Another silence – shorter this time.
“All right, all right. I was with the girl on Tuesday. I went to her apartment at four o’clock and spent an hour with her. But I swear, when I left her she was fit and healthy, you have to believe me,” he said in desperation.
“Wrong, Mr McMahon, we don’t have to believe you at all. And after all the lies you’ve told us it’s now up to you to prove what you’re saying is true,” Hays said.
Lyons cut in. “What happened? Did she threaten to expose you? Did she demand a lot of money? You lost your temper didn’t you and whacked her about the head then put the body in the car and drove it out west towards Clifden and dumped it. Isn’t that right, Mr McMahon?”
“No, no. Not at all. We parted on good terms. She even asked me when I would see her again. She wouldn’t threaten me, she wasn’t like that. Despite her chosen career, she was a nice girl underneath. She had standards. We liked each other. I even brought her a present back from Frankfurt earlier this year. I was over there at an architectural conference.”
“Yes, a gold bangle,” Lyons said. “She was wearing it when we found her.”
“So how come this nice escort girl ended up dead in a ditch forty miles from home just a few hours after you were with her, Mr McMahon?” Hays said, getting back on track.
“I don’t know. I don’t bloody know. Maybe she had another visitor after I left her, I don’t know.”
“Let me tell you this, Mr McMahon, if we find just one tiny trace of her anywhere in your car, that’s it, I’ll do you for her murder,” Hays said.
McMahon leant forward and put his head in his hands. After a few moments he said, “You will find traces of her. Only in the front passenger’s seat though. I drove her around a bit sometimes when she had stuff to get, you know, shopping and that.”
Hays signalled to Lyons that they needed to talk outside in private.
“Stay put for the moment, we’ll be back shortly,” he said.
Outside in the corridor, Hays asked Lyons, “What do you think? Is he our man?”
“You don’t think so, do you?” Lyons replied.
“I don’t know. So, he sees a hooker. He’s scared to death anyone will find out. He lied to us, but I don’t see him killing the girl, do you?”
“Well when it boils down to it, we haven’t got that much on him. And after all it was he who placed himself in the vicinity with that bullshit about the golf club. He wouldn’t have done that if he had dumped her out there. We’ll know more when we have had a look at the car. Where did he say he went after he had been with the girl on Tuesday?”
“Back to the office. Says he got there about half five or quarter to six, but by that time everyone had gone home,” Hays replied.
“Why don’t I go back to his office with him and see if I can get the login records from his PC for Tuesday, see if he logged back in when he said he did?” Lyons asked.
“Good idea. Then let him go for now. Tell him not to leave Galway, oh and tell him we’ll be keeping his car for a few days. He can tell the wife it’s in the garage.”
“Oh, and Maureen, can you come back here after? There’s a few things I’d like to go over with you,” he added.
“Yeah sure. I’ll see you later then.”
* * *
Lyons arrived back at the station having escorted McMahon to his office.
“Hi boss. It looks as if he may be in the clear. We got the log off his PC, and true enough he logged back in at five forty-two and stayed logged in till after eight. There were a number of emails and documents created in that time, so I don’t think he was faking it.”
“Probably genuine,” Hays said. “It would be very difficult to set that up as an alibi, after all he didn’t know he was a suspect till this morning, and we have been with him ever since.”
“But I don’t want him ruled out of the picture just yet. There’s a good bit of circumstantial linking him in, and he’s a clever bugger, so he could be spinning all sorts of yarns. There’s no doubt he’s shit scared that anyone will find out his dirty little secret. Maybe this will put an end to his afternoon delights for the time being,” Hays said.
“What about the girl that found the body – the fragrant Ciara?” Lyons asked.
“I’m not sure we should prioritize her. Let’s have a think about it over the weekend and see what develops. No harm if you called on her and had a chat next week maybe, see what you can worm out of her, but to be honest, I doubt if she’d commit murder just to avenge a stolen boyfriend that happened a few years ago, but we’ll check it out just to be sure,” Hays said.
“I’ve had enough of this for today. Do you fancy a drink?” he added.
“Yes please. I could do with a nice cold G and T, or maybe two.” She smiled at Hays.
* * *
Doherty’s Bar and Lounge was the nearest decent pub to the station. It had been given a hefty makeover in 2010 and now looked more like a 1950s boozer than anything modern. Shelves around the walls, up high, were adorned with old books, a couple of old valve radios, and a few ancient kitchen utensils in copper and brass. The lounge was comfortable, with carpet, and the seating was arranged in a series of semi-private booths separated by trellis that had been painted dark brown. A long mahogany bar ran the length of the room with every imaginable concoction anyone could want on tap, or in bottles.
Hays waited at the bar for his pint of Guinness to settle while Tadgh Doherty poured Maureen’s Bombay Sapphire Gin – a double measure and a little “tilly” as well and added the Schweppes tonic water. Tadgh knew just how she liked it, with a slice of lime, not lemon, and two cubes of ice.
Back in their booth, Hays raised his glass. “Sláinte,” he said, and Maureen reciprocated in time-honoured fashion.
“Maureen, I know tomorrow is Saturday and all that, but I was wondering if I could ask a favour?” Hays said.
“Saturday is just the day after Friday, boss. Go ahead.”
“I feel we’re spinning our wheels a bit on this one. It’s nearly a week now, and we’re not really anywhere,” he said.
“The boss is going mad. He’s getting real heat from Dublin 8, and he’s afraid they’ll send some of their sharp shooters down from the smoke to take over if we don’t make more progress really soon. He’d really hate that. It would be a terrible insult to him and us.”
“Damn right,” Lyons said, “anyway they have enough murders going on in Dublin to keep them busy,” she hissed.
“So, I’d like us, just you and me, to go back out to the place where she was found early tomorrow morning. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling that there’s something out there that we may have missed. I know it’s a long shot, and I don’t like asking, but it could be useful if you’re up for it,” he said.
“It’s been well covered by the forensic boys and girls, but I suppose they did come up with bugger all. They might have missed something. Anyway, what’s a poor young detective sergeant doing on a Saturday morning if she’s not driving around the wild west with her boss!”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. You have a great nose for this kind of thing, and in the peace of the morning out there we might get a better feel for what went on,” he said.
“What about O’Sullivan’s car? Did John find anything?” Lyons asked.
“Not a thing. Says it’s clean as a whistle, no damage on it anywhere. Still doesn’t mean she’s not involved. I don’t like coincidences,” he said. “She could have met Lisa in the city and offered her a lift out west for some reason, and then when she got her out into the wilderness stopped the car and started a row about the boyfriend. It could have got out of hand. Who knows?” Hays said.
He went on, “Remind me to get Dolan to check with the curtain lady tomorrow. If Lisa had been in O’Sullivan’s car, she might have seen her, and that would explain why she didn’t want to stop for tea and cake.”
“All seems a bit unlikely, but not impossible. Do you think she recognised Lisa the night
she was found, if her story is true?”
“Possibly. Hard to tell. If you had been there, you would have been able to tell. You’re good at that sort of thing,” Hays said.
“Maybe you’ll have to interview Ciara again then. She’s a right looker, isn’t she?” Lyons said, watching Hays carefully for a reaction.
“She is that, all right. Might be better if you questioned her – less complicated.”
“Right you are,” Lyons responded, somewhat relieved.
“One for the road?” she asked, and catching the eye of Tadgh Doherty, held up her nearly empty glass.
Chapter Nine
Saturday, 8:30 a.m.
Hays buzzed the bell marked ‘Lyons’ on the outside of the small two storey house on Corrib Terrace where Maureen lived. The house was in good order. It looked onto a park and was just a short stroll to the river while being convenient to the city at the same time.
She had found the little house soon after arriving in Galway. It belonged to a Garda sergeant from Athenry who had inherited it from his mother who passed away in the 1990s. He and a few friends had completely gutted the place which had been stuck well and truly in the 1940s and totally modernised it. It was now set in two one-bedroom flats, and Maureen occupied the upper floor. It had a good-sized bedroom overlooking the park, a kitchen and living room to the back, and a small bathroom with a shower tucked in between.
The door phone crackled to life, and Maureen said, “Hi. Come on up, I’m just about ready.”
The door buzzed allowing Hays in to the small hallway, and up the stairs to Maureen’s door which she had left ajar for him.
Maureen, still in her cotton pyjamas that surprisingly showed off her neat size ten figure quite well, was at the kitchen counter.
“Coffee?” she asked, turning to Hays with a jar of Nescafé in one hand and a spoon in the other.
“Yes please. One spoon and just a splash of milk.”
“I’m much nearer to being ready than I look,” she smiled, handing him a mug of hot coffee that bore the legend “I Love Galway,” with the word ‘Love’ represented by a big red heart.
Hays could smell the fragrance of whatever shower gel she had used and couldn’t help but admire the curve of her breasts as she leaned forward to give him the drink.
“Two minutes,” she said, disappearing into the bedroom. Hays thought to himself that the view from the back was just as delightful. Did she know the effect she was having on him? Yes, he mused, women always know.
When Maureen emerged from the bedroom, she looked even better than she had done in her pyjamas. She was wearing an extremely well-cut pair of denim jeans that fitted perfectly, a cream polo shirt and had a navy fleece with no sleeves to finish the ensemble. Her hair, usually in a ponytail, was now loose around her head, and her make-up was absolutely perfect, making her look a good five years younger than she did at the office.
“What?” she said, smiling as she noticed Hays staring a little.
He just smiled back and said nothing.
* * *
It was a pleasant drive out through Moycullen and Oughterard. The day was brightening up, the Twelve Pins in the distance looked magnificent in their ‘Paul Henry Blue’, and the high cotton wool clouds set off against the blue sky completed the picture postcard scene. In Oughterard some of the houses already had their fires going, and the blue sweet-smelling smoke of burning turf rose vertically from several chimneys. The town was beginning to stir, but traffic was light. They crossed the bridge, and drove out past the now closed McSweeneys Hotel, along the banks of the fast-flowing river that ran beside the road, before it rose up out of the town onto the top of the peat bog.
When they had cleared Oughterard, Hays said to Maureen, “So how are you getting on with everything at the station?”
“Oh, it’s fine. I enjoy the work. Thank God there aren’t too many murders in Galway. One a year is enough for any girl. It gets a bit boring sometimes, but that’s OK too.”
“Do you do anything in the evenings these days?” he enquired.
“Well I was thinking of starting Spanish lessons this autumn, but I missed the start date of the course, so I guess I’ll have to wait till next year now.”
“Why Spanish?”
“I just love the country. It has so much variety. I don’t mean the madness of Ibiza or Magaluf, I did all that shit when I was a teenager. But on the mainland, Madrid, Toledo, Salamanca, even Granada and Seville, all those places are so beautiful and steeped in history.”
“Would you ever think of living there?”
“Nah. It’s not for me. I’m a Galway girl through and through, but I’d love to spend the winter months touring around that part of Spain north of Madrid. Get away from Ireland’s miserable weather.”
“So, you won’t be joining the Guardia Civil anytime soon then?” he teased.
“Not likely.”
“Talking of which, have you thought about going forward for inspector at all?”
“It’s too soon. You have to be an old fogey to be an inspector in Galway,” she said, nudging his leg in a playful way. “And besides, I like working with you. You treat me well, but there’s still that fine line where you are definitely the boss. I like that.”
“I see. You’re a bit of a sub then.”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. I can take charge in all kinds of situations. I can even be quite bossy. But I like knowing that you’re covering my back if I fuck up. I wouldn’t have that if we were of equal rank.”
“Just make sure you don’t fuck up, Sergeant!” They laughed out loud together.
They turned off the N59 just after Recess, and meandered into Roundstone, passing the Anglers’ Return nestled in the little copse of trees down by the river where the trout fishing went on in season, and on out past the old wooden bridge that led to Inishnee. Roundstone was still asleep as they drove through past the church and the Garda station that was closed on Saturday.
They passed Dog’s Bay, looking magnificent as ever, with the sun glinting on the snow-white beach, and the water a clear crystal blue, glistening in the morning sun. A few stray rabbits bounded around, darting this way and that. The place was deserted at this time of day, and Hays would have liked to have stopped and walked out along the headland to the point. He loved this place. But they pressed on along the old bog road till they reached the little bridge where Lisa Palowski had been found by Ciara O’Sullivan just a few days earlier. Hays pulled in and parked about thirty metres short of the spot.
“What are we looking for?” Lyons asked.
“Anything at all. Follow your nose. Let the scene talk to you.”
The two detectives walked around the site slowly. Hays went well off the road into the boggy, rocky heath where the reeds grew tall and brown, and sheep eked out a meagre meal on the patchy grass. The ground squelched under his feet, and his shoes were starting to let in, making his socks wet.
Lyons stayed by the road, walking up and down along the small stones, staring down into the murky brown bog water that formed a semi-stagnant stream all along by the roadside. About twenty-five feet short of the bridge she stooped down, and put her left hand into the bog water almost up to her elbow. It was slightly brown and a little slimy, but she had seen something all the same and was determined to retrieve whatever it was. She picked out a small rectangle of soggy cream coloured cardboard about the size of a cigarette packet. She turned it over in her hand to find she was looking at the stub of a Ryanair boarding card.
“Mick,” she shouted. “Mick, over here. I’ve got something.”
The boarding card yielded a surprising amount of information. The flight was FR1902 from Krakow in Poland to Dublin. The boarding card stated that travel had taken place the day before Lisa Palowski had been found dead, and the passenger was one Piotr Palowski who sat in seat 24D on the flight.
“Jesus,” Hays exclaimed, “how the hell was this missed?”
“Still, well done you, Maureen, I could k
iss you,” he said.
“That could be fun,” she said, but the comment appeared to go unnoticed.
“OK. Let’s have another quick look around in the same area, see if there’s anything else. Then we’ll head back, and I want the full team in the office for one o’clock, Saturday or no Saturday,” he said.
* * *
The team was assembled rather grumpily when Hays and Lyons got back to the station.
“Thanks for coming in on Saturday, folks. You know I wouldn’t have asked you if it wasn’t important,” Hays said.
“Maureen and I drove out to where the girl was found this morning, and Maureen found this in the bottom of the ditch near where the girl’s body was found,” Hays said, holding up the small rectangle of cardboard that Lyons had dried out using the car heater on the way back to town.
“It’s a Ryanair boarding card for one Piotr Palowski, who flew to Dublin from Krakow on Monday last,” he said.
A surprised murmur went around the room.
“How did the crime scene guys miss that?” Flynn asked. “Do you think it was there all along?”
“Yes, I do. Maureen found it more by instinct than by searching. But we need to get on. This is the first positive lead we have had,” Hays replied.
“John, will you get onto Ryanair. Get O’Leary himself if you’re not getting anywhere. I want to know everything there is to know about this guy. And particularly if he is still in Ireland. Eamon, can you give John a hand?”
“Yes, sure boss. I wonder who he is. Husband maybe?” Flynn mused.
“Well that’s what we need to find out. I’m going to get on the web, see if I can find him on Facebook or LinkedIn. Try to build a picture. Let’s reconvene in an hour.”
Ryanair were more helpful than any of them had imagined. Piotr Palowski had flown into Dublin on Monday for a one week stay. He had hired a car for the week through the Ryanair web site and had booked a hotel in Galway. But the story didn’t end there. On Tuesday night Wednesday morning, he had logged on and changed his booking to take him back to Krakow on the Wednesday evening flight.
The Galway Homicides Box Set Page 6
