Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [72]
Sara wrote the numbers down, checked her watch, and saw that she was out of time. Back at the car she gave the paper to Fitzmaurice.
“It’s definitely a telephone number,” he said.
“How quickly can you check it out?”
“Promptly. The government agency that regulates communications is just a short distance away, and they have access to all landline and mobile telephone records.”
“Good. While you’re doing that, I’ll go back to my hotel and call the French. They should have researched Spalding’s previous travel bookings by now.”
Fitzmaurice waved the notepaper at her before putting it his shirt pocket. “You may be onto something here.”
“Let’s hope so,” Sara replied, flashing a smile.
An hour later Fitzmaurice sat with Sara in her hotel’s restaurant and filled her in.
“The telephone number belongs to a George McGuire,” he said with a knowing shake of his head. “It’s for a mobile phone bought here in Dublin under a prepay plan that was purchased three months ago. Records show that a number of text messages from that number were sent to Paquette’s computer, several as recent as two days ago, but no voice calls have been made.”
“When did he open the account?” Sara asked as the waitress brought coffee for her and hot tea for Fitzmaurice.
Fitzmaurice read off the date from his notes. “Of course, he used a fictitious mailing address on the mobile-phone contract and paid in cash.”
Sara grinned. “That date coincides with the information I got from the French authorities. According to Spalding’s travel bookings he was in Ireland during that time, supposedly on holiday, and he stayed for six weeks. What will it take to get access to Paquette’s e-mail account?”
Fitzmaurice added milk to his tea and stirred it. “A writ from an agreeable judge, which I think we can get by attesting that Paquette used illicitly gotten gains provided by a known fugitive to purchase property on his behalf. I have a detective on his way to the registrar of deeds and titles to pull the paperwork so we have the necessary documentation.”
“When will you be able to secure the writ?”
“By day’s end, I would hope.” Fitzmaurice leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and smiled broadly. “But there’s also another avenue we can pursue that may surely get your blood racing. If you’re right about Spalding wanting to settle here permanently, free to come and go as he pleases, he might well have either started or completed the process to claim Irish citizenship by virtue of descent. To accomplish it the documents would need to be in perfect order, but it would be well within the realm of possibility for him to do it.”
Sara leaned forward. “I’m all ears. Explain to me how it would work.”
“Anyone born outside Ireland can qualify for citizenship by submitting proof that at least one grandparent was born in Ireland. It requires making an application and including all the necessary birth, marriage, and death certificates to support the claim. Once everything has been confirmed, the applicant is entered into the Irish Register of Foreign Births and is eligible to apply for an Irish passport.”
“How can we find out about this?” Sara asked.
“Foreign-birth citizenship applications must be made through an Irish embassy or consulate in the country where the person resides,” Fitzmaurice said. “Inquiries have already been made to our French and English embassies, asking if a George McGuire has applied, and we’re querying all the others through the Department of Foreign Affairs. But remember, Spalding may not have started the process. He could be still at the point of trying to find someone willing to sell, for an agreeable sum of money, a dead grandparent’s name he could use, or paying an intermediary to do it for him.”
Sara smiled at an elderly couple who nodded a greeting as they trailed the hostess to