“OK that’s it for now, off you go. We’ll meet back here at six or half past – all except the tourists,” he said, giving Lyons a harsh stare, “Maureen, will you phone in at six-thirty with any update?” Hays asked.
“Yes boss, if I can get a signal,” she replied, still smarting from the task that she had been given.
* * *
Hartmans is one of the largest and longest established jewellers in Galway, and they rightly pride themselves on the quality of their wares, and a very thorough knowledge of their trade. Eamon Flynn knew the shop, but not well, and not from the inside at all. The glittering baubles that festooned the brightly lit windows, the rows of watches with names such as Rolex, Raymond Weil, Rotary, Longines were well out of reach for a humble Garda. Even as he entered the premises, the aura of expensive merchandise, the gleam of the bright lights and the slightly scented air almost took his breath away.
No sooner had he stepped up to the counter when a truly beautiful girl with perfect make-up and long shiny blonde hair immaculately groomed approached him. “Good afternoon, sir, how can I help you?” she said in perfect English with no hint of an accent of any kind.
Flynn produced his warrant card, introducing himself to the girl whose brightly polished gold name badge identified her as Monika, with a “k”.
Flynn produced the gold bangle, still in its plastic evidence bag and offered it to the girl.
“We were wondering if you could tell us anything about this item?” he asked. “It’s connected to an investigation that I’m working on,” he added.
Monika took the bangle out of its wrapping and placed it on a small piece of green velvet on the counter. She turned it over a few times. “Well I’m fairly sure it’s not one of ours. Do you mind if I call Charles to have a look at it?” she asked.
“Thanks, that would be great,” Flynn replied, enjoying the view of Monika’s rear as she walked into the back of the shop to fetch Charles.
Charles was tall, slim and very elegant, dressed in a sharp navy pinstripe suit with an immaculate starched white shirt and maroon tie. He sported a magnificent pair of gold cufflinks and a very expensive watch.
“The detective wants to know if we can tell him anything about this bangle,” Monika said, pointing to the gold bracelet sitting on the green velvet cloth.
Charles picked it up and slowly rotated it on both axes, examining it closely, but saying nothing.
He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his jeweller’s loupe, holding it to his right eye as he scrutinized the bangle, focusing on the area around the clasp and safety chain.
“Yes, well this is interesting,” he said at last removing the loupe. “It’s definitely not Irish. It’s very good quality, not the usual mass-produced tat. Judging by the way the clasp is made I’d say it’s almost certainly German. It’s made from very high-quality gold. It’s twenty-two carat – you can tell that from the 916 stamp, and the safety chain is probably eighteen carat with a little less gold for greater strength. It’s a fine piece. May I ask where you came across it, Detective?” Charles asked.
“I can’t say, I’m afraid, it’s part of an ongoing investigation. How much would you say it’s worth?” Flynn enquired.
“In the order of seven to eight hundred euro when new I should say. Whoever owns it will miss it.”
“Any idea how old it might be?”
“Not old, and not worn everyday either. I’d say it was made within the last five years or so. The design is quite contemporary,” Charles said.
“Well thank you both very much for your help,” Flynn said, picking up the bangle and putting it back into the evidence bag. As he turned to leave the shop he stole a final glance at Monika who was smiling sweetly at him.
* * *
Hays strolled from the Garda Station on Mill Street to the centre of town, and readily found About The House brightly lit and full of fashionable homewares on Shop Street. He was no sooner inside the door than he was approached by an assistant who asked how she could help him. He asked to see Miss O’Sullivan and was ushered to a counter with a flask of tea and coffee, milk and sugar, and instructed to help himself while the girl went off to find Ciara.
A few moments later, Ciara appeared, looking a lot better than she had at the side of the road the previous evening. She smiled warmly at Hays and asked if he would like to talk in her office, which was on the second floor at the back of the display area.
Ciara O’Sullivan’s office was small, but perfectly formed with contemporary office furniture, and an enormous lamp that was anchored in the corner, but rose on a long semi-circular arc, and was finished in a bowl like shade with one of those new-fangled bulbs that doesn’t give out much light but looks retro. Hays was ushered into a comfortable office chair opposite Ciara’s cherrywood desk.
“How can I help you today?” she asked, still smiling warmly at the inspector.
“Oh, it’s just routine really. We need to get a formal account of what happened last night when you were on your way out to see your mother. How is she by the way, I understand she has been a bit poorly?”
“She’s not very well, Inspector, but she’s not in any pain, and she potters around the house most days, and the neighbours are very kind to her. Winter is hard on old people though, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes, it is. Well, if you could just go through the events of the night again, I’ll write down what you say, and then I’ll ask you to sign it if that’s OK?”
Ciara recounted the story much as she had told it the previous night at the roadside, and Hays copied down her words as succinctly as he could. When she was finished, he drew a line through the remaining free space on the page and turned it around for her to sign.
“What will happen to this?” she asked, looking straight at the inspector.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, will I be needed to give evidence or something? I haven’t been involved with the police before, I don’t know the drill.”
“Oh, I see. Well it’s possible, depending on the way the case goes, but we’re a long way from that at this point. I shouldn’t worry about it if I were you, and in any case, you’ve given a statement. Is there anything at all, no matter how small, that you have remembered since last night? It must have been a terrible shock for you,” Hays re-assured her.
“Yes, it was. I didn’t sleep very well, I can tell you.”
“That will pass, trust me. Well, if there’s nothing more, I’d better be off.”
When Hays got up to leave, Ciara came round the desk and they both arrived at the office door at the same time. Hays couldn’t be sure, but he definitely felt her push gently up against him, and her scent filled his nostrils as they both reached for the door handle together. Ciara made no move to step back, and there was no embarrassment as he stood back to let her out in front of him.
“Great shop you have here. You have it really nicely done out. Where did you learn your trade?” Hays asked as they made their way back through the store towards the entrance.
“I did retail management in UCG. It was a terrific course, and I had six months in Liberty’s in London for work experience, so I stole a few of their ideas I’m afraid.”
“Well, it seems to be working. Thanks for your time,” and he shook hands with her at the shop door and left.
* * *
The team met back in the incident room at half past six, all except Maureen Lyons who would probably still be eighty kilometres away, in or near Clifden.
“Right,” Hays said, calling the meeting to order, “let’s see what we have so far.”
“What do we know about the deceased? Apart from the obvious, her age and appearance, we know she was dressed in good quality clothing, and she had that expensive gold bangle on her arm. She has had an abortion at some stage, but not a backstreet job, and she has been sexually active with a man, so we know that at least one person has been close to her in the recent past, as well as the murderer of course – could b
e the same person, we don’t know for now. Dodd says her hair was well groomed by a hairdresser, and what was left of her make-up was expensive stuff too. So, this girl was not a pauper. John, any news on the hand-bills?” Hays asked.
“They’ve been printed up and the lads are out now putting them up around the place. I’ve sent some out to Sergeant Mulholland as well, so he can get them circulated in Clifden, Roundstone, Ballyconneely and so on,” the young Garda reported.
“Good stuff. Let’s hope we get a response.”
“What about the bangle, Eamon?”
Flynn recounted the visit to the Hartmans, leaving out his views on the lovely Monika.
“So, the girl might possibly be foreign then, although let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet on that one,” Hays said.
They were interrupted by the phone ringing, and Hays walked over to the desk and picked it up. It was Lyons calling from the wilderness. Hays put the phone on speaker and said, “Go ahead, Maureen, we’re all ears.”
“Well you needn’t bother on my account,” Lyons said crossly, “there’s bugger all to report from here. No forensics at all, not even a decent tyre track. Just a tiny scratch on one of the stones dislodged from the bridge, but no paint or plastic on it. A complete waste of time. Tell me you have better news there,” she said.
“Not a lot here either, Maureen. We have leaflets with the girl’s photo being circulated. Oh, and Eamon reckons the bangle she was wearing is probably German, so she may be foreign, which accounts for the fact that there’s no missing person’s report.”
“What about the girl? Anything more from Dodd?” asked Lyons.
“Not much. She ate her last meal of fish and salad at about 3 p.m. She had a couple of glasses of white wine with the meal. There are no tattoos, no external scars or birth marks, nothing that could help identify her,” Hays said.
“OK, well I’m leaving here now. The techies have packed up. I passed on your good wishes to Sergeant Mulholland. I take it you don’t need me any more tonight, boss?”
“No that’s fine. We’ll meet at eight-thirty tomorrow to plan the day. Thanks Maureen.”
Lyons clicked off the phone without saying goodbye and was gone.
* * *
On the way back to the city in her car, Lyons spent the journey trying to figure out exactly where she stood with Mick Hays. They got on well most of the time, but she didn’t know how much he was really willing to trust her with the more challenging aspects of an investigation. Her father had told her that it took a long time to work up a reliable reputation in An Garda Síochana, and while she never really questioned her own ability, she didn’t have any idea what the rest of the team really thought of her.
When she eventually got home, she had talked herself into rather a glum mood. It didn’t last long though. Relaxing in her cosy apartment, she determined that she would show Hays, and the rest of the team, just how competent she could be. “Don’t let the bastards grind you down” as her father told her regularly.
Chapter Five
Wednesday, 11:00 a.m.
The two German hikers had breakfasted well at Eldon’s Hotel in Roundstone where they had stayed the previous night. They had planned their day with as much precision as the weather and their mood would permit. It was a bright cool blustery day in Roundstone, ideal for their planned exploration of Inishnee, an untamed island just off the coast, connected to the village by a rickety bridge, and with just a few old cottages dotted around the place. They had then planned to hike into Clifden out along the old bog road.
Their guide book told them that it was twenty-two kilometres from Roundstone to Clifden, so by leaving Roundstone at half past eleven they could hope to reach Clifden by five in the afternoon just as darkness was falling.
They had taken a packed lunch from the hotel as they were told there was no shop or hostelry available until they reached Ballyconneely itself by which time they would be famished. The walk was pleasant. They stopped to admire the view looking down over Dog’s Bay with its two horse-shoe shaped beaches of white sand glistening in the morning light. They could see a few sheep grazing on the short grass out on the headland and the old abandoned caravan site down by the sea. They stopped again further on at Murvey and several of the other beauty spots along the road. The weather was holding up well, with fluffy cotton wool clouds scurrying across in front of the weak winter sun. After two hours of walking, as they approached Murlach, just before the road heads inland they decided to stop for lunch.
There was a small lay-by at the side of the road with some large flat rocks that would do nicely for seating and a makeshift table, although it was a bit overgrown with brambles. The ground rose up steeply behind the lay-by, so that they were sheltered from the stiffening breeze. They managed to find a clear space to sit, and spread out the sandwiches, cakes and cold drinks that the hotel had provided for them.
No sooner had they started their meal when they heard a faint beeping sound coming from the bushy undergrowth. They looked around but could see nothing, but there it was again, a clear, if faint, electronic ‘beep beep’ coming from nearby.
The man was curious by nature, so he took his walking pole and started poking around in the undergrowth near to where he felt the noise was coming from. There it was again. A distinctive ‘beep beep’, a little louder now as he had cleared some of the covering foliage. His girlfriend asked him to stop being so nosey and come back and finish his lunch. But he persisted, and as he knocked back the tangled shrubs and prickly brambles with the stick, he soon found the source of the noise. Lying partly covered by the leaves of a fern, the pale green shape of a Nokia mobile phone was revealed. He reached in, being careful not to snag his hand on the thorns, and gently lifted the little phone out.
‘Low Battery’ was displayed on the small monochrome LCD screen, and just to make the point, the phone emitted another two rather anaemic beeps.
“Look. I told you there was something. It’s a small Nokia that’s running out of battery. We must hand it in when we get to Clifden. Perhaps someone is needing it.”
They finished their meal and tidied away the wrappings and empty drinks cans carefully, and then walked on through the afternoon, passing the golden strand at Ballyconneely. The stiff breeze had started to whip up the sea. They walked on into Clifden, arriving very much on time at just after five o’clock as darkness was falling. They were booked into the Atlantic Coast Hotel which they found easily, electing to shower and have an early meal before going to find the police station to hand in the phone.
When they had finished their meal, they enquired about the location of the local police station and were told by the hotel receptionist how to get there. When they had noted this down, the receptionist added, “but it’s all locked up now for the night. But if you need something, the sergeant will be in Cusheen’s Bar just over the road. He’s always there till eight or nine,” she explained.
They looked at each other with some curiosity, and the man said, “That’s a strange way to run a police station.”
They found Sergeant Mulholland seated at his usual table, a partly finished pint of Guinness in front of him, reading the paper.
“Sergeant, may we have a word please?” the German man said.
“God give me peace,” Mulholland said to himself, “what am I now – a fecking tour guide?”
“Of course,” he said politely, “what can I do for you?”
“We wanted to hand in this mobile telephone. We found it at a lay-by by the side of the road between here and Roundstone earlier today,” he said.
“Whereabouts exactly was that then?” Mulholland asked.
“I’m not sure, but about five kilometres before Ballyconneely I think, just as the road turns inland for a while, away from the coast. It was in the bushes making a beeping noise because the battery was giving up.”
“Oh, right so, well thanks for handing it in. I’ll look after it now,” Mulholland said, anxious to get back to his pint.
Chapter Six
Thursday, 8:40 a.m.
When Hays arrived at the station the next morning Maureen Lyons was already at her desk. She was studying Dr Dodd’s report on the victim, noting that he had found no traces of needle marks on the girl’s body, and no trace of opiates in the stomach contents or blood samples.
“How does a respectable girl like that end up dead in a ditch in bloody Connemara?” she said to no one in particular.
“Oh, there’ll be a story behind it, wait till you see. There always is,” replied Hays.
Flynn and O’Connor arrived together clutching cardboard coffee cups from The Insomnia across the road from the station.
“What’s on today, boss?” Flynn enquired, but before Hays could answer, the phone on his desk began to ring.
“Hays,” he said to the caller. When he had listened for a moment he shouted, “What! For fuck sake, Séan, why didn’t you call me last night?” He waited a moment for Séan Mulholland’s response.
“Now listen here. You get that phone into the squad car and turn on your little blue lights and drive like your life depended on it. I want that phone here by ten o’clock this morning, do you hear? No excuses.” He slammed down the receiver. “God give me strength,” he sighed to the curious onlookers.
“It seems a mobile phone was discovered not far from the place the girl’s body was found. It was handed in to Mulholland last night by two German hikers, but he couldn’t be arsed to let us know,” Hays said. “Anyway,” he went on, calming down a little, “it may not be connected, but we need to get it here and have the lab go over it.”
The phone on his desk rang again.
“This is the front desk, Inspector. There’s a man here who wants to see the officer in charge of the missing girl case,” the desk sergeant said.
“Righto, show him into the interview room, I’ll be there right away.”
“Maureen, I need you with me,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of the door.
* * *
The man in the interview room sat nervously at the table facing the door.
The Galway Homicides Box Set Page 3
