Pat Flynn - Catherine and Friends. Inside the Investigation Into Irelands Most Notorious Murder

I t had been a good St Patricks weekend. I was the garda superintendent with responsibility for Gorey Garda District, County Wexford, and I was not on call that particular weekend. I was also looking forward to a holiday in Sicily, with my girlfriend. As I was getting into bed, I glanced at the alarm clock and telephone on the bedside locker. No need to set the alarm this time: a lie-in was very much on the cards. The telephone was a different kettle of fish: that would never be taken off the hook, day or night. I was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of the phone ringing, and glanced apprehensively at the alarm clock, which indicated it was 4.45 AM . Past experience would suggest that this was trouble.

Garda Tony Ryan, of Arklow Garda Station, was on the phone. Superintendent Flynn, you had better get up to Jack Whites straight away. Tom Nevin has been shot, and Catherine was tied up. Is he dead? I enquired. Yes, came the quick reply. My usual standard of dress, be it uniform or civilian attire (consisting of a neat suit or, alternatively, a sports jacket and slacks), seemed of little importance, so I slipped quickly into a white pullover and slacks, and set out from Gorey to Jack Whites pub, in Arklow, County Wicklow, a distance of seventeen miles.

En route to Jack Whites Inn, I tried to grasp the magnitude of Garda Ryans message that a murder had been committed within the garda district for which I had responsibility. A murder, and its subsequent investigation, is not a welcome visitor to any garda superintendent, especially one in charge of a country district. With luck, a country garda superintendent might expect a murder-free tenure. I was not one of the lucky ones: this would be my third murder investigation in the space of a few years. Neither of the others had aroused such national, and even international, interest as did the murder of Tom Nevin. One was committed during a weekend motorcycle rally, and the other involved a domestic dispute in which a son was convicted of the murder of his father.

I instinctively knew that this investigation would be a minefield. Catherine Nevin, the wife of the murdered man, had crossed swords with many of the local Garda, and had made serious allegations against Garda Vincent Whelan and Michael Murphy. Not surprisingly, relations between Catherine and some Arklow-based Garda was little short of poisonous. However, the situation with regard to some high-ranking officers in An Garda Sochna was entirely different. She regarded some of those, especially former Inspector Tom Kennedy, as very good friends of hers.

When Catherine and Tom Nevin first took possession of Jack Whites Inn, relations between them and the local Garda could not have been better. It was known as a Garda house at least until Catherine threw a cat among the pigeons with her complaints. This was the situation I knew awaited me on 19 March 1996. Adding to Catherines distrust of the local Garda was her distrust of myself. She had unsuccessfully tried to get me on side with drink and meals (not to mention gifts of shellfish), but all to no avail.

There was a noticeable Garda presence and an ambulance outside Jack Whites pub when I arrived. Garda Martin McAndrew and Paul Cummiskey, who were the first Garda to arrive at the scene, met me on arrival. A quick look at the front exterior of the premises didnt reveal any noticeable signs of a forced entry. I noticed that the front hall door was slightly ajar, and was informed by Garda McAndrew that it was in the same position then as when they had arrived at the scene. Perhaps entry, or indeed exit, by those responsible was via this door.

The sounds of a woman moaning were clearly audible. I entered and saw Catherine Nevin in a room just off the hall. Her attitude was certainly not what I had expected from a woman who had undergone an ordeal. First, she just stared at me with a contemptuous look. Aware of Catherines feelings towards me, there wasnt any point in trying to engage her in conversation. I sympathised with her, and asked if I could be of any assistance. She continued to stare at me, and did not reply.

There was something surreal about Catherines behaviour, which had nothing to do with her obvious distrust of me. She was displaying no emotions or grief, and was certainly not in shock. Most strikingly, there was no visible indication that this was a woman who was shattered by the murder of her beloved husband. After some minutes, it was obvious that my presence was irritating rather than helping Catherine, so I left her in the company of Detective Joe Collins.

Another example of Catherines strange behaviour was her later request to be given a phone, as she wished to make an urgent phone call. She was not permitted to use any of the phones available on the premises until the technical examination had been completed. She shouted: Get me a phone, get me a fucking phone, now, at once, do you understand? She was given a phone and made her call.

Garda McAndrews and Cummiskey described the scene when they arrived at 4.45 AM : Cummiskey noticed a light on in a window at the gable end of the pub Catherines bedroom. A light was also on in the hallway. The front door leading into the hall was slightly open. The latch on this door was in the normal position, suggesting that if the door had been pulled, it would have closed.

Both Garda saw Catherine behind the hall door, sitting on the ground with her hands tied behind her back. She was wearing a purple-coloured silk nightshirt and white panties. In a low, barely audible voice, she said: He came into the bedroom. He had a knife, and a hood over his head. Without any effort, McAndrew released a blue dressing-gown belt tied around Catherines wrists. Much more difficult to remove were coloured cloth headbands, also tied around her wrists. Cummiskey got a knife and cut the ties. He noticed red marks on her wrists when they were removed. There was also a nylon stocking hanging loosely around her neck, and this had been holding a pair of black panties that had been used as a gag.

Having made his way to Catherines bedroom, Cummiskey noticed that the main ceiling light was on. The phone on the bedside locker was off the hook and the receiver was on the ground. There was a glass containing what appeared to be spirits on the floor beside the bed. The bedroom was untidy, with items of clothing and books of varying descriptions scattered about. The room, according to the staff, always looked untidy. Outside on the landing was a black portable TV, resting against the banister.

At no stage when Iwas present did Catherine enquire from either Garda as to the whereabouts of Tom. This, I thought, was rather strange.

On entering the kitchen area, the Garda saw the body of Tom Nevin, lying on his back. It was then 4.50 AM and, having found no pulse, they presumed that Tom was dead a fact later confirmed by Dr Nicholas Buggle of Arklow. They kept the scene intact for expert examination.

Anxious to elicit any useful information, Cummiskey resumed conversation with Catherine, and asked her if she could give a description of her attackers. She was adamant that there had been only one. Catherine told McAndrews: The man that tied me up said Wheres the jewellery? several times.

Having a clearer picture, I carried out a preliminary examination of the area, concentrating on the main building and outhouses. There was no evidence of a forced entry, as all windows and doors were intact. This was difficult for me to comprehend at that early stage. If there had been no forced entry, then the intruder (or intruders) would have to have been either concealed on the premises prior to the murder, or admitted by someone after the pub had been secured at closing time.

I visited the kitchen where Toms body was lying. Immediately of interest to me was the fact that Toms glasses were resting on his nose in the reading position, and a biro was clasped between the fingers of his right hand. He was lying on his back with his feet facing the door, and a stool was lying upturned beside his left leg. A pool of blood was visible under the bodys right side. He was wearing a dark blue jacket, dark grey slacks, and a multicoloured jumper.