Free Gangster by John Mooney Page B

confrontation was their first resort.
    Nevertheless, Gilligan was clear-sighted about his situation. He wanted back into crime. He knew drug trafficking was the gateway to certain riches and he wanted his slice of the burgeoning market. Listening to Meehan and his tales of the wealth that narcotics could provide had convinced him of that. But he had three obstacles: lack of cash, muscle and a partner.

    John Traynor was one of Dublin’s most celebrated criminals. Gilligan had known Traynor since his youth when the latter worked for Irish Shipping, later getting involved in the Seaman’s Union whilst Gilligan was at sea. Traynor, in Gilligan’s view, was a militant criminal and had the trophies to prove it. For a start he was wealthy. He was also a man who could be relied upon because of his impeccable criminal credentials. The Coach, as he was sometimes called, had been in trouble with the law all his life. He was first charged for housebreaking at nine years of age and he went on to amass over a dozen convictions, ranging from housebreaking to possession of firearms and ammunition in the following years. He was a portly looking man who maintained many mistresses whilst supporting a wife and family. He could socialise with anyone from the petty thief to the banking executive. With his middle-class accent, large frame and casual appearance, he could carry off elaborate deceptions. Duplicity was an art form at which he excelled.
    His most glorious moment as far as Gilligan was concerned had come years earlier when he relieved the Revenue Commissioners of close to IR£1 million. Traynor had recruited an insider who stole confidential lists containing the names and addresses of people due to receive tax rebates. His magic trick was simply to change the address of the payee to the address of his laundry on Aungier Street. No sooner would the cheque arrive than it would be endorsed and cashed at another location—a pub, shop or bank. When the gardaí finally caught up with him he responded by issuing threats.
    Detective Garda Dominic Hearns, who investigated the crime, named him as being the brains behind the scam in a subsequent court case. ‘Traynor is a major fraud criminal known to travel the world and is away at present,’ he said. That he was named in court was bad enough, but when his name appeared in the following morning’s newspapers, Traynor’s impulsive nature prompted him to call Hearns directly and issue threats. He was in hospital at the time and made the call from his bed, specifying that he would kill the policeman if he should ever mention his name again.
    Gilligan approved of such recourse. He saw in Traynor a viciousness coupled with respectability. Of course, what Gilligan could not see was his dual personae—that of the informer, a criminal willing to negotiate his way out of anything. This was the secret side to Traynor.
    In 1992, he was asked by Scotland Yard and the gardaí to ‘assist’ with their inquiries into the theft of art from Russborough House in Wicklow. Martin Cahill, the criminal forever known as the General, had stolen the paintings.
    The Coach was just two years into a seven-year sentence imposed for handling when he was mysteriously granted a weekend pass from prison. Once released, he quickly made his way to Dublin. The gardaí soon began locating the stolen paintings. Traynor was also instrumental in securing the safe return of some 145 files stolen from the offices of the Director of Public Prosecutions, files of a highly sensitive nature that Cahill had also stolen. These were ‘found’ in a disused launderette in Arbour Hill in Dublin.
    All this was lost on Gilligan, although he was certainly aware of Traynor’s unusual sexual habits. The Coach engaged in several relationships with prostitutes. The affairs were not simply of a sexual nature; they were perverse. His girlfriends worked in brothels where they offered a variety of sexual services to clients, whom Traynor