amsterdam to go horse racing and to look at property. He pointed at the suitcase. ‘It’s all legal and above board,’ he said.
The interrogation continued with various teams of officers coming and going. They carried with them bundles of files, listing names, passenger and flight details. He asked to call his solicitor but was told he could not. The day passed with more officers arriving. These were more senior and clearly knew more about him than the others. During one of the changeovers, he rang Geraldine using his mobile, which had not been taken from him. ‘They’ve got the three hundred grand . . .’ He was interrupted midway through the call and hung up.
Two days later, he was not in the frame of mind to answer any more questions and he asked if he was going to be charged.
‘Yes, Mr Gilligan, you are,’ said one of the Customs men. The gangster went pale. The next day, he was brought before Uxbridge Magistrates’ Court on a charge of concealing or transferring his proceeds of drug trafficking under Section 49(1)(a) of the Drug Trafficking Act 1994. It was a routine court appearance. He was remanded to Wormwood Scrubs Prison.
Across the Irish Sea, Gilligan’s cartel was slowly being dismantled. Bowden was brought before Kilmainham District Court surrounded by tight security. He was charged with various offences and remanded to Mountjoy Prison. It was a theatrical act played out by both sides to fool the others still at large. It worked, sending them all into a fit of panic. In reality, they knew their days were numbered. They prepared to flee. However, if their passports were presented at Dublin Airport, they would surely be arrested. Meehan knew of a friendly garda who could solve their problem through Paul Ward, one of his associates, who collected money for the gang. In the meantime they vanished, moving out of their homes and into hotels or friends’ houses, never sleeping two nights in the one bed.
