Murder on Pay Day Read online

  MURDER

  ON PAY DAY

  A heist, a killing, and dangerous criminals at large in the west of Ireland

  DAVID PEARSON

  Published by

  THE BOOK FOLKS

  London, 2018

  © David Pearson

  Polite note to the reader

  This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.

  You are invited to visit www.thebookfolks.com and sign up to our mailing list to hear about new releases, free book promotions and other special offers.

  We hope you enjoy the book.

  MURDER ON PAY DAY is the fifth murder mystery in a series of seven books by David Pearson. It can be enjoyed on its own or as part of the series. Full details about the other books can be found at the end of this one.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Character list

  More fiction by David Pearson

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  Chapter One

  Garda Pascal Brosnan finished his breakfast in the kitchen of his modest bungalow which was situated just a few hundred metres from the small Garda station that he ran single-handedly at the edge of the village of Roundstone in Connemara.

  It was a cold December morning, and he knew that the windows of his car would probably be covered in a thin layer of frost, so when he had put on his uniform jacket, he filled a large plastic jug with warm water from the electric kettle, checked that the house was secure and left by the front door.

  He had been right about the car. The windows were indeed covered in ice, so he gently poured the warm water on the front windscreen, side and back windows, dispersing the obstruction and leaving the glass clear.

  He arrived at the Garda station a few minutes later. Today was pay day for the entire Irish police force. They weren’t usually paid until the last Friday of the month, but in December, payment was made early to allow people to fund what seemed like the ever-increasing cost of Christmas.

  When Brosnan had turned on the electric heaters in the small building, he powered up the station’s single computer, and went to put the kettle on while the rather old PC got itself ready for work.

  When he had checked the overnight bulletins from Galway, Clifden and headquarters in Dublin, none of which thankfully affected him directly in the quiet backwater that made up his patch, he logged onto his own personal on-line bank account.

  “Nice one,” he said to himself. Not only had his salary been deposited for him, but he had also been reimbursed for an amount of necessary expenditure that he had paid for out of his own pocket in the preceding months.

  Brosnan would now be able to travel into Galway at the weekend and buy the small number of Christmas gifts for his immediate family, with whom he would spend the day on the 25th. His parents were still alive and well, living in a small terraced house in the city; his brother and sister would be there too, which was about the only time Brosnan got to see the rest of the family for the whole year. His father, now retired, had worked his whole life on the docks in Galway as a stevedore, and had retired at the age of sixty-two when those jobs came to an end. The work had provided his family with modest, but adequate means, and the three children had been brought up in a very traditional, caring manner.

  Pascal had joined the Garda Síochána as soon as he left school, and had spent most of his career to date working initially out of Galway city’s Mill Street station, then later in Clifden, before volunteering to take on the station in Roundstone. It could be a solitary existence, but he could call on backup from Sergeant Séan Mulholland and his team in Clifden, when required, and despite the fact that Roundstone was a small village, there was a surprisingly vibrant social life, which Brosnan exploited to the full.

  He was going through a rudimentary shopping list in his head, when the door to the station opened, and one of the old timers from the area came in.

  “Hello Aongus, you’re out early. What can I do for you?” Brosnan asked.

  “God, I’m after having a right shock, Pascal. I was out for a walk across on the headland with Texas, when he took off like a mad thing. I eventually caught up with him, and he was sniffing around something that had washed up on the rocks. There was an awful smell – it was putrefied, and that’s for sure,” the old man said.

  “I see. So, what do you think it was then, Aongus?” Brosnan asked.

  “That’s just it, Pascal. It’s a body!” the old man said, clearly upset by the event.

  “Are you sure, Aongus? A body you say.”

  “I am that. It’s a body all right,” Aongus said.

  “God help us. Well I’d better come and have a look. Can you show me where you found it?” Brosnan said, reaching for his overcoat and peaked cap.

  The two men got into Brosnan’s car, and drove down the track leading to the headland till it came to an end where Brosnan parked.

  They walked out across the stumpy grass till they got near the end of the promontory where there was an almost sheer drop onto the rocks and the sea below. Brosnan could smell the undeniable stench of rotting flesh from the top where he stood, and far below, lodged in the craggy terrain, he could make out the twisted form of what had once been a living thing, now blackened by exposure to the elements.

  Aongus gagged on seeing the body for a second time, and told Brosnan he was going back into town to get a glass of whisky to settle his stomach.

  “Fair enough, Aongus. But you’ll have to come back in to me later to make a statement. I’ll have to get the detectives out from Galway to deal with this. Dead bodies are way above my pay grade.”

  * * *

  Inspector Maureen Lyons was busy completing the monthly reports on crime in Galway for November when her phone rang. She disliked paperwork intensely, but it was becoming a more prominent feature of policing of late, and her ultimate senior officer, Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett was very unforgiving if these reports weren’t submitted on time. She would much prefer to be out catching thieves than sitting in the office, even in the cold weather.

  “Lyons,” she said.

  “Hello, Inspector. This is Pascal Brosnan out in Roundstone. One of the locals has found a body out here on the headland, I’m out there now. I need some backup and all the usual,” Brosnan said in as near to an excited voice as the usually placid man could manage.

  “Take it easy Pascal, it will be fine. Now where exactly is this body, and do you know if it’s male or female, clothed or naked, or anything else about it?”

  “I can’t get down to it, Inspector, it’s on the rocks out here. All I can tell you is that it’s in an advanced state of decay. It smells awful, and it’s all black. What do you want me to do?”

  “Well, stay there in any case. Can you cordon off the area? I have to meet Superintendent Plunkett in half an hour, but I’ll get Eamon and Sally out to
you. Have you told Sergeant Mulholland?” Lyons asked.

  “No, not yet, I called you first,” Brosnan said, calming down a little now that he had some moral support.

  “OK. Well, call him as soon as we’re finished here and he’ll be able to get someone out to you as well. It will take Eamon forty-five minutes to get there. And try and preserve the site as best you can, Pascal. OK? Before you go, Pascal, does it look like natural causes – like maybe someone just slipped off the high ground?” she said.

  “God, I don’t know. There’s been no one reported missing recently, though I suppose it could have been a tourist,” Brosnan said.

  “Hardly, at this time of year, Pascal. But I suppose you never know. Oh, and can you text me the co-ordinates of the location so I can give Eamon proper directions,” Lyons said.

  “Right, no bother. Anyway, I’ll wait here and make sure no one interferes with it till backup arrives,” Brosnan said.

  “Just what we bloody need, this week of all weeks,” Lyons said to herself as she went to find Eamon Flynn and Sally Fahy to get them moving.

  Chapter Two

  Sergeant Séan Mulholland had just put the kettle on for the first of his morning cups of tea when the phone rang. He had opened the Garda Station at 9 a.m. as usual, and was glad to get in out of the weather. The thin north westerly breeze was making it feel a lot colder on the streets of the small town than the actual temperature warranted.

  Mulholland was in his late fifties, and could have retired earlier from the force, but had elected to stay on for a few more years. He was a confirmed bachelor, and had few interests other than his work, and a bit of coarse fishing on any of the many lakes that surrounded the town. While not universally liked by everyone in Clifden, he was known to be a fair man, and would often overlook small demeanours rather than get involved in masses of paperwork to prosecute someone who had failed to renew their shotgun license on time, or hadn’t taxed their car or van at the appropriate time.

  The station had a total of eleven Gardaí assigned to it, so there were generally three officers and Mulholland on duty at any time once shift patterns, holidays, training and other forms of leave had been taken into account.

  Mulholland took the call from Brosnan who had calmed down a bit since his first call with Lyons. Brosnan explained what had been discovered.

  “You’ll have to stay there a while, Pascal,” Mulholland said, “Jim Dolan is away out at Clifden Glen with the car just now – there’s some talk of a break in overnight. But I’ll get him out to you as soon as I can. The folks from Galway will probably get there first. It’s a bad time of year for someone to end up like that,” Mulholland said.

  * * *

  Detective Sergeant Eamon Flynn and Detective Garda Sally Fahy set off with sirens and flashing lights at high speed towards Clifden. Sally Fahy was the youngest detective in Hays’ team. She had started out as a civilian worker helping the team with paperwork a few years ago, and enjoyed it so much that Maureen Lyons had little trouble in persuading her to apply for a post in the force. Sally had excelled during her training at Templemore, and when she had passed out, Hays pulled in a few favours and got her assigned to his unit in Galway. Sally had proved to be a very useful member of the team, and she got on well with the rest of them, which was an added bonus.

  They had been briefed by Inspector Lyons about the discovery out at Roundstone, and both were keen to demonstrate that they were up to the task in hand with promotions in the offing. They arrived in Roundstone some forty minutes after leaving Galway, and went screaming through the little village, much to the amazement of the locals who were just getting up and about at ten-thirty in the morning.

  They managed to get the car out onto the grass down at the end of the track leading to the magnificent beach at Dog’s Bay, and drove as quickly as they dared to where Pascal Brosnan was standing at the end of the peninsula.

  “God, that was quick,” Brosnan said as the two detectives climbed out of the car.

  “Morning, Pascal. What have you got for us on this cold and frosty morning?” Flynn asked.

  “It’s down there,” the young officer said, indicating the rocks below.

  “Have you been down to have a look?” Fahy said.

  “I have not! It’s treacherous down there, and what good would it be if I got stuck on the rocks along with the corpse? Anyway, it stinks,” Brosnan said indignantly.

  “I have a rope in the car. We can tie it off around the axle, and I’ll lower myself down and see what the story is,” Flynn said.

  Sally Fahy retrieved the bright blue nylon rope from the back of the squad car, and scrambled down on the cold grass to tie it securely around the front axle of the Hyundai. She then presented the other end of the rope to Flynn who secured it snugly under his arms and around his torso.

  “Be careful, Sarge. It looks slippery down there,” Fahy said.

  “It’ll be fine. Just make sure the handbrake is on in the car,” Flynn replied walking backwards towards the precipice.

  It took Eamon Flynn a good seven minutes to get down to where the remains lay between the rocks at the edge of the sea. He manoeuvred with a combination of abseiling and just scrambling against the loose stones, and relied heavily on the rope that was securing him to make the perilous journey. When he got to the bottom he managed to find a foothold on a smooth flat rock, and he bent down to examine the stinking mess. After a couple of minutes, he looked up to the two Gardaí who were peering anxiously over the edge.

  “I’m coming back up. Put some tension on the rope for me,” Flynn shouted, and slowly he clambered back up the near-sheer face of rock and shale, arriving back on the short grass at the top quite out of breath.

  “So, what’s the story?” Brosnan asked.

  “Jesus, Pascal, give me a minute to get my breath back, will ye?” Flynn said, red faced and gasping slightly.

  Fahy and Brosnan waited for a few moments while Flynn recovered.

  “Well some bloody detective you are, Pascal. That’s only a fucking sheep down there, isn’t it?” Flynn said at last.

  “What? You’re joking me. That’s no sheep, I’m telling you, it’s a body!” Brosnan protested.

  “I’ll give you a clue, Pascal. It’s a four-legged corpse, covered in rotting wool, with two pointy ears and a snout a bit like a dog. Oh, and it has a short stubby tail too. Ring any bells?” Flynn said.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry, Sarge. I could have sworn it was human. And the old fella that found it said it was a body too. I just kind of assumed, if you know what I mean.”

  Sally Fahy had turned away from the other two, unable to keep a straight face. She could just imagine the banter in the canteen back in Galway when it came out that they had gone chasing half way across the county after a dead sheep.

  Flynn couldn’t resist rubbing it in a bit too.

  “I suppose we’ll have to cancel the forensic team that are on their way out too. Or would you like a post mortem carried out on the animal, so we can inform its relatives?”

  “God, I’m really sorry. Will you apologise to Inspector Lyons for me?” Brosnan said.

  “Oh no you don’t, Pascal. You’re going to call this in yourself. But do me a favour, put it on speakerphone so we can all hear her reaction. I’d say it will be priceless!” Flynn said, not intending to let the young officer off the hook that easily.

  “Right. Well let’s get back to the station. I’m sure you could both do with a cuppa to warm up a bit. Then I’ll make the call, God help me,” Brosnan said, and all three set off back to the Garda station in Roundstone.

  When Pascal Brosnan had endured the ribbing on the phone from both Sergeant Mulholland and Inspector Lyons, the two Galway detectives left Roundstone and drove back to Mill Street.

  “What a waste of time,” Fahy said on the way back in the car.

  “Ah, yeah, but it was worth it to be able to take the piss out of Brosnan for the rest of time. He’ll never live this down,” Flynn said.
<
br />   “I hope we don’t get it in the neck too,” Fahy said.

  “We’ll be OK. It wasn’t our call after all. There’ll be a bit of banter about it back at the station, but we’ll get over it.”

  Chapter Three

  The following morning, Superintendent Finbarr Plunkett sat at his largely empty mahogany desk in his generously proportioned office on the third floor of the Garda station in Mill Street in Galway. Despite the inclement weather outside, typical for a December day in Galway, his office was warm, if not indeed a bit stuffy. In front of him, neatly typed on three pages of good quality cream bond paper with the gold embossed insignia of An Garda Síochána at the top of each page, was a letter from no less than the Garda Commissioner himself.

  The letter was in response to a proposal Plunkett had submitted over two years previously, outlining how he wanted to expand the Detective Unit in Galway. It read:

  Dear Superintendent Plunkett,

  I write in connection with your proposal of February 2016 concerning the expansion of the Galway Detective Unit within the Western Region of the force. Having consulted with senior members of An Garda Síochána, and with my colleagues who have some expertise in these matters, I am amenable to your proposal in an overall sense, but with some modifications as set out hereunder.

  As you suggest, the Detective Unit should be expanded. To achieve this expansion, I propose that a new post of Detective Chief Superintendent be created, based out of the Mill Street station, and that you might consider filling this position yourself.

  The vacancy at Superintendent level could therefore be filled from within your own ranks, and in keeping with your proposal, I suggest that Senior Inspector Michael Hays be made up to Detective Superintendent.

  Further positions should be recruited by both Hays and yourself to bring the unit up to a new strength comprising two Detective Inspectors (one at Senior Inspector Level at your discretion), two Detective Sergeants, and three Detective Gardaí, while maintaining the current levels of civilian support and technological support for the unit.