Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [81]
At the Bray pier Desmond Phelan, the owner of Celtic Sailing, waited for them under the shop’s Boats for Hire sign. In his thirties, Phelan was a small-boned man with light-brown hair, a wide forehead, and an aquiline nose. Inside the shop two young boys, no more than four and six years old, sat on stools at a customer-service counter, drawing pictures on scraps of paper.
Phelan told the boys to stay put and led Fitzmaurice and Sara to a small back room that served as both office and a storage room. He nodded at the photograph Fitzmaurice placed before him on his cluttered desktop.
“George McGuire,” Phelan said. “A genial fellow, quite the eager student. I couldn’t imagine why a Garda would come to my house at suppertime to ask me to talk to you. I surely didn’t think it had anything to do with Mr. McGuire.”
“We need to locate Mr. McGuire,” Sara said, “to inform him of a family emergency. Do you know where he might be?”
“On the water this fine evening in a smooth sea. You should be able to reach him by marine radio.”
“When did you last see him?”
“He sailed this morning.”
“Going where?” Sara asked.
“He didn’t say. He came down from Dún Laoghaire five days ago and retained me to tutor him on celestial navigation techniques so he could prepare for his yachtmaster ocean certification, which requires making a passage without the use of electronic aids. He did the shore-based class-work in the mornings and then we went out later in the day for his practice exercises.”
“Was he planning to do his qualifying trip for his certification right away?” Sara asked.
Phelan perched on the corner of the desk. “He said nothing to me about it.”
“How did he pay for your services?” Sara asked.
“By credit card.”
“Could we see the charge slip?”
“Of course.”
Sara stood on the Bray pier looking out at the horseshoe bay while Fitzmaurice made phone calls on his mobile to learn if the writ had been approved to access Paquette’s Internet account, and to arrange for a detective to speak to the solicitor who’d prepared the conveyancing documents for the sale of the villa. A paved promenade ran along the shoreline just behind a rock barrier where waves lapped at a slender ribbon of beach. A hilly spit of land rose up at one end of the bay, and the quiet sea, as pale gray as the evening sky, seemed to absorb the fading light.
At Sara’s back pitched-roof buildings crowded Bray’s waterfront high street. The shoreline curved toward the spit of land where a new residential development stood and the houses, all with matching red tile roofs in an Italianate style, climbed up the hillside to take in views of the bay.
Phelan had said it was a fine evening with a smooth sea, and indeed it was so. Sara wondered where Spalding might be out on the water. Was he anchored in some nearby cove or at an offshore island? Or cruising slowly southward in St. George Channel? She was less than a day behind Spalding now, but catching him remained no easy matter. They could probably reach him by ship to shore radio, but doing so could easily raise his suspicions.
Fitzmaurice motioned to her, and she walked back along the pier to the car where he waited. He told her the solicitor would be interviewed first thing in the morning and the order to inspect Paquette’s Internet account and e-mail records had been served.
“Do we have her picked up?” he asked.
“I’d rather wait until we know Spalding’s exact location,” Sara replied.
“I’ve put in a query to his credit-card company,” Fitzgerald said. “We’ll have him the next time he uses it.”
On their return to Dublin, Fitzmaurice avoided the motorway and drove through the coastal towns of Shankill, Killiney, and Dalkey until they reached Dún Laoghaire. Sara fell silent, gazing out the car window at the glimpses of the sea and the plots of pastureland that dotted the inland side of the coastal hills. Along a winding, narrow road bordered by hedgerows they passed by granite cliffs covered in yellow shrubs, huge estates on promontories overlooking the water, and a seaside park