PADDINGTON LEANED BACK in his chair, which squeaked as it shifted, and looked at Michael. “Don’t you think that the real question is what was Rohan Wallace doing hanging about with such a man?”
Michael sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’d already been turning that question around in his mind, and he was satisfied with the answer he’d arrived at. “Rohan didn’t know he was involved with Leland Darrow.”
“You can’t just say that.”
“I can. Do you remember what I told you about Harper’s questions for Rohan in the hospital? He said he was on the run from someone who was after him. He told Rohan, ‘these guys I’ve got chasing me.’ Not ‘chasing us.’ Chasing ‘me.’”
“Circumstantial at best. Harper may have only been concerned for himself.”
“I think Harper used Rohan to get into Crowe’s Nest.”
“Harper wouldn’t have needed Rohan.”
“That makes my point even more strongly. I believe Rohan was taken into the house to act as the fall guy in case they were caught. Harper had another agenda, and he got crossways with his mates and Leland Darrow. They killed him for whatever they thought he did.”
“Interesting theory, but what would the likes of Leland Darrow and his crew want inside Aleister Crowe’s home?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out, but I haven’t come up with a good answer. Whatever money Crowe keeps on the property wouldn’t be enough for Darrow. They’re used to playing for much higher stakes.”
“The Crowes have a lot of valuable things.”
“Those valuable things would need to be fenced.” During the early years of his gaming career, Michael had designed a futuristic RPG game that dealt with interstellar thieves. He knew the lingo and the particulars. “If you have to fence a haul, you’re taking pennies on the pound. Most professional art thieves make their money selling stolen items back to their owners or the insurance companies. According to everything I read, that’s not how Darrow and his lot operate.”
Paddington rubbed the back of his neck. “There are days, Mr. Graham, wonderful beer notwithstanding, that you give me a headache.”
“If I’m wrong, just say so. I’ll close up my computer and take my leave.”
The inspector gave that option some consideration. “At this point, I can’t say that you’re wrong. I’ve been exploring the same question. But I’d wager that Rohan Wallace was used as more than just a scapegoat. I’m thinking that Harper, or maybe Darrow himself, believed Rohan Wallace could help them find whatever it was they were looking for. That Mr. Wallace indeed had some inside knowledge of the matter.”
Michael wasn’t happy with that response. “The treasure?”
“Everyone seems to be more interested in it than ever, what with the discovery of that ship and the coins. Why not?”
“Because treasure hunting isn’t the kind of thing that Darrow would choose to get involved with. It’s too uncertain.”
“People change. Crime and criminals aren’t that hard to figure out. Usually the shortest line between two points will give you the perpetrator you’re after. Contrary to popular fictions, all criminals are not master minds.”
“We seem to have attracted a few of those to Blackpool recently.”
“But in the end, they weren’t clever enough, were they?”
Michael didn’t respond. In recent months, he and Molly had been responsible in a large part for the apprehension of a few of those people. Solving crimes hadn’t ever been something they’d cared to do outside of mystery novels, shows, movies and games, but they’d had a good run on their “cases.”
His iPhone buzzed for attention, announcing that he’d received a text. He picked it up, looked at the text and picture, then blew it up to fill the screen.
“Molly got a picture of the man that was in the flat rented by the girl who works for Coffey.” Michael showed the inspector the image.
“Kate Ashcroft? Where did she get that?”
“Apparently she had more success with Kate Ashcroft than you did.”
Paddington cursed softly. “I knew that little twit wasn’t telling me everything. I also think she’s very lucky to be alive.” He squinted at the image, then shifted his attention to the mug shots. After a moment, he selected another one and pushed it onto the desk. “Salvatore Gnucci.”
“Doesn’t sound like a native.”
“Born in Liverpool, though.”
“I didn’t turn him up in my searches.”
“He’s a recent addition to Darrow’s crew. And you won’t find everything on YouTube. This one specializes in sniping.”
“He was at Kate’s flat for several days.”
Paddington thought about that. “Plenty of time for him to have killed Rohan Wallace if that was the objective. They were watching over Rohan, waiting to see if he came round. When Harper showed up and looked like he was going to get caught by you, they decided to eliminate loose ends.”
“They could have killed Harper before he got inside the hospital.”
“Perhaps they wanted him to talk to Mr. Wallace.”
Feeling excited because he thought they were on to something, Michael nodded. “Harper was the only one of them that Rohan had met. Maybe they felt Rohan would have trusted Harper.”
“It was still foolishness. The man was in a coma. Mr. Wallace wasn’t talking to anyone.”
“They might not have believed that.” Michael paused. “At any rate, I think that gives more support to your theory that Darrow and company were using Rohan to get inside Crowe’s Nest.”
“That’s not my theory, Mr. Graham.” Paddington tapped a blunt finger on the desk. “But…it definitely is a theory.”
Although he didn’t exactly feel at peace about the turn of events, Michael couldn’t help smiling in triumph.
Then his mobile buzzed again. The message this time wasn’t so rewarding.
MOLLY SIPPED HER COFFEE, then dropped the paper cup into a nearby bin when she spotted Michael striding down the boardwalk. Paddington and Krebs were hot on his heels.
Michael was focused entirely on her. She loved it when he gave her that kind of attention, but she didn’t care for the circumstances.
“Hello, love.” He smiled at her, but he glanced around warily. Anger burned in his sapphire-blue eyes.
“Now that you’re here, I feel foolish about calling you.”
“With everything going on, I’m glad you did.” Michael took off his black leather jacket and draped it across her shoulders. “Have you seen this man since he introduced himself?”
Molly shook her head.
Paddington talked briefly on his mobile, then folded it and put it away. “Owen Montcalm knows where we can find Stefan Draghici, Mrs. Graham. Do you feel up to having a word with him? Maybe it’s time we pushed back.”
“I’d be happy to, Inspector.”
OWEN MONTCALM, BLACKPOOL’S harbormaster, occupied a small building not far from Grandage’s Bait and Tackle. Bald and wearing oil-stained overalls, Montcalm stood outside the building with a clipboard.
“Afternoon, Inspector, Sergeant Krebs, Mr. and Mrs. Graham.” Montcalm touched his hat.
“Owen.” The inspector stopped in front of the man.
“I’ve been searching through records as you asked, Inspector, and I believe I’ve found Draghici’s boat.” Montcalm flipped over a page and revealed a photocopied color picture of a marine operator’s license. The face on the license wasn’t one Molly recognized.
Michael looked impressed. “I didn’t know you were investigating Draghici, Inspector.”
Paddington shrugged. “Nothing official, but under the circumstances, with Draghici getting underfoot at every opportunity lately, I thought I’d dig a little deeper into his business. He comes and goes from Blackpool a lot. Since I don’t believe for a minute that he just vanishes, I figured he had to have a boat. I asked Owen to check through the records.”
“The boat’s registered to Amos Decarran.” The harbormaster spelled the last name.
Paddington looked back at Krebs, but the unflappable sergeant was already on her mobile and talking to someone.
“What do you know about Decarran?” Paddington flipped through the papers himself.
Montcalm shook his head. “Not much more than you see there. Lists his home port as London and sails an eighty-foot yacht.”
“Doesn’t sound like a typical Romany name.”
Michael smiled. “Perhaps it’s an alias. Or the real name of one of Draghici’s people.”
“Says here he’s self-employed. Any guesses what Mr. Decarran does?”
“No,” the harbormaster said. “I didn’t talk to him much more than to get his information, his intentions and his money. Reading minds isn’t part of my job description. They come in here if they have a boat and they pay me. That’s the way the system works.”
Paddington frowned. “Where can I find this boat, Owen?”
Montcalm pointed out into the harbor. “Yonder’s the yacht. She’s called Thames Drifter.”
“Can I borrow a boat, Owen?”
MICHAEL STEERED THE BORROWED boat because he had more skill behind the wheel than either Paddington or Krebs.
Inspector Paddington talked on his mobile, and Michael was able to get the gist of the conversation. Evidently Amos Decarran was known to the police, and his reputation with them wasn’t a good one, but he wasn’t wanted anywhere currently. He sounded like the kind of man that would take up with Stefan Draghici. The inspector dropped his mobile back into his pocket. “We’ll want to go slow and easy with this one, Krebs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Molly, Michael, I want you to be careful what you say to this man. I’ve got a couple more men coming over this way, but Decarran’s the sort used to violence.”
“That’s as plain as the nose on your face.” Molly stared at the yacht as Michael cut the engines to half speed.
The men aboard the Thames Drifter had already spotted the approaching boat and had spread out to seize tactical advantage. Michael felt nervous about the coming encounter, but he was too angry to simply walk away.
“Decarran’s done some time for receivership. Was mixed up in selling boats and marine supplies with forged documents. That’s the easy stuff.” Paddington’s eyes narrowed. “He’s also suspected of piracy and murder, but none of those charges have stuck yet. Twice, the complainants disappeared just as the case was coming to court. By all accounts, he’s not a man you want to be dealing with.”
“Draghici sought me out, Inspector.” Molly’s voice was hard and flat. “If Decarran is mixed up with Draghici, Michael and I are already dealing with him.”
Paddington nodded grimly. “I suppose you are at that. Well, we’ll call on him today and let him know you’re not alone.”
“Thank you, Inspector.”
“It’s my pleasure. I want people in my town to walk about without worrying that the Amos Decarrans or Stefan Draghicis of the world will hurt them. We’ll get this sorted.”
For the first time, Michael realized that Paddington was going out of his way to help them.
As he brought the boat around with expert skill, the men aboard the yacht peered down with disdain.
“Ahoy, the boat.” Paddington stood on the starboard side, in plain view.
“I hear you. State your business.” A lean, hard-faced man with tattoos sleeving his arms stood at the rail. His long hair blew in the wind to reveal gold hoops dangling from his ears.
“I’m Detective Chief Inspector Paddington of the Blackpool Police. I’d like to have a word.”
“We haven’t done anything wrong.” The man grinned and looked straight at Molly as though undressing her.
Michael had to restrain himself.
“I didn’t say that you had, did I? I’m exercising my right to come aboard and look around.”
“That’s more the job of the coasties, isn’t it?”
“Not when you’re in this harbor. When you’re here, you’re under my purview.”
“We’re not entertaining at the moment, Inspector. Perhaps another time.”
“No, it’ll be now or I’ll have this boat locked down till we get this sorted. You tell Amos Decarran and Stefan Draghici that.”
“Consider him told.” The loud voice floated over the boat’s side just before Draghici walked into view. He was resplendent in his brightly colored garb. His black hair trailed over his shoulders. “Inspector Paddington. I would say it’s nice to speak with you again, but I gather that it isn’t.”
“That’s a fair assumption.”
Draghici swept his gaze over Michael and Molly. “You’ve brought company.”
“Thought it would be good, seeing as how you wanted to speak to Mr. Graham.”
“So I did. Come aboard.” Draghici gestured, and one of his crew rolled out a rope ladder. “Toss out your mooring ropes. We’ll bring you alongside. Don’t want anyone dropping into the water.”
Michael tossed the bowline to one of the men. Paddington threw the stern line to another. They pulled the lines in close enough for the hulls to bump, then wrapped the ropes around the mooring cleats.
Paddington went up the ladder first, followed by Krebs and Molly. Michael brought up the rear and wondered what they’d gotten themselves in for.