Michael McGarrity - Nothing But Trouble

“Leave a package at the hotel for another guest, or perhaps give you money and ask you to buy something for them?”

Paquette shook her head. “No. Do criminals pick the people they plan to rob that way?”

“Frequently. They’ll use any number of ploys to target potential victims. Have you had occasion to make expensive purchases that might have drawn attention to yourself?”

“I went clothes shopping in London for a day and overindulged a bit. But I’m far too busy here in Ireland working on a cover article for my magazine to do much in the way of supporting the local economy.”

“Yes, I understand you’re a fashion-magazine editor. That must be a very exciting profession.”

Paquette smiled. “It has its entertaining moments. Can you tell me what was stolen from my room?”

“So, you’ve not been asked by anyone to do a special favor, nor have you made a large purchase that might have drawn attention to yourself?”

“No,” Paquette replied. “Can we get on with this?”

Sara slipped a photograph out of the folder and placed it before Paquette. “Do you know this man?”

Paquette’s gaze jumped from the photograph to Sara’s face. “That’s George,” she said quickly. “Why are you asking me about him?”

“And what name is he using now?”

“Now?”

“Yes, Josephine, now. We know you met him in Paris.”

“I knew him as George Calderwood in Canada, but the police told me his real name was Spalding and that he was an American army deserter and a tax dodger.”

“Now, Josephine,” Sara said gently. “Tell the truth, don’t you also know the name he’s using now?”

Paquette answered without hesitation. “He legally changed it to McGuire. He said it was his mother’s maiden name. He even showed me his Irish passport to prove it.”

“But the funds he gave you to buy a villa for him came from an account under the name of Georges Bruneau.”

Paquette nodded. “Yes, Mr. Bruneau, his personal accountant. George said they joked about having the same Christian name.”

Sara stood, put her hands on the table, and leaned toward Paquette. “An amusing coincidence. Life is full of funny things like that no one can explain, isn’t it? But surely you can tell me how you came to agree to help a known fugitive purchase a house under your name.”

Paquette looked nonplussed. “Fugitive? George’s legal problems have all been resolved.”

Sara sank back in the chair and studied Paquette silently for a long moment, unsure if the woman had simply rehearsed a story or was telling the truth as she knew it.

“Are you sure you’re a Garda detective?” Paquette asked.

“Do you have something to hide from the police that would make you ask that question?” Sara retorted.

Paquette shrugged. “Not at all. But you’re wearing expensive American designer labels from recent collections, and I don’t know too many police officers who dress in such nice outfits.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Sara said with a smile. “I picked it up in New York City. With the euro strong against the dollar, the United States is a shopper’s paradise for Europeans looking to go on a weekend clothes-buying spree.”

Paquette nodded. It made sense. The fashion trade journals had reported on the phenomenon several times since the dollar had plunged in value against the euro and the pound, and a diplomat’s daughter probably didn’t have to live solely on her police salary.

“Tell me why you believe George’s legal problems have gone away,” Sara asked.

“Is he still wanted?”

“Yes, by your government for income tax evasion and flight to avoid prosecution, and by the United States Army for smuggling and desertion.”

Paquette sighed. “He told me that he’d reached a settlement agreement with Canadian revenue officials and that the matter of his military service had been resolved.”

“And you believed him?”

“Not without proof,” Paquette retorted. “He had legal papers and official documents from both Canadian and American government agencies.”

“What kind of documents?” Sara asked.

“Dishonorable discharge papers from the U.S. Army and a tax payment agreement from the Canadian government. It was all there in black and white.”

“Didn’t you think it strange that if his legal problems were behind him, he would want you to buy an Irish seaside villa for him in your name?”

“He said he wanted to move on with his life and start over in Ireland without drawing any attention to himself.”

“How did George arrange for you to meet him in Paris?”

“He sent a letter to me at work asking for my assistance.”

“Do you have that letter?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you call the police when the letter arrived?”

“I saw no reason to doubt him. He wrote that he was no longer in trouble with the law and could prove it to my satisfaction, if I was willing to help.”

Sara rose, walked to Paquette, and looked down at her. “How could he have possibly known when you would be traveling to Ireland?”

“I didn’t think to ask him that.”

Sara stayed silent for a moment, letting the tension build. “Explain to me why George would buy the villa under your name and then hire a solicitor to prepare a conveyance to transfer the deed to him by the end of the year.”

For the first time during the interrogation Paquette’s composure wavered. Her mouth tightened and she gave Sara a stormy look. “If he’s still a criminal, why don’t you just go arrest him and ask him these questions? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Sara walked behind Paquette’s chair and looked at her in the one-way mirror. “I wonder what a polygraph would tell me.”

“Would you not stand behind me, please,” Paquette said.

Sara stayed put. “You could avoid further difficulties by telling me now how much George promised to give you if you went along with his scheme.”

Paquette craned her neck to look at Sara. “It’s not a scheme. I simply agreed to help out a friend.”

“I’m confused, Josephine. If this was all on the up and up, why would you pose as George’s lover when the two of you met with the architect and builder?”

Paquette looked away. “I did no such thing. They must have formed a mistaken impression about our relationship.”

Sara patted Paquette gently on the shoulder. “That could well be the case. People make faulty assumptions about others all the time.”

“Which is exactly what you’re doing with me,” Paquette said pointedly as she looked at her wristwatch. “I really must go.”

“Not yet.” Sara moved to the table, sat on it, and smiled down at Paquette. “I’m still a bit confused.”

“About what?”

“Your secret meeting with George on his yacht at the Dun Laoghaire Marina.”

“There wasn’t anything secret about it.”

“Then why was it the one and only time since you’ve been in Dublin that you didn’t use your car and driver?”

Paquette nodded and paused an extra beat. “I needed some time by myself without having to listen to my driver’s incessant chatter.”

Sara reached for the folder and thumbed through it. “Your driver, Martin Mullaney, told us that you informed him early in the day you wouldn’t be needing him that evening. It doesn’t appear that your need to take a break from a chatty driver was all that spontaneous.”

“Believe what you like. I’m telling you the truth.”

Sara sighed and plucked a sheet of paper from the folder. “Josephine, everything we’ve learned points to the fact that George is paying you to be his intermediary.”

“I’ve been helping out because he’s been spending most of his time cruising on his yacht.”