“That phone is in the boot of the car, back at the house. And as for other ladies, there is a girl in Cork that I visit sometimes. I do the Cork to Limerick run the other week when I’m not in Galway,” Byrne admitted.
“Well I’d give Corky a miss from now on, Gerry, if I were you. It’s only going to lead you into trouble, that sort of thing, if it hasn’t already.”
Byrne was very subdued as they drove him back to his family home.
When they got back to his house, he located the pay-as-you-go mobile in a hidden compartment in the boot of his car and handed it to the detective.
His wife appeared at the door.
“Hi love. It’s all fine, all cleared up now. What’s for tea? I’m starving,” he said as he made his way towards his front door.
“Prick,” the two detectives said in unison.
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday, 8:30 a.m.
The team assembled in the incident room, keen to find out all the details about the visit to Krakow.
They had forensic reports back on James McMahon’s car which confirmed the traces he predicted that they would find in the front passenger seat. No other traces of the girl, or indeed anything of interest had been found in it, so they had returned the car to him the previous evening, telling him again not to leave town.
Jim Dolan had called to the woman that ran the Lake Guest House, and she had confirmed that Ciara did not have a passenger when she called to collect the curtains at the house. She was positive about this, as she had walked out to the car with Ciara, despite the terrible weather, to see her off, and she said that O’Sullivan was definitely the only person in the car.
By nine o’clock, everyone was up to date. Store Street had emailed through the details of Gerry Byrne’s phone, and John O’Connor had been tasked with contacting Meteor to establish where the phone was when Byrne had called Lisa’s phone at around six on the evening she had been killed.
Lyons and Hays withdrew to his office.
“The Super wants an update from me later on. I thought we might just have a recap on where we think we are before I brief him. Then maybe you could do up a two-page report to try to keep him at bay, not to mention the Dublin mob,” said Hays.
“Yes, sure. Well let’s see exactly what we have so far. As I see it there are only two likely suspects at this stage. There’s the brother – he has to be number one on the list. His story about abandoning her like that just doesn’t seem likely to me. And then there’s McMahon. She could have been blackmailing him, or trying to, and his alibi stinks, in fact he doesn’t have one. Mind you, from what we have heard, she doesn’t seem like the type of girl to put herself at risk to that extent. She must have realised that McMahon was a powerful man, and you don’t mess around with men like that and expect to get away scot-free,” Lyons said.
“Well she didn’t, did she? Get away scot-free I mean,” Hays replied.
“Bear with me for a minute,” Hays went on. “Let’s just say the brother is telling the truth. Unlikely as it seems, he dumps his sister out of the car on a wild wet night, miles from anywhere. Jesus, even as I’m saying this it sounds nuts. Anyway, how does she get herself killed if he left her in good health?”
“Well let’s look at that for a moment. Maybe someone comes along, sees the lady in the red coat walking along the road in the rain, clearly distressed, and fancies his chances. Takes her into his car – she would have been very grateful – tries it on, but she’s not having any, they have a row, and he whacks her,” Lyons said.
“It’s just about possible I suppose but sounds about as likely as the brother’s story if you ask me. Maybe we should let Nowak have his one-on-one with Palowski after all,” Hays said.
“What about Ciara O’Sullivan?” Lyons asked.
“I can’t see it to be honest. She seemingly didn’t have Lisa in her car when she called to collect the curtains, and there’s no damage to her vehicle, so it wasn’t her that hit the bridge. OK, so she wasn’t totally up-front with us about knowing the girl initially, but that could just have been shock. We’ll keep her in mind, but I don’t think so, unless we’re missing something vital,” he said.
“The more I think of it, the more I’m convinced that the answer lies out there, at the scene. I want every house between Roundstone and Ballyconneely knocked up, and the occupants interviewed. There won’t be too many at home at this time of the year, most of those houses are holiday cottages. I want every pub in Clifden spoken to as well. We’re looking for anyone who came in around nine o’clock looking like a drowned rat in an agitated state,” Hays said.
“Jesus, Mulholland will love you,” Lyons responded, rolling her eyes to heaven.
“I don’t want him anywhere near it. Sure, we’ll tell him what’s going on, but get Flynn onto it. Get him to hook up again with Jim Dolan from Clifden. And I want progress reports every four hours with lists of the properties visited, who was at home, what they said and what they were doing that night. Oh, and can you produce some bullshit for upstairs – you know, steady progress being made, definite leads being followed, you know the kind of thing?”
Lyons got up to leave and was just at the door when Hays said, “Oh, and Maureen, I enjoyed our trip to Krakow – a lot.”
She turned and smiled. “What happens in Krakow…” and left the room.
* * *
Flynn had taken the news of his departure to Roundstone and beyond quite well. He knew Garda Jim Dolan from some previous cases that they had worked together, and the two got on grand, being much the same age. Flynn had booked two nights at Vaughan’s Hotel in Roundstone, and they had arranged to meet there at five o’clock.
They would start their investigations in the pubs of Roundstone, as directed, and then head out tomorrow along the old bog road to see if they could get any information from the locals.
Roundstone was virtually deserted as Flynn arrived just before five. It wasn’t actually raining, but the roads were wet, and there was a stiff breeze whistling down the main street making it feel a good deal colder than the thermometer would have indicated. He was glad to get indoors where the hotel had a warm turf fire burning in the lobby, providing a warm welcome. He was just checking in when Dolan arrived as well. The hotel was glad to have them at this time of year, and invited them to dine in that evening, offering a special price for the four-course dinner which the two gladly accepted.
After a very enjoyable dinner which consisted of a delicious home-made chowder with proper stock and local fish, a beautifully tender roast lamb main course, all rounded off with an Irish Coffee cheesecake the like of which you wouldn’t get in the best Dublin restaurants, the two mingled with the locals in the bar. They didn’t declare their profession, but gently probed for any smidgen of information they could extract. It wasn’t difficult to get the locals going on the story. It was the most exciting thing that had happened in these parts since the filming of The Quiet Man many years ago, and with very little prompting, the occupants of the hotel bar were chattering away advancing various theories about how the girl had met her demise. All were convinced that it was a stranger from the city that was responsible. Lisa had been dubbed “The Galway Hooker” – a reference to the particular kind of sailing boat that was popular in and around the area.
The most popular theory about what had happened was that she had been hit by a driver who had been drinking, and therefore fled the scene, probably not even realising the damage that had been done to the girl. The weather was blamed for the would-be driver’s carelessness. The two Gardaí made mental notes of all of this, and filed them away carefully, thinking that if that were the case, the driver would inevitably have turned up in Clifden before nine o’clock on the night in question. However, with no CCTV anywhere, it would be difficult to trace him or her without someone coming forward to volunteer information.
Flynn and Dolan moved out from the hotel to one or two of the nearby pubs to expand their investigation. King’s and O’Dowd’s wer
e always popular, but on this late autumn night, there were very few in, and by that time in any case the word had spread that there were two Gardaí from Galway snooping around, so information became even less readily available. There was mention of one or two mountainy men who lived in small remote cottages near the scene, and Flynn made a note of the names with the intention of paying them a visit the following day, but he didn’t hold out much hope.
* * *
Hays arrived early as usual on Thursday. The desk sergeant handed him a small sheaf of messages as he passed by. When he got to his desk, he saw that one of the messages was from Inspector Kowalski in Krakow.
The message simply read, “Please call me.”
Kowalski answered the phone as soon as it rang, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries went on to say, “You remember Inspector Nowak, I presume?”
Hays confirmed that he did indeed remember the man.
“Well Nowak had another conversation with Piotr Palowski after you left. Palowski has now agreed to travel to Ireland in an effort to clear his name,” Kowalski reported.
“Excellent. That’s good work, thank you, and pass on our thanks to Nowak as well,” Hays said.
“That’s no problem, I’m sure Nowak enjoyed getting the lad’s agreement – apparently it didn’t take very long.”
“What are the arrangements then?” Hays asked.
“We will put him on the Ryanair flight to Dublin this afternoon. We will take him to the airport and deliver him to the steps of the aircraft, and you can arrange to have him met on arrival,” Kowalski said.
“Very good. Will he be handcuffed?”
“Not for the flight itself. It’s not as if he can get out of the plane once the door is closed. We will wait until we see the plane safely in the air. You might consider meeting him as he gets off the plane in Dublin. Can you get a car out to the aircraft?”
“Oh yes, that won’t be a problem. And what about the cost of the ticket? I feel we need to reimburse you for that at least.”
“There is no need. Ryanair were most accommodating in that regard. Their flight was actually fully booked, but they somehow managed to make room for him, and they insisted that there would be no charge ‘in the interests of good relations with the Polish authorities’ as they put it.”
“Well that’s terrific. Thank you very much, your co-operation is greatly appreciated,” Hays said.
“You’re welcome,” Kowalski said, “you never know when we may need to call on you some day. There are a lot of our citizens in Ireland now, and I’m sure they are not all perfectly behaved.”
“Anytime, Inspector. I’ll let you know how we get on with him,” Hays said and finished the call.
* * *
Lyons arrived into the station at just before nine, and Hays brought her up to date on the Palowski position.
“Get onto the Park and ask them to pick him up from the steps of the plane and drive him here directly. I suggest they handcuff him for the journey, more for effect then anything, but I don’t want him jumping out of the car in Athlone or something and causing us more trouble.”
“Good idea,” she agreed, “I’m not sure what time the flight gets in, but he should be here by eleven or twelve tonight in any event.”
“Right. When he gets here, make sure Flannery feeds him and puts him in a cell. He should be feeling right sorry for himself by the morning.”
“What are you up to today?” Lyons asked.
“I’m going to see if I can put a bomb under the lab boys. We need the DNA results from her flat. We need to move this whole thing along a bit more quickly. Can you call the two tourists out in Roundstone and see what they have for us? That’s if they’re out of bed yet!”
Just as Maureen was getting up to leave, Hays said, “Fancy another trip away sometime soon?”
“I’m not sure I could stand the excitement,” she smiled and making sure there was no one watching, leaned across the desk to plant a warm soft kiss on his lips.
Chapter Thirteen
Thursday, 10:00 a.m.
It was a cool, breezy but fine day in Roundstone when the two Gardaí awoke and went down to a hearty ‘full Irish’ in the dining room of Vaughan’s Hotel. After they got the call from Lyons, Flynn and O’Connor set out along the old bog road, heading west towards Ballyconneely. They had decided to start at the houses nearest to where the girl was found and work back from there until their quest for information ran out of steam. Then they would work forward again on towards Clifden, and hopefully arrive there just about teatime when people were starting to gather in the various pubs in the town.
As they drove along, the weak October sunshine was coming and going behind the fleeting patches of white cloud. There was a good breeze, but it stayed dry, which was a blessing. As the clouds passed in front of the sun the colours of the landscape changed beneath them from vivid purples and blues to browns and greys. Occasionally a sunbeam reflected off the surface of one of the many small lakes and struck the windscreen of the car, temporarily blinding Flynn who was driving.
By lunchtime they had called to the eight houses nearest to the bridge where Lisa had been found. Five of them were deserted – lock up and leave properties owned by the wealthier trades people from Galway and Dublin that served no purpose in the winter months, except to collect a small amount of tax for the Government. They would remain empty now till Easter next year when their owners would reappear to enjoy the solitude and beauty of their surroundings.
The other three houses were occupied by very elderly men who lived alone. The properties were generally in poor condition, with paint fading and windows rotting, but each had a large stack of hand cut turf piled against the side of the house in readiness for the winter months ahead. Only one of the occupants had a vehicle. The van, like the owner, had seen better days, and Flynn noticed that there was no NCT disk in the windscreen, and the tax disk was several months out of date. The van didn’t appear to have any recent damage, just lots of rust patches blending nicely with the rust-streaked dark green paintwork.
None of the men could give any information that was helpful to the enquiry. They all said that they had heard about the accident, but that they were indoors at the time watching television as it was such a rough night.
The next house on the list belonged to Gerry and Mary Maguire. The two Gardaí knew that Maguire had been at the scene on the night the body was found, so they approached this house call slightly differently.
As they drove down the narrow rocky track with weeds growing in the middle towards the cottage, they could see a woman hanging washing out to dry in the breeze.
The house was a single storey cottage with two windows on either side of the door that was split in the middle like a stable door. It was painted dark green matching the colour of the window frames. To the side of the cottage there was a large corrugated iron shed that was pretty rusty, but still serviceable. The sliding door was open, and an old Ferguson T20 tractor painted in grey could be seen inside.
Another smaller outhouse faced the cottage and a wire mesh chicken run extended out from it with five or six brown hens clucking and scratching inside the enclosure.
As they pulled into the yard in front of the house, an energetic black and white border collie dog ran over to greet them as they emerged cautiously from their vehicle.
When the woman saw the two men getting out of the car, she stopped hanging out clothes and came over to meet them. She introduced herself as Mary Maguire, Gerry’s wife.
When they had introduced themselves she said, “Why don’t you come in and I’ll make a cup of tea?”
Flynn and Dolan gladly accepted, and the three of them went inside, the dog being left out in the yard.
The kitchen was bigger than you would have expected from outside. There was a Stanley range built into a large open fireplace, a well-scrubbed wooden table in the middle of the flagged floor, and various appliances and cupboards around the edge of the room. The range was ligh
ting, and the place had a warm and welcoming feel added to by the smell of recent baking.
Mary herself was around twenty-eight or thirty years old. She was slim with a good figure, although her loose blue jeans and thick knitted jumper didn’t really do her justice. A brunette with shoulder length wavy hair, high cheekbones, and full red lips completed the picture. She wore no makeup, but she didn’t need it, as her perfect skin and natural colouring were flattering to say the least. The two felt that Gerry Maguire had done well for himself.
“Ah sure look, it’s nearly lunchtime,” Mary said. “Would you two men like a sandwich to go with your cuppa?”
As Mary prepared a generous plate of cheese sandwiches and busied herself making a large pot of tea, Flynn started gently questioning the woman who seemed flattered by his interest and was quite clearly enjoying the company.
Mary and Gerry Maguire had lived in the house for eight years since they were married. They had two children, one boy and one girl aged six and seven, who were staying with their grandparents for half-term. The grandparents lived in Galway and had promised to take the children to the funfair that was still rather optimistically running in Salthill at this late time of year.
Mary was from the city as she called it – Galway of course. She had met Gerry initially when her parents had taken a rental at the caravan site at Dog’s Bay when it was still operating. It had been a glorious summer that year, hot and still every day during the two weeks they had stayed there. Gerry had been doing some odd jobs on the site, putting in a few extra taps and fixing up the electrics in the somewhat basic shower and toilet block.
“I literally fell into his arms,” she explained smiling. “I was coming out of the shower block in my swimming costume and tripped on my towel. Gerry saved me from a fall, and there we were. At seventeen I was mega embarrassed, but when he asked me to go out with him to a music session in Roundstone that night, I couldn’t resist,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
The Galway Homicides Box Set Page 9
