What could I say? She was right.
She looked at me and a sad smile appeared on her face. “Have I suitably depressed you? I’m sorry to be so maudlin. I’ll get over it.” She touched the side of my face. “Thank you for being here. I know you have an appointment to keep. You better be on your way.”
I looked at my watch. It was already one o’clock and I had a meeting scheduled with O’Neill. I thanked Deirdre for the tea and told her to order a locksmith and a security system for the house. As I got up, she grabbed my hand and held it tightly. “Find him, Liam. Find the rotten bastard who took my Fergus from me.”
I kissed her on the forehead and got into my car for the drive back to Antrim town center, still shaky from the revelations.
NINE
“SOLICITOR O’NEILL HAS BEEN expecting you for the last twenty-five minutes,” Mrs. O’Donohue said curtly when I entered the reception area. She rose from behind her desk and commanded me to follow.
“And a good afternoon to you as well, Mrs. O’Donohue,” I said, trying to brighten the mood. After all, I’d had a pretty sobering day. But she would have no part of it. Pleasant banter was not in her repertoire. She raised her left eyebrow and opened the door to O’Neill’s office.
“Please be seated, Mr. Taggart,” he said. “Would you care for a cup of tea? Or coffee?”
“You have real coffee?”
“I have K-cups. We’re not a third world country, you know.”
“Then coffee, thank you. A little cream, a little sugar.” Mrs. O’Donohue left to fill the order.
“So, you spoke to Inspector McLaughlin?” I said, settling onto my uncomfortable wooden chair.
He nodded. “Of course. I know Farrell for many years. As I told you on the phone, I prepared a motion to quash the anticipated warrant, but it won’t succeed. At the most, I can keep the trust out of Farrell’s hands for a couple weeks. Perhaps in that time there will be progress in your investigation. Farrell told me that you and he had a conversation at the house. He asked me to confirm that you have been officially appointed by the court as trustee of Fergus Taggart’s trust. I assured him it was so.”
“I had a run-in with Conor this morning,” I said. “He bolted through the door and ordered Deirdre and me to leave the home, and when we refused, he became belligerent. I expect you’ll be hearing from his attorneys. He said he was going to challenge the trust.”
Our conversation was interrupted by Mrs. O’Donohue, who brought in coffee service on a silver tray. She laid a white linen doily down on the desk in front of me, then carefully set a cloth napkin, a spoon, a small pitcher of cream, two cubes of sugar and a white china cup and saucer. She poured the coffee into the cup from a silver pitcher and left the room. All without a word.
“Conor can be an annoyance,” O’Neill said, “but I don’t think he’ll contest the will.”
“I almost wish he would. I’m not qualified to be a trustee, and frankly, I need to get back home.”
O’Neill leaned over and I saw a look of concern. “Mr. Taggart, I strongly urge you not to decline the appointment. Fergus and I discussed this matter for days on end. You are the only one suited to serve.”
“But I don’t know how to manage his investments or his farm and the family doesn’t trust me. The bank is the successor, why don’t we let the bank take over?”
That suggestion was instantly rejected. “Absolutely not! We must do everything in our power to prevent that occurrence. I cautioned Fergus against naming the bank all throughout our discussions. They will manage the estate impersonally and without regard to the needs of the heirs, especially Deirdre. They will assign a team of professional bean counters that will each bill for their services and they will grind through all of the estate assets leaving nothing for the heirs. The farm will have to be sold to pay expenses and taxes. Deirdre will lose her life estate. And all of that is decidedly against your uncle’s desires.”
“Then why did he name the bank? Why not Conor, or Riley, or one of his brothers?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
“But I can’t live here until the homicide is solved. That could take months, years. Isn’t there a provision to decline in favor of another family member, perhaps Janie?”
O’Neill pursed his lips in a show of exasperation. Hadn’t he just explained to me that Fergus and he had discussed this for days on end? Hadn’t they come to the conclusion that I was the only one suited to the appointment? Wasn’t I even listening?
He drew a deep breath through his nostrils and said, “Janie is not suitable. For one thing she is young. For another, there is the matter of her boyfriend. Fergus didn’t care for the man.”
That was also my impression when I met him. I don’t know why. It was just a feeling. He was a little too full of himself. Perhaps, as I like to tease Catherine, ’twas me Irish intuition.
“Nothing requires you to stay in Northern Ireland until the investigation is over, Mr. Taggart. It is only necessary that you be present during court hearings.”
“What court hearings?”
“Well, none are currently scheduled, but if one of the heirs were to raise a challenge to the will or the trust, a hearing would be set. So far, no one has come forward, and they only have two more weeks. Even so, when we successfully defeat a challenge, or the time expires without a challenge, you are free to return to America. Most of our business can be conducted through email.”
“Let’s suppose one of the family members does raise a challenge. How long would the court’s consideration take?”
O’Neill shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe a few weeks.”
“Conor’s threatened to do just that.”
“It would be quite a bold and risky move for him, with an in terrorem clause staring him in the face. I don’t know whether anyone else might be motivated to challenge the trust. Eventually, I’ll have to turn the trust document over to McLaughlin and the terms are bound to leak out. There may be disappointed heirs, relatives who think they should receive a greater share—again, I’m thinking of Conor or Riley. It’s not unusual for an heir to contest a trust or its provisions. Or even the will itself. That’s precisely why we inserted the in terrorem clause.” He leaned forward and whispered, “But between you and me, I don’t think the court will enforce it.”
He stood. “Accept the appointment, Mr. Taggart, and I’ll support you one hundred percent. It was your uncle’s final wish. We don’t want the bank to be the trustee under any circumstances.”
I nodded. What choice did I have? Since O’Neill and I were now on the same team, it was time for me to ask the jackpot question. “How did Uncle Fergus know he was going to be murdered? Who did he suspect? He must have discussed it with you.”
O’Neill shook his head. “Not a word. It was not a matter he chose to reveal to me.”
“You prepared a will and trust that contemplated your client’s homicide. Are you telling me you never asked him about it?”
“I should tell you that such a discussion falls within the purview of the lawyer-client privilege, but in fact, I asked him several times and he refused to answer.”
“No clues? An old vendetta, a relic of the Troubles? A family member?”
O’Neill shook his head. “Sorry. He only made it clear that there was an imminent danger. He had seen the signs.”
“What signs?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
I started to leave and then remembered what prompted me to come over here in the first place. “Who is Bridget McGregor?”
“There is a trust, established long ago by Fergus, entitled ‘the Bridget McGregor Trust.’ That’s all I’m permitted to tell you.”
“That’s a little too clandestine for me, Malcolm.”
“Again, I’m sorry. As you have no doubt come to realize, your uncle could be quite secretive. Part of your duties as trustee is to make sure a given sum is withdrawn every month from Fergus’s general account and transferred to a bank in Dublin
for the account of the Bridget McGregor Trust. That’s pretty much it. In fact, it’s done automatically by electronic funds transfer. Just make sure the account maintains sufficient funds for the transfer at the end of the month. Otherwise, you needn’t be concerned with Bridget McGregor, at least for the time being.”
“Well, I am concerned because the Bridget McGregor Trust is a one-seventh beneficiary and I am the trustee. I need to know more, otherwise I can’t do my job.”
“Your job? I just finished telling you that all you had to do was make sure the general account maintains sufficient funds. That’s your job. It’s also your job to honor your uncle’s wishes and directions. The Bridget McGregor Trust is to remain secret.”
I turned for the door when O’Neill said, “Liam, quite earnestly, thank you for your service. I can see that Fergus was right about you.” Then he added, “But be careful. There is a murderer out there. Stay alert for signs of danger.”
I walked out of the door and stopped short in my tracks. I didn’t have to stay alert for long. Two of the tires on my Audi had been slashed.
TEN
IT TOOK THE GARAGE an hour and a half to replace two tires on my rental car. Leaning his back against the door of his truck and wiping his blackened hands on a cloth, the mechanic said, “It never seems to stop, does it? The petty crime out here?” He held up a long sharp awl. “I found this on the ground. It’s them teenagers, the ones that hang around the mall with nothing to do but be about their mischief. You can bet yourself that’s what it is. Yep. It’s them teenagers, you best believe it.”
“Would you mind if I keep the awl and may I have your cloth as well, please?” I said.
He looked at me inquisitively. “There’s nothing special about a six-inch scratch awl. Sure as hell, you can buy one of these in any hardware store.” He shrugged. Then he smiled. “Oh, I get it. You want to show it to the police. Smart. Well, here you are.” He handed the instrument to me wrapped in his cloth. Of course, my hope was that McLaughlin could lift a print.
My day of staying alert wasn’t over. When I finally returned to my hotel room, a corner room on the fourth floor, the door was wide open. The lock had been jimmied. It was an old hotel and I’m sure the lock gave in easily, probably with a strong push of a screwdriver. The room was in shambles. Drawers lay open and my clothes were spread around in rumpled heaps. Flattening my tires would have given them plenty of time to ransack my room. But who knew I would be parking my car at O’Neill’s? The only people who knew where I was going were Deirdre and O’Neill himself. I suppose I could have been followed, but I didn’t see anyone. Maybe I was careless.
And why tear up my room and throw my clothes all over? Was I going to hide the trust document in a pair of boxers? The conclusion was obvious. Whoever did this knew I wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave a copy of the sealed trust in an unsecured hotel room. They were sending a message.
A survey of the disarray confirmed my thoughts. A note lay in the middle of the bed. “Get your arse back to Chicago where you can look after what’s yours. You’re not wanted here!” No handwriting, just a printed note. Again, I hoped McLaughlin could get a fingerprint. I’d give him a call.
* * *
MCLAUGHLIN PUT THE AWL and rag in a plastic bag and shook his head as he surveyed the mess in my room. His tech was busy dusting for prints, but this was a hotel room and there were hundreds of prints. Maybe one would match the awl. “Doubt it,” he said.
When his crew had finished, McLaughlin turned to me and tapped me on the shoulder. “I’m in the mood for a spot of tea. Will you join me? There’s a café across the street.”
The café was a pastry shop with a dozen small tables. McLaughlin hung his jacket on the back of his chair, picked out two caramel pastries and ordered Twinings Irish Breakfast Tea, which was served with a spoonful of leaves and an infuser. It looked good to me. I had the same.
“Does all this frighten you, Liam? I mean the acts directed against you—the slashed tires, the note and the burglary?” I started to brush off the remark, but he held his hand up and interrupted me. “Because it should. You’ve received a threat. I know you think you’re a tough guy, you can take care of yourself, but your uncle was a tough guy too.”
“Whoever’s doing this, why are they trying to get me out of here?”
“Well, the logical reason is that you are the appointed trustee and you stand between them and whatever assets your uncle owned when he died. He stood in the way before and now he’s dead. Now you’re in the way.”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t buy that. If I went home, another trustee would take my place as a successor. Someone would always be in the way. Ultimately, a court could step in and make all the distributions.”
McLaughlin smiled and pointed his finger at me. “But you’re an imposing figure, someone who won’t be bullied. Maybe a weaker person could be persuaded to step outside the lines. Make certain decisions. To the extent there are discretionary withdrawals allowed, or trust assets handled in a certain way … you get the idea.”
I did. Catherine told me I could basically do anything I wanted while I was in charge.
“Besides,” McLaughlin added, “you’re a private investigator. Maybe the killer doesn’t want you snooping around, like you snooped the other night at Fergus’s farmhouse. That’s another good reason to get you out of town.”
So, he ran the prints on the Bushmills and knew I snuck into the house when it was cordoned off. Pretty sharp. He swirled the spoon in his teacup, putting in a precise amount of sugar and milk. I copied him. Twinings was a bold tea that held up well. I could get used to drinking it. Or maybe not. Maybe it would just taste good in a little pastry shop in Northern Ireland.
“Why don’t you let me in on the secret?” he said. “What assets are held by the trust? Where’s the gold, Liam?”
“I haven’t had a chance to make an inventory yet, but I don’t think there’s any gold. He was comfortable. He had some money, some investments, his farm, but why kill him over that?”
“Why indeed? You’ve seen the provisions—who gets disinherited? Who gets shorted? Who doesn’t get as much as he thinks he should? In my forty-six years, I have developed a tried-and-true principle of homicide investigation in cases where there’s no apparent suspect. I call it McLaughlin’s first theory of relativity—it means: the first thing you do is look at the relatives. Who’s pissed off enough to kill Fergus? Who needs money bad enough to accelerate his inheritance rights? Why don’t you let me in on it? Maybe we can keep an eye out together.”
I was getting the feeling that McLaughlin could be an ally. If I shared some of the details with him, maybe he’d share some of his information with me. Maybe we could work together. He was going to find out sooner or later anyway. I decided to abrogate my trustee’s duties once again, but only partway. I took my uncle’s letter out of my pocket and slid it across the table. McLaughlin read it slowly without showing any emotion.
Finally, he set it down and looked up at me. “That’s what you told me before. He knew he was going to be killed.”
“That’s not all. I found a few newspaper articles and a picture. They were in a folder in a drawer beside Fergus’s bed. One article reported an attack at a Belfast pub and the other a jailhouse killing. They don’t mean much to me. There was also a photograph of a wooden crate filled with assault rifles and a page from the financial section of the Irish Times referencing a governmental investigation of Global Investments for financial fraud. Finally, Deirdre found a picture of a fire-ravaged house in an envelope in Fergus’s mailbox the day he was killed.”
McLaughlin nodded. “Get me the originals. I’ll look into the stories and the pictures. As to the box of guns, unless there’s identifying marks in the picture, it wouldn’t distinguish that box from the thousands of boxes we’ve confiscated over the years.” He pursed his lips. “A box of guns is nothing unusual in Northern Ireland. Even a box of assault rifles. Hell, all they do is kill people. The
Good Lord knows that arms like that were shipped in every day.” McLaughlin tapped his pencil and shook his head. “Why would Global be important to Fergus?”
I know I shouldn’t have said anything, but I did. “Fergus owned shares in the company. They’re part of his estate. Do you know anything about this company?”
“Not yet, but I will. What does Deirdre know?”
“For all I know, she hasn’t seen the folder or the papers inside. If she has, she hasn’t mentioned them. I never discussed Global with her. You know…”
“I know. It’s a secret. Why does she think Fergus feared for his life?”
“She says she doesn’t know, he didn’t discuss it with her. She says he was on edge lately but she didn’t know anything about any death threats.”
“Hmmph. I find that hard to believe. She was his wife for forty years and he wouldn’t discuss something as important as that?”
“She wasn’t his wife.”
“Well, then she was a girlfriend, what’s the difference?” He paused and gave me a wry smile. “Never mind. I know what the difference is. Does she inherit under the trust?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. It’s sealed. And I have a hard time believing that the murder has anything to do with the rights of inheritance. I don’t think it’s an inheritance issue at all, despite your theory of relativity.”
“Then why postpone the distributions? Why tell the heirs that they get nothing until the murder is solved? It makes no sense unless Fergus suspected a member of the family. Who gets the lion’s share, Liam? Who gets disinherited?”
I shook my head again. I knew that there were no disproportionate distributions, and that the heirs all took equally. “I really think you’re barking up the wrong tree. His trust is sealed. No one has seen the trust, so nobody would know who gets a lion’s share or who gets disinherited unless Fergus said so before he died. The funny thing is, the trust is very generous. No one is disinherited and no one gets a disproportionate share.”
The Trust Page 9
