Gangster (17 page)

Weeks before the murder, he addressed the cabinet, delivering a polished speech on drug trafficking and organised crime in preparation for Ireland’s presidency of the European Commission. Owen would later say he used the opportunity to interview himself for the job.

‘He made a very clear presentation to the cabinet when we were coming up to taking the presidency, because we knew we were making the whole fight—international drugs and crime—one of our major planks in the presidency. His briefing to the cabinet was very frank and upright. In a way he gave information to my colleagues that I would have had, but they wouldn’t have had—the networking of the drugs—and he gave facts and figures. It was a very graphic display of understanding and knowledge of the situation.’

His endeavours paid off on 10 July when Owen announced that he would succeed Culligan. With the new commissioner ready to take control, Owen put the Revenue and Garda under pressure; she wanted them to work together. At the same time, officials in her legal department were working unnatural hours rewriting O’Donoghue’s bill, which they renamed the Proceeds of Crime Act. Other laws enabled the Revenue to disclose information on tax and contribute to the envisaged agency which she called the Criminal Assets Bureau, CAB for short. The necessary laws were drafted in preparation for 25 July. Then just days before the emergency debate, the Government decided that a separate bill would be required to establish the Bureau on a statutory basis.

The crime debate commenced that afternoon in the Dáil with virtually every TD in attendance. It was a heated exchange in which the police and judiciary came under attack. Gay Mitchell, the Minister of State in the Taoiseach’s Department, was the most vocal. Many of his constituents had suffered at the hands of the drug barons; he was enraged. The crime problem, he said, was associated more with order than with law.

‘While the police should be fully supported we are entitled to require from it that its members behave in a totally impartial, non-political manner and keep their noses out of politics, whether they are members of Garda management or Garda trade unions. I would say publicly to the new Garda commissioner that I wish you well. You have a very difficult job, but please keep away from high-society receptions. We do not want to see you there. I want to see you out meeting the ordinary people in the community.’

The drama didn’t end there. ‘The judges have got away with murder for long enough. They have a well-remunerated, difficult job and are honourable, but they must be called to account. They should get out among the people whom they do not live among. We have had enough of their interfering with the legislature and the executive. The tail will have to be wagged a bit, and judges will have to change the way they do their business,’ he said.

There was no visible show of support for his speech, but there was a general consensus that what he was saying was what everyone thought, but hadn’t the courage to say. Across the road, in Buswell’s Hotel, the Dublin City Wide Campaign Against Drugs had gathered. Drug addicts and their parents from the communities worst ravaged by heroin made them-selves available to meet the Oireachtas and explain the roots of the crime problem. The meeting was a sincere and honest gesture wasted on the political establishment. Only 56 of the 226 legislators—a quarter—made the 30-yard walk across the road to the hotel.

Inside the Dáil chambers, things were a little more productive with six pieces of anti-crime law processed without any opposition. Four were passed, making the day’s sitting the most productive ever.

O’Donoghue, never a man to miss an opportunity—a common Fianna Fáil trait—reprimanded Owen. The Minister, he said, had made so many promises that ‘her long finger resembles Pinocchio’s nose’. Perhaps when he opened the next morning’s papers, where it was announced that Fachtna Murphy, the former head of the fraud squad, would front the CAB, he felt slightly embarrassed. Murphy was one of the few policemen capable of investigating serious financial fraud, though at that time his expertise was being wasted. In the age-old tradition of police bureaucracy, when he was promoted to the rank of chief superintendent, he was dispatched to Dún Laoghaire in south Dublin, where his talents at dissecting complex financial fraud were all but wasted. He only learned that Owen had earmarked him for the job when he opened the morning newspapers. He made a great effort not to enquire with his superiors to see if the reports were true, lest they view this as blind ambition.

Barry Galvin, the State Solicitor for County Cork, had already been approached to act as a legal advisor to the new squad. He had a satirical sense of humour, a typical trait for a lawyer, which masked a true sincerity for the victims of the drug epidemic. He had spent much of the previous two years campaigning for more Customs patrols of the south coast and for Garda management to deal competently with the drug barons. His correct analysis of the prevailing crime problem had made him a thorn in the side of police management, who were more than content to write him off as an agitator. For this reason, the Department of Justice reckoned he would be invaluable because he genuinely believed in retribution. His practice also specialised in debt collection.

The investigations into the murder were meanwhile gathering pace. Gilligan knew this was happening. His men on the ground scrutinised all media reports, they watched television bulletins and collected newspaper reports, which they phoned through to the boss daily. The object of the exercise was to establish the identities of those who were taken in for questioning. Once their identities were confirmed, Meehan would pay them a visit to ascertain what was said. The visits were also a form of intimidation and sent out a clear message. Gilligan may have been miles away in Amsterdam but he was still in control, albeit from the shadows.

The Guerin investigation had developed a high profile in the media through leaks to selected journalists aimed at putting the fear of God into the prime suspect. The truth was, it was going nowhere. Hickey was exhausting every avenue of investigation and getting no results. Then at the end of July it came together, accidentally.

Meehan had dumped the bike used for the assassination in a shallow stretch of the Liffey along the Strawberry Beds. He followed instructions to the letter and broke up the bike. In the summer months, the river swells and submerges with the release of water by a hydroelectric plant upstream. Notwithstanding this, wildlife flourishes on the river, which draws walkers, anglers and joggers who spend their spare time on the banks. On the morning of 29 June, the river was particularly low, and a habitual walker who strolled down the riverside paths saw a motorcycle immersed below the waterline. When he got home he rang the gardaí in Lucan. They took the details, thanked him for the call but did nothing. After two weeks of police inaction, he decided to take the bike out himself. He went down to the river on 9 July, entered the water and lifted the parts on to the bank. Someone saw him and, suspecting he was up to no good, called the gardaí who arrived minutes later. He recounted his story to them. They took the bike away to see if it had been reported stolen. Tracing the bike’s owner in the police stolen-vehicle register took time.

More important than this development, though, was the secret work being carried out by detectives from Crime and Security, the Garda’s spying department. They were charged with tracing calls made from Gilligan’s mobile telephone in the days proceeding 26 June. There were hundreds of calls, some to local numbers, others international. The detectives sifted through this labyrinth of numbers, eventually compiling a comprehensive picture of the people Gilligan talked to.

This element of the inquiry was kept secret from the press, as were the workings of Operation Pineapple, which had gathered so much intelligence on Gilligan that Carty decided to mount an all-out strike. He was aware that Geraldine had started withdrawing hundreds of thousands of pounds from her various accounts before they could be frozen. The Pineapple team had served orders under Section 3 of the Criminal Justice Act on the Bank of Ireland in Lucan obliging them to reveal details of the accounts. The documentation the detectives received made shocking reading. Between 24 and 29 July, she withdrew in four transactions IR£85,000 from one account she held in her maiden name, Matilda Dunne. This left a balance of IR£472.69.

She withdrew IR£10,000 and IR£40,000 from two separate accounts on 26 July. Three days later, on 29 July, she withdrew IR£21,000 in two transactions from the same two accounts.

After four months of working in absolute secrecy, the Pineapple team arrived at the gates of Jessbrook at 9 a.m. on 30 July. They cordoned off the roads, took over the equestrian centre and prepared for an assault. When everyone was in place, one detective pressed the intercom button at the main gates, awakening her from her sleep. When she answered, a small convoy of unmarked patrol cars flanked by squad cars flew up the driveway. At the same time, a dozen officers entered the house without saying a word or giving her time to ask questions. They began sifting through every drawer, box and cupboard. They found financial records, account files, commerce books, diaries and bank statements—items of significant importance. The equestrian centre was ransacked. Accounting files and receipts were removed and put in clear plastic bags marked ‘evidence’.

She didn’t make any attempt to interfere. She decided her best course of action was to play the fool. When one garda noticed a photograph of Gilligan and Traynor pinned to a wall in the kitchen, he asked Geraldine if she knew Traynor. She fumbled for her glasses before asking, ‘Who is it?’ For good measure, she returned to the Bank of Ireland the following morning and transferred IR£49,988.11 into one account opened in the name of Jessbrook. She then closed down the account.

The Money Laundering Investigation Unit took the papers found during the search because CAB was not functioning as the Government wished. For one, Murphy didn’t even have an office. With Galvin by his side, they worked furiously to get CAB operational. Murphy also had no staff, although he knew the type of team he wanted. He approached the commissioner and asked if he could hand-pick a team. This was a bold move, for in the Garda, senior officers rarely make demands or seek autonomy. Byrne, however, obliged. The list Murphy had compiled was made up of detectives who worked in the Money Laundering Investigation Unit. Others were taken aboard because they happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Officials from the State’s Social Welfare and Revenue services were not that enthusiastic about joining. Revenue found it difficult to get applicants for the job, which civil servants considered dangerous. The Department of Finance offered a financial incentive of IR£1,600 annual allowance to encourage people to apply.

But these were only teething problems. The CAB still had no statutory powers, its role was uncertain and the laws under which it operated had still not been passed. In other words, Murphy could investigate crime and collate financial intelligence on Gilligan, but always with his hands tied behind his back. On hearing about the possibility that her accounts might be frozen, Geraldine had effectively cleared them out. Murphy went directly to Owen and outlined the problems he foresaw. If he thought there was a problem, there was none, for Owen set about drafting the extra legislation needed to make the Bureau work.

When Donal Ó Siodhacháin read the newspaper reports tying Gilligan to Guerin’s killing, he was intrigued. From his conversations with Gilligan in bygone years, he could not believe the man was capable of running an international drugs cartel, although if there was ever a graduate in the science of criminal cunning, Gilligan would have a first-class degree.

Ó Siodhacháin had watched the story unfold step by step in the press with great interest. He could not reconcile himself to the notion that the man he had fought a civil rights case for years earlier was now a drug trafficker, nor that he had colossal wealth, judging by the most recent reports which disclosed that the police had seized IR£21,000 from Gilligan’s brother, Thomas, that week.

Out of curiosity more than anything else, he called Jessbrook and asked to speak to Geraldine. ‘Tell her its Donal and Pat,’ he said. There was a long silence as one of the workers left the phone unattended. Minutes later, she picked up the phone. The two parties spoke little, aware the call was probably being monitored, but agreed to meet the next day in the Green Isle Hotel. Geraldine arrived, followed by a plain-clothes detective whom Ó Siodhacháin and his partner Pat Herron quickly identified as they mingled in the hotel lobby. They went over to a quiet corner. She ordered tea and sandwiches.

Before he got the chance to speak, she declared that Gilligan was innocent. ‘He’s been framed. Why would he kill her if he was due in court with her?’ she declared.

Her analysis seemed reasonable, and he urged her to talk to the press and recommended that Gilligan do likewise. He suggested that she return to the hotel the next day at the same time where he would be waiting with a journalist.

She did. That journalist was this author. The next day, she repeated her assertions that Gilligan was an innocent man. She then dialled her mobile phone, walked six steps away, mumbling into the phone, then handed the phone to me. Gilligan then spoke: ‘I’m doing this because Donie is the only one who ever done anything for me for nothing,’ he said.

That weekend on Sunday, 11 August, the
Sunday Business Post
carried an interview with Gilligan. Far from being shy, he was upfront about his life as a gangster, practically bragging about his life in crime. ‘Anyone with big money can order an assassination. You don’t have to be a criminal. I could have ordered it but I didn’t. I had no hand, act or part in it.’

He was still furious about the cash seizure from his brother. ‘The gardaí may have won round one, but they won’t win round two in the courts. That money came from a bank account in Lucan. It was to pay the builders because they didn’t want cheques in case the accounts got frozen. I have no doubt in my mind, I will get that money back for my wife.’