The Galway Homicides Box Set 2 Read online

  THE GALWAY HOMICIDES

  BOOKS 4-6

  Murder, mystery and suspense in Ireland

  DAVID PEARSON

  Published by

  THE BOOK FOLKS

  London, 2019

  © 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.

  This volume includes the fourth, fifth, and sixth novels of THE GALWAY HOMICIDES, a series of nine standalone murder mysteries set on the west coast of Ireland: MURDER AT THE PONY SHOW, MURDER ON PAY DAY, and MURDER IN THE AIR.

  Further details about the other books in the series can be found at the end of this one.

  Table of Contents

  MURDER AT THE PONY SHOW

  Prologue

  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

  List of Characters

  MURDER ON PAY DAY

  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

  List of Characters

  MURDER IN THE AIR

  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

  Coming Soon…

  Other titles of interest

  FREE BOOKS IN YOUR INBOX

  MURDER

  AT THE PONY SHOW

  DAVID PEARSON

  Prologue

  The Connemara Pony Show takes place every year in Clifden, County Galway. It’s a well-attended affair, with enthusiasts coming from all over Europe and even some from North America, to trade in these fine animals, or even just to admire the elegant, good humoured ponies, unique to this part of the west of Ireland.

  The show is usually scheduled for the third week of August so as not to clash with the much bigger equine event in Dublin at the start of the month. The show used to mark the end of the tourist season in the region, but latterly, thanks to the promotion of the Wild Atlantic Way, tourists continue to visit Clifden and its surroundings well into the Autumn.

  The Connemara pony is an animal that normally stands between thirteen and fifteen hands high. They have largely been reared in the boggy, rocky terrain west and north west of Galway, and due to the weather in those parts they are very hardy animals. They are sociable beasts and can often be seen grazing in twos or threes on the meagre grass that characterizes the area in all weathers. Commonly either light grey or bay in colour, they are quite easy to train, and have become favoured as an excellent starter horse for young riders, and girls in particular.

  The show itself features competition of all kinds in many categories, and of course buying and selling of the ponies is commonplace. The prices paid for a good breeding mare with some pedigree are not enormous – rarely more than a few thousand euro, although at one of the shows in recent years a pony fetched over twenty thousand euro when it was sold to a Swiss buyer, a record which has been talked about ever since. Most of the owners and breeders are not in it for the money, but rather for the love of the animals, and the breed in general, and the camaraderie and friendly competitions that ensue.

  The show attracts not just the pony set, but a lot of other transient visitors as well. There are the inevitable food stalls selling everything from organic yoghurt smoothies to greasy burgers; the tack stalls that take up a generous corner of the show ground with their saddles, bridles, riding hats and other specialized gear, and of course a mobile bar dispensing over-priced beer and stout to the thirsty show-goers.

  All of these people have to be accommodated for the week. The hotels are normally fully booked several months in advance, and often put their prices up as much as they dare, knowing that beds will fetch a healthy premium at this particular time. There are scores of Bed and Breakfast places too. These are either terraced houses lining the wide streets of Clifden itself, or bungalows dotted around the nearby countryside, where the owners have given over two or three bedrooms to guests. Airbnb, a new phenomenon on the scene, has also become very active, and hosts who would struggle at any other time of year for a booking, find themselves bombarded with requests for what could be quite modest accommodation.

  The catchment zone for visitors to the show covers a large area. For those who care not for frugality, the magnificent Ballynahinch Castle plays host to the elite and well-heeled attendees, some of whom take advantage of the hotel’s famous salmon fishery on the river that meanders through its extensive estate. The castle marks the eastern boundary of the footprint for the pony show. Between there and Letterfrack on the northern side of Clifden, and taking in Roundstone, Ballyconneely and Clifden itself, hostelries of all shapes and sizes soak up the throng, with any stragglers who have been tardy with their arrangements having to settle for Galway or Westport, each over an hour’s drive away.

  Chapter One

  By half past eight in the morning on Wednesday, the second day of the pony show, things were beginning to get busy at the grounds. The stables were being cleaned out, and for those participants who had not been able to reserve a l
oose box, and had to overnight the animals in their own towable trailers, there was much work to be done.

  Today there would be jumping for riders under sixteen years of age in the arena, and then later on a dressage competition would take place with the ponies and riders showing off their prowess with the animals high stepping, walking diagonally across the arena known as “Piaffe” in the jargon, trotting and cantering, and even walking backwards. Dressage is designed to show the audience manoeuvres that are not natural for a large four-legged animal, and requires months and months of meticulous training and a very strong bond of understanding between horse and rider.

  Following the dressage, prizes were to be awarded for the best turned out pony and rider, a coveted reward that generally went to one of the junior competitors who might have spent hours preparing their mounts just for the occasion. The day finished up with the presentation of a large silver plate for the overall best in show combination.

  Jenny Gillespie was enjoying the show, much as she had done for the past three years. Now fifteen, she was old enough and big enough to manage her beautiful bay Connemara Pony, but still young enough to compete in junior competitions.

  Her pony, whose registered name was Errigal Maiden, was known generally as “Lady”. Lady stood thirteen hands in height and her pale beige coat nicely contrasted with a dark brown main and tail in the classic Connemara style. The animal had a gentle disposition, which had been a major factor in its selection when Jenny’s father, Cathal, had bought the pony for his daughter four years previously. Cathal ran a very successful light engineering business on the outskirts of Donegal town. The company manufactured harrows and grass cutting equipment, and bespoke machinery for some of the many small industries dotted around Sligo and Donegal, as well as metal road trailers, and rather strangely, frames for mobility scooters.

  The Gillespie household occupied a substantial two storey house a few miles outside Donegal Town on five acres of land adjacent to Lough Eske. Apart from the five-bedroomed dwelling, Cathal had erected a large metal workshop close to the property where he stored his beloved classic Mark II Jaguar, and another building that was comprised of two separate stables, a tack room, a sluice room and a feed store, all tastefully finished and maintained in good condition.

  Jenny had competed in many events since getting her pony, and had often been successful, bringing home a trophy, or at least a small collection of rosettes, which she had pinned up all around Lady’s stable. She was hoping to add to the haul at this year’s show, and was particularly looking forward to the dressage, at which both she and Lady excelled.

  * * *

  When the Gillespies arrived at the show ground that morning, just a short drive from where they were staying at the Abbey Glen Hotel, Jenny made straight for Lady’s horsebox to start the day’s routine. She opened the small front door of the trailer and entered, saying hello to her pony, who seemed, unusually, to be somewhat agitated. Jenny stroked the horse’s neck and snout, and uttered soothing words, but Lady continued to scratch the floor with her front hoof and whinnied and neighed uncomfortably, tossing her head back and forth. Jenny moved down alongside the animal, thinking that maybe its hind legs were caught up in something.

  At first Jenny couldn’t believe what she was looking at, but there, at the back of the horsebox, jammed between her pony’s back legs and the rear door, was the body of a man, the back of his head caked in blood. Jenny managed to get back out of the horsebox before letting out a spine-chilling scream, and then another, and another, drawing attention from the other competitors around and about and of course from her father who was sitting in their car at the edge of the arena reading emails on his phone.

  Cathal rushed over to his daughter and enveloped her in his arms, stroking her hair, and saying, “It’s all right precious, it’s all right, what’s the matter?”

  Jenny was sobbing uncontrollably and couldn’t speak, but she was able to point to the trailer, and another man standing nearby who had witnessed her outburst went to investigate. Several other owners had come across to Lady’s trailer hearing the commotion, and it wasn’t long before the horror of the situation was revealed to the small crowd. Cathal Gillespie wasted no time in taking control of things. He asked one of the men to go to the entrance of the show ground and fetch a policeman.

  For the three days of the pony show, four extra uniformed Gardaí had been drafted into Clifden. Two worked the 8:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. shift, and the other two took over at 2:00 and worked through to 8:00 p.m. by which time the activity at the show ground had petered out. A private security firm was then employed to watch the place overnight, so that the valuable equipment and ponies could be secured.

  When the man had been despatched to find a Garda, Cathal said to the others, “We have to get Lady out of there. Will someone open the back door of the horsebox, gently now, and I’ll see if Jenny can get her out without making matters worse.”

  The tailgate of the box, fortunately a double width affair, was gently lowered and as it came open the legs of the dead man fell outwards, so that the body was half in and half out of the contraption.

  Jenny, who had managed to get a grip on herself in the interests of the pony’s wellbeing, entered the box again through the front door, and with some soothing talk slowly reversed Lady out of the trailer and down the ramp onto the concrete yard. While this was going on, Cathal ensured that the corpse was protected from any further damage. Jenny led her pony away. It had been agreed that she could be housed in one of the permanent stables that had been allocated to another pony who would be put out into the paddock to make room.

  Once Lady was away from the dead man, she calmed down a little, but Jenny insisted on staying with her, comforting her. The animal had had a bad shock.

  * * *

  Garda Michael Costello was first to attend the scene.

  “Jesus, what in God’s name has happened here?” he said.

  Cathal explained what had taken place when his daughter had first arrived to tend to her pony.

  “And who’s bright idea was it to move the animal? You know this could be a crime scene!” Costello said.

  “We didn’t have a choice. If we had left the pony in there she could have easily trampled on him. She was quite distressed,” Cathal explained.

  “We’ll see about that,” Costello said, turning away to call the matter in to Clifden Garda station where Sergeant Séan Mulholland was just opening up for the day.

  Mulholland was in his mid-fifties, and could have retired from the Garda Síochána by now, but being a solitary bachelor with few outside interests other than a bit of coarse fishing, he had stayed on, enjoying the camaraderie afforded by the job, which for the most part was not too taxing. He was a tall man, standing a full six foot, with a good crop of greying hair, a ruddy face, and a substantial, but not obese, build. He spent most of his time keeping the Garda station in Clifden running smoothly, renewing shotgun licenses for the farmers in the area, and filling out endless, and as he saw it, largely pointless forms for the regional administration based in Galway. A man of habit, when he had finished his shift each day, he would retire to Cusheen’s Bar in the main street for three or four pints and a read of the paper before heading home to his rather drab cottage out on the Skye Road.

  “God, that’s all we need, Michael. Can you tape off the area all around the horsebox and see that it’s not disturbed? Don’t let anyone touch anything, and don’t let anyone leave. Any idea what might have happened?” Mulholland said.

  “Dunno, sarge. Looks like the deceased may have got into the trailer for a kip – maybe he was pissed – and the pony kicked him to death, but I can’t be sure,” Costello said.

  “OK. Well you and McGrath do your best for now. I’ll get the other two out to you as soon as I can, and I’ll have to call this in to Galway. Yer man is definitely dead, is he? No point in calling an ambulance?” Mulholland said.

  “No, sarge, no point at all.”

  Chapter Tw
o

  Mrs Cathleen Curley, together with her husband John, were the proprietors of the Ocean View Guesthouse, located between Ballyconneely and Clifden. It certainly lived up to its name with a fantastic view of the ocean looking out over Ballyconneely Bay with its deep blue, almost aquamarine, sea and bright yellow patches of beach dotted along the coastline. The house stood well back from the road with a neatly tarred driveway and adequate parking for four or five cars out in front. John had built the house himself soon after he married Cathleen, on land owned and worked by his father. His father was a quiet industrious man who had spent many years clearing the ten acres of rocky scrubland, taking out huge limestone boulders and digging deep drainage channels all around, so that now the smallholding was fertile enough to support a handful of beef cattle over the summer months. The income from the cattle and the guesthouse afforded the Curleys a comfortable, if not extravagant lifestyle, and they were proud of their two teenage children both of whom were attending University College Galway studying Agricultural Science and Marketing respectively.

  Cathleen Curley was a large woman in every respect. Her frame was large, her personality, her voice and even her generosity and good cheer exceeded the norms of modern society by a fair measure. As a result, Cathleen progressed through life seeing few obstacles, and had used this unusual demeanour to build a nice little business where others might have struggled. Cathleen had three guest bedrooms at Ocean View that were built into the attic space of their bungalow. John had done the conversion with the help of a few friends from around the area when tourism began to blossom into a serious business in 2004. Ocean View enjoyed a very high occupancy rate from Easter right through to October, with many of the bookings coming by word of mouth, helped along by a string of excellent reviews on TripAdvisor. Unlike many hosts in the area, Cathleen didn’t increase her rates for Show Week. She was happy with the yield her business provided, and she disliked the exploitation and greed exhibited by some of the other owners, but kept her views to herself.