Murder on Pay Day

by David Pearson

  “It’s OK, Sinéad, I’ll be fine,” Lyons said.

  “Nonsense, I insist. And we can stop on the way and pick up a bottle of wine. Let’s go!”

  * * *

  When they got back to Lyons’ house, she went straight away to run the bath as Sinéad Loughran had instructed, while Sinéad herself started on the cooking.

  Lying in the warm bubbly water, Lyons replayed the events of the day over in her head.

  Obviously, they had been foolish to approach the two brothers in the house without any backup, but if they had called out armed response again, and the cottage had turned out to be empty, then they would have been given a terrible time for wasting money by the superintendent. But maybe they should have been a bit more subtle in their approach to the house.

  Anyway, she couldn’t change the past. What she needed to do now was to show some leadership. Organise the team and the other resources at her disposal, and flush out the two thugs before anyone else got hurt. But how? They could be absolutely anywhere, and Christmas week wasn’t exactly the best time to ensure maximum focus on things. Damn! She could do with Mick operating at full strength to get them out of this mess – but that wasn’t going to happen either – not for a while at least. “Damn, damn, damn,” she said to herself, topping up the bath with some more hot water.

  * * *

  Downstairs, Sinéad had prepared a nice meal of pasta carbonara with a fresh green salad, and had opened the bottle of Campo Viejo they had bought in the local convenience store on the way home.

  “Wow. Thanks, Sinéad, that looks gorgeous. And you’re right, I’m starving!” Lyons said when she saw the spread laid out on the kitchen table.

  The two women tucked into the meal in silence, topping up their wine glasses until the bottle was empty. Lyons was feeling better already.

  “So, what are your plans for Christmas?” Sinéad said.

  “We were going to go to my sister’s up in Athenry like we did last year, but to be honest, I doubt if we will now with Mick injured. We’ll probably just have a quiet time at home here. The sister’s place is a bit mad anyway. She has four young kids, and her husband will probably have to work. They have what used to be the family farm, and there always seems to be loads to do. Animals don’t stop just ‘cos it’s Christmas. And they usually have Aunt Maude there too. She’s as nutty as a fruit cake, and a bit gaga, so maybe it’s just as well we’re giving it a miss. What about you?” Lyons said.

  “I’ll go home to my folks’ place in Loughrea. It will just be my brother and me and the parents. Very boring, but Mam puts on a good spread, and the whole thing is very understated,” Sinéad said.

  “What does your brother do?” Lyons said.

  “He works for the local council at something or other. I know – I should take more interest, but whatever he does it’s monumentally boring, that much I do know.”

  “Will you get any nice presents?” Lyons said.

  “I suppose I’ll get some crappy scarf from Aidan – I have about ten of them already, and I never wear any of them. Why do people buy such shite at Christmas?” They both laughed.

  “What will you get for Mick?” Sinéad asked.

  “Oh, he’s been angling for a new, and quite expensive sailing jacket. A Musto or something. Bloody thing costs about €150, but I can’t think of anything else.”

  “And what will you get from him?” Sinéad said.

  “Probably nothing this year, at least until he’s up and about again. But he’s pretty good with presents. I think he fancies the young one in Hartman’s jewellery shop in town. In fairness she is gorgeous – Monika – she’s Polish. He’s always in there buying me stuff, so I can’t complain really,” Lyons said.

  Sinéad couldn’t help but be a little envious of Maureen. Sinéad herself never seemed to want to settle with any of the men she had met so far, and at 34, her biological clock was definitely ticking. But Mr Right had eluded her, and she wasn’t prepared to settle for just anyone. “Too fussy, maybe,” she often thought to herself.

  The two girls opened a second bottle of red wine and made good inroads into it chatting about all sorts of things. They got on well, and before they realised, it was eleven o’clock.

  “You’d better stay over, Sinéad,” Lyons said when they realised how late it was, “Besides, you’ve had too much drink to drive. There’s fresh linen on the bed in the spare room, and it has an electric blanket. You’ll be fine there,” Lyons said.

  “OK. Thanks a million, Maureen,” Loughran said, finishing her glass of wine.

  Sinéad went upstairs to have a wash and get ready for bed while Lyons tidied away their plates and cutlery and did a quick clean up around the kitchen, putting all the dirty stuff in the dishwasher.

  A few minutes later, both women were tucked up for the night. Lyons lay awake for some time, going over the events that had led to her partner being nearly killed. A cold shiver went down her spine when she remembered him lying in the dirt, the lifeblood oozing out of his damaged leg. She wondered if there wasn’t some easier career that they could both pursue, with less chance of getting killed at work, and as she drifted off to sleep, unpleasant images flitted across her mind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The following morning, Sinéad drove Lyons back to the hospital where she had left her car overnight. Sinéad didn’t go in, but Lyons did, just to see Hays for a minute to make sure that he was OK and had spent a comfortable night.

  She looked in through the little window of room 212A. Mick was sitting up in the bed finishing his breakfast. Lyons went in.

  “Hi, you’re looking a bit perkier,” she said to Hays as he smiled warmly at her.

  “Hi you. Thanks for coming in. Are you on your way to work?”

  “Yeah. Sinéad was here last night just as I was leaving, so she drove me home and we had some grub. She stayed over,” Lyons said.

  “Oh, I didn’t see her. Tell her thanks for coming in.”

  “She said she might stop by later. So, what have they got lined up for you today?” Lyons said.

  “Well, as soon as the physio gets here, they’re going to get me up and see if I can walk around a bit.”

  “Nice. I hope it’s not too sore,” she said holding his hand.

  “Nah, it’ll be fine. Now why don’t you get off to work and don’t worry about me. See if you can nail those bastards before I get out of here.”

  “Yeah, OK, I’ll stop by later. Do you need anything?” Lyons said.

  “No, I’m fine thanks. See you later.” They kissed briefly before she left.

  * * *

  Lyons got into the station just before nine. She got a cup of coffee from the kitchen, and took it into the open plan where the rest of the team were already assembled.

  As she stood at the whiteboard that had pictures of Paddy McKeever and the Geraghty brothers pinned up, she was conscious that everyone was looking to her to provide some inspiration about the case. For the first time in a long time, she actually felt nervous.

  “Right,” Lyons said, clearing her throat, “what have we got? Eamon?”

  Eamon Flynn shifted nervously in his seat.

  “Nothing, boss. I thought you might have something,” he said rather sheepishly.

  “Sally, have you anything? Anything at all?” Lyons said.

  “Sorry, Inspector. They’ve been searching all over the place out near the cottage, but there’s no sign of them. Not a trace,” she said.

  Lyons swallowed hard before she spoke.

  “Right. This is what we’re going to do. I want the search team out there increased. I want every single house in the area checked, and then re-checked. Eamon, will you get onto Séan Mulholland and get him to put every available man he can spare on it? Tell him overtime is no problem, and tell him leave is cancelled till we find these two – except for Christmas Day and St Stephen’s Day that is.”

  Lyons judged the mood amongst her colleagues before pressing on.

  “And
I want all of you to give your snouts a good rattle. There will be some word on the grapevine as to what’s going on, and a lot of the lowlife we deal with don’t go along with shooting Gardaí, so it may be possible to get some information there. Use every contact you can find. Right – let’s get to it. If nothing breaks, we’ll meet back here at five,” she said with as much authority as she could muster.

  * * *

  Hays had done better with the physio than he had hoped. He was able to get in and out of bed unaided, and he could even walk around without a stick, provided he could hold onto things. The physiotherapist was well pleased, and confirmed that he could go home that evening, as long as there was someone available to dress the wound every day for another four or five days till it healed up. Hays assured her that he had a partner who would be happy to oblige, hoping that Maureen would step up to the job.

  He was tired after the exertions, and was just dozing off in the late morning before the lunch came around, when to his surprise, Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett arrived in to see him.

  “God Mick, how the hell are ya?” he said, full of cheer.

  “Hello Superintendent, it’s good of you to come in to see me. How are you keeping yourself?”

  “It’s Finbarr now Mick, no need to stand on ceremony, or even lie down on ceremony,” he said, chuckling at his own joke.

  Plunkett sat down in the visitor’s chair, and tenuously brought the conversation around to the events that had put Hays in hospital in the first place.

  “You see, Mick, I’ve had a call from The Park. Internal Affairs don’t you know. They’re keen to understand how this all came about, and the fact that Inspector Lyons fired off a shot has complicated things a bit. Now I think we can handle it all right, don’t worry, and it’s important that we do in view of the plans we have for the unit. But there’ll be some difficult questions to answer, that’s for sure,” the superintendent said.

  “I see. Like what for instance, Finbarr?”

  “Like what the bloody hell you two were doing confronting two armed suspects without any backup – that sort of thing. Do you see what I mean?”

  “Ah, look, it wasn’t like that. We only had the flimsiest of information that there was anyone up at the house. And I was damned if I was going to get the ARU out just on the off chance after the fiasco out at Clifden. We were just doing a recce on the place when it all went to shit,” Hays said.

  “And what about Ms Smarty Pants firing one off into the back of the jeep? How are we going to explain that?”

  “She says she saw the shotgun being poked out through the passenger’s window of the Pajero, and she feared for her own safety and for mine, so she got her retaliation in first, if you see what I mean. Anyway, it worked.”

  “Ah, right. Well that sounds kind of feasible, I suppose. It’s a good job she’s a lousy shot! It just depends on who they send down, and what sort of an agenda he has. I’ll know later who’s coming, and I’ll do some checking around to see what way the land lies. You might polish up that version of events a bit with Lyons before they start asking awkward questions. It sounds fairly OK to me,” Plunkett said.

  “Do you think we’ll be all right, boss?”

  “Ah, we’ll do our best anyway, Mick. I’ve survived worse, believe me. It just depends what yer man is like. Some of those fellas have to find a scapegoat to blame, and some of the rest of them are pretty relaxed. We’ll see. You get some rest, and get yourself back in after Christmas. I’ll leave you to it now,” Plunkett said, getting up to leave.

  * * *

  Lyons was just sitting down at her desk when her phone rang.

  “This is Rollo,” said the husky voice at the other end of the phone. “I had a call from Mr Hays. Do you want to meet?”

  “Oh yes, eh… Rollo. Where? When?”

  “Half an hour. Usual place. And bring me a nice Christmas present.”

  Hays had briefed Lyons that she would need a bottle of Powers Whiskey and €50 in small notes when she met Rollo, so she had no time to waste. She dashed out of the warm Garda station into the cold and wet of the street to get her ‘gifts’ for Rollo before retrieving her car and heading out to Salthill.

  Lyons didn’t know what to expect when she met Mick’s favourite snout. She had heard him talk about this Rollo, but she had no idea what he looked like, or how he would behave towards her. She parked up along the promenade in Salthill, and walked nervously towards the concrete shelter, her body bent over against the strong, moist wind.

  * * *

  Rollo was seated inside the shelter backed up against one side wall in an attempt to make himself invisible. He was more of a down and out than she had expected. His clothes were old, filthy and torn and threadbare in places, and the soles of his shoes were parting company with the uppers, revealing a very dirty pair of socks full of holes. Lyons hadn’t expected sartorial elegance, but this man was more like a tramp than an informant.

  Lyons sat down a good two feet away from him, but could still get the strong whiff of stale body odour and pee from the man. Her stomach turned over, but somehow she managed not to show it.

  “How’s himself?” Rollo said.

  “He’s in hospital, but he’ll be OK,” Lyons said rather glumly.

  “Sorry to hear that. Did you bring me my pressie?”

  Lyons slipped the bottle of whiskey out from under her coat, and Rollo’s scrawny, filthy hand reached out and took it, opening the screw cap and taking a good swig of the amber liquid.

  “Ah, that’s good. So, what do you want?” he said.

  “Information. You know what happened. We’re looking for the two clients. Have you heard anything about where they might be hiding out?” Lyons asked.

  “Well, I don’t think they’re back in the town yet anyways. They must be still out there somewhere,” the man said, and took another good measure of the whiskey.

  “Is that it?” Lyons said. She wasn’t warming to this man at all. She felt very uncomfortable, and the smell was overpowering. She wanted to go.

  “Maybe I heard a bit more,” he said.

  Lyons looked at him, and then the penny dropped. She slipped the five used ten euro notes across. Rollo snatched the money quickly, and it disappeared from sight immediately.

  “Glen. Glen something, or something Glen. I just heard a couple of blokes talking. I think they know them boys. But I couldn’t get no more. I’m risking my life telling you this, you know,” Rollo said.

  “Damn it, Rollo, that’s not much to go on, is it?” Lyons said.

  “It’s all I got. Take it or leave it.”

  Lyons got up to leave, giving the snout a long look.

  “Tell Mr Hays I was asking after him now, won’t ye?” Rollo said.

  “Hmph,” Lyons said and walked back to her car.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Inspector Frank Nicholson sat down opposite Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett in the superintendent’s office.

  “Sit down, Inspector, can I get you some coffee or tea?” the superintendent said.

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  “Good drive down?” the superintendent went on, trying hard to break the ice.

  Frank Nicholson looked more like an expensive solicitor than a Garda from Internal Affairs. He had neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair, a lean, angular face, with narrow eyes and almost no lips at all. He was dressed in a very sharp grey suit, with an impeccably ironed pale-yellow shirt and navy tie. Despite the inclement weather, his black leather lace up shoes shone like beacons in the dull late afternoon light, and his hands were beautifully manicured. Before he replied, he took out a brown leather-bound notebook and gold Mont Blanc pen, and placed them carefully on the desk in front of him.

  “Well, the weather deteriorated the further west I got,” he said in a manner that made Finbarr Plunkett think it had to be his fault, “but I made good time all the same.”

  “And where are you staying tonight?” the superintendent said.

  �
��They booked me into the Imperial, but I changed to the G,” Nicholson said.

  The superintendent said nothing, but raised his eyebrows in response. The Imperial was a good, modestly priced commercial hotel right in the city centre, whereas the G was a very upmarket boutique style place, festooned with expensive artworks. For some, it was considered the place to stay when in Galway.

  “So, what have you been told about this incident then, Inspector?” Plunkett said.

  “Just an outline of events. I’ll need to speak to the officers involved as soon as possible, but I understand one of your men was hit with a shotgun blast while pursuing two potential killers more or less on his own. Is that right?” Nicholson said.

  “No, not really. I’ll let you get the real story directly from the officers involved, but you should know that they were not in pursuit at all, they were simply following up a very tenuous lead about some unusual activity at what should have been a deserted property,” Plunkett said.

  “I see. And are you saying that they were completely unaware that two armed and dangerous suspects were hiding out at the property?” said Nicholson, writing notes in his notebook.

  “I believe that is the case. But, as I said, I’d rather you spoke to them yourself. What I’m telling you is only hearsay, and therefore not relevant,” Plunkett said, keen not to implicate himself in any way, given the attitude of the man from Internal Affairs.

  “I understand Senior Inspector Hays is still in hospital. When is he getting out, do you know?”

  “He may already be home by now. They were releasing him today. And his partner, Inspector Lyons, is probably downstairs as we speak.”

  “Right, could you give him a call and see if he would be available for an interview tomorrow morning? I can call out to his house if that makes it a bit easier,” Nicholson said, showing an unusual degree of empathy for the wounded officer – or did he just want to snoop around Hays’ house?