Tyrell took his mints out his jacket pocket as he pulled up outside Harcourt Square. It was 11.30 a.m. and he was already half way through a packet.
He’d arrived at the Garda Dublin HQ early to organise his thoughts. They’d all been working straight through the night. But they hadn’t found the car. And they had limited descriptions on the culprits.
He opened his car door, stepping over a splatter of vomit. Bottles and shattered glass lay strewn along the footpath, the usual morning debris from the clubs dotted along Harcourt Street. He walked along the perimeter wall of the police complex, his nostrils assailed by the stench of piss. Combined with a lack of sleep and of appetite, he felt a bit weak. A Luas click-clacked beside him as it curved down towards St Stephen’s Green.
Admitted into the conference room, he circled the massive thirty-foot table. Three glasses of water were positioned on one side and some ten glasses on the other. As he came to the far side, he peered out through the tall sash windows onto the unkempt courtyard, absently studying the grim fountain that never seemed to function.
He turned to noises from the direction of the door. In strode the Chief, his hat under his arm. His suit looked freshly dry cleaned and pressed.
‘Anything more?’ the Chief said.
‘No update,’ Tyrell replied, noticing the cluster of red veins that always sprouted on the Chief’s cheeks when he was anxious.
‘I’ll give an intro and you’ll take over,’ the Chief said.
He pulled back the chairs and placed his heavy frame down. The Chief put his hat in front of him, adjusting its position slightly. Tyrell took his place beside him and waited, disturbed only by the metallic twang of the trams.
As the minutes passed, other senior officers streamed in. The chiefs and supers of the various specialist crime bureaus: organised crime, drugs and a couple from Intelligence and Security. They greeted them with nods and hellos, taking positions either side of them.
Tyrell eyed Detective Superintendent Hall. He tried to recall exactly what he did in the shadows. He knew he was a leading light in the revamped intelligence structure that was set up a number of years ago. A judicial tribunal had called for an overhaul in the garda structures in the area to separate intelligence and security from operational policing. The result was a new expanded section, the Intelligence and Security Division. It brought together various intelligence sections – both criminal intelligence and subversive intelligence – and all the security, counter-terrorism, surveillance, undercover and covert units, as well as policy and analysis units and IT under its command. ISD was no longer headed by an assistant commissioner, but a deputy commissioner, next rung down from commissioner and officially, if not traditionally, equal to the rank of deputy commissioner operations.
Commissioner Harte swept in, rousing Tyrell from his thoughts. He checked his watch. Bang on midday. Accompanying him were Deputy Commissioner Ops Archibald Brady and Deputy Commissioner Intelligence Raymond Nessan. Everyone else stood up as the force’s top three officers positioned themselves at the other side of the table and took off their hats.
‘Gentlemen,’ Commissioner Harte said dramatically, taking his seat, the rest following suit. He looked directly across at the Chief.
‘Commissioner,’ the Chief said, with a cough. ‘Firstly, the situation with Garda Peters is unchanged. He is in a coma. His spine is severed and the injuries to his brain remain the same.’
The commissioner nodded. Tyrell noticed others either dropping their heads or adjusting themselves in their seats. Except for Hall, who remained impassive.
‘I spoke with the families of Garda Grant and the little girl, Taylor Williams, last night, as well as Peters’ parents,’ the Chief went on.
The commissioner closed his eyes slowly and opened them again.
Then the Chief filled everyone in on the details of the shooting. Tyrell kept his eyes on the commissioner. Number One was nearing retirement, he mused, in less than a year. The rumour was he wanted an extension. And was likely to get it. Apart from the Smyth Tribunal report into Garda intelligence, he had a fairly unblemished record. Harte got good press in media circles and was seen as the good guy, against government efforts to push home austerity plans.
‘The early indications from the Technical Bureau and the State pathologist are that, from where the bodies were found and the tyre marks, Garda Grant was at the driver’s side. Garda Peters was at the front of the vehicle. Garda Grant suffered catastrophic head injuries. The PM this morning confirmed her injuries were from the wheel of the car.’
The Chief stopped to take some water. The top button of his shirt was too tight, Tyrell noticed; it dug into his neck, adding to the strain in his face, already clear from the thick bags under his eyes.
‘One shot was fired from a 9mm Glock,’ the Chief continued. ‘The shot may have glanced the side of Garda Grant’s head, then travelled across the road and hit the girl in the face.’
Tyrell looked around and noticed faces reacting in some way. Again, apart from Hall.
‘The Technical Bureau believe the car hit Garda Peters and rammed him against a metal pole inflicting traumatic injuries to his back. As the car reversed, he fell, hitting his head against the ground.
‘Detective Inspector Tyrell will fill you in on the investigation,’ the Chief said, sitting down, the chair groaning with the strain.
Tyrell was startled at the sudden announcement, but didn’t show it. He was well prepared.
‘According to witnesses the suspects were in a red BMW, 3 series, 95 reg. There are three suspects, with partial descriptions. We have no pictures of the actual shooting from cameras. As I said, we have only partial descriptions of the shooters.’
He could see the commissioner’s eyes narrow as he spoke and could sense his shoulders tensing. But he kept his composure.
‘We got some description on the car, which one of our teams is tracking from Phoenix Park, where it was captured on camera beforehand. We got a partial reg. We suspect the registration is cloned. So, unless we get an actual hold of the car, we can’t trace its owners or where or when it was stolen. We are trying to follow the car since the shooting. One 9mm shell was found at the scene. The firearm hadn’t been fired before and we haven’t located it yet. We’re getting limited assistance from witnesses, so far.’
Tyrell stopped, and judging by the looks from across the table, a bit too abruptly. He sat down.
‘I see,’ the commissioner said, drumming his fingers on the table. ‘So, who do you think is behind this?’
The question shouldn’t have caught Tyrell off guard, but he took a second to compose himself.
‘Too early to say, sir.’
He immediately realised it was not the answer the boss wanted. He continued. ‘If we can get a better description of the suspects in the car, or if the car turns up or the gun –’
‘A lot of ifs there, detective,’ the commissioner interrupted. Tyrell was getting the heat. He noticed the Chief bow his head.
‘Given where this happened, it’s possible that it was one of the local gangs,’ Tyrell said. ‘However, it could have been a hit team from elsewhere. We are trying to locate all known gang members, to see who is turning up and, more importantly, who is not. That might give us a lead. We are examining what threats are out there against gang members. We have teams turning over every scrote in the area. Our colleagues in Intelligence,’ he said, glancing briefly at Nessan, who returned him a blank face, ‘are examining phone traffic in the area at the time and checking their own, em, sources.’
The commissioner turned to Nessan, who nodded to Hall.
Tyrell leaned forward and watched Hall, who remained bolt upright. He looked impressive in a dark grey suit and blue tie.
‘Phone taps are showing up some noise, commissioner, but very little of any use, so far. We are also examining what calls or texts were made in that area at that time through mast dumping. We are monitoring the movement of known mobiles at the time.’
Hall paused briefly, for effect, it seemed to Tyrell.
‘We have some assets in the area and, as we speak, we are gathering information from them. This could yield results.’
Tyrell shot a look at the Chief, who pulled at the collar of his shirt. Tyrell glared back at Hall.
‘Our intel would suggest,’ Hall said in a measured voice, ‘that a criminal network run by Ghost and Cracko is worth examining. The Canal Gang as they are known, or click, as they like to call themselves.’ He looked towards Tyrell and nodded. ‘I’m sure the investigation team are already on to them. We are examining further use and deployment of our assets.’
Hall tilted his chin, signalling an end to his contribution, and patted down his tie. The commissioner’s complexion seemed to lighten a bit.
‘I would suggest, Detective Inspector Tyrell, you bring yourself up to speed with what ISD has.’
Tyrell couldn’t avert his gaze much, but spotted Nessan eyeing Hall, a satisfied look on his face.
‘We are not going to allow whoever did this to get away with it, nor the gang bosses they work for,’ the commissioner said. ‘No fucking way. Not on my watch. I want to see suspects nominated for our next meeting. And I want to know how we are going to nail them.’
He paused as he placed his hands on his hat. ‘I have to meet the Justice Minister now. He intends to speak to the media at the Department and wants me at his side. Then I’m travelling to meet the parents of that Williams girl and Garda Ciara Grant, and will then go to the hospital to see the family of Garda Peters. There will be a full State funeral for Garda Grant later in the week, once the pathologist is finished and the family confirm their intentions. I expect to see doors kicked in soon after that.’
He rose, setting off a ripple effect around the table.
As soon as the three commissioners left, the Chief walked over to Hall, followed by Tyrell. Hall could see them coming, but showed no anxiety.
‘Any particular reason you didn’t tell us last night what you had?’ the Chief said, his belly almost touching off Hall he stood so close.
Hall smiled at him. ‘Our information has only crystallised in the last couple of hours. This was our first opportunity.’
‘You could have told us before the meeting, not in front of Number One,’ Tyrell said.
Hall looked at him. ‘Don’t worry about how you look. As I said, this was our first opportunity. I’ve asked the National Criminal Intelligence Unit to supply you with any relevant information.’
‘What about these assets?’ Tyrell asked, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer. ‘Crims or undercover or what?’
‘In my area, the slightest bit of information one way or the other could be misinterpreted,’ Hall said, doing up the button of his jacket. ‘Better there is complete separation between intelligence and investigation. Leave us to gather the intel and let you get on with your job, which is to investigate.’
Hall walked leisurely to the door.
Tyrell disliked him even more now. Hall had a reputation. For arrogance, deviousness, even ruthlessness. But he was also smart.