Séamus asked for a pint for each of them, and left ten euro on the counter.
The nearest old man nodded at Mick, and said, “Grand weather for it, don’t ye think?”
“It is indeed. Let’s hope the rain holds off for the rest of the day,” Hays replied.
“What is it you do then?” the man went on.
“I work for the post office in Galway,” Hays lied.
“Oh, right. God, it was a terrible thing that happened to that poor man out in Roundstone.”
“Yes, it was, poor Paddy. He left a widow you know. Very sad,” Hays said.
“I don’t suppose the Gardaí are anywhere near to catching the bastards that did it,” the old man said.
“I don’t know. They’re in and out a bit to us, but they don’t say much,” Hays said.
“I’d say those fellas could go again, you know. Do another one before they’re caught.”
“Surely not. They got quite a good bit of cash from poor Paddy’s van. That’ll probably do them,” Hays said.
“Well, maybe, but I hear different. They’re still out there you know. Now why’s that? I wouldn’t like to be carrying a lot of cash around with those two on the loose,” the old man said, taking a generous swig of his pint.
“Yes, but what sort of place would have a lot of cash just now?” Hays said. He realised he was pushing it a bit, but he’d only get one chance at this if the old guy did know something.
“Ah, ye know, some of them fancy hotels and the like.” He drained his pint glass, and followed up with a good mouthful of the whiskey.
“Can I get you another?” Hays asked.
“No, you’re all right. You can’t buy your way into good company.” And with that, the old guy slipped down from his perch, and headed out the back door.
Hays and Séamus spent a little while longer chatting to Dónal and his odd mix of clients. Then they made their excuses, saying that the women would be hopping mad if they stayed too long, thanked Dónal for his hospitality, and slipped quietly back out into the fading afternoon light.
* * *
Back at the farm, Sheila had laid out tea. There was an enormous homemade Christmas cake and mince pies with loads of cream. She insisted that Maureen and Mick had some of both “for the journey back”, as if it was a lot more than half an hour in the car, but they didn’t like to offend so they managed a piece of cake and a mince pie each, and then departed with Lyons clutching a small collection of nicely wrapped gifts for them both from Sheila and her husband.
On the way back in the car, Lyons quizzed Hays about where he had disappeared to with Séamus during the afternoon.
Hays told her about the shebeen that they had visited and outlined the conversation that had taken place down at the old pub.
“Crikey, Mick. It’s a good job you weren’t caught in there by some of the boys from Athenry,” Lyons said.
“I’m sure they’re well aware, Maureen. They’ll probably be along later themselves for a few drinks. There’s a different way of doing things out here in the country. Anyway, the old geezer definitely knew something, but of course he was being careful not to give too much away. I got the feeling that there was some connection between him and the Geraghtys. Let’s check to see if there are any other “fancy hotels” open out that way. I wouldn’t like to end up in the wrong place again. Can you look after that while I set up the welcoming committee for our two heroes when we get into the office tomorrow?” Hays said.
When they got back home, Lyons put calls through to the other up-market hotels out near Clifden. The Lahinch Castle was obviously closed, with a pre-recorded message advising callers that the hotel would re-open on January 4th, and giving a phone number for a security company in the event of an emergency. At the Renvyle House, the phone was answered.
“Oh, hello. Can I ask if the hotel is open at the moment?” Lyons asked.
“I’m sorry, no. We’re closed till January. We have a small private party here for today and tomorrow, and then we’re closed till the first weekend in January,” the girl said.
“Oh, right, thanks. Sorry to disturb you,” Lyons said, finishing the call.
Just in case, she tried the Alcock and Brown and Foyle’s in Clifden itself, and ascertained that they too were closed for the holiday, so it looked as if the Abbey Glen was the only establishment functioning normally in the area over the holiday.
Chapter Twenty-one
They rose at nine o’clock on St Stephen’s day, and had a hearty breakfast. Then they decided to go into Mill Street where they would have more resources at their disposal, although there would probably be only a few Gardaí around, given the day.
There was a strange, almost ghostly, atmosphere in the station, and a stillness that neither of them were used to.
Hays broke the silence with a call to the superintendent at home. He outlined their plan for the following day, and asked if the Super could line up support from the Armed Response Unit.
“God, Mick, I don’t know. They’re still smarting after being called out to Clifden for no good reason. How sure are you about this?” Plunkett asked.
“To be very honest, not sure at all, sir. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t follow it up. We will look very stupid indeed if there is a robbery and we’re nowhere near it, or worse still, we’re there, ill-equipped, and as a result officers come to harm,” Hays said.
“I see what you mean. OK, leave it with me. I get on fairly well with the man at the top of that outfit, I’ll see what I can do. If I get lucky, can you provide a briefing this afternoon?”
“Yes, of course, sir, no problem. Thanks, sir,” Hays said.
“Don’t thank me yet, Mick. I’ll get back to you.”
While Hays was dealing with Plunkett, Lyons had busied herself with the Ordnance Survey map of the area around the Abbey Glen Hotel, and had looked up Google Earth, printing off some very good images of the hotel, the driveway down to it from the Sky Road, and other features of the immediate vicinity.
“This is a picture of the hotel and the avenue down to it from the road,” she said, pointing to the printout when Hays came back into the room.
“I reckon they’ll spring their trap after the manager has come up the drive and turned the bend, just before the cattle grid and the exit onto the road. There will be less chance of being seen in case there is someone passing by, and there’s room to park a vehicle in at the side just there too,” Lyons said.
“Hmm, that makes sense, I guess. So where do you think we should position ourselves?” Hays said.
“Well, you’ll presumably be driving the manager’s car. I can hide in the back of his car, and we should see how many ARU officers they allocate, but I reckon we’ll need at least two further up the drive, hidden down behind the hedge. That will give us maximum cover for whatever goes down. What time do you want to get out there at?” she said.
“The bank opens at ten, and the manager said he usually leaves the hotel at about five to, but the Geraghtys may be observing from a good bit earlier, so I’d say we need to be there about seven thirty. Would you agree?” Hays said.
“Sounds about right. Do we want to get Séan to provide any local backup?”
“I thought about that, and I’d say no. We don’t want the area bristling with police – that will just frighten them off; or give them more targets to shoot at!”
Superintendent Plunkett called Hays back just before lunch.
“Right, Mick. The best they’ll do is two armed officers. They’ll be with you at three o’clock for a briefing, and will be at your disposal from early morning tomorrow till whenever this thing is over. Is that all right?” the senior officer said.
“Thanks, sir, that will do nicely. It’s a pretty confined area, so two men should be able to cover it handily enough. And Maureen and myself will be armed as well. Thanks for your help, sir,” Hays said.
“No bother, Mick. But do one thing for me now,” Plunkett said.
“What’s that, sir?”
“Don’t mess it up!”
When Hays hung up, Lyons said, “Only one of us will be armed. Remember, Pascal Brosnan has my pistol.”
“That’s OK. You can have mine, I’ll be driving,” Hays said.
While they were waiting for the ARU officers to arrive, Lyons telephoned the manager out at the Abbey Glen and outlined their plan to him.
“We’ll take your car with the lodgement in the boot at about nine fifty-five. Senior Inspector Hays will drive, and I’ll be concealed in the rear of the car. There will be other support units in place as well. If nothing happens, you follow us into Clifden about ten minutes behind to complete the lodgement at the bank. But stay put until you get the all clear from us. Is that OK, Mr Wallace?” she said.
“Yes, I suppose so. Do you really think there will be an attempt made? With guns?”
“It’s certainly a possibility, Mr Wallace, so we don’t want to take any chances. See you tomorrow bright and early.”
* * *
Just before three o’clock in the afternoon, the two ARU Gardaí arrived into Mill Street. They were young men, in their late twenties, Maureen gauged; thin, wiry, and a bit mean looking, their appearance being somewhat exaggerated by their extremely scruffy attire.
Tom and Ronan were their names, but they would be referred to as T1 and R1 during the operation itself. It was important for ARU officers to remain entirely anonymous whilst on operational duties.
Hays and Lyons briefed the two men on the situation, and their plan to lure the Geraghtys to the hotel with the promise of a sizeable cash haul from the Christmas takings.
Tom was the first to speak after the plan had been outlined.
“Is there somewhere we can put our jeep out of the way?” he said.
“Yes, there is. There’s an empty house about two hundred metres further along the Sky Road with an empty shed beside it that has gates that close over. You can park it in there well out of sight,” Hays said.
“What do you think of the plan?” Hays asked.
“It’s very dangerous. It’s very likely that there will be an exchange of fire between some of us and the Geraghtys, and that could go one way or the other. It’s high risk, and I don’t like the fact that you will be driving the manager’s car, I don’t like it at all,” Tom said.
“That’s why we asked for you guys,” Hays said.
“Well, we’ll do our best, but there are no guarantees once people start shooting. In our experience, anything can happen, and usually does. Isn’t that right, Ronan?” Tom said.
“Yeah, but it looks to me as if someone has to put a stop to these two. Might as well be us,” Ronan said almost casually.
“How will we know you’re in position?” Lyons asked.
“You won’t. We can’t afford to use the radios in advance of the gig. But don’t worry, we’ll be there.”
For another hour, the small group discussed various scenarios in case things went wrong. They formed three different plans covering all the likely scenarios that they could envisage.
At five o’clock, Tom and Ronan departed, leaving Hays and Lyons to contemplate the day ahead with some trepidation.
“God, Maureen, I hope this doesn’t come unstuck. It could end very badly,” Hays said on the way home in the car.
“You and me both, sunshine, you and me both,” she said.
They spent the rest of the evening having a quiet meal at home, although neither of them had a strong appetite. They didn’t have a drink. They wanted to ensure that they would both have clear heads in the morning.
They went to bed at ten, setting their alarm for 06:00, and fell into a restless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-two
It was a dark wet morning in Galway when Hays and Lyons were awoken by their alarm clock. It was also very early.
They moved around each other silently as they washed and dressed in warm winter clothes, and were ready to leave their house in Salthill by soon after six thirty.
The temperature gauge on Hays’ Mercedes indicated that it was just four degrees outside, but with the dampness from the rain, it felt more like freezing. As the heater in the car started to warm them, they discussed the operation ahead.
“Are you nervous?” Lyons asked her partner as they cleared the city, totally bereft of any vestige of traffic so early on this holiday morning.
“Apprehensive would be more accurate, Maureen. We don’t know exactly what we’re getting into out here, and I don’t feel we have nearly enough cover, so maybe I should be a little nervous. What about you?” Hays said.
“I’m just plain nervous, Mick. Still, it will sharpen our senses and keep the adrenalin flowing. Are you happy with the plan?”
“More or less. I think it’s the best we can do given the information we have been given. But there’s something else,” Hays said.
“What’s that?”
“I’m feeling that I can’t guarantee your safety as things stand, and that bothers the hell out of me,” Hays said.
“Look, Mick. I know what we both signed up for with this job. I knew it wasn’t all going to be pick-pockets and bicycle thieves we’d be dealing with. But if we can stay professional and detached, and relax in the knowledge that both of us know how to look after ourselves, then we’ll come out of it all right, or at least we’ll give ourselves the best chance.”
“Hmm, you’re right, of course. But I have an uneasy feeling about today, that’s all.”
They drove on out in a westerly direction. The pelting rain and heavy accompanying cloud cover meant that the inky darkness enveloped their car, and at times Hays had to slow down to see where he was going. They couldn’t afford to go off the road at this juncture.
Lyons couldn’t help thinking of the contrast between this drive and the many journeys she had made in glorious sunshine out over this same road, when the blue of the distant mountains, and the bright yellow of the gorse in full bloom created a picture postcard view.
They reached the Abbey Glen just after eight o’clock. It was still almost pitch dark, but the hotel was bathed in floodlighting making it stand out from the surrounding gloom.
Inside, Lionel Wallace was busy overseeing the clear up from the party the previous night, which, by all accounts, had been a resounding success.
“Good morning, folks. What a dreadful day. Did you have a good drive out?” the manager asked.
“Good morning, Mr Wallace. Yes, it was OK. How are things here?” Lyons said.
“We’re just getting to grips with the clean-up. We had a huge crowd in last night. I suspect most of the guests are hungover. Would you like some breakfast?”
“Yes, thank you, that would be great,” Hays said, and Wallace led the way into the morning room where a few tables were set with white cloths and all the trappings of a four-star breakfast.
Wallace gestured to a table by the window that looked out over the harbour to Clifden Bay.
“Please, order whatever you like, and it’s on me,” he said before quickly busying himself elsewhere.
They ordered a hearty breakfast with lots of strong coffee.
Outside, although it was still almost pitch dark, they could just about make out the few boats that were bobbing about in the harbour, and the open sea beyond, the waves topped with white horses whipped up by the prevailing on-shore wind.
With breakfast over, they sought out Lionel Wallace again, and went with him to his office. There, he opened the hotel’s safe, and withdrew what seemed like a very large amount of cash, all neatly bundled up in fifty, twenty, ten, and five euro bundles, wrapped in plastic, with a sticker from the hotel fixed to each one so that the bank would know where the money had come from.
“There’s just short of twenty-seven thousand here,” Wallace said soberly, putting the bundles into a leather bag and snapping it closed.
“Over to you now, Inspector,” Wallace said, handing the bag to Hays somewhat reluctantly as if he might never see the money again.
“Thanks, Mr Wallace. And may we have your car keys please? It’s the black Audi parked out front, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” he said, handing over a single key. As the two detectives turned to leave the room, Wallace said, “Oh, Inspector – good luck!”
Hays took the bag outside and placed it in the boot of the manager’s car. He then retrieved his Sig Sauer P220 from the compartment in the boot of his own Mercedes and gave it to Lyons.
“It’s loaded and primed, Maureen, but the safety is on. Let’s hope you don’t have to use it.”
As had been agreed, Maureen Lyons got into the back of the car and made herself invisible by hunkering down in the back seat. Hays sat into the driver’s position, started the car and pointed it up along the driveway leading to the Sky Road. He moved off.
As Hays rounded the bend in the driveway, he was met by Anselm Geraghty standing in the middle of the track, a sawn-off shotgun in his right hand braced against his hip. Hays recognized the scruffy young man with the greasy fair hair from Deasy’s description. With his left hand, Geraghty signalled Hays to stop. There was no point in Hays accelerating in an attempt to run the thief over – it would just have ended in the same way as the poor postman, and that would have served no one well.
Hays brought the car to a halt, saying to Lyons, “Here we go. Get ready for some fireworks!”
Lyons thought about getting out of the car’s back door, but she felt certain that such a move could prompt Geraghty to use his weapon, and in any case, she had no idea where the other brother was. Nor was there any point, she thought, in attempting to shoot Geraghty through the windscreen. She would probably miss, and it wouldn’t end well. For the moment, there was nothing she could do except wait.
Geraghty signalled Hays to get out of the car.
Hays opened the door, and stepped out, feeling a distinct twinge in his thigh from the last time this thug had shot him. He tried to use the car door as a shield, but Geraghty told him to stand clear, and with a loaded gun pointed at him, he wasn’t about to argue.
As Hays emerged from the cover of the car, Geraghty raised the shotgun to his shoulder and shouted at Hays, “This is for Joey.”
Murder on Pay Day Page 11
