Cracking the Case
Cracking the Case
Inside the mind of a top garda chief superintendent
christy mangan
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Copyright © Christy Mangan, 2023
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I dedicate this book to the memory of Sergeant Frank O’Neill, Serious Crime Review Team, a true detective.
Foreword
Barry Cummins, author and security correspondent, RTÉ Primetime
Christy Mangan was at the coalface of Irish policing for forty years. From his initial time as a uniformed o cer in Dublin to his detective duties in the fledgling National Drugs Unit and right through to him heading up the first ever garda cold-case unit, Christy has had a significant impact on Irish society and made this country a safer place. He has given the Irish state more than some service.
From investigating murderous gang activity to reinvestigating historic unsolved murder cases, Christy shone a light on victims and their families. A professional with a human touch, he listened to people, treated suspects with civility, and always investigated crime with an open and thorough mind.
I have a vivid memory of standing close to Ballybough Bridge early on the morning of 31 March 2005. Late the previous night, news had broken about the discovery of a dismembered body in the water of the Royal Canal. The whole area was sealed o , and I was one of the many members of the press kept behind a cordon, filming and reporting from first light. I remember Christy as the local detective inspector arriving with fellow o cers that
morning. The scene was a hive of activity, with the Garda Technical Bureau and the dog unit going about their business. The meticulous work by gardaí that day was similar to what they do at so many other upsetting crime scenes that they must preserve and then investigate. The work, along with follow-up searches, would eventually lead to the solving of the murder of Farah Swaleh Noor.
I remember Christy and his colleagues attending the funeral of Farah Swaleh Noor. I was filming a report on the funeral for RTÉ News. We gathered at Sta ord’s Funeral Home on Amiens Street, and I watched the garda o cers who were in the middle of investigating this complex and distressing case stand silently, respectfully, as the murder victim’s remains were removed for burial at Glasnevin Cemetery. It was a case that saw Christy and colleagues make use of the media to make public appeals that bore fruit. Throughout the subsequent arrest and charging of the perpetrators, I saw Christy and his team operate in a firm, fair, e ective and humane manner.
Christy always recognized that crimes are not only committed by all types of people, but crimes are solved by the assistance of all types of people too. The human mind is complex. As Christy outlines in this wonderful book, so many people are capable of violence, given the right (or wrong) circumstances. We all have frailties; we all have trigger points. On the flip side, most of us have a conscience. Most of us want to see wrongs made right. Most of us want to assist in doing right by our neighbour, our friend, our family. Most of us want to assist gardaí and see crimes solved. Some of us want to do that in confidence, and Christy Mangan recognized that very early on in his career.
As this book shows, Christy always remembered the
victims. From Christopher Payne, who died six months after being attacked by a gang in Crumlin in 1988; to Irene White, stabbed to death in her kitchen in Dundalk in 2005; to Keane Mulready-Woods, a child murdered by a gang in Drogheda in 2020, Christy has always been respectful of the dead, and dedicated to catching the people who caused those deaths.
Christy has investigated over one hundred murders. He has led teams of detectives in striving to catch killers. Some cases he has helped solve, bringing some solace, some justice, to grieving families. Other cases, despite the best e orts of Christy and his colleagues, have not been solved. Despite those disappointments, families will know that every stone was turned, every lead followed. Sometimes, as in the case of the murder of Rita Ponsford, outlined in this book, time caught up with a suspected killer before Christy did. Other times, suspects remain at large, but the file has been left in proper order for another dedicated detective to pick up the mantle in the future, if new leads emerge.
Christy Mangan was a leader of women and men in An Garda Síochána. From his work with the community in Dublin’s north inner city, where he worked as detective inspector, he policed from the front. He worked with community leaders, he recognized the proud community that had been beset by decades of neglect and deprivation. He sat with families and listened; he treated people with respect.
In his work heading up the Serious Crime Review Team, he inspired colleagues who wanted to bring fresh eyes and minds to historic unsolved murder cases. And as this book outlines, the ‘cold case’ unit did great work. It solved cases
where files had rested on shelves for far too long. It brought justice to some families, decades after their tragic loss. It allowed some murder victims to finally rest in peace. And the legacy of Christy’s work continues, with the current Serious Crime Review Team working through murder cases, including the very troubling cases of women who vanished in Leinster in the nineties.
There are so many other cases where victims have been remembered and honoured by Christy and his team. Nancy Smyth was murdered in Kilkenny in 1987. Her killer tried to set fire to her home to make it look like Nancy had died accidentally. But the fire didn’t take hold and the evidence of a murder was found when gardaí entered the property. Nancy’s killer had evaded justice for thirty years. But he was charged with murder following a cold-case review by detectives in Kilkenny, who in turn were acting on recommendations made by Christy and his colleagues in the Serious Crime Review Team. A jury convicted the killer of murder.
There are so many cases like that of Nancy Smyth –victims whose lives were ended before their time and whose violent deaths have remained unsolved for far too long. Gardaí have done immense work in many cases to get justice for people, sometimes after decades. We need more of this work that re-examines the Ireland of yesteryear and seeks justice for those no longer with us.
Many of the cases I’ve reported on have been cases Christy had an input into. Among his many roles was that of senior investigating o cer in many serious criminal cases. As he outlines in this book, being the SIO can be a lonely road when the work piles high and the pressures mount.
Christy has worked through a changed and changing police force. When he retired in 2022, the work of An Garda Síochána was very much still the same as when he entered the gates of Templemore forty years earlier. Yes, strides have been made – for instance, there is now a DNA database, phone triangulation and greater CCTV systems. But the work of a beat o cer or a detective – or a chief superintendent, as Christy was when he retired – remains the same. Speaking with people. Listening to people. Serving the community. Serving this country.
Go raibh míle maith agat, Chief Superintendent Christy Mangan, as ucht an seirbhís. Thank you for your service in An Garda Síochána, and thank you for putting it down in print. This is an important read about Irish life: our people, our police force, and about how many a case was cracked.
Introduction: Pass No Remarks
I entered the gates of the Garda Training College in Templemore on 26 July 1982. I was just twenty years old and, on reflection, too young to be joining such a robust organization, but over time, in the course of dealing with many sensitive and violent situations, I would learn the valuable life skills needed.
Joining An Garda Síochána was a life-changer for me. People view police through a di erent lens, but as a garda you are always a garda, in all situations. Even in social situations, you are sought out to resolve matters, and everything you say or do is judged as a garda. There is no o duty. Expectations of members of An Garda Síochána are high, and often issues arising in the organization are tasked to members by their friends, community and relatives. The garda member may have no knowledge of the situation, but they are somehow deemed responsible for resolving it. It is something that has not changed in my forty years in the job, and in order to deal with these challenging situations I developed a mantra of PNR – pass no remarks. In other words, do not react negatively to the anger coming my way for something that has nothing to do with me.
I was born the fourth of six children in March 1962, a freezing, snowy day, as my mother reminds me every year, in our small cottage in Dunshaughlin. My father was from Dunshaughlin and my mother hailed from Moynalvey, so
being a Meath man through and through was confirmed by being born at home. My father, Oliver, was a good, hard-working man who su ered a heart attack in his early forties, which greatly impacted on his ability to work. This meant our family life changed, and we all had to work hard as children, particularly in the spring and summer months, in the small garden centre at the back of our home. It was normal to work between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m. with my brothers Gerard and Richard and my sisters Claire-Marie and Patricia and then go to school, and once returned home from school repeat the tasks to close up for the day. Growing all the flowers and plants from seed meant that sowing seeds and protecting them from the elements was a big part of the day. Money was tight and, as a family, we worked to support each other throughout the seventies. But such was life and we all got on with it, and through the work ethic taught by my mam and dad we were kept on the straight and narrow and all went on to forge our own paths in life. My mother, Clare, was a most industrious woman, who worked every God-given hour to make sure us children lived life to the best of our abilities. And although life in Ireland in the sixties and seventies was tough, I have happy memories of my father playing the accordion and the many singsongs at home.
A formative event in my young life that certainly had an impact on my choice of career was when, as a youngster of no more than five years old, an elderly neighbour died and the wake was held in her home, a typical two-up two-down terrace house. The deceased was laid out in the co n in an upstairs bedroom. I mingled in with the crowd and I was fascinated to see how a dead person looked – and more importantly, I wondered how they would get the co n
down the stairs. As I approached the co n, my Uncle Mannix, who was attending the wake, gave me a clip around the ear and told me to get the hell out of the house. Later, as a teenager, I worked with the local undertaker in Dunshaughlin, McEntaggart’s, where I made co ns and helped with digging graves. As a result, I gained an early insight into death and how it a ects people in a myriad ways.
My first trip to Croke Park in 1970 cemented my lifelong interest in all things GAA . My Uncle Bill packed me, my brother Gerard and a few others into his car and o we went to see Meath play O aly, and Meath won by a point. I attended the local national school, St Seachnall’s. In those days, teachers were strict – the cane came out often; it always hurt, but I didn’t flinch. On one occasion my father saw red after one particular beating – he was an imposing man with a week’s beard growth and an angry demeanour, and that day he was not to be trifled with when he arrived at the school to confront the teacher. I did not get slapped or caned in school after that.
For secondary school I was sent o to Navan to St Patrick’s Classical School, where I made plenty of friends. One day in March 1976 I decided to take an uno cial day o – it was called being ‘on the bounce’. I headed for the ramparts near the River Boyne with a friend. We were messing along the river and he fell in; thankfully, he was a strong swimmer so he managed to scramble out, but as he was soaked to the skin we decided I would go to his house to get him dry clothes. On my way back to the ramparts I was stopped in my tracks by an armed robbery: a gang of heavily armed men was robbing the local bank. One of the raiders had his gun pointed towards me, signalling me not to move, and as he was doing this I spotted my older sister,
Patricia, across the street in her Mercy Convent uniform. The robbery was over in minutes and the raiders sped away. I got out of there as fast as I could and carried on with my journey to deliver the fresh clothes to my drenched friend. This was my first ever interaction with armed robbers, but it was not to be my last.
That day I realized that you should always be where you are supposed to be. I should not have been on Trimgate Street that day; I was supposed to be in class and would have been but for a silly schoolboy notion to avoid school. It could have been so di erent, and needless to say I never missed a day after that. Later that evening I listened intently as my sister informed my parents of what she had seen in Navan that day. I, due to the fact that I was on the bounce, couldn’t open my mouth! That bank robbery gained attention in the media. It was a big deal at that time: the bank manager had been held captive and the raiders took £28,000. The local sergeant, Brendan Keys, who was o duty, tried to intervene, and one of the raiders had fired three shots at the sergeant, narrowly missing him. Sergeant Keys was later awarded a bronze Scott Medal for his work that day. The raiders were eventually apprehended and charged with attempted murder and armed robbery.
When I left secondary school in 1980 there was no money for college – it was out to work and find your way in life, as many others had to do. There was absolutely no history of policing in the Mangan family until I joined in 1982, along with over a thousand men and women that year. I started a new trend: my sister Laura and my daughter Emily and son Niall are all members of An Garda Síochána now! My youngest daughter, Jayne, started another trend
by becoming the first member of the Mangan family to join the teaching profession.
My decision to become a guard despite the lack of family connection to the organization was probably influenced by the many games of handball I used to play as a teenager in the local handball alley, which just happened to be next door to the garda barracks in Dunshaughlin. Sergeant Seamus Magee, a keen player, was someone I particularly admired for the way in which he dealt with people: he was a kind but strong character who made sure we as teenagers toed the line, and he is someone I credit with my decision to join the organization.
My first posting after six months of gruelling but enjoyable training, in December 1982, was to Sundrive Road – I had never heard of the place and initially thought it was in Cavan or on the border. I soon realized that I was going to Crumlin, in south Dublin, and this was to be my workplace for the next ten years. It was a tough, uncompromising station: you either learned how to fight, and how to defend yourself from criminals, or you left with a sore jaw for a posting in a less busy area.
A unique feature of Sundrive Road was the large German shepherd permanently stationed at the front door. The dog was a stray who had been cruelly treated by a previous owner and so we adopted him as our police dog. He slept at the station and we fed him and paid for his licence and vet bills. We named him Wolf, and for years he came out on every beat with me, night and day, and was truly a great protector to us all.
One night in Drimnagh I was attacked by seven thugs who thought it would be a good idea to beat the hell out of the culchie garda. I pulled the baton to defend myself
after radioing for help. I thought I was doing okay until I got a bottle to the side of the head; then I realized this was a tough one. I ended up on the ground with a few kicks and, just as I had one of them by the throat, I saw Wolf biting and snapping at the rear of two of them as the rest fled the scene.
With great delight, Wolf and I held on to the prisoner and took him to Sundrive Road. I met him in court later that morning and saw him limping. When I asked him politely what had happened to him, he replied, ‘I don’t know, but my arse is killing me,’ and apologized for his drunken attack. He was later charged with breach of the peace and common assault. That row with the criminals in Drimnagh became part of local folklore, and I gained a lot of respect for having stood toe to toe with them. I had a lot to thank Wolf for that night!
During the eighties, the G District, as it is known (Crumlin, Sundrive, Walkinstown, Kimmage and Drimnagh), became gripped by a heroin epidemic. It was a grim, bleak time and the local communities su ered badly as many young people died, either from suicide or drug overdose. Many other children grew into a life of crime and lost years to prison. It was the first generation lost to drugs that I had seen in my police service.
Some incidents will always stay in my mind. One of these, early on in my time at Sundrive, happened in 1983 when I was called out to Lower Crumlin following a death. I remember it was a beautiful, crisp, frosty winter’s morning, and I walked to the address, a two-up two-down corporation house. I noticed the devastation in the eyes of the parents as the dad led me in silence through the small house and out to a shed in the back garden, where I saw a
young male around the same age as me, hanging from the ceiling. I took him down and laid him out as respectfully as I could on the cold shed floor. Dad was inconsolable and Mam could not come near the shed. I too was in shock. This was the first suicide I had dealt with in my short career, but I would go on to deal with many more. Suicides are particularly hard to process, and the tragedy of every one of them has never left me.
I later found out the backstory. The young man was a heroin addict and had stolen his mother’s jewellery to fund his habit, so his dad had thrown him out of the house. The young man then took his own life. I remember clearly asking the doctor I summoned to call the time of death – which is always done for the purposes of a coroner’s inquest or a criminal trial – why someone would do such a thing. He replied, ‘It’s when the pain of living outweighs the pain of dying, when it’s easier to go than to stay.’ I never forgot what he said to me. That tragic scene and many others like it stay with you, no matter how hard you try to leave them behind. Along with other di cult memories, they tend to pop up in your mind at the most unusual moments.
The G District was populated by many serious-calibre criminals who, given the chance, would not hesitate to hurt or kill you. It is no coincidence that the G District holds one of the highest number of An Garda Síochána’s medal for bravery, the Walter Scott Medal, in the state.
The Walter Scott Medal has an interesting history. In 1923, the Honorary Commissioner of the New York City Police and well-known philanthropist it is named after presented An Garda Síochána, then the world’s youngest police force, with a $1,000 gold bond. There was only one condition attached to the award of the Scott Medal: ‘No
action, however heroic, will merit the award of the Scott Medal unless it takes the shape of an act of personal bravery, performed intelligently in the execution of duty at imminent risk to the life of the doer, and armed with full previous knowledge of the risk involved.’
Despite its prestige, a Scott Medal is not an award that a police o cer seeks out – the recipient will have endured a life-threatening experience. Some members of An Garda Síochána have been awarded their medal posthumously, and a considerable number of other recipients have been severely injured.
Historically, the G District had a high rate of drug abuse, as it bordered with Dolphin’s Barn, which also had serious drug issues. Both areas had high levels of unemployment. There were also a number of well-known, violent criminals living in the area.
One morning, Christmas Eve 1986, I readied myself for the 2–10 p.m. Christmas Eve shift, calling out, ‘See you later!’ to my wife, Deirdre, as I left our house.
‘Don’t forget to get me a Christmas card!’ she quipped. (As it happened, I had already bought her Christmas present, but yes, I had forgotten the card.)
I paraded for duty in Sundrive Road at 1.45 p.m. We were briefed for our eight hours ahead and warned that it was expected to be a very busy evening. My partner, Michael Minogue, and I dealt with the usual calls and, mid-afternoon, while it was relatively quiet, decided to drive up to a small shop on Galtymore Road in Drimnagh to see if I could get a Christmas card there – I had tried the Crumlin Shopping Centre earlier but the crowds had been so bad that I’d left. On our way, we received a radio call from garda command
and control that an armed robbery had taken place in Walkinstown involving a number of armed men in a black, English-registered car that was now speeding towards the Drimnagh area. Just as we drove up Galtymore Road we spotted the car outside the line of shops.
I drove the patrol car right up to the front of the car to jam it in; we jumped out and Mick Minogue ran around the back of the getaway car. As he did so the driver of the stolen car reversed, trapping Mick against a parked car.
I was at this stage trying to break the passenger window of the stolen car, but my timber baton was no match for it. I thought Garda Minogue was dead or seriously injured, but as the two masked and armed gunmen ran from the shop towards the stolen car Mick rose from the ground. The masked raiders pointed their guns at us, screaming and roaring and ordering us not to move as they made to get into the stolen car.
We ran at them and floored one of them; the other raider managed to get into the stolen car and forced their way past the patrol car. As we struggled with the masked raider, the stolen money from the raid was spilling over the path and a few passing people left with some of the cash. We removed the balaclava and the handgun from our prisoner and he was duly arrested and later charged with armed robbery.
Thankfully, Mick Minogue had sustained only badly bruised legs and he recovered well. I certainly realized that we had a lucky escape and on 1 December 1988 we were both awarded the bronze Scott Medal for exceptional courage and heroism involving risk to life in the execution of duty.
Of course, I never got the Christmas card!
On 28 October 1993, while on patrol in an unmarked van with Sergeant Peter O’Boyle, I saw a car driving at high speed from Crumlin Shopping Centre. We immediately gave pursuit. Garda command and control centre radioed to warn us that an armed robbery had taken place at a building society on the Crumlin Road; the suspects were armed and dangerous and had threatened to shoot sta . Both Sergeant O’Boyle and I were in uniform and unarmed.
The armed robbers abandoned their getaway car at Dolphin House and we got out to give chase on foot. Despite the robbers threatening us at gunpoint, we continued to run after them, managing to overpower them and disarming the first robber. Two other raiders ran into a flat, where we arrested them, recovering the firearms and the proceeds of the robbery.
On 15 February 1996, I was again awarded the bronze Scott Medal, this time with Sergeant O’Boyle, for exceptional courage and heroism involving risk to life in the execution of our duty.
While over four hundred medals have been awarded to members of An Garda Síochána, only twelve members of the organization have received two Scott medals. I consider myself to be fortunate to have received the two medals without being physically injured. (I was nominated for a third Scott Medal for the arrest of two suspects involved in armed robbery, but due to the fact that one of the raiders broke his leg while colliding with the patrol car I was driving, this did not happen – instead, I received a first-class commendation for excellent police work.)
During my time in the G District I was confronted by suspects in possession of firearms more than ten times. It certainly focuses the mind when you are staring down the
barrel of a gun held by someone wearing a balaclava. In later years, I met some of these people, who had served lengthy sentences for possession of firearms, and we laughed about the madness of it all and the situation we were in. There was no ill will between us – the criminals believed their job was to rob the cash and I believed my job was to stop them. It was all quite simply in a day’s work, whether you’re a criminal or a police o cer!
My two Scott medals remained in a drawer gathering dust until Emily, my daughter, and Niall, my son, graduated from Templemore and I decided I would wear them with my other service medals for their graduation ceremonies.
An Garda Síochána was ill equipped to deal with the fall-out of the heroin epidemic of the eighties, which resulted in a marked increase, during subsequent years, in crime such as theft, housebreaking and armed robbery – meanwhile, garda numbers in the area remained static. The Dolphin’s Barn area at that time was a supermarket for the sale and supply of any drug you wished for. As young gardaí, we arrested countless drug dealers, but suppliers had the area flooded, and we were fighting a losing battle. It was a vicious circle of addicts committing crime to buy drugs and gardaí trying to catch them. The small An Garda Síochána Drugs Unit covered the whole of the country. Despite their dedication, they hadn’t a hope of making a dent in our drugs problem.
A fatal assault investigation I was involved in during my early time in the G was that of Christopher Payne, who was attacked by a number of men at his home in Rutland Grove, Crumlin, in May 1988. (Mr Payne died in November of that year.) I was one of the first garda members to
this incident. I recall blood everywhere: Christopher Payne had been the victim of a very serious assault by four men, and had been bludgeoned in the head with an axe and a hammer. This man was seriously ill, undergoing kidney dialysis. His injuries were so grave that he would never recover. I was shocked that this attack had been carried out by the four young men at the behest of another individual.
Working in the G, you had to learn to look after yourself and your work partner. Armed robberies were part and parcel of working in Crumlin in the eighties and nineties, and if you carried a firearm on duty you had to be prepared to use it to defend yourself.
One such incident happened in 1989. My father, Oliver, died in July that year, and in the first week of August a colleague’s father died. I couldn’t face another funeral, so I agreed to be put on the roster for Post O ce Patrol. Post O ce Patrol involved patrolling the area to identify any risks of robbery, to collate information and apprehend criminals in the area. Ultimately it was to prevent an armed robbery of the large sums of money often held there.
That August morning, my partner, John Doggett, and I were driving along Dolphin Road in the unmarked patrol car when I spotted a known criminal standing on Rialto Bridge. What caught my attention about him was that he ignored us – he was usually very abusive and hostile and never missed an opportunity to engage us with his aggressive behaviour. I parked the car in between other cars and we continued to observe our target. After about twenty minutes of surveillance a Golf drove past at high speed, with a number of passengers inside. Experience told me that this was a stolen car – it was being driven aggressively and veering all over the place, narrowly missing passers-by.
Our man sprinted o the bridge and ducked under it, frantically searching for something. He snatched up a holdall from the reeds on the edge of the canal bank, scrambled back up across the bridge and threw the holdall across his shoulder, looking around anxiously, then began walking very fast up Dolphin Road towards Suir Road Bridge, still looking around him.
Quickly I turned on the ignition, and we drove slowly behind him – until he spotted me. He tried to run and open the bag at the same time. I left the car and after a short chase on foot we caught him and arrested him. There was the usual struggle, but we recovered a sawn-o shotgun, ammunition, balaclavas – all the necessary equipment for an armed robbery. I arrested, interviewed and charged the suspect, and he later appeared in court on serious charges relating to the unlawful possession of firearms. The suspect was very hostile and aggressive throughout the interviews and told me I ‘will not get to court to give evidence’; he then threatened that I ‘will be popped’. This was a violent thug who was determined that I would never get to give evidence against him. I, however, was equally determined. I objected to his bail in court, but he was released on independent surety.
In November 1989, I was called to my senior manager’s o ce. He told me that the criminal I had arrested and charged was planning to kill me in my car on a particular night, when I was on my way home. This criminal had gathered personal information and had developed a plan and hired a gunman, so determined was he to kill me. They had carried out surveillance on me and decided they would do it in the Phoenix Park. This was a sobering moment for me. I felt very much on my own, isolated in a menacing situation.
The solution garda management had to my problem was to put me, out of harm’s way, into the garda depot. I refused emphatically and so instead I was given a personalissue firearm for my own protection. I received excellent support from Sergeant Frank McNamara in Sundrive Road and Detective Branch, who understood my predicament. This was a most di cult time, because who do you tell? Even telling your wife would concern her, and I did not want to burden her with that. There was no point, in my view, in my family worrying about me getting shot. It was an anxious time for me, but something that I was not going to shy away from. It was also a stark message to get, to know that there is a real and credible threat to your life simply for doing your job.
So I decided I was going to deal with it head on, and I went to the District Court and applied to revoke the suspect’s bail as a result of the threats made to me, and eventually he received a very lengthy custodial sentence. Although I was able to deal with that episode myself, unfortunately, threats from criminals to gardaí are common. Whereas some have the wherewithal to carry them out, thankfully most are just idle – very like the people who make them.
An Garda Síochána did not consider drug investigation a priority in the eighties and nineties. Alongside this, management didn’t class drug seizure as a major detection, whereas the arrest of a shoplifter made a significant part of the annual crime figures. With a tiny drugs squad and meagre resources, we were having to deal with three or four drug-related robberies a day. When I started in the G District in 1982, and despite the station being stretched to full capacity, I quickly