Death in Foxrock Read online

  ‘Ryan,’ Baxter supplied the missing name. ‘Gemma Ryan. I think Sergeant Blunt borrowed her from Dalkey.’

  Sergeant Blunt was renowned for getting staff from other stations when the need arose. ‘They owe me,’ was all he’d say if questioned as to how he managed it. What he did to curry such favour was never mentioned.

  West crossed the car park and had just reached the corner of the building when he heard a shout. He looked around trying to pinpoint the direction. He heard it again, a clear, loud help drawing his eyes to the right toward the edge of the car park. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Baxter and Hudson racing to the scene and started to run to join them.

  A scream from the other side of the car park stopped him in his tracks. He watched the other two slow before Baxter waved Hudson toward the newer call while he continued on to the first. West, nearer to the first call, ran to join him.

  ‘I’ve alerted the others,’ Baxter said without slowing, ‘they’ll join Hudson as fast as they can get here.’

  They were at the scene minutes after they heard the first shout. The victim, a middle-aged woman, was sitting on the ground beside her car, the boot open, shopping scattered. She held a hand to her face.

  ‘Gardai,’ West said, bending down to her while Baxter scanned the surroundings to look for her assailant. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Keeping one hand to her face, the visibly shaken woman held out her other to show the torn skin on her ring finger. ‘He punched me, knocked me to the ground and pulled my rings off,’ she said, ‘then grabbed my bag and ran.’

  West moved her hand gently from her face. The skin was broken and it was already beginning to swell and discolour. He was no expert, but he guessed the blow had cracked her cheekbone. ‘Ok,’ he said, ‘stay here. We’ll call an ambulance.’

  A woman got out of a nearby car. She looked around anxiously and then took a step closer, gasping when she saw the injured woman. ‘Can I help?’ she said.

  ‘If you’d stay with her,’ West said, gratefully, ‘that would be so kind. She’s probably in shock.’

  The woman nodded and took his place, reaching out instinctively to put a reassuring hand on the injured woman’s arm.

  Baxter, trying to catch sight of the culprits found his view hampered by the surrounding cars. Without hesitation, he climbed on the bonnet of the car. ‘There,’ he shouted to West, before jumping down and dashing off across the car park, darting in and out of cars, narrowly missing being hit by a car pulling out of a parking space.

  They converged on the spot where the second assault had taken place at the same time as Foley and Ryan who’d run from the back car park. Hudson was bent over the victim who’d been treated in much the same fashion as the first, a bruise already colouring the side of her face. Blood oozed from a damaged finger onto her pale blue coat. She was crying pitifully.

  ‘They’d gone by the time I got here,’ Hudson said looking up at them. ‘They’re bloody fast.’

  Gemma Ryan sat on the ground beside the woman and held her uninjured hand, muttering reassurances as the others scanned the car park for a sign of the gang. Baxter, having already learnt the best viewing position, jumped on the nearest car bonnet and scanned the area. ‘There they are,’ he pointed, ‘two rows down, scurrying between the cars. Two of them,’ he called after them as they moved where he’d directed, ‘wearing dark hoodies and scarves.’

  He stayed on the bonnet, yelling directions to the detectives as the two men tried to evade capture. Hudson dashed to the exit and stopped a car that was leaving, waving his identification at the startled man before directing him to position his car across the exit. Foley and West split up, trying to hear Baxter’s directions over the sound of traffic from the road.

  Security men from the shopping centre, alerted to a commotion in the car park, ran to the car Baxter was standing on. They recognised him instantly and offered their assistance.

  ‘Stop people leaving the shopping centre,’ Baxter shouted down to them without taking his eyes off the search. ‘And stop any more cars from coming this direction.’ Nodding, two security men ran back to the doors to wave people back inside while a third ran to direct traffic away from the immediate area.

  Baxter saw the two men, doubled over and sneaking around the edge of a car. ‘Foley,’ he yelled, ‘to your right.’

  Foley swerved to intercept, West chasing down the other lane to join him. Baxter seeing they almost had them, jumped down from the car and ran to help. The struggle was short. Baxter, stocky and strong, caught the shorter of the two men in a headlock. Between them, West and Foley brought the other, taller man down. Within seconds, both men were in handcuffs and the three detectives were on their feet, their eyes looking for the get-away car.

  As if on cue, they heard the rev of an engine nearby and saw a land cruiser shoot from its parking space. The third member of the gang was making his escape.

  The land cruiser increased its speed as it approached the exit and with a look of horror, West saw what Hudson had done. The young garda now standing in front of the parked car as if determined to hold his position.

  ‘Get out of the way,’ West shouted before starting to run toward him. ‘Move out of the way,’ he yelled again, watching as Hudson realised too late that the car wasn’t going to stop. He saw him try to move out of the way just before the cruiser hit the parked car. The rear end of the Fiesta, no match for it, shot into the road, the front jamming into the concrete pillar that housed the barrier that came down at night.

  Breaks squealed, as cars that were already on the road took evasive manoeuvres to avoid hitting the back of the Fiesta, the land cruiser that kept going, and the cars coming toward them in the other lane. Almost every driver blasted his car horn as if that would help, and for a few seconds it sounded like all hell had broken loose. West and Baxter ran towards where Hudson had stood, leaving Foley dragging the two handcuffed men along behind them.

  They expected the worst. There was no way Hudson could have survived. Seeing his body, unmoving on the other side of the wrecked Fiesta, West stopped, colour draining from his face. Baxter came up beside him, Foley bringing up the rear. ‘No,’ he heard one of them say.

  Gulping, he took a step toward the body and then stopped. In disbelief, he watched as the body moved and Hudson shakily got to his feet. ‘Did we get them?’ he asked.

  There was a collective sigh of relief as they moved toward him. Ryan, who’d given the job of supporting the second victim to yet another helpful member of the public, came up behind them. Seeing Hudson was ok, she headed out to clear the traffic, waving on cars that had stopped to gawk, directing oncoming traffic around what was now a crime scene. With one hand, she stopped the complaints of the Fiesta owner, who gaped in dismay at his car. ‘I’ll be with you in one moment, sir,’ she said, waving another car on with a firm hand.

  West insisted that Hudson go to hospital to be checked out. ‘You were bloody lucky,’ he said. Sometime in the next few days, he’d make time to have a word with him about the wisdom of standing in front of a desperate criminal intent on making his escape.

  ‘I didn’t want to let him get away,’ Hudson said. ‘I failed.’

  West shook his head. ‘We have his two accomplices. You think they won’t roll over on their accomplice to escape the charge of attempted murder of a Garda Siochana?’

  ‘So I did help,’ Hudson said with a grin.

  There wasn’t anything to be said to that.

  An ambulance’s siren was heard in the distance. Baxter and Foley helped the two victims walk over to where they could be picked up when it arrived. West ran an eye over the older of the two woman who was still crying. She held a hand to her jaw. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was broken.

  ‘Your jewellery and bags have been recovered,’ he told them, ‘they need to be processed as evidence but as soon as we can we’ll get them back to you.’

  ‘Can we have our keys,’ the younger woman asked, looking at him through one eye
, the other swollen shut. ‘I doubt I’ll be driving again,’ she said with an attempt at a smile, ‘but I need my house keys.’

  West nodded to Gemma who held both bags in her hands. The two men had thrown them away as they’d made their attempted getaway. It hadn’t been difficult to find them.

  The ambulance crew helped the women inside. Hudson, still insisting he was unhurt, was told he had no choice. ‘Standard operational procedure,’ Baxter said pushing him inside, causing West’s eyebrow to rise.

  ‘It seemed the easiest way to make him go,’ he explained when the crew closed the door. ‘He’s good, Mike, we could do worse than have him on our team.’

  ‘Well, if ever they allow us more staff, I’ll keep him in mind,’ West said, knowing that day wasn’t likely to occur any time soon. ‘Head off to the hospital when you’re done here. I doubt they’ll keep him long. Make sure he gets home safely.’

  A police-car arrived to take the two handcuffed men away. He’d make sure they were charged with accessory to attempted murder along with assault, grievous bodily harm and theft. That should put them behind bars for a while.

  Order was quickly restored to the area, shoppers oblivious to what had gone on were back to driving around searching for parking spaces. The helpful security guards turned their attention to trying to reduce the chaos and made the entrance to the car park into a combined entrance/exit while the gardai processed the scene of the crash.

  Gemma Ryan, who continued to direct traffic, was pleased to be relieved by two uniformed-gardai, whose recognisable uniforms quickly restored order.

  Crime scene photographers were on scene within an hour. Crime scene personnel on scene shortly after, collecting debris from both vehicles. West guessed they’d find the get-away car abandoned later in the day and had a word with Baxter to liaise with the Traffic division to be on alert for it. They might get DNA from it that would identify the driver and a comparison of glass or paint scrapings collected here would link it to this site.

  Every base was covered.

  The driver, whose car Hudson had commandeered, was thanked for his contribution in helping to stop the gang and was promised a loan vehicle while a reputable garage repaired his car.

  ‘Have you seen it?’ Foley whispered to him when the man walked away, shaking his head. ‘It’s totalled.’

  West hadn’t given it much attention. He did now and grimaced when he saw the damage. Foley was probably right, it looked beyond repair. Morrison would not be happy.

  He wasn’t going to sacrifice Hudson on that particular altar. It would be reported as being his idea. Thankfully, they’d caught the gang...well most of it, he amended. That would go a long way to appease the inspector.

  Foley stayed to monitor the various teams while Baxter headed off to St Columcille’s hospital to interview both victims and check up on Hudson.

  When he arrived back in the station two hours later, he had the younger man in tow.

  ‘I think they were glad to be rid of him,’ he told West and Andrews who were in conversation when he pushed through the door.

  Hudson grinned and said nothing.

  ‘Foley is just finishing up,’ Baxter said, ‘he’s hoping you’ll wait until he gets here before doing the interviews.’

  Andrews raised an eyebrow. ‘Wait?’

  Baxter blinked and looked from one to the other. He never could be sure when Andrews was taking the piss. ‘I just meant...’ he started.

  West took pity on him. ‘He’s pulling your leg, Seamus. Of course we’re going to wait.’

  Baxter gave Andrews a thump on the arm. ‘You are such a bugger,’ he said.

  ‘You two can go ahead and start on one of the interviews,’ West said, ‘I’ll wait for Foley.’

  Hudson said nothing but he had big brown eyes that did the talking for him and West wasn’t immune to their pleading. ‘We’ll need you a while longer, Garda Hudson,’ he said. ‘Write up your account of what happened while we’re waiting for Foley.’ He turned away and then turned back to him. ‘It might be better if you say that having the driver put his car across the entrance was my idea,’ he said. ‘I think the car’s a write-off, Inspector Morrison might be a little annoyed.’

  ‘Annoyed,’ Andrews said, raising his eyes to heaven, ‘he’ll be steaming.’

  Hudson grinned and nodded. ‘Thank you, sergeant.’

  ‘When Foley gets here, sit in the observation room. You can watch both interviews from there.’

  It was a quirk of the station. Because of lack of space, the two interview rooms were joined by one observation room. Sometimes, as now, it had its advantages. When he’d arrived in Foxrock, West had tried to get the team to call the rooms Interview One and Two, but had hit his head against a brick wall, and finally gave in. Within a few weeks he was calling them the Big One and the Other One just as the rest of the staff in the station did.

  Foley returned forty-five minutes later with reports that everything in Cornelscourt had returned to normal. He told a groaning West that the mechanics who’d arrived to tow away the Fiesta had laughed when he asked if repairs would be expensive. ‘They said it wouldn’t even fetch a few quid as scrap.’

  ‘We’d better get some results here, then, hadn’t we,’ West said.

  They headed into the Big One where one of the two men they’d arrested sat at the table, his solicitor sitting beside him, already looking bored.

  The formalities were quickly done with and all four men sat back. West’s eyes flicked over the information on the A4 pad in front of him. Eamonn Mackin, twenty-five years old with a string of convictions that ran into two pages.

  ‘You’ve excelled yourself this time,’ he said quietly. ‘Adding an accessory to attempted murder to your list.’

  Mackin’s upper lip rose in a sneer. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve never hurt no-one.’ He shrugged a thin shoulder. ‘Well, apart from the odd dig when they weren’t co-operating.’

  ‘Both of the women you attacked today are going to require surgery,’ West said, his eyes hard. ‘That brings your charge up to grievous bodily harm which carries a mandatory minimum prison term. Your get-away driver deliberately drove at a member of the Garda Siochana. That’s attempted murder.’

  Mackin darted a look at his solicitor and licked his lips. ‘I wasn’t in the bloody car, was I?’

  West shrugged. ‘That’s why you’re being charged with being an accessory.’

  The solicitor, who obviously decided he’d better make some effort, asked, ‘Did the Garda identify himself as such?’

  Mackin grinned.

  There was no point in lying, nor was there a need. ‘No,’ West admitted, ‘he didn’t.’

  ‘Ha!’ Mackin said, crossing his arms.

  ‘We’ll have the charges changed to an accessory to attempted murder of an innocent bystander, then, shall we?’ West said, picking up his pen and scribbling some notes on the page in front of him.

  The solicitor checked his watch. ‘Let’s cut to the chase,’ he said, ‘you haven’t caught the driver, have you?’

  If he expected a response he was quickly disappointed as West and Foley sat stony-faced.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no,’ he continued. ‘So if my client can furnish you with details will that assist in reducing his sentence?’

  West chewed his lip. It was what he wanted, in fact what he expected. The solicitor knew that, but the game had to be played, and with his memory of Ken Blundell still fresh he wasn’t going to make an easy deal.

  ‘If your client furnishes us with information that enables us to catch the driver, we’ll be able to discuss terms.’

  The solicitor, Enda Careless sighed. ‘I may be careless by name, Sergeant West, but not by nature. I’ll want much more than that before I’ll advise my client to assist you.’

  ‘I’m not grassing to the pigs,’ Mackin growled.

  ‘Shut up,’ Careless said without looking at him. ‘If my client can furnish you with what you n
eed, will you drop the accessory to attempted murder charge?’

  West blinked. That was cutting straight to the point. He guessed the solicitor, on a fixed Legal Aid remuneration, wasn’t willing to waste more time than he needed. But he’d taken him by surprise. They both knew the charge of accessory to attempted murder was going to be a tough one to make stick. A good defence team could make the argument that Hudson had been partially responsible for putting himself in danger in the first place by blocking the exit.

  He opened his mouth to agree to drop this charge but closed it again and frowned. ‘I’ll have to discuss it with my superiors,’ he said.

  Carless raised an eyebrow in surprise but shrugged and looked at his watch again. ‘Is this going to take long?’

  West shook his head, announced for the recording that he was stopping the interview and left the room. He could have made the decision. Damn it, he would have done a couple of weeks ago. But now, he was second-guessing his every decision. He sighed and a few minutes later tapped on Morrison’s door.

  ‘The solicitor is waiting for our response,’ he said, having given a brief but detailed summary of events.

  ‘Hudson wasn’t hurt?’ Morrison asked.

  West shook his head. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure if the charge would stick anyway. Hudson did well, but he put himself in a precarious position, and he didn’t identify himself as a Garda.’ He frowned. ‘I was surprised Careless went for that charge. He could have asked for the grievous bodily harm charge to be dropped instead.’

  Morrison shook his head. ‘Don’t be fooled by his bored looking persona act, Enda Careless is as sharp as a blade. He picked the one you’d be most likely to concede to and,’ he added, ‘it’s probably the one that young thug is most afraid of.’

  West agreed. Despite Mackin’s air of bravado, there was a glimpse of fear when the charge had been mentioned. ‘So we’ll accept his terms?’

  ‘Play a careful game, sergeant,’ Morrison said, and then he smiled briefly and added, ‘It’s one you are good at.’ The brief smile was replaced by a sour grimace. ‘Can I assume the car is a right off?’