“There’s a bottle of Pino Grigio with our name on it chilling in Doherty’s across the road – I insist!”
“Well, OK then, when you put it like that. Just the one mind, then I’m off,” Lyons said.
The two women went across the road to Doherty’s. When they were seated in a quiet spot with a generous measure of chilled white wine in front of each of them, Fahy said, “Maureen, you don’t want to let this thing get you down. Sure, it’s a tough case, but we’ll get there. We’re a good team, and all we need is a break and it will open right up – you’ll see.”
“I dunno, Sally. I’m supposed to be inspiring everyone, and I feel totally useless on this one. I can’t stand all this hanging around. I much prefer it when there’s a bit of action – you know, like that business out in Clifden when the two brothers were doing over the hotel. That’s more my style.”
“Jesus, Maureen, you’re incorrigible! You’d prefer to be shot at than sitting in a nice cosy office tapping your computer keys,” Fahy said.
“Well, at least when you’re being shot at, something is happening. Mind you, I didn’t like that business where I nearly got burnt alive at the airport. That was a bit too close for comfort.”
“Listen, we’ll get this lot sorted. Don’t worry – be patient. And don’t worry about the case being taken off you. There isn’t anyone else that could do any better, and Mick knows that better than anyone. Just hang in there.”
* * *
Lyons was on her way home in the car when her phone rang. She had it connected to the Bluetooth, so she was able to answer without touching the handset.
“Lyons.”
“Good afternoon, Inspector. This is Luuk Janssen from Utrecht. I got your number from Sergeant Fahy. Is it a good time to talk?”
Lyons pulled the car into the side of the road.
“Yes, of course, Inspector, thanks for calling back.”
“That’s not a problem. So, you have an interest in our Maria Geller. What has happened?”
Lyons went on to explain about the murder of the mysterious woman at Own Glen, and then asked Janssen what interest the Dutch police had in her.
“We have been keeping an eye on Ms Geller for some time. She is, or was, a very clever woman. We believe she’s involved with smuggling and VAT avoidance involving precious metals – particularly gold. We have had very little luck in actually getting any real evidence. But now, perhaps this will help us,” Janssen said.
“Help you? How can her death help you?”
“We are absolutely certain that the woman wasn’t acting alone. There is some kind of gang at work here, and we think she may have been near the top of the chain. Look, Inspector, I don’t want to say too much on the telephone. Do you think it would be possible for me to come to Ireland to meet with you and your team to see if we could take this further?”
“Possibly. I’ll have to check with management, but it could be helpful. It would just be a courtesy of course, we would retain jurisdiction.”
“Yes, yes of course. But this is quite a big operation involving millions of euro worth of VAT and quite a lot of criminal activity, so it would be very nice to crack it open.”
“Yes, I agree. Let me speak to our management tomorrow and you do the same on your side. Then I’ll call you and we can make the arrangements if it’s going ahead. OK?”
“Yes, fine and thanks. I look forward to meeting you,” Janssen said.
* * *
Lyons was in the kitchen working on a Jamie Oliver 15-minute recipe when Hays arrived home. He came into the kitchen to where Lyons was standing at the cooker and put his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her head.
“God, Maureen, that smells good,” he said, stepping back.
“It’s only supposed to take 15 minutes, but I’ve been prepping the veg and the chicken for at least half an hour already. Are you hungry?” she asked.
Hays smacked her gently on the rear end.
“Not the food, silly. I miss working with you, you know. We’ve had some fun in amongst all the violence and nonsense. Now it’s just endless meetings over things that don’t seem to be that important if you ask me,” Hays said.
“Well, spare a thought for this poor front-line detective who is faced with an impossible case that she can’t crack,” Lyons said.
The food was almost ready, and although it had taken longer to prepare than she had hoped, it did smell delicious. Lyons went to the fridge and took out a chilled bottle of Chardonnay and handed it to Hays to open and pour.
“Don’t worry, Maureen. It’s early days, and if I know you, it won’t be long before you have a breakthrough.”
Lyons handed him a plateful of the colourful concoction she had been preparing on the stove. Hays sat down at the table and waited for Lyons to join him before starting to eat.
“Mmmm, this is delicious. So, what’s happening?” he said, taking his first mouthful.
“Well, we’ll see. I have some guy from Utrecht coming over to lend a hand – or get in the way, I’m not sure which. It seems the Dutch police have been taking an interest in our Ms Geller for some time,” she said. “Did you brief Plunkett on the case?”
“Oh, yes. He’s happy enough, for now. He has every faith in you and the team.”
“How did he get on in Dublin?” Maureen asked.
“OK, I think. He didn’t say much about it. I think he left the file with them. There’s plenty going on up there at the moment. I doubt if they have much time to spend bothering us, to be honest. But you never know.”
* * *
Mick Hays and Maureen Lyons rose the following morning at 7:30 as usual. After consecutive showers they had a quick cooked breakfast, and drove into the centre of the city. The morning sun was shining on the Atlantic Ocean as they wound their way along the coast through Salthill, and with very little wind, the sea was still and glassy. Offshore, a few boats sat still in the water, punctuating the view of the distant horizon. But neither Hays nor Lyons were concentrating on their surroundings. They were both in their own minds organising their thoughts for the day ahead.
“What have you got on today?” Maureen asked.
“There’s a community meeting in the leisure centre at 11. Apparently, there’s concern about the number of house burglaries in and around the city, and the usual agitators have been stirring up the good citizens. Then in the afternoon we have a first responders seminar involving the ambulance and fire guys, as well as our own uniformed teams to see if we can co-ordinate things a bit better and try and cut down the time it takes to get to a scene in response to 999 calls,” Hays said.
“Nice. Have you anything to offer them – the agitators, I mean?”
“Oh, you now, the usual platitudes – increased patrols around the most vulnerable areas, greater focus on house thefts by the Detective Unit – all the usual bullshit. I was wondering about giving some of it back to them, telling them to get proper alarms fitted to their properties with 24-hour monitoring, that sort of thing. But sometimes that can backfire. I imagine the press will be there, and they’d just love to print a story about the Gardaí abdicating responsibility for crime in Galway and telling citizens to fix it themselves.”
“It’s not altogether easy, is it? Anyway, our clear up rates are pretty good in that department. If the bloody judges wouldn’t insist on putting the little scrotes back out on the street on bail, we’d have a lot less of it,” Lyons said.
“What about you? What have you lined up for the day?” Hays asked.
“Well, I’d better see about getting this Dutch guy over. He could actually be helpful. To be honest, I don’t know what else we can do for now. I have the team trying to chase down the money, like you suggested, but it’s mostly dead ends so far. We need to get lucky,” Lyons said.
“Well, you know what they say – ‘the harder you work, the luckier you get’.”
“Yeah – right!”
Chapter Eight
The team were all gathered in the open plan
at five to nine for the brainstorming session that Lyons had set up the previous evening. At the top of the room, the whiteboard carried a photograph of the dead woman, with red lines linking her picture to Agnes Greely and Batty McCutcheon. In other boxes on the board, Airbnb and The Netherlands were inscribed with question marks against them.
A flip chart stand had been placed alongside the whiteboard with a pad of paper on it, and an array of coloured markers in the pen tray.
Lyons stood at the top of the room beside all the equipment, and addressed the group.
“Right, folks. You know the drill. We’ll go around the room one at a time. Anything – anything at all that you think could be useful, spit it out, and I’ll jot it down here. No one is allowed to challenge until we’ve all had a go. Then we’ll go back over everything and rule out the impossible. As someone once said, ‘when you eliminate the impossible, then whatever is left, however improbable, is the solution to the case’.”
A murmur went around the room.
“Let’s start with you, Eamon,” she said looking at Inspector Eamon Flynn.
Flynn cleared his throat.
“Right. Well, firstly, why were the house keys discarded at the roadside?” he said. Lyons wrote ‘Discarded keys’ on the flip chart.
“Good one, Eamon,” she said.
“And, why was she strangled post-mortem – that’s just weird,” he went on.
Lyons wrote ‘strangled post-mortem’ on the board.
“OK. Anything else?” Lyons asked.
“No, that’s it,” Flynn replied.
“Right. Sally – you’re next.”
Sally Fahy shuffled a little in her seat.
“I’ve written down here that we didn’t find a phone belonging to the victim. She must have had one, but there was no sign of it anywhere,” Fahy said, a little unsure of herself.
“Good point, Sally,” Lyons said. She wrote ‘victim had no phone’ on the flip chart.
“Anything else?” Lyons asked.
“Yes. I have a note here about the gold ingot. Where is it from and why was she holding it? If robbery was the motive, why didn’t the thief take that too,” Fahy said.
Lyons wrote ‘gold ingot in victim’s clutch’ on the flip chart.
“Thanks, Sally; now Mary, what have you got for us?” Lyons said.
“Liam and I have joined forces on this, if that’s OK, inspector?” Mary Costelloe said.
“Yes, sure, that’s not a problem. Just tell us what you’ve got,” Lyons said.
“Well, we were wondering if Batty McCutcheon could be involved in some way. He brings all that rubbish he sells in from China after all,” the junior officer said.
“Good point, Mary,” Lyons responded. She wrote ‘McCutcheon – China’ on the chart.
“Then we thought about what exactly Maria Geller was doing here in the west of Ireland for just one or two days, three times in a year. What was the purpose of her visit?” she said.
Lyons wrote ‘Geller – purpose of visit’ on the pad.
“That’s it, I’m afraid,” Costelloe said.
“OK. Thanks everyone, I’m going to add my five-pence worth now. There’s the money. What about the money? Why all the secrecy? And then there’s the link to the Netherlands. We’ll know more about that when Janssen gets here,” Lyons said. She wrote those two things up alongside the rest of the brainstorming output that almost filled two entire pages at this stage.
When they had finished emptying their collective minds, a discussion followed during which the items were each given a score on a scale of one to five, with five being the most important. Lyons then handed out tasks for the team to pursue.
“Eamon. I’d like you and Mary to get to work on McCutcheon. Do it discreetly, but find out everything you can about his business operations. See if there’s anything dodgy there – you know, VAT avoidance; skimming cash – whatever you can get. But I don’t want him alerted to what you’re doing. Clear?”
“Yes, boss, crystal,” Flynn replied.
“Liam, can you work with John O’Connor on the phone? Sally is right – she must have had one. Agnes Greely told us that she called her a couple of times from abroad, and presumably when she arrived at the bus station in Clifden to arrange her lift. So where is it? Who has it?” Lyons said.
“Sally, as soon as I have sorted out this Dutch policeman, you and I are going back out there. The site has more to tell – I can feel it. And if anyone gets anything during the day, I want to know immediately. We’ll meet back at five if nothing breaks, and please God we’ll have some news. Right, off you go,” Lyons said.
As the room cleared, Fahy took down the two pages of bullet points from the flip chart, rolled them up and handed them to Lyons.
“Thanks, Sally. Give me half an hour, then we’ll be ready for off. OK?”
“Sure. Fancy a coffee?” Fahy asked.
“Good idea. Mines a latte,” Lyons said, and handed Fahy a five euro note.
* * *
When Lyons got back to her office, there was a note on her desk to call Hays. She checked the time, and reckoned he wouldn’t have set off yet for the leisure centre. He answered the phone on the first ring.
“Hi. Thanks for calling back. Look, Plunkett wants to see us both, and he didn’t sound too cheerful,” Hays said.
“Oh. OK. When?”
“Now, if you can manage it,” Hays said.
“Sure, see you up there.”
Lyons checked her appearance in the mirror she kept in her desk drawer. “You’ll have to do, girl,” she said to herself, being reasonably happy with her reflected image.
* * *
“Come in, Superintendent, Inspector. Take a seat,” Plunkett said from behind his spacious mahogany desk.
“Can I get you a coffee, I’m just about to have one?” he asked.
“No thanks, sir, we’re fine,” Hays answered for both of them, though in truth, he would have loved a cup.
“As you know, I was up in the Park earlier in the week. The subject of this murder out in Clifden came up. There are some who are a bit unsettled by all the serious crime that’s been occurring out in Connemara over the past few years, and they are starting to ask questions of us, if you get my drift,” Chief Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett said.
Before either Hays or Lyons could respond, the chief went on, “They’re after asking one of their many civilian lads to have a look at our case files going back a bit. So we’ll have to be on our toes, and needless to say we need a quick result in this latest caper.”
Plunkett looked at them both, clearly expecting some kind of response.
“Yes, sir. I understand what you’re saying. But it’s very early days on this particular case. And it’s not an easy one. Inspector Lyons here is getting on with it, and we’re enlisting the help of the Dutch police too. I expect we’ll have some news quite shortly,” Hays said.
Lyons wasn’t at all happy that Hays was speaking on her behalf, but she decided to bite her tongue for the moment. She could deal with that later.
“Good man, Mick, that’s what I was hoping you would say. Look, I can hold them off for another few days at least. The good thing about the Park is that things don’t move too quickly up there. But I’ve given some undertakings about the team here in Galway, and I need to demonstrate that it wasn’t all hot air. Some of that lot seem to think we’re getting a bit too big for our boots, and we need to be knocked back – and that wouldn’t suit me at all. Now – do you need any more support or more men or anything from me?” he said, addressing Lyons for the first time.
“No, thank you, sir. As Superintendent Hays says, it’s early days, but we are making progress,” Lyons said. She decided that this wouldn’t be the time to raise the issue that her team was still short of a detective sergeant, as that would probably not reflect well on her partner. But she was peppering nevertheless.
You always knew when a meeting with the chief was over. He looked down at the top of his de
sk, and managed to find a sheet of paper to study and fondle, so the two thanked him and got up to leave. Plunkett said nothing as they exited into the corridor.
“Jesus, Mick. That man is such a chauvinist! He barely acknowledged my presence at all, and then he was so condescending. I could barely hold my tongue!” Lyons said.
“Easy, tiger. We don’t know what sort of shit he has to deal with from above – but it can’t be easy. Let’s just direct our energy into solving the case. That’s the best way to get the upper hand with Plunkett,” Hays said.
“And by the way, you owe me a detective sergeant, don’t forget!” she said.
“I’m working on it – bloody hell – go easy, will you?”
“It’s OK, sir, you just go off to your little group of happy clappies at the leisure centre – I’ll get back out there and solve the case, shorthanded and all as we are.” With that, Lyons stomped off to her own office leaving Hays bemused in the corridor.
Back in her office, Fahy was waiting with the coffee she had gone out to get earlier.
“Damn it! I could swing for that man sometimes,” Lyons said.
“Which one?” Fahy responded.
“Plunkett, of course. He can be such a prick at times.”
“No comment,” Fahy said, and they both started laughing.
* * *
Lyons had cooled down by the time she and Sally Fahy were driving out to Clifden. It was a lovely, still late spring day, and the bright yellow gorse was just beginning to bloom along the sides of the road out beyond Oughterard. Occasionally, the heady scent of coconut that was given off by the young blooms could be sensed, and the blue of the distant mountains contrasted magically with the early green sprouts of the grasses on the heathland.
“I’d better call Mick and apologise. I was very rude to him, and it was Plunkett I was angry with. You close your ears, I’ll call him on the mobile,” Lyons said.
She got through to Hays who was just finishing up at the leisure centre.
“Hi. It’s me. Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude to you. It’s just that man really winds me up sometimes,” she said.
“Ah, don’t worry. You’re right – he can be very annoying. But it’s usually when he’s under pressure. Don’t let it get to you.”
Murder at the Holiday Home Page 6
