Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [80]
Together they approached the man, who looked up from the clipboard to find Fitzmaurice’s Garda credentials under his nose.
“A few moments of your time, if you please,” Fitzmaurice said with a smile.
A brief conversation with the builder, a man named Brendan McCarrick, confirmed Sara’s theory that Spalding could not possibly have left the renovation of his villa solely in Paquette’s hands. Twice over the course of the previous week Spalding and Paquette, posing as an unmarried couple, had met McCarrick and an architect to discuss in detail the interior changes and improvements they wanted, which had to be made in accordance with the Protected Structures Act.
Once it had become clear to Spalding that McCarrick wouldn’t be able to start work on the refurbishments until the local planning council had approved the architect’s plans, Spalding had left Paquette in charge of seeing to the final details.
That afternoon McCarrick and Paquette had done a last walk-through to finalize all the construction specifications, before he sought permission from the planning council to proceed.
Without being specific Fitzmaurice advised McCarrick not to count on the project going forward. As they drove away from the disheartened builder, Sara asked Fitzmaurice about the Protected Structures Act.
“It’s a fairly new law,” Fitzmaurice replied as he pulled into the visitors’ car park at the Dún Laoghaire Marina, “that requires planning permission to make any substantial change to either the exterior or interior of buildings deemed to be worthy of architectural conservation. My semidetached suburban home, which I hope you may soon see, hardly qualifies. It is both a mercy and a pity. We can do what we like with it, but protected status does rather boost the value,” he ended with a chuckle.
They followed a pathway that skirted the marina, looking for Johnny Scanlan, the night-crew worker, and came upon him at the fuel dock, where he was topping off the tank of a sleek-looking powerboat. When he’d finished and the skipper had pulled away, Fitzmaurice approached and flashed his police credentials.
“Doherty said you’d be coming to see me,” Scanlan said, with a thick brogue that reminded Sara of the villagers she’d met on her honeymoon in Connemara.
“Have you seen this woman?” Fitzmaurice asked, holding up a photograph of Paquette.
“I have,” Scanlan replied as he put the fuel hose in the cradle. “She came looking for the Sapphire, Mr. McGuire’s boat, one evening no more than a week ago. Spent two or three hours on board before leaving. I saw her walking toward the rail station.”
“Did Mr. McGuire sleep on board his yacht during his stay?” Sara asked.
Scanlan locked the fuel hose to the pump. “Yes. I’d see him most evenings, or notice his lights on late into the night.”
“Did anyone visit him besides Paquette?”
“None that I saw.”
“Did he have any crew members?” Fitzmaurice asked.
Scanlan shook his head. “With a boat like that you don’t need a crew.” “Did he say where he was sailing?”
“No, but the way he provisioned his boat before he left, I’d say he was planning a long cruise.” Scanlan eyed the fuel-pump gauge and recorded the amount of petrol he’d delivered to the speedboat. “Is that it, then? I’ve got work to do.”
“Thank you,” Sara said.
On the way to the car Fitzmaurice’s phone rang, and after a brief exchange with the caller he told Sara the owner of Celtic Sailing would meet them at his pierside business establishment in fifteen minutes. The phone rang immediately again and Fitzmaurice broke into a smile when he took the call.
“Just a minute, luv,” he said, winking at Sara, “let me ask her. My wife wants to know if you’re still beguiling me.”
Sara smiled. “Tell her I am doing no such thing.”
“The good colonel refuses to take any responsibility for her flirtatious ways,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. He paused to listen and then turned to Sara. “Would you be up to having a late meal with us?”
“That would be lovely,” Sara replied.
Fitzmaurice glanced at his wristwatch. “Give us two hours, luv,” he