Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [89]
“I’m Sara. Thank you for coming.”
Paquette smiled in return. “I understand you have some items stolen from my hotel room you want me to identify.”
“In a moment. But first, can you recall any recent encounters with people who might have approached you to do something for them that seemed unusual?”
“Such as?” Paquette asked.
“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, Joséphine, 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, Joséphine,” 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