Conrad Bauer - Shergar: A True Crime Story of Kidnapping, Racehorse and Politics

Shergar

A True Crime Story of Kidnapping, Racehorse and Politics

Conrad Bauer

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Ask anyone in Great Britain or Ireland about famous racehorses, and theyll likely have only one name to tell you: Shergar. At his peak, Shergar was one of the most elegant, powerful, and successful racehorses in the history of the sport. By the time he retired, his reputation alone was enough to earn huge amounts of money. But then, one cold night, he vanished. Kidnapped. Stolen by a group of masked men. The heist quickly became an international sensation, attracting attention from around the world. Everyone wanted to know.

Who kidnapped Shergar?

And the mystery has continued to the present day. Still a cold case, picking apart the Gordian knot of Shergars disappearance involves everything from bad business deals to domestic terrorism. The Irish Republican Army has been accused of being at the center of the plot, arriving as it did amid the Troubles in the country. Occurring during one of the most turbulent times in the history of Ireland, the kidnapping of one of the nations sporting heroes was not only front-page news, it was intrinsically linked to the political situation in the country. As the kidnappers issued their demands and the owners tried desperately to get their horse back, the situation sank deeper and deeper into tragedy before the trail went cold.

In this book, we will look into the complicated and fascinating disappearance of Shergar. We will examine the delicate domestic situation in Ireland and probe just how this battle with the British might have spilled over into the sport of kings. We will look at the people who became embroiled in the plot on every side, and we will try to uncover the truth behind one of the worlds strangest kidnapping cases. By the end of this book, we just might know what happened to the horse named Shergar.

The sun had already set over the yard. It was a February night in County Kildare, which meant the evening drew in quick behind a thick blanket of clouds. There was no rain that night, and by 20:30 that evening, there was still a little bit of light lingering over the stables. As might be expected out in the countryside, the sounds were almost entirely natural. Owls, wind, even the occasional fox. Every now and then there was a burst of breath from one of the horses housed in the buildings. These were not normal horses. Now securely shut up behind lock and key, these were racehorses. Whats more, they were winning racehorses. Their calling out in the night was not the same, natural sounds that echoed around the Irish countryside. They were pampered, cared for, and indulged. These were champions, horses who had proved themselves against the rest of the world. Now living in semi-retirement, their duty was simply to procreate, to bring forth more race-winning horses into the world. Along with the clang and clatter of usual yard work, the horses would whisper and bluster, clapping their hooves against the ground. Tonight, however, they were silent.

County Kildare by day

The stable yard was dead. The biting cold had taken its toll, forcing the horses into an early night and driving the grooms into their homes. Once all the horses had been put into their stalls, James Fitzgerald had been more than happy to close the door behind him. His house was located near the stables, conveniently close to the horses should any need arise. Tasked with caring for some of the very best horses in Irish racing history, he took his job very seriously. With the incredible value attached to these creatures, the owners were pleased to have found someone who could provide the very best care. By this time in the night, James had gone into the home he shared with his family. Thinking himself done, James entered his home, greeted his family, and began to relax. There might be a need to go back into the yard at some point, but with the cold and the dark the way it was, he hoped that his work was done.

As James began to settle into his evening, he did not hear the Ford Granada pulling into the yard. The tires rolled slowly over the concrete, dragging a heavy horse trailer behind. The lights were dimmed in the yard, everyone apparently having gone to bed. The car and trailer crawled to a halt in front of the stables. The car doors opened. Out stepped a gang of men.

Back inside the grooms home, James twitched. He had a nagging sensation that he had heard something in the yard, but it seemed that it had stopped. It might just have been a trick of the night. It might have been a car. If it was, then there would be a knock shortly. But the noise seemed to have stopped. James forgot about the sound, turning back to his family and their evening at hand.

At 20:40, there was a sharp knock at the door. Jamess son, Bernard Fitzgerald, ran to answer it. As he pulled open the door, the cold of the night rushed into the hallway, drawing up and around a tall figure wearing a policemans uniform. The man was dressed head to toe as one of the Irish Garda, including a thick balaclava placed over his face. It was an understandable concession to the cruel February temperatures. Before Bernard could ask anything, there was a grumbling voice from behind the black fabric.

Is he in?

Bernard instantly assumed it would be a call for his father. It might be something to do with the horses. Or his car, maybe? It could have been the police bringing bad news. The thoughts rushed through Bernards head as he turned from the door and began to move back down the hallway. He didnt get far. As the boy turned, the figure in black whipped out an arm and struck him across the small of his back. The blow knocked the boy to the floor with a bang. It was enough to rouse James from his seat, and the groom came running into the hall.