“Nothing, boss,” Sally Fahy said. “Do you want them manned through the night?”
“What do you think, Maureen?” Hays said.
“I don’t think so. I don’t think we’re going to nab these guys on the road. They’re too clever for that. Stand them down at seven o’clock,” Lyons said.
Then Hays went on, “Now, I want everyone out among the low-life of Galway for the next couple of days. I’ll talk to Rollo again and see if he can remember anything else, or he might have heard something since. You folks milk any contacts you have: snouts, small time thieves. I’m going to see if I can get Plunkett to spring for a reward – you know – for information leading to the arrest and prosecution. I’m going to ask him for €10,000, so that might loosen a few tongues.”
A murmur went around the room. It wasn’t often that the Gardaí put up a reward for information, but this was an exceptional situation. Hays hoped that the sympathy felt towards the murdered postman together with the incentive offered might bring some useful information to the fore.
Chapter Nine
Despite the best efforts of the Galway detectives, by the following Monday, they were no further on with the case. The €10,000 reward had been agreed, and all the local newspapers had carried headlines shouting about the callous murder of a popular man as he went about his daily toil. For the detectives, this was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the coverage could help them to uncover information about the crime, but as time went on, a certain amount of anger turned in their direction because no visible progress was being made.
Superintendent Plunkett was getting very restless too. He was torn between letting Hays and co. get on with it – they had a very good track record after all – or calling in a team from Dublin to take over the investigation. He didn’t want to do that, but the negative publicity about his unit was beginning to unsettle the powers that be in the Phoenix Park, and he was conscious that failure at this point could jeopardise his master plan for the unit.
Hays and Lyons were in Hays’ office going back over the few meagre facts that they had come up with since the robbery when John O’Connor knocked on the door.
“Excuse me boss, I’ve just had a call from the bank in Clifden. They’ve taken in a bunch of those fifties that were stolen from the post office van.”
“Great. How much?” Lyons asked.
“Fifteen hundred. Consecutive serial numbers,” O’Connor said.
“Do they know where they came from?” Lyons said.
“That’s the good bit. They were in a lodgement made by Tadgh Deasy this morning.”
“Were they now! OK, John, that’s great. Thanks. We’ll get onto it right away,” Hays said.
“Let’s go!” Hays said to Lyons when O’Connor had left the room. “We can call Brosnan on the way out and get him to meet us at Deasy’s.”
* * *
The weather was still dark and gloomy as they drove out through Moycullen, Oughterard, Maam Cross and Recess on their way to Roundstone. The rain was holding off, but the thick grey clouds and poor light gave the usually colourful scenery a monochrome appearance, as if they were driving through a black and white photograph.
They pulled into Deasy’s yard; Hays’ Mercedes sliding to a halt on the greasy surface. Pascal Brosnan had already arrived and was leaning up against his own car chatting to Tadgh.
As they got out of the car, Deasy came across towards them.
“Good morning, Inspectors. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Good morning, Mr Deasy. Is there somewhere we can talk? Inside perhaps?” Lyons said.
“Here will do fine. What’s on your mind?” Deasy said.
Hays engaged with the man as Lyons split away from them and went snooping around the yard.
“All right, Mr Deasy, but before we start I’m going to have to caution you.” Hays went on to issue the standard caution.
Deasy looked a bit surprised but said nothing other than to confirm that he understood.
“I believe you made a lodgement in the bank in Clifden earlier today, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Deasy confirmed.
“How much did you lodge?” Hays said.
“One thousand five hundred euro in cash and two cheques, one for eighty euro and the other was for one hundred and sixty euro.”
“And where did you get the cash from, Mr Deasy?”
“Well, I do buy and sell a few yokes now and then. I sold a jeep to two lads here last week, and they paid me in cash.”
“Did they just walk in?” Hays said.
“No, no. They brought in an old pale blue Ford Mondeo. It might have been one of yours. It had holes in the bodywork where you lot put your aerials and stuff. I gave them a hundred and fifty for it against the jeep. It was in a bad state.”
“And where is the car now?” Hays said looking around to see if he could see it.
“Well that’s the funny thing. They gave me an extra hundred if I promised to take the car to the crusher, so I did.”
“For fuck sake, Tadgh. Where did you take it?”
“That place down by the docks in Galway. They scrap anything. Then it gets shipped out to Germany where it’s all melted down to make new BMWs,” Deasy said with a wry grin.
“Stay there,” Hays said, turning away and calling the station.
He got through to Sally Fahy very quickly and told her to take Eamon with her and get down to the scrap yard at the docks and see if they still had the old Mondeo. If they had, she was to secure it and get it taken back to Mill Street.
“Mr Deasy, I have to inform you that the money that you lodged in Clifden today came from the proceeds of a robbery in which a man was murdered. So, I’m afraid we’ll have to take you in for questioning. For now, I’ll not arrest you, provided you come quietly.”
“Jesus, Mick, I never had nothing to do with that. Sure, wasn’t I the one who came out and took the van away? You can’t think I’d be involved in any of that stuff,” Deasy protested.
“Well, let’s see, but for now, I want you to go with Pascal to Roundstone Garda station, and we’ll be along in a few minutes. As far as anyone is concerned, you’re helping the Gardaí with enquiries.”
* * *
Sally Fahy used the blue lights and sirens on her Hyundai i40 to get down to the scrapyard as quickly as she could. The two detectives screamed into the yard where cars were piled one on top of another to a height of ten metres in several stacks. All around, piles of crunched up metal stood waiting for the next part of their journey, and in the very middle of the yard a huge crane with a large round magnet dangling from its steel ropes swung from side to side. High up in the cab, an old man with thin grey hair and a large beer belly, with what had once been a high visibility jacket, but was now an unpleasant shade of grey, sat at the controls.
Dangling from the magnet, a pale blue Ford Mondeo swung wildly about as the operator edged the crane towards a huge car crusher.
Fahy leapt out of the car and ran across to the crane holding up her warrant card. She made sideways movements with her hand left and right across her throat in the universal signal to kill the machine. The operator behaved lazily, but gradually the din of the crane’s engine faded, and the black smoke that had been belching from its exhaust petered out. The man climbed down awkwardly from the cab, and stood beside his behemoth of a machine.
“Thank you, sir. My name is Detective Garda Fahy, and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Flynn. May I ask when that car came in?” Fahy said pointing to the Mondeo dangling precariously from the crane.
“Friday,” the man, clearly not much of a conversationalist, said gruffly.
“We believe that vehicle may have been involved in a crime. I wonder if you could release it from the crane for us. We need to impound it.”
The man said nothing, but turned his back on the two detectives, and climbed laboriously up the metal steps of the crane back into the cab. The machine wheezed and coughed be
fore the engine roared back to life.
The Mondeo swung crazily towards them, and descended towards the dirty yard. When it was about six feet off the ground, the man released the magnet, and the car crashed to earth with a noisy thud, the jolt causing the boot to fly open and a door mirror to detach and roll on the ground.
Flynn looked up at the man with a scowl. He made a twisting motion with his hand, indicating that he was looking for the key. The man signalled from the cab of the crane to a large metal bin over beside the shed that served as a very scruffy office. Flynn walked over to find the bin more than half full with what must have been several hundred car keys.
“This is hopeless, Sally. We’ll never find the right one, and that’s assuming it will still be driving. But we can’t leave here without it – anything could happen. Let’s improvise.”
The two detectives scouted round the yard till they found a stout piece of rope that was about five metres long. Flynn used an old sack on the ground to protect his clothes, and bent down, tying the rope around the front axle of the old Mondeo. He tied the other end to the towing eye of the Hyundai.
“You’re in the Mondeo,” he said to Fahy.
“Oh, thanks a lot. And I don’t want to hear a word about women drivers. Go slowly now, won’t you?” Fahy said.
They made a peculiar little convoy driving the two kilometres back to Mill Street. Flynn in front with the blue lights flashing, and the old beaten up Mondeo crabbing along at the end of the tow rope. It took them just ten minutes to make the journey, and they were glad to get the vehicle back into the secure yard at the rear of the station.
Once they were back inside the station, Flynn called Sinéad Loughran.
“Hi Sinéad. It’s Eamon Flynn. We’ve brought in a blue Mondeo that we think may have been used for the heist out at Roundstone where the postman got shot. Could you come down with a couple of your guys and give it a good going over for us? It’s in the yard at the back.”
“Sure Eamon, we’ll be down in a few minutes, and let’s hope we get something from it. I hope there isn’t a dead sheep in the boot!” Sinéad said.
“Ha ha – very funny! They obviously thought it would be crushed by now, so they may not have been too careful about it. Anyway, we’ll see. Thanks.”
Then Flynn called Lyons and told her that they had managed to rescue the Mondeo from the jaws of the crusher, and had it back at the station with forensics ready to start work on the car.
“Great, well done you two,” Lyons said.
Chapter Ten
Tadgh Deasy sat very uncomfortably in the little place that had been set up as a makeshift interview room in the small new Garda Station at the edge of Roundstone village. Hays had shown him in there, and told him to stay put while he went to get two cups of coffee and a notepad.
“Look, Inspector, this is nuts. You people know me. I wouldn’t get involved in anything like that,” Deasy said as Hays re-entered the room and placed the drinks on the table.
“A man has been murdered, Mr Deasy. There are procedures that need to be followed. And you were, of your own admission, in possession of money from the proceeds of an armed robbery. So, if you’ve any sense, you’ll answer my questions honestly,” Hays said.
Deasy wriggled a bit in his seat and reached for his coffee without saying a word.
“Now, who were these two boyos that traded the Mondeo for a jeep on Friday? I need names, addresses,” Hays demanded.
“I dunno, do I? They just came in like, and I’ve had that old jeep for ages. I was delighted to be getting rid of the thing, and they gave me good money for it. It wasn’t worth much.”
“Names?”
Deasy shook his head, looking at the floor.
“Well what did they look like? You must remember that at least,” Hays said, losing his patience.
“Just average blokes. The younger one had a woolly hat, and the older one was very scruffy with dirty fair hair,” Deasy said.
“God give me strength! You do realise it’s an offence not to complete an RF105 form when you sell a vehicle, Mr Deasy, don’t you?”
“Ah, look, things don’t always get done like that out here in the country, specially with a couple of old jalopies,” Deasy said.
“The age of the vehicle is not the issue here. Now, what was the make, model and reg. number of the jeep?” Hays asked.
“It was a Mitsubishi Pajero, green it was, and it was 98G something or other.”
“I’ll need the full number, and I need it now,” Hays said. He was getting very fed up with Deasy’s attitude.
“Let me ring Shay, he’ll have it. He always remembers them things.”
Hays nodded, signalling that the man could use his mobile phone to make the call. Shay, Deasy’s son, did indeed remember the number of the Pajero, and Deasy relayed it to Hays, who wrote it on his pad. He then called Pascal Brosnan in from the outer office, and gave him the vehicle description, asking him to circulate it as soon as possible, and to be certain to add “approach with caution – occupants may be armed” to the bulletin.
Hays continued the questioning when Brosnan had left to put the word out on the old jeep.
“Why did you take the vehicle into Galway to the scrap yard?” he asked.
“They gave me an extra €100 for that, so I wasn’t going to complain, was I?” Deasy said.
“But surely you must have been suspicious about it. Why didn’t you report it?”
“Look, Inspector, you’ve seen my place, I’m not living the high life now, am I? Money is hard to come by doing what I’m doing, so when a couple of guys come in and offer me over the odds for an old heap, and then sweeten the deal with a few extras, I’m hardly going to turn it down, now am I?”
“And when they peeled off a pile of crisp new fifty-euro notes, you still didn’t think that there was anything fishy? C’mon, Mr Deasy, you’re not an idiot, now are you?” Hays said.
“I was concentrating on getting as much as I could for the Pajero. I wasn’t focussed on the money till the deal was struck. To be honest, the whole thing did smell a bit off, but who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?” Deasy said.
Hays had some sympathy for the man. He knew that Deasy’s operation was marginal at best, and he could easily see how the transaction with the Mondeo and the jeep could have seemed almost too good to be true for him. And he didn’t really believe that Deasy was directly involved with the robbery, but he wasn’t going to let his prey off the hook too easily.
“Well, we’ll be confiscating the cash – it’s obviously the proceeds of a crime. The bank will debit your account. And I want you to think very carefully, Mr Deasy. If you know anything, anything at all, about who these two clients are, or where they might be staying, you need to come forward with that information urgently. If I find out later that you knew them, even vaguely, and you’ve held anything back, then I promise you, it will go very badly for you. Is that clear?” Hays said.
“Yes, yes of course, but I promise you, I never seen them before. But if they come back, I’ll let you know, promise.”
“Right. That’s all for now. Off you go, and consider yourself lucky that I didn’t charge you,” Hays said.
When Deasy had left the station, Lyons told Hays about the recovery of the old blue Mondeo from the scrapyard.
“Well that’s something at least. Has Sinéad got hold of it yet?” Hays said.
“Yes. She’s working on it now,” Lyons said.
“Good. Let’s get back to town before dark. Maybe Sinéad will have something for us.”
* * *
They arrived back in Mill Street and brought the team together for an update. Hays outlined the interview that they had had with Tadgh Deasy.
“Do you think he’s involved?” Eamon Flynn asked when he heard the story of how the stolen notes had turned up in Deasy’s lodgement.
“I doubt it, at least not in the robbery, but it was dumb of him not to report what was obviously a seriously suspicio
us transaction. Let’s keep an eye on him for a while, see if anything else comes to light. I’ve asked Pascal Brosnan to keep us posted,” Hays said.
Hays looked at Lyons indicating that she should take over.
“Sally, will you give Sinéad a call and see if she’s got anything from the Mondeo?” Lyons said.
“Right, boss.”
“Eamon, I want you to call Pascal and Séan and see if there’s been any sightings out west. Maybe one of the checkpoints has turned up something. And if anyone has anything, bring it to me immediately, don’t wait till our next meeting. It’s imperative we apprehend this lot quickly or we’ll be slaughtered in the media,” Lyons said.
When they had dispersed, Hays and Lyons went to his office.
“Any thoughts?” Lyons said.
“It’s a bit odd, don’t you think? They appear to have gone to ground somewhere in the Roundstone area, but why haven’t they hightailed it out of there?” Hays said.
Sally Fahy knocked at Hays’ door.
“Come in, Sally. What have you got?” Lyons said.
“Sinéad found some interesting stuff in the Mondeo, Inspector. They must have thought that Deasy would have it crushed long before we got to it. As well as a reasonable crop of fingerprints, she found a plastic wrapper on the floor that came from a €5,000 bundle. It has distinct prints on it, and branding from the bank and the post office.”
“Nice one, Sally. Have you run the prints yet?” Hays said.
“Yes, sir. They belong to an Anselm Geraghty, he’s well known to us. In fact, he’s just finished a five year stretch for aggravated burglary and actual bodily harm. Apparently, he beat up the owner of a petrol station quite unnecessarily during a robbery when the man was closing up for the night. He was caught on CCTV, as was his brother, Emmet. It seems they often work together,” Fahy said.
“Nice. OK, well get a bulletin out to all stations – you know the usual, ‘approach with caution – may be armed’, and see if you can get it into the local papers for tomorrow too. I take it we have some reasonably good mug shots?” Hays said.
Murder on Pay Day Page 5
