Murder on Pay Day

by David Pearson

“Well, at least the man isn’t stupid,” Hays thought to himself.

  As they drank their coffee, Lyons shared their theory about the possibility of the Geraghtys hijacking the Christmas takings.

  “God, Maureen, that could get very messy. Do you think they’d be that audacious?” Mulholland said.

  “I do, to be honest. They’ve shown no fear so far, and if they’d kill a postman in more or less cold blood, and shoot a Garda, then they’re a pretty bad lot,” she said.

  “Mmm, I see what you mean. OK, well why don’t you go on out to see Wallace and let me know what he thinks? You can rely on our help here in any case, whatever’s going down. The lads want to see those two put away for a very long time. Paddy McKeever was well liked in this place,” Mulholland said.

  “Thanks, Séan. We’ll let you know, though I’ve a feeling we’ll be getting the heavy mob out again if there’s a chance the Geraghtys will be mounting a raid. But the more men we can get out the better,” Hays said.

  “Oh, and by the way, Séan, Pascal Brosnan still has my sidearm,” Lyons said.

  “Yes, I know. He was on to me about it. I told him to keep it till he can return it to you personally. It’s OK, he has a gun safe at his house. He has his own twelve bore that he uses to shoot rabbits out on the headland at Dog’s Bay,” Mulholland said.

  “That’s fine. Maybe I’ll leave it with him till this lot is over,” Lyons said.

  * * *

  The Abbey Glen Hotel is situated down a private driveway off the Sky Road, on the far side of Clifden from the Garda Station. It’s built in the form of an old castle, and prides itself on being the finest lodgings available in the area. The hotel has an interesting history, having been originally constructed in the mid-nineteenth century. It started out as a family home, but later became an orphanage, and for a time was operated as the Glenowen Hotel, before being bought by the current owners in 1969, and then refurbished to a very high standard, and getting a new name.

  When Hays and Lyons arrived at the hotel, it was quite busy, and they waited at reception for several minutes before being greeted by a male receptionist with a name badge identifying him as Edward.

  “Good morning, sir, madam. How may I help you today?” Edward said.

  Hays produced his warrant card and said, “We’d like to see Mr Wallace if he’s available please.”

  “Certainly, Inspector. I’ll page him for you now. I think he’s in the banqueting suite getting things ready for Christmas dinner,” the young man said.

  Edward used a small, discreet, walkie-talkie to contact the manager, and a few minutes later, a man wearing impeccable white shirt, black jacket and striped trousers approached.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” Wallace said, extending his hand to Hays. Hays shook his hand noting that Wallace had a good firm grip, and introduced Lyons.

  Lionel Wallace was only about five foot nine in stature, yet he exuded the presence and confidence of a man much taller than that. This was a man well used to asserting himself, and Hays felt certain that he managed the establishment with a combination of charm and fear.

  “Mr Wallace, I wonder if you could spare us a few minutes in your office. It’s rather delicate I’m afraid,” Hays said.

  “Yes, of course, certainly,” the man said, ushering them down a corridor with his right arm extended. Lyons noticed that he gestured to Edward as they departed, and Edward must have understood the signal, for he nodded almost imperceptibly in response.

  Wallace’s office was in keeping with the splendour of the rest of the place, with an antique desk and Chippendale styled dining chairs with genuine ceramic casters placed appropriately in front of it. Wallace’s own chair was of the captain’s variety, and Lyons didn’t miss the symbolism.

  Wallace gestured for the two detectives to be seated, and almost as soon as they were, a knock on the door announced the arrival of a tray bearing a silver coffee pot, cups and saucers and a plate of delicious looking pastries, as well as a bowl of mixed brown and white lump sugar.

  Wallace poured out the three cups of coffee, and offered cream and sugar, before asking, “Now then, folks, what can I do for you?”

  Lyons explained their theory that there might be an attempt to rob the hotel of its takings on the day after St Stephen’s Day, and asked the manager about the arrangements for making the lodgement.

  “It’s quite simple really. I take the money in my car into town and deposit it at the bank. There has never been any trouble. It’s very quiet around here at ten in the morning,” Wallace said.

  “And how much cash would you expect to have in that lodgement, Mr Wallace?” Hays said.

  “Well, it’s hard to be accurate, but last year if I remember correctly it was about twenty-two thousand in cash. I know it seems a lot, but most of our bar takings are in cash, and a lot of the ticket sales for the Stephen’s Night party come in cash too, so it soon builds up. But we have a very secure safe here on the premises. The room it’s in is alarmed, and there’s CCTV on the safe itself at all times.”

  “Who goes with you to the bank, Mr Wallace?” Lyons asked.

  “No one. I go on my own. Everyone is very busy cleaning up after the party, so I don’t like to interrupt their work. But it’s not a problem.”

  “Well, Mr Wallace, we believe that it is possible that an attempt may be made to rob you on the way to the bank with the takings. We can’t be sure of course, that’s the pity of it, but we have received information that leads us to believe there may be something planned,” Hays said.

  “So,” he went on, “we’d like to change the arrangements if that’s OK with you?”

  “I see. What do you have in mind?”

  Hays went on to outline their plan for the morning after the party, and while Wallace didn’t seem to be entirely comfortable with it, once he heard that the robbers could be armed and had already shown no reluctance to use their weapons, he warmed to their idea.

  “Tell you what,” Wallace said, becoming more cheerful again, “why don’t you two come to our party? You can stay over if you like – I’m sure we can find you a couple of rooms for the night, and then you’ll be on site as it were for the following morning. No charge of course.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Mr Wallace, but much as we would like to, we will have other things to arrange in advance, so we had better take a rain check. Perhaps some other time?” Lyons said.

  “Yes, of course, silly of me. And of course, we will arrange for you to stay on another occasion.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  On Christmas Day Hays stayed in bed later than Maureen, claiming that his leg was sore and he needed to rest. Lyons was happy with the arrangement, as it gave her a chance to wrap his present, and write a card which she delicately attached to the package with a yellow silk ribbon.

  Lyons had managed to sneak out to Purcell Marine in Clarinbridge to buy Hays’ Musto jacket. The lady in the shop had assured Lyons that if it wasn’t the right size, she could bring it back and change it, or even get a refund if it wasn’t to his liking, but she assured Lyons that it was the best possible quality, and even knocked a few euro off the price. Lyons hoped he would be pleased with it.

  Hays wasn’t just pleased, he was delighted.

  “God, Maureen, how the hell did you manage that? I never suspected a thing!”

  “Sleight of hand and classic distraction techniques, love. But I’m glad you didn’t spot it. The woman in Purcell’s said I could change it if it doesn’t fit, but unless you’ve put on a stone or two in hospital, it should be just right.”

  “And now I feel awful. I haven’t managed to get you anything. I’m sorry,” he said putting his arm around her.

  “Don’t be daft. I wasn’t expecting anything with you being in hospital and all. We can sort it out after. It’ll just cost you double!” she said, laughing and giving him a slow kiss.

  “Would you fancy a run out to Sheila’s after lunch? They’re very keen we should put in an appe
arance if at all possible, though if you’re not up to it, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Lyons said.

  “OK. Let’s see what we feel like after dinner – I presume we are having a Christmas dinner?” Hays said, slightly worried.

  “Yep. I’ll be putting on the spaghetti hoops in about half an hour. Hope you’re hungry,” she teased.

  “That doesn’t smell like spaghetti hoops to me, Lyons. It smells like a Maureen special, and yes, I’m bloody starving!”

  With Hays’ leg still in bandages, they had to forego their usual brisk Christmas morning walk along the promenade in Salthill, where a group of unusually hardy swimmers gathered for a short dunk in the freezing water.

  While Lyons attended to the meal, Hays watched tv, but wasn’t really engaged with what was being shown. His mind was turning over various scenarios about the potential heist the day after tomorrow, and how best they might deal with it, if indeed, it was to happen at all.

  At one thirty Lyons called through to the lounge to say that dinner was ready, and Hays went back to the kitchen-diner to find a magnificent spread. The table was decorated in all sorts of Christmas paraphernalia, and Lyons had made a fruit cocktail starter involving grapefruit, oranges and a copious amount of sweet sherry.

  She had roasted a capon along with all the usual accompaniments for the main course. The bird had been chosen for its relatively manageable size, there being only the two of them, and it was cooked to perfection with crispy brown skin and delicious stuffing.

  “What do you think about going out to Sheila’s? We needn’t stay long,” she said as they progressed through the meal.

  “Yeah, sure. Have you told her we’re coming?” Hays said.

  “Not specifically. I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for it. But I said we’d try and make it out for a while if we could. I have presents for the kids that I’d like to unload.”

  * * *

  Sheila Burke, as she now was, lived on what had been the family farm in a townland known as Cartymore. There were no boys in the Lyons family, and it was clear from quite early on that Maureen wasn’t likely to want to run the farm as her father got older and less able to manage.

  Sheila had shown more of an interest, and when she started going out with Séamus, whom she married at twenty-two, the deal was sealed. Séamus and Sheila would run the farm, which by this time ran to almost a hundred acres of mixed arable and grazing land, but Maureen would retain a one third ownership of the property and land as a sort of sleeping partner. So far, the arrangement had worked well. When the farm became essentially dissected by the new M17 motorway, albeit with an underpass to allow Séamus to move livestock and machinery between the two unequal halves of the land, compensation had been paid by the council. Sheila had offered to split it with Maureen, but after a bit of haggling, it was agreed that the money should be used to improve the farmhouse, which had been built in the 1920s and hadn’t seen much refurbishment in old man Lyons’ day.

  The result was a completely modernised dwelling, with a large open plan kitchen diner with new fitted units and a gorgeous AGA range. This had been accomplished by building an extension to the west side of the house, and an additional two bedrooms, with a very large master suite that included a sizeable walk-in wardrobe and a lovely en-suite shower room fully tiled, with underfloor heating. The house hadn’t consumed all of the compensation money, for Séamus was canny with it, and appeared to have obtained remarkable value for the work needed on the house, so after a further family pow-wow, the balance was spent erecting a purpose built steel and concrete shed to accommodate the valuable farm machinery. When it was completed, Maureen got an officer from the Galway crime prevention unit out to advise on how best to secure Séamus’ machinery, and the building now had a very fancy alarm system, and a number of well-concealed CCTV cameras, all rigged up to send a message to Séamus’ phone, in the event of any disturbance around the farm. The security arrangements were completed by the ever present ‘Lucky’, a very even-tempered German Shepherd dog, who barked like a thing possessed and bared a serious mouthful of sharp white teeth if anyone came near the farmyard.

  Séamus also held a licensed shotgun, and he had said many times that he would have no hesitation in using it to defend his property and his family should the occasion arise. Theft of expensive tractors and other farm machinery had become a small industry in recent times around Galway, and often the perpetrators would steal the equipment at around 2 a.m., and have it on the 6:30 ferry out to England before the farmer was even aware that it had gone. Maureen had told him that he was entitled to defend himself, his family, and his property, but that he should be careful how he went about it. If a robber was coming at him with a weapon, then he would probably be OK if he shot him in the legs, but that under no circumstances should he shoot anyone in the back who could be said to be retreating. Previous case law had made it clear on these points.

  Séamus responded by saying, “I’ll make sure the bugger has a weapon all right, but you know how it is with a shotgun, it’s not that accurate and if it was dark, he might just end up with a few pellets in his groin or his gut!”

  Maureen assured Séamus that she knew all about shotgun wounds, and what they could do to a person.

  The drive out to Cartymore was pleasant enough. There were some broken clouds in the sky, with the low winter sun breaking through from time to time, casting long shadows on the landscape. It was surprisingly warm too, at nine degrees according to the outside temperature gauge on Hays’ Mercedes, but he knew that by nightfall, especially if it remained relatively clear, the temperature would probably fall to near freezing. Traffic was extremely light, and they covered the twenty-eight kilometres in just over half an hour.

  When they arrived at the Burke house, Lucky came out to greet them in his usual manner, but immediately softened when he realised it was Maureen, who petted his head affectionately, and was rewarded with enthusiastic licking of her extended hand.

  They struggled into the house armed with what seemed to Hays to be a serious load of nicely wrapped gifts that Maureen had purchased in the weeks leading up to the holiday, whenever she got a chance.

  Sheila and Séamus had four kids. There were two boys and two girls, the boys being the elder at eleven and nine, and the two girls at seven and six. The house was quite chaotic, with discarded wrapping paper taking up a lot of floor space, and the two boys darting around, one with an enormous fire engine, and the other with a model JCB that looked as if it could be capable of even more than the real thing, with motorised arms and buckets to the front and rear, and working lights.

  Sheila and Maureen sat down over a pot of tea to catch up, while Séamus and Mick retired to the peace of the front room. Mick was of course offered a drink, but declined, as he was driving.

  “I hear you’ve been in the wars, Mick,” Séamus said when they were seated.

  “Yes. Some buggers took a pot shot at me out in Roundstone after that postman was killed.”

  “I heard about that, OK. Nasty business. Did you catch them?”

  “Not yet. But I’m hopeful. I can’t say too much, but the next day or two will be crucial,” Hays said.

  “The Geraghty brothers, I heard,” said Séamus.

  “We think so, yes, in fact, it is them. What have you heard?” Hays said.

  “There’s an old guy down at the pub at the crossroads most nights that seems to have some knowledge of their activities. I think there may be a family connection, but I don’t say anything, I just listen.”

  “Have you heard anything specific?” Hays said.

  “No, but I’d say he’s probably down there now, if you want to take a wander?”

  “What? On Christmas day! Surely the place is closed.”

  “Well of course it is, but there’ll still be a few of the locals in around now, just to get away from the family, having a couple of pints. Harmless enough,” Séamus said.

  “Might be worth a look. Can you get in?”

  “
Of course. I know the owner pretty well. We’ve done a bit of business from time to time,” Séamus said.

  Hays didn’t dare enquire as to the nature of the business – he was sure it wasn’t too ethical.

  Séamus read his mind.

  “Ah, nothing heavy, you understand. My brother works for the brewery, and I can slip him the odd keg of lager now and then, and he returns the favour with the occasional bottle of whiskey. Just a kind of barter arrangement. Then he keeps me informed about any strangers in the area that might be thinking of nicking stuff, that sort of thing.”

  “OK,” said Hays, “let’s take a stroll down to the crossroads then. I’ll tell the girls,” Hays said.

  “Ah, don’t bother Mick. We’ll slip out the front. They’ll figure it out if they need to.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The pub at the crossroads had no name over the door. It was an austere grey building clad in sand and cement plaster, with what might have been a shop window once, facing out to the road, with a wooden surround painted in a dreary sort of dark wine colour. Dirty net curtains hung in the window to prevent prying eyes from seeing in.

  Séamus and Mick went around the back of the building where weeds were growing up through the broken concrete paths. Séamus knocked twice, and then three times in quick succession on the back door with its peeling paint and slowly rotting architraves, and a moment later the door opened an inch or two.

  “Ah, Séamus, come in. There’s just a few of us having a quiet drink given the occasion,” said Dónal, who was clearly the owner of the establishment.

  “Thanks, Dónal, this is Mick, my brother-in-law. He’s from Galway,” Séamus said, as if that would excuse any odd behaviour the inspector might portray.

  Inside, the place was dark, with just a couple of low wattage light bulbs hanging down over the wooden bar. A selection of stools stood along the length of it that had seen better days, with three old guys in dirty grey suits perched on them, each with a pint of Guinness and a glass of whiskey in front of them.