One in the morning, the three left the office. An itemised list of questions to ask the master gangster and a file opened for Gaffney, although the man had been killed in another country so strictly speaking it was their case. Isaac had worked with the Irish police before; he knew there would be full cooperation between the two police forces.
***
Larry arrived in Dublin late, the last flight. He picked up his car at the rental company, a woman handing him the keys. ‘The local police have been on the phone, so has a Bridget Halloran. There’s a purchase order, and your driver’s licence has been forwarded. No more to do, just sign on the dotted line,’ she said.
‘Thanks,’ Larry said. It had been a long day, an even longer night. He found the car quickly enough, a local police car waiting alongside.
‘Detective Inspector Hill?’ the patrol officer, a ruddy-faced man carrying more than a few extra pounds, said.
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘Fine. We’ve been asked to show you the way, save you trying to find it.’
With the patrol car leading, a late model Ford with a broad yellow stripe bordered by a thick blue line on both sides of the vehicle, it took fifteen minutes to make it out to where Gaffney had died. A Nissan, the same as Larry had rented, although his was green, Gaffney’s blue.
‘Nasty business,’ Detective Inspector Buckley said as he shook Larry’s hand vigorously, a bear-like grip.
‘Not the first you’ve seen,’ Larry replied. He liked the look of the man. It was well after midnight and the DI, although obviously well-primed at the local pub and expecting a night off, was alert and interested, and above all, an asset.
‘The same as you, I suppose. Not that I expected to see Seamus like this. Harmless he was, although an idiot as a child, not much better as an adolescent. But as I said, harmless. Not the sort of man to offend anyone. You knew him?’
‘As an informer, but you’re right. I liked him in some ways, but he was into villainy, one step ahead of the law, and free on the street as long as he gave us the occasional titbit as to what was going on in the area.’
‘What was going on?’ Buckley said. ‘I heard about the shooting. Your neck of the woods?’
‘It was, and Gaffney was sniffing around. I assume he found out more than he should.’
‘It looks professional. We found where the shooter had been, and he must have known Gaffney was on the way.’
‘Which means advance information.’
‘Someone back in London had tipped off whoever it was that did this. The man was regular as clockwork visiting. Every six weeks he’d be here, usually a Friday and then back to London on Monday.’
‘You knew him well?’
‘I came from the same village. I was even the best man at his wedding. I liked Seamus, and his wife, Sheila, is a lovely woman. Happy as can be, those two were, although an unusual arrangement. But then, I see my wife every night, and happy is not a word I’d use. How about you?’
‘We’re close. Mostly argue over money and my drinking, but apart from that, we get on well.’
‘Goes to show, doesn’t it? I have one Guinness, and I’m in the doghouse, although you didn’t come all this way to hear me griping, did you?’
‘Later over a Guinness we can talk, but for now, what do we have? Any evidence?’
‘I’ve got the men in the dust coats on the scene seeing what they can find.’
‘You mean the crime scene examiners?’ Larry appreciated the man’s relaxed manner, although he wanted answers. He needed to phone back to his DCI, knowing that the man would be waiting for his call.
‘Yes, them. A good bunch, and if there’s anything to be found, they’ll find it. What we’ve got so far is a shot from a distance as the man slowed at the intersection, and once he’d veered off the road and into the ditch, the second bullet to the head.’
‘The same as what happened at Briganti’s.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The person who killed those in Briganti’s hairdressing salon shot the people at random with a semi-automatic, and then went around them individually and shot them in the head.’
‘The same person?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘The most obvious is usually the most reliable. Any idea as to height, weight, dark or light hair?’
‘Dark hair, we’ve got a sample. Although in a hairdresser’s, it’s not so easy to be sure. Forensics are not willing to commit to it. If you’ve got anything here, they’ll be interested. It’s important to know whether we’re dealing with the same shooter or someone else.’
‘It sounds as though you’ve got a tough case over there,’ Buckley said. ‘Here, put on some protective gear, and we’ll go over nearer to the car and where the first shot was taken.’
Larry phoned Isaac to update him, raised the possibility that the Briganti shooter was not on mainland Europe, but could still be in England, and as of six hours previously, in Ireland. Isaac phoned Bridget who issued an update to the points of entry into Ireland, the ferries and airlines, although the details were vague. The chance of apprehending a professional assassin by such an obvious tactic seemed remote. It was three in the morning. Isaac turned in his bed for another thirty minutes before deciding that sleep was going to elude him for that night. He got out of the bed, careful not to disturb Jenny who looked at him with one eye, said nothing, and went back to sleep. Isaac knew she’d not complain at his leaving the flat at such an hour.
Isaac arrived at Challis Street just before 4 a.m. to be greeted by Bridget. ‘Work to do,’ she said. He phoned
