The Trust

by Ronald H. Balson

  He looked up at me and smiled. “Generous, huh? Does the girlfriend get a share?”

  I nodded. “She has rights. I don’t want to go into details, but she benefits as well as others. Why are you so focused on the family? Why on my aunt Deirdre of all people? Why couldn’t the killer come from my uncle’s past? One of the Shankill Butchers maybe.”

  He laughed hard. “The Butchers! Haven’t heard that name in a while. What a lovely bunch they were. You know, I was working in Belfast district back then, when those bastards were running wild. Why do you bring them up?”

  “I heard that my family had run-ins with the Butchers.”

  “Well, they weren’t alone. So I guess it could be.”

  “Then you’re not discounting a vendetta, a revenge killing?”

  “I’m not discounting anyone or anything. This is Northern Ireland, after all. Revenge of the Butchers, is that what you think?”

  “I don’t know. Hell, there’s a lot I don’t know. I didn’t know how my father died until Deirdre told me this morning. They kept it from me all these years. Even when I came back here during the nineties.” I paused. That was a slipup. I didn’t mean to open that door. He probably didn’t know I was back here, and certainly didn’t know I was working for the Agency. For a guy who was a covert spy for the Central Intelligence Agency, I sure had loose lips. So I quickly added, “The U.S. Department of State assigned me to do an agrarian research project here in 1994 and I stayed until 1999. I spent a lot of time with my family, but no one told me about the war between the Taggarts and the Butchers.”

  McLaughlin gave me an all-knowing look. “The State Department, eh? Agrarian research?”

  “Right. ’Ninety-four to ’ninety-nine.”

  Then McLaughlin broke into another hearty laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I said. “I was here for six years. Mostly brokering grain.”

  “Stop, Liam. I know all about you. You reported to Jim Westerfield.”

  I was shocked. Again. How the hell did McLaughlin know Westerfield was my station chief?

  McLaughlin rose from his seat, picked up the check, took some coins out of his pocket and laid them on the table. He stretched his long arms and put his jacket on. “Are you going to let me see the trust? I’m going to get it sooner or later.”

  “Let’s hold off for the time being. I don’t want to violate my trustee’s oath any more than I already have. I’m sure you’ll get it sooner or later, but take my word for it, it won’t help you solve this crime.”

  He shrugged. “My gut tells me there’s gold somewhere and that this is a family affair. I could be wrong, but maybe someone wants more than his fair share. Maybe one of the relatives had a bone to pick. Fergus had a reputation. He was a tough old bird. Maybe he rubbed one of his brothers the wrong way. Or his kids.” McLaughlin popped me on the chest with his index finger. “First theory of relativity. Fergus must have suspected that the killer would come from the family, otherwise why postpone the family distributions until the killer is found?”

  I had to concede that was logical. “Those were my initial thoughts as well, but my wife came up with an alternate theory. Maybe Fergus deferred disclosure because he was protecting his heirs, because he didn’t want the killer to know who was next in line to inherit the property.”

  “Hmm. Smart woman, your wife.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Still, I want to talk to your uncles, but they won’t talk to me.”

  “That’s understandable. They’ve been at odds with the likes of you all their lives.”

  “The war is over, Liam.”

  “It may be for some people. Maybe not for my uncles. Maybe not for the Butchers. And maybe it wasn’t for my poor Uncle Fergus. I’m not going to cross the Troubles off my list. Not yet.”

  McLaughlin smiled. “You’re right. Some grudges don’t go away. The smart money’s on a member of the family, but the Taggarts did make a lot of enemies during the Troubles. See if you can get his brothers to talk to me. And drop by the station tomorrow. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  ELEVEN

  MY MORNING RUN TOOK me south along the banks of the river and into the countryside. The weather was clear, the sky was Cubbie blue and the hills were emerald green, just as advertised. The morning dew added a little moisture to the air and the fragrance was sweet. It was surprising to me how much of the land was devoted to farming and how little commercial development surrounded Antrim. What a contrast to my morning run along Chicago’s lakefront.

  It wasn’t hard to develop an abiding love for these enchanting green hills and valleys. In former times, hadn’t I been bewitched myself? Not that Annie didn’t play a prominent role in that regard during the year we spent together. She and this mystical island cast a spell on me, nothing less, and I was intoxicated by the prospect of spending the rest of my life in Ireland. She laughed and blamed it on the leprechauns. And what a beguiling laugh she had. As they say, the lilt of Irish laughter. I wonder what my life would have been like if I didn’t have that falling out with Uncle Fergus. If I’d never met Seamus McManus. But those were not constructive thoughts for a man with a loving wife and a baby. I put them out of my mind and continued with my run.

  Riley had called me late last night and asked if I’d meet him for lunch. I was looking forward to it. He was low-keyed and easygoing. The exact opposite of his mercurial brother. As youngsters, we spent many an afternoon kicking a soccer ball in the pasture. I had nothing but affection for Riley.

  He suggested a place west of Antrim, famous for its grilled trout. The restaurant, Harbor House, turned out to be on the western shore of Lough Neagh, and right on the water’s edge. I rightfully assumed that the trout was freshly caught.

  Riley was already seated when I arrived and was enjoying a bottle of Harp and some chips. His greeting was warm. He had a smile on his face. The first thing he did was to ask about Catherine and Ben. Riley took out his phone to show me pictures of his daughters. Humble though I may be, I couldn’t resist showing off my handsome boy.

  The food was fresh and the beer was good, though not as cold as I prefer. As it was bound to, the conversation finally circled around to the trust. What was I going to do?

  “I suppose I have to wait for the condition to occur,” I answered. “I can’t do anything until your father’s murder is solved.”

  Riley leaned forward and spoke softly. “I have a problem, Liam. I need your help. My dad and I bought some shares in the company I work for, Global Investments, Inc. It was a stock offering to employees at the company, but it was pricey and most of my fellow employees couldn’t swing it. I asked my dad if he would loan me the money to buy some of the shares and he asked me if it was a good investment. You know, I’m not exactly objective, but I really thought this would be a fabulous opportunity for us. So my dad said we could buy the lot and he would put up the money. We could own them jointly.”

  “How much were the shares?”

  Riley grimaced a bit, then quietly said, “Eighty thousand pounds.”

  I let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “I know, but they’ll be worth a lot more when Global gets past this financial mess.”

  “Uncle Fergus put up all the money?”

  Riley nodded. “Since he put up the money and wire transferred the purchase price from his account through the underwriter, the stock was issued in the name of Fergus Taggart, but it was our joint investment. Really my investment, but he put up the money.”

  Uh-oh, I thought. This is heading in a dangerous direction. “Is there anything in writing that shows it was your joint investment?”

  Riley shook his head. “I don’t think my dad wanted Deirdre to know he invested so much money for me in the stock of my company. The money came from their savings. At the time it was a great investment. Since then, we’ve run into problems with the regulators. That’s why I need better control over the stock and that’s why I need your help.”<
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  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Does the trust say anything about the stock?”

  “You know I can’t discuss the terms.”

  “Liam, come on.”

  I shook my head. I probably shouldn’t have taken the discussion any further but I wanted to see if I could help Riley. “It’s an asset of the trust. A substantial one. I’m not sure my authority permits me to do this, Riley, and I would need some legal advice, but are you in a position to buy the stock from the trust for a fair market value, if the trust permits it?”

  “Not at this time. Not yet. But you’ve read the trust and you know what it says. Does he leave the stock to me? It’s really mine anyway.”

  What I knew was that all assets were to be held until the murderer was found. Then the assets were to be sold and the cash split seven ways, but I couldn’t tell him that. “You know I really can’t discuss it. The trust has to remain secret for now.”

  “Well, the way I figure it, Liam, the stock properly belongs to me. It was, at the very least, a joint investment, so why wouldn’t it pass to me automatically on the death of my dad?”

  “I think we’re going to have to leave that issue for a later time, Riley. You know I can’t do anything until the murder is solved.”

  Riley started to become agitated. “Liam, it’s my company. It’s my stock. Global’s president, Ross Penters, offered it to me. There are things going on at the company that require flexibility and affirmative action by the shareholders. You have no right to withhold it.”

  “I’m sorry, Riley.”

  He became increasingly anxious and I saw little sweat beads forming on his forehead. This was a Riley I had never seen before. “Liam, maybe you don’t fully appreciate the situation. It’s a closely held company. The stock was offered to me because I’m a trusted insider. Mr. Penters isn’t going to like anyone else holding stock in his company. It can’t go to my brother or Deirdre or anyone else. Don’t you understand? It has to go to me.”

  Now the issue was becoming more complicated. If Penters wouldn’t like another Taggart family member owning shares in his company, he certainly wouldn’t want me to sell the stock to the public in order to liquidate the asset. But I had my instructions. My hands were tied.

  “Again, Riley, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do at this time.”

  With that, he stood, looked down at me and shook his head. “I’m really disappointed in you, Liam. Really. This is totally unfair.”

  I tried to repeat that I was sorry, but he flipped his napkin on the table and walked out of the door. I was sure this was only the beginning. Make way for a parade of problems, including the fact that he stuck me with the check.

  It was time to call Catherine, so I returned to the hotel.

  * * *

  RECONNECTING WITH MY WIFE was the highlight of my day. My loving, brilliant wife who, unfortunately, was three thousand six hundred miles away. I described the documents I found in the folder, the articles and the pictures. I recounted my discussions with McLaughlin and his opinions. I also told her what Deirdre revealed about the tragedies that befell my family forty years ago. It was painful but the telling was a catharsis. Catherine was such a good listener. It seemed like I’d been away for months, rather than days.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, “your father and your sister were both murdered on the same day during the Troubles? And your family kept it from you?”

  “I’m afraid so. Every day things get more complicated. I might have bitten off more than I can chew on this one, Cat. Now Riley wants me to give him the stock that sits in Fergus’s name.”

  “You can’t do that. You’d be breaching your fiduciary duty as a trustee. You could end up liable to the other beneficiaries who are entitled to a portion of the value of that stock. Although, I suppose it would be all right if Riley deposited the fair market value of the stock in exchange for the shares.”

  “I suggested it, but he doesn’t have the money. He wants the stock outright.”

  “You can’t do it. Sorry you’re in a fix, but it’s not your fault. The trust controls. It dictates what you can and cannot do. Your job is to follow the instructions laid out in the trust. Your relatives should understand that. It was your uncle that set it all up, not you. You’re only doing what he wanted done with his estate.”

  “Right. Tell that to Conor, tell that to Riley and tell that to whoever else is going to complain once the terms become known. How did I get in the middle of this mess? I think it was you that said I should come here and pay my respects. Make amends.”

  “Oh, I’m to blame, am I?”

  “Of course. And now you need to come here and help me with it. I’m not sure when I can get back to Chicago.”

  There was a pause, then, “Liam, I’ve been getting some crank telephone calls.”

  “From who?”

  “I don’t know. The caller ID reads ‘Caller Unknown.’”

  “What does the caller say?”

  “Well, it’s all in a whisper. Someone breathes into the phone and then hangs up.”

  I froze. The note in my hotel room—“Get your arse back to Chicago where you can look after what’s yours.” This was no coincidence. My nervous condition immediately shot up to the level of DEFCON 3—Military on Standby.

  “Cat, this is no crank. Get on a plane and get over here right now.”

  “Honey, I miss you too, but I can’t do that, I have—”

  “Listen to me. Those telephone calls aren’t directed at you. They are messages for me, warnings, telling me to get out of Northern Ireland and go home. I didn’t want to upset you, but my tires were slashed and my room was ransacked and a note was left on the bed telling me to go to Chicago and look after what’s mine. That means you and Ben. Whoever it is doesn’t want me to stay here as a trustee. Until I can leave, you need to be where I can keep an eye on you. I need to know you and Ben are safe.”

  “I’m sorry, Liam, but do you know how ridiculous that is? You’re just a functionary, an appointed trustee in a testamentary trust who has to follow the trust instructions. If you left, someone else would have to follow those same instructions. Anyone would know that.”

  “McLaughlin thinks there are reasons someone is trying to scare me out of Antrim. He said I’m an imposing figure who won’t be bullied. Besides I’m a private investigator. There is someone who wants me out of Northern Ireland.”

  “Do you honestly believe that someone in Northern Ireland is foolish enough to think that Liam Taggart is going to quit because of crank calls? Seriously? That’s juvenile. I’m not scared. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’ll even be extra careful.”

  “Cat, don’t make light of this. I wish you’d just come here and then I could keep you safe.”

  “That’s sweet. But these are just annoying pranks. I’ll keep a good lookout. Here, your son wants to talk to you.”

  I heard some gurgles and then, “Ook, ah, ughoo.” More squealing noises and Catherine laughing in the background. I sure missed those two. I’m not going to stop worrying until I get home.

  * * *

  NO SOONER HAD I finished the call and set the phone down, than it rang. It was O’Neill. “Well, Conor’s gone ahead and hired a solicitor,” he said. “Sure surprised me. I never thought he’d have the guts to do it. He’s hired Michael Cooney, a young colt and a bit of a smart-ass. Cooney called to let me know that he’s going to file a lawsuit first thing tomorrow morning to declare the will and trust null and void. He said he was going to schedule an emergency hearing as soon as he could get on the docket.”

  I wanted to say, “That’s the best news I’ve had all day, now somebody else can sit in the dunk tank,” but I kept it to myself. I said, more properly, “What is your advice?”

  “Cooney asked that we convene a meeting at his office of all parties with rights under the trust agreement. I assume that means all of the trust beneficiaries.”

  “H
ow does he know who the beneficiaries are?”

  “I don’t think he does, but he’s a very good fisherman, and this is his way of forcing us to identify who the beneficiaries are.”

  “What’s the Irish equivalent of ‘Piss off’?”

  “Piss off.”

  “Then tell him your client said ‘Piss off.’”

  “I would happily comply, but for the fact that the case will be assigned to Judge McNulty. She’ll insist that the parties meet and confer at the earliest opportunity, and in all events, prior to any hearing. So even if I said piss off, Judge McNulty would instruct us to meet.”

  “Then I ask you again, what is your advice?”

  “I say we throw the meeting open to anyone who would like to come. Any interested party. That way, we’re not tipping our hand. We don’t identify anyone as a beneficiary.”

  “Okay. When and where?”

  “I’ll suggest tomorrow at his office.”

  “By the way, Malcolm, on what basis do Conor and his lawyer seek to invalidate the will and trust?”

  “Why, lunacy of course. No sane person would write a will in anticipation of being assassinated without involving the police or, at a minimum, exposing the would-be assassin.”

  That thought had occurred to me as well.

  * * *

  A FORMIDABLE BURGUNDY BRICK structure houses the Antrim PSNI station. I can understand that an architect isn’t inclined to make a jail warm and fuzzy, but this one borders on medieval. I went through a security gate, entered the building and asked for Inspector McLaughlin. Inside, the station didn’t differ from those I’d come to know in Chicago. The officers, women and men alike, were neatly dressed with pressed uniforms, white shirts, neckties and hats placed squarely on their heads. But not Inspector McLaughlin. Even though it was August, he was in a dark green and plum wool plaid sport coat over a tan shirt and dark brown slacks. He nodded when he saw me and gestured for me to follow him back into his office.

  “Have a seat,” he said. “As I told you, I’m running into a brick wall with your Taggart family. They won’t work with me. They won’t even talk to me.”