“I’d say it was almost certainly cyanide. The poor man smelled so strongly of almonds I thought someone had opened a packet of Amaretti biscuits here in the mortuary. I didn’t detect it out at the scene, the smell was covered up by horse droppings and urine, but once we got him back here, it was unmistakeable. There’s enough of it in him to kill a horse, if you’ll pardon the pun,” the doctor said.
“I see. And have you any idea how it might have been administered, Doctor?”
“Yes, I have, Inspector. There was a small puncture mark and a little post mortem bruising starting to appear on his neck. If I were you I’d start looking around for a fine pointed needle attached to a hypodermic syringe,” he said.
“Already done, Doctor. We found it in a rubbish bin at the back of the stables. We just didn’t know what it contained,” Lyons said.
“Well I should handle it very carefully, Inspector. That stuff can be lethal, as your victim discovered to his cost.”
“Just one more thing, Doctor. How easy is it to get hold of a lethal dose of cyanide these days?” Lyons said.
“All too easy, Inspector. You can even distil it from rock or metal if you know how. But it’s more commonly found in insecticides, or rat poison, or in commercial processing of batteries or printed circuits,” Dodd said.
“And how much would you need to kill someone?”
“That’s two more things, Inspector. About 300 milligrams would do it, or much less if it was in concentrated form as I’m sure I’ll find this is.”
“Thanks, Doc. I’ll see you tomorrow for the full PM,” Lyons said.
Chapter Six
Jenny Gillespie found herself down by the edge of the sea, sitting on some rocks. The sky had clouded over quite a bit, and there was a cool breeze beginning to blow in off the water. Further out, above the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, thick grey clouds, laden with rain, were approaching.
Jenny had calmed down quite a bit, and had been processing the events of earlier in the day thoroughly. She wasn’t a stupid girl, and she felt sure now that even if Lady had killed that man, it would be unlikely that the animal would be slaughtered for it. She knew that dogs that had turned vicious were often put down after they had bitten someone, but this was different, and besides, her parents would do all that they could to protect the pony. Maybe she had over-reacted, she thought.
She didn’t have a watch, nor had she the presence of mind to bring her phone when she ran off from the show grounds, but she knew instinctively that it must be well into the afternoon. She should go back – but how? She was lost.
As she sat there trying to figure out which way to set off to get her back to the show, a dark green Land Rover with a single occupant came along bouncing over the rough ground to where she was sitting. The vehicle was driven by a man who looked to be in his early forties with sandy coloured hair and a kind face.
“Hello there,” he said through the open window, bringing the jeep to a halt with a squeal of brakes.
“Hi,” she replied, a little unsure if she should engage with this stranger.
“Are you OK? You look frozen,” the man said.
“No, I’m fine thanks. Listen, you couldn’t direct me back to the pony show, could you?” Jenny said.
“Yeah, sure. Better than that, I’ll give you a lift. Hop in!” he said beckoning her to the passenger side of the car.
Jenny didn’t immediately climb into the Land Rover. The driver, sensing her reluctance, said, “It’s OK. You’re quite safe. I’m a teacher in the local school. I have lots of pupils your age.”
Jenny was re-assured by this, and he had a nice smile, in fact he was quite attractive, so she walked around in front of the jeep and climbed in.
“Hi. I’m Tony Halpin. What’s your name?” the teacher said.
“Jenny, Jenny Gillespie,” she said putting out her hand and shaking his.
Halpin turned the Land Rover around and headed back along the rough, rocky track. As he navigated the bumpy ground, he said, “I’ll have you back at the show grounds in a few minutes, but do you mind if we stop at my place for two secs on the way, I have some things to collect?”
Jenny wasn’t too happy with this new development, and looked quite nervous.
“It’s OK. You can stay in the car if you like. I’ll only be a moment or two,” Halpin said.
She realised she was being silly. After all he had been kind enough to stop and offer her a lift; and anyway, he was quite hunky, she thought to herself.
“Sorry, yes of course, no problem,” Jenny said.
Halpin drove the two of them to the outskirts of Clifden and then turned down another narrow track that led to a modest bungalow standing on a patch of rough gravel. The house appeared to be in quite poor condition, though there would be fantastic views from the back of the property out across Clifden Bay.
As Halpin brought the Land Rover to a halt, he said to Jenny, “Look, why don’t you come in for a minute while I get my things. You can make a cup of tea, and I think I even have a few chocolate biscuits.”
Jenny hadn’t realised just how hungry she had become, and the thought of a warming cuppa and a few biscuits allowed her to overcome her naturally cautious instincts.
“You know, you really are a very pretty girl. I love your hair,” he said as he opened the front door and stood to the side to let her brush past him into the bungalow.
The house was no tidier inside than the outside had indicated. In the kitchen, the sink was crammed with dirty dishes, and some very dirty tea towels were scattered around. Jenny filled the kettle, and lit the small gas stove with a match she took from a box she found on the kitchen table, and in a few minutes the kettle was singing nicely. She found a packet of teabags on a shelf over the sink, and rinsed out a cup as best she could, before pouring the boiling water into it on top of the teabag. There was no sign of any of the promised chocolate biscuits, and there didn’t appear to be a fridge, or any milk either.
Halpin was rooting around in the other room, and came back into the kitchen a minute later.
“OK. I’ve got my things now. Are you ready to go?” he said.
“Yeah, I didn’t get any tea or biscuits though – there’s no milk. This place is a tip,” she said sourly.
“Well, never mind. We’ll get you something when we get back into town,” he said, heading for the front door.
Chapter Seven
As Lyons was making her way back to Weldon’s office, her mobile phone rang.
“Inspector, it’s Superintendent Plunkett. How are things going out there?” he said.
“Good afternoon, sir. Well, we now know who the dead man is, a Mr David Ellis. It looks like he was given a lethal injection of cyanide after he was rendered unconscious with a bash on the head. So far that’s about all we’ve got – oh, and the girl who owns the pony in the horsebox where the body was found has gone missing, sir,” Lyons said.
“Jesus. Sounds like a bit of a muddle, Inspector. Do you need more men?”
“Well it’s early days, sir, and we have the four extra Gardaí who were posted out here for the show, so I think we’re OK for now,” she said.
“Right. Well you should know that I’ve had a call from Oliver Weldon. His wife plays bridge with Mrs Plunkett. He’s not too happy. He says the publicity will be very damaging for the show and he wants his office back too. See if you can calm him down a bit, will you? He’s an important figure in the community out in Clifden you know. And keep me updated, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir, will do, of course, sir.”
Lyons had just arrived back in Weldon’s office and was sitting at his desk taking a minute to collect her thoughts when a row broke out in the general office outside the manager’s door.
Mrs Máiréad Gillespie had come crashing into the room.
“Who’s in charge here? I want to speak to him, now!” she shrieked.
Lyons beckoned through the glass door for the woman to come in.
“W
ho are you?” demanded Mrs Gillespie as she swept into the inner office. “Where’s the officer in charge?”
“I’m Inspector Lyons, and I’m the officer in charge. May I ask who you are?” Lyons said, although she knew full well that it was the mother of the girl who owned the pony.
“Máiréad Gillespie,” she snapped, “my daughter is missing and you lot don’t seem to be doing anything about it.”
“Please sit down, Mrs Gillespie. Would you like a glass of water, or a cup of tea?” Lyons asked.
“No, I would not. I’d like my daughter back,” she said, now a little tearful as she plonked herself down on the spare chair.
“Yes, of course. Let me explain what we are actually doing to find Jenny.” Lyons went on to outline the search that Séan Mulholland had organised.
“She really can’t be very far, Mrs Gillespie, I’m sure she’ll turn up shortly. It must have been very distressing for her, but she’ll be fine,” Lyons said.
“Well I hope you’re right. If any harm comes to her, I’ll hold you personally responsible. I’m not without influence you know.”
When the woman had calmed down and left the office, Lyons put a call in to the station and spoke to Sergeant Mulholland.
“Hi, Séan. I’ve just had the Gillespie woman in giving me a right earful about her daughter, as if there wasn’t enough going on without having to deal with truculent teenagers and their mothers. Any news?”
“Hi Maureen. Well I have a good team out searching now. There were one or two reports of a possible sighting. A couple of the locals said they thought they saw a teenage girl travelling in the passenger seat of a Land Rover near the town,” Mulholland said.
“Oh well, that’s good. Do we know who the jeep belongs to?”
“That’s just it. It may not be such good news. We think it might be Tony Halpin’s vehicle. We know Halpin. He was a teacher out at the secondary school last year, doing physical education, games, that sort of thing,” Mulholland said.
“And?”
“Well the school had to let him go. Some complaints were received from the parents that he’d been a bit too ‘hands-on’ with some of the girls. There was never enough hard evidence to do anything about it, but all the same,” Mulholland said.
“Jesus, Séan, so you’re telling me that Jenny has fallen into the hands of the local pedo. For fuck’s sake!”
“Ah now, steady up Maureen. I have a few of the lads on their way out to his place now. She’ll not come to any harm, don’t fret. We’ll have her back in no time,” Mulholland said, but Lyons wasn’t convinced.
* * *
As Lyons sat in the cramped little office on her own, she tried to take stock of the situation. She wished she had Mick Hays by her side to guide her a bit and provide some cover. She knew she was a little out of her depth, but she also knew that she couldn’t afford to show any signs of uncertainty or indecision in front of her team.
“Damn it girl, get a grip,” she said to herself. She decided that as there was little she could do for the dead man at this stage, they should concentrate on getting the girl back safely for now.
Outside, the show ground was thinning out. Most of the competitors had left, keen to get themselves and their animals away from the morbid scene. All of their details had been recorded, so there was no need to detain them.
Lyons found Sally Fahy coming back in from the road outside the venue.
“Hi Sally, anything new?” Lyons said.
“Not really, no. Sinéad is just finishing up with Ellis’s car, but there’s nothing much there, though he has had a passenger in it recently – there’s still some slightly damp mud in the footwell on the passenger’s side. Not enough for a shoe print though,” Fahy said.
“OK, well you and I are going to see if we can locate Jenny Gillespie. She has to be somewhere close by. Mulholland sent his men out to the house owned by the driver of the car she was seen in, but there’s no one there. Let’s you and I use our very best powers of detection to figure out where he’s taken her. Can you bring your car around?” Lyons said.
The two detectives drove to the Abbey Glen Hotel where the Gillespies were staying for the duration of the show. When they went inside, they found a tall young man with a pimply complexion moving cases around the expansive foyer.
Lyons walked over to him and introduced herself.
“And may I have your name?” she asked.
“Peter. Peter Dowdall,” the lad replied.
“I’m Inspector Maureen Lyons. We are trying to find Jenny Gillespie. She’s staying here with her parents. Have you seen her at all today, Peter?”
“Well, I saw them this morning. They left for the show just after breakfast,” the lad said.
Lyons guessed that the boy was about sixteen or seventeen years old, so she took a chance and asked him, “Sorry, can I ask you, do you go to the local secondary school here in Clifden?”
“Yes, I do as it happens. I’m in the sixth year. I’ve just got this job here for the summer. It’s dead handy.”
“Great. Do you know a Mr Tony Halpin?” Lyons asked.
“That prick. Yeah, I know him.”
“You don’t have a lot of time for him then? Why is that?”
“He’s a weirdo, that’s why. He tries it on with all the senior girls. He even tried it on with a girl I was going out with. He took her out in that jeep of his and tried to kiss her, bloody pedo.”
“Really. Where did he take her, your girlfriend I mean?”
“Out by the island where they do the point to point racing, Omey I think it’s called,” Peter said.
“Thanks, Peter. C’mon Sally, let’s go!”
Lyons sat in beside Sally Fahy in her smart little Ford Focus and took out the map.
“Let’s see. Halpin’s house is here, out on the Skye Road,” she said pointing to a spot on the map, “it’s just after the start of the loop.” Lyons mused.
“Look, there,” Fahy said, pointing to Omey Island, out near Claddaghduff. “That’s where they do the pony races in the summer. And you can drive across to the island at low tide – especially in a Land Rover!”
“Great! Let’s get out there as quick as we can.”
* * *
“What are we doing here?” Jenny Gillespie said to Halpin as he brought the old Land Rover to a halt on the clear white sand of Omey Beach. The view looking out to the island in the distance was truly spectacular. The sun was getting lower now, and it made the sea look like a huge wrinkly mirror as wisps of thin fluffy clouds in the sky above were reflected on the sea’s surface.
“I just thought you’d like to see where they have the point to point races. It’s great fun,” Halpin said.
“Well, yes, thanks. But I really need to get back now. My parents will be worried, and I want to see my pony,” Jenny said.
“In a minute,” Halpin said, sliding across the bench seat in the old jeep in Jenny’s direction. He put his left hand on her left shoulder and tried to draw her close.
“What are you doing? Stop!” she said.
“Just one kiss, Jenny, then we’ll go,” he said, moving in even closer.
“No, no! Stop it! Let me out,” she shouted, pushing herself up against the passenger’s door. Jenny fumbled for the door handle to open it and escape, but when she found it, it wouldn’t budge.
“Come here you little tease. You know you want it,” Halpin said. A cold, cruel tone had come into his voice, and his eyes had flared. He put his right hand down firmly on the girl’s jeans, high up on her inner thigh.
Jenny screamed.
As Tony Halpin moved closer, he spotted Fahy’s car approaching in the Land Rover’s wing mirror.
“Oh, shit!” he said as he quickly scrambled back over into the driver’s seat and started the jeep. He took off across the causeway leading to the island. The tide was starting to come in, and as he gathered speed the old jeep threw up a solid sheet of sea spray. Sally Fahy pursued the Land Rover which was now just
a dark hulk in her windscreen awash with salty sea water, smearing the window with a white scum, obscuring her vision.
When Jenny saw what was happening she was sure that the car behind contained her rescuers. As the jeep sped up, she leaned across and grabbed the steering wheel, wresting it free from Halpin’s grip, and heaved hard on it. The old jeep went up on two wheels momentarily, left the track and plunged up to its waist into a deep pool off to the side of the makeshift track. With an enormous splash, it came to rest, its engine slowly drowning in the deep salt water.
By the time Halpin had gathered his thoughts, Lyons was opening the driver’s door, warrant card in hand.
“Tony Halpin, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction of a minor.” She continued reading out the rest of his rights. Fahy in the meantime had managed to open the passenger’s door and was comforting Jenny who was sobbing loudly, more from relief than anything else.
The soggy quartet made their way back to Clifden’s Garda station in Fahy’s Focus which had remained high and relatively dry on the causeway leading out to the island.
“What are you going to do about my Land Rover?” Halpin asked as they drove along.
“I shouldn’t worry about it, Mr Halpin. By the time you get processed in Clifden I reckon the tide will have taken care of your car for you, don’t you?” Lyons said, smiling.
Before they reached the town, Sally had re-assured Jenny Gillespie that her beloved pony was alive and well, and had been found not guilty of killing David Ellis. Fahy had let her call her mother on her phone too, and Máiréad arranged to meet them at the Garda station. Máiréad would accompany her daughter, who was only too willing to make a statement against the amorous teacher.
When Mulholland saw the entourage coming in to the station, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Good God! You lot look as if you have all been swimming in your clothes,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, Séan,” Lyons said, “and just look at the nasty little sea monster we caught too.”
“Ah, yes, Mr Halpin. We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Mulholland said.
Halpin gave the sergeant a dirty look.
The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Page 4
