by J E Higgins
“That could prove difficult,” Nally quivered slightly. “Since yesterday, he hasn’t been seen at his normal places of business.”
The look Emery gave the older man was chilling and sent the unspoken message that he didn’t want excuses; he wanted results. Nally nodded submissively. “My people are working on it.”
“Here’s a number where I can be reached.” Emery handed the older man a piece of paper. “Call me when I have access to the crime scene. I believe it’s a warehouse on the waterfront.”
Nally nodded as he read the paper handed him.
“Until then, I want as much information as you can get,” Emery commanded. “I’ll move when I have something to move on. In the meantime, my team and I are getting prepared. I expect I’ll be activating them by tonight.”
“As I said,” Nally responded, “I’ll start making calls to get your access to the warehouse arranged. We still have some people in the ranks of the Garda who help us from time to time.” He finished reading the number, confident he had memorized it. Then taking a lighter from his pocket, he set fire to the paper and the ashes dropped it to the ground.
He turned to see Emery already walking away leaving him alone to collect his thoughts. It was certainly a bad situation all around. The thought that entered his mind was the notion that this man may be right. If this was the act of a Loyalist paramilitary, it was signaling the start of a new campaign of violence. The very idea was disconcerting. It also made him realize how little he really knew about what was going on.
22
Detective Sergeant Youngest looked up at the neon lights of the Rory Club as he prepared to enter. He had heard about the place in conversations with officers working vice and narcotics. It wasn’t the type of place that would necessarily interest a man who preferred a quiet drink in a local pub surrounded by men wanting nothing more than the same. He had just finished his interview with Rodney Madge, the owner of the Thrift store ─ one of the names mentioned by Detective Curly ─ when he received a call from Dagden telling him he should come to the Rory club at once.
When he got there, Youngest found his subordinate standing outside waiting. Dagden walked over to his boss, his hand waving back in the direction of the club. “I thought you’d want to hear this,” he said as he walked up. “The club’s owner is a Rudy Sheehan. He was on the list you gave me to check out. I came here asking about him and found he’s not here. I mean, he hasn’t been seen since he left last night, and no one has been able to get ahold of him all day.”
“That’s interesting,” Youngest replied. “What else do we have?”
Dagden shrugged. “I got that much and a little more when I figured this was probably our man. After that, I figured you’d want to take the lead.”
“You thought right,” Youngest nodded as he started up the steps. “Who’ve you been speaking to?”
“The barmaid ─ she opens up in the morning,” Dagden replied, as he trailed after his boss. “Also, sir, I should tell you. There’s another detective in there.”
Youngest stopped his ascension and turned to face his subordinate. “Who?” he asked.
Dagden’s eyes darted from side to side as he struggled to remember. “Ah, a Detective Ian Galligan from one of the intelligence units. He showed up just after I did and started asking for Mr. Sheehan as well.”
Youngest’s eyes widened at the sound of the name. He began hurrying up the steps at a much faster pace. He burst through the doors and walked into the main room. Looking over at the bar, he saw a large bull-like man in a cheap, grey suit. He was leaning over the bar and appeared to be having a conversation with a young redhead. He was rapping his fist against the bar ─ a sure indicator he was getting exasperated.
Youngest strolled forward. The young woman was cognizant of the larger man’s growing anger and was trying to mask her concern. “Forgive me for intruding,” Youngest opened, pretending not to notice the tense situation. “Detective Sergeant Youngest, Garda homicide investigations.”
The large man turned to face him. “Detective Galligan, Garda Crime Special Surveillance Unit.”
Youngest observed the situation carefully. “I don’t wish to bother you, but I’m looking for someone, and I need to speak with this young lady.”
“I need to speak to her as well,” Galligan said in a tone denoting he wasn’t about to leave.
“Might we speak quickly in private, since I can assume we’re looking for the same man ─ Mr. Rudy Sheehan?” Youngest was trying to be diplomatic as he navigated the tense situation. Dagden had come up behind him and was waiting to see what happened next. The burly detective followed Youngest to a more private area of the nearly deserted club leaving Dagden to stay with the woman.
“Detective, I’m in the midst of a murder investigation,” Youngest began. “If that woman knows where Mr. Sheehan is, I need to speak with her.”
Galligan folded his arms in an attempt to look intimidating. “I’m also here on business. We have reason to believe that the UVF might be trying to reorganize. We think it’s for the purpose of starting a new campaign here in the Republic. We believe Mr. Sheehan may be helping them.”
It was all nonsense, of course, which Youngest saw from the get-go. As he had predicted, Donovan’s old friends, hearing about paramilitary involvement, were looking to make trouble as they embarked on their own investigation. The excuse of acting on recent intelligence gave them the proper cover to do so.
Youngest nodded his head as he thought out his next words. The future of this conversation would determine if this situation would be amenably concluded or turn into a rivalry between departments. “Detective, I believe we are close to finding the killer of Detective Donovan. I believe Mr. Sheehan has been shielding his killer. My concern is that time is running out. Can I just have a few words with her?”
“I’ve been talking to her,” Galligan snapped. “She’s been evasive. Not giving me shit.”
Galligan was an intelligence officer who dealt with threats and terror organizations. It was obvious to Youngest the man he was speaking to had no real experience solving crimes. “Well, do you mind if I have a word with her anyway and see if I might try a different approach? She may not realize what she knows.”
The large detective held his intimidating pose, unsure what to do. Youngest continued, “At least give me a chance to try, since we’re both after the same thing.”
Finally, Galligan capitulated as he dropped his arms and waved the Detective Sergeant forward. Youngest approached the bar where the young woman was working. She was clearly nervous having all these cops around.
“What’s your name?” Youngest asked in a soft friendly tone, as he took a seat at the bar like a patron looking to order a drink.
“Kella,” the redhead responded quietly.
“I’m Ryan Youngest. I’m sorry if we’re bothering you,” Youngest said warmly.
“You’re a cop also, I reckon?” Kella asked.
He chuckled a little. “Yes, yes I am. And I’m wondering if you could help me out?”
“Like I told your friend over there, I don’t know where Mr. Sheehan’s gone off to.” Kella was nervous as she tried to prove her innocence.
“I believe you,” Youngest replied. “I just wonder if anything unusual has been happening with your boss the last few days.”
Kella paused. “Well, it’s been weird the last few days.”
“How so?”
“He’s been disappearing a lot. Putting me in charge and then stepping out for a few hours here and there with no reason at all. Then yesterday, those men came by asking about him.” She stopped as she started to wipe the counter.
“What men?” Youngest continued.
“Never saw them before,” Kella replied. “About five of them, looking real mean though ─ rough like. The kind you send to collect money or send a message. They seemed interested in my boss as well. They were really interested when I told them what I told you.”
“Kella, it�
�s important we find your boss. I know you don’t know where he is, but can you think of any acquaintances he has or names he’s brought up in the past? People who seemed to be important to him when he mentioned them?”
Kella stopped her wiping as she turned and looked about as if trying to find the answer among the bottles of booze. After a few moments, she turned toward the detective. “I remember him briefly mentioning a Mr. Larky. He didn’t say anything else. Only the few times the name came up, it seemed really important to my boss. He made sure he kept whatever appointment they had planned.” She shook her head. “That’s the only name he mentioned.”
Youngest nodded. “Thank you. I’ll let my friends back there know.” He nodded to the large detective watching from the distance. “I don’t think he’ll need to talk to you anymore.”
The girl smiled with a look of relief at hearing that. Youngest rose from his seat and started back to where Galligan and Dagden waited. “Well it’s a cinch he’s either dead or in hiding.” Youngest opened as they joined the intelligence officer.
“That’s all you got with that wee chat of yours?” Galligan said in disgust. “I’ll deal with this.” He started back toward the bar but was stopped by Youngest, who quickly stepped in his way.
“She’s just an employee, and she knew better than to ask questions,” he counseled the bigger man. “Questioning her further would be a waste of time. Besides, she gave me a lot more than that.”
“What?” Galligan had now stopped and was looking at the homicide detective intently.
Youngest hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of sharing information with a cop who had pointedly inserted himself into such a sensitive investigation. However, he also liked the idea of this intelligence cop going off and working his own angles even less. “She mentioned a Mr. Larky. It could be a nickname or an alias. But, according to her, he’s someone who’s very important to Mr. Sheehan.”
Galligan ruminated for several moments. “I’ve heard the name come up from time to time in certain contexts and discussing certain circles of organized crime. I know some fellas who would have a better finger on this. Let me check with them and get back to you.” He started to leave.
Youngest stopped him, again. “But, you will be getting back to us?”
Galligan confused. “Of course, I will. We’re all after the same thing.”
“I just want to make sure that we are.” Youngest stood his ground in preparation for a fight. “Seeing you here asking about the same man we’re looking for right after I discussed it with your colleague, I’m just inclined to want to make sure that we keep each other informed and working toward the same agenda.”
The burly detective said nothing. Instead, he folded his arms as he presented his same intimidating expression. He looked both detectives up and down as if debating whether to answer their concerns or punch their lights out. He would have been quite capable of both. Youngest stood his ground waiting, displaying a look that demanded an answer.
Finally, Galligan conceded. He dropped his arms and scratched his head. “Look, I understand how this looks to you both. On the eve of losing one of our own and seeing us talking up the same people, you’re probably wondering what exactly I’m about. Maybe you’re all wondering if perhaps this isn’t some kind of vigilante revenge thing masked as police work.”
“Since we’re being honest,” Youngest replied with a tone that made his suspicions clear.
Galligan continued, “You’ve got it all wrong. When you called us and explained possible UVF involvement, it got some powerful people in my branch in a hell of a panic. We still have several old timers who remember those dark days of the seventies when the Loyalists were carrying out a terror campaign here in the Republic. They specifically cringe at the memory of the dark day in seventy-six when the UVF detonated three car bombs along a busy thoroughfare during rush hour. Some three hundred people were seriously injured and sent to emergency. It’s still a haunting reminder.”
“After your call, our bosses got worried we were being caught off guard. When they started asking around and heard of the warehouse shootings ─ where those five IRA men got killed ─ it looked like these murders may actually be connected to your case. My superiors were sure we were seeing the beginning of a war between the UVF and the IRA here in Dublin. This is our own follow-up to make sure we’re on top of it before the next bloodbath.”
Youngest licked his lips as he stared at an equally confused Dagden. Neither one had fully understood how much of a life this case was taking on beyond their control. Reluctantly, Youngest turned back to the intelligence officer. “I think you need to come by my office later. If this is becoming a concern for your department, then we should probably disclose our current findings to head off any further paranoid theories.”
Nodding, Galligan extended his hand. “I’ll do that. In the meantime, I’ll talk up my people about your Mr. Larky and see what they might know.”
“Thank you,” Youngest replied, as he took the brawny man’s hand in a firm handshake.
23
The atmosphere of the warehouse resembled that of a mausoleum. The bodies had not yet been removed, and detectives were still busy finishing up the last of the crime scene walkthrough. With the help of a young constable working the security perimeter and sympathetic to the cause, Nash Emery, along with a young sandy-haired fellow in his early twenties, slipped inside and began walking around. Everyone was preoccupied trying to capture any last photos or details before the crime scene was cleaned up. People had been coming and going throughout the day. It was like the platform of a train station. This meant that with little more than a few snagged visitors’ badges, the two IRA operatives went unnoticed.
From the very moment they entered and saw the display, it became apparent what had happened. With the years of experience both men had in combat, they could easily replay in their minds how the whole fight went. Neither man spoke as their eye contact said enough. They continued through the main area and headed toward the back corner following a darkened hallway. As with the detectives before them, both saw the only light offered was through the setup of police work lights. The hallway was deserted at this point, so they felt comfortable engaging in verbal conversation.
Seeing the blood splatters and the bodies clumped closely together in front of the lit doorway with the third body just inside the room, the sandy-haired man spoke first. “This wasn’t a fucking team. This was one person against five idiots.”
Emery looked back at his cohort, Ewen Callaway. The young man was a deceiving vision ─ he definitely looked younger than his twenty-two years. Yet, as Emery well knew, he was a seasoned fighter from the streets of West Belfast. He had inadvertently become involved in the movement at the age of sixteen ─ when his twin sister was abducted off the streets by a Loyalist kill squad out trolling for Catholics. Somehow, the girl had managed to fight free and escape from the car. The Loyalists tried to give chase but were thwarted by IRA gunman coming to the rescue from a nearby bar.
The Loyalists took off after a quick but violent gun battle. The twins fought back against the attackers. When it was over, an impressed Nash Emery decided to take the youngsters under his wing. He trained them and found them to have a natural instinct for the work of an active service soldier. Likewise, grateful to the men who had saved them from certain death and Emery for his training, the twins became ferociously devoted to him. By seventeen, they were accompanying him on missions where they proved their abilities on several occasions.
Callaway continued his observations. “These idiots walked right into a bloody trap; a dark hallway, an echoing concrete structure and a killer who had firsthand knowledge of the setup.” He turned to face his mentor. “Why the fuck didn’t they just wait outside and ambush their target when he came out?”
Emery shrugged. “They underestimated their mark. They expected to find some street hood and got careless. Whoever they were up against has done this sort of thing before and been doing it for
a while.”
“It looks it,” the young man agreed. “This whole place was set up as one big ambush spot.”
“What do we do now, is the question?” The older man stated as he looked about. “Someone like this doesn’t make themselves easy to find.”
“Have they been able to find the man who they think is helping him?” Callaway asked.
“They’re working on it,” Emery responded. “My concern is that this person will be gone by the time we find him.”
The younger man peered into the room off to the side and saw the blood-soaked corpse of Cork Regan. “This killer laid in wait in the shadows down the hall. When they appeared in the light, the assassin opened up with a large caliber automatic, a .45, I’d say.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Emery couldn’t help playing the role of a mentor when it came to his young protégé. “Then the assassin moved up and executed the three right here at close range with headshots and chased the two survivors down. They were taken in the main room. What does that tell you?”
The younger man thought for a moment. “Even in the heat of the fight, he was smart enough to know they were dangerous as liabilities and had to be taken out. This assassin has been in gunfights like this before.”
“Several gunfights from the way he was able to think under such pressure,” the older man added.
Callaway shook his head. “I’ll say it again. I don’t like this. The cops are all over this case, and we’re putting ourselves at great risk. Even you agree that this looks like a gangster beef. Why don’t we let the Dublin boys eat their own shit?”
Emery placed a calming hand on the angered youth. “Because we’re soldiers, and we follow orders. And because, if this is the work of the Prods (Protestants), then it means it’s part of the war, and we fight wars. Make no mistake, lad. When we catch up to this assassin, if we do, it won’t be an easy mission. Expect that a war is what we’ll be fighting.”
