That was twenty years ago, but the memories are strong and this night at Deirdre’s they came flooding back, along with the pain I suffered twelve months later. I shook the memories from my head as best I could and walked into the kitchen. Tonight, there would be no Annie, no Nora and no Fergus. Just Deirdre, Eamon and me. The room seemed large and the table seemed empty with only three of us. I’m sure it must have felt that way to Deirdre as well. Eamon was a quiet man, so whatever conversations came to pass were generated mainly by Deirdre and me. Shortly after we’d cleared the table, Eamon stood to leave, and I walked him to the door.
“I think I’ll stick around and help Aunt Deirdre with the dishes,” I said.
“You’re a good boy, Liam, I’ve always thought so,” he said, “and it warms my heart to see you. I’ve missed you all these years.” I would remember those words long afterward.
I returned to the kitchen and busied myself with a dish towel. Almost immediately I heard a slam of metal, a screech of tires and the continuous blare of a horn. I rushed outside to see Eamon’s car leaning sideways against a tree, totally smashed on the driver’s side. I yelled for Deirdre to call an ambulance and I ran to the car. Eamon was lying inside, his head was bleeding and he didn’t appear to be conscious. Whoever rammed into him was long gone.
Try as I might, I couldn’t open the door. I ran to the shed and grabbed a shovel and a tire iron. I was working frantically on the door when the paramedics arrived. They managed to free him from the car and lay him gently on a stretcher. He was unconscious, in bad shape, but still alive. As they lifted him into the ambulance, Deirdre and I stood by watching, helpless, in a state of total disbelief. Was this a consequence of the calling card?
We followed the ambulance to Trinity Hospital. Deirdre sat beside me staring straight ahead. A dull sense of resignation had settled over her, as though she were a wobbly boxer, dazed and defenseless, taking punches, one after another, with the certainty that she would soon be knocked to the canvas. Dead to the world. Lights out.
Eamon was rushed into surgery and we paced the waiting area in silence until a portly policeman with a notepad confronted us. What had we seen? Did we have a description of the other car? Did we have any explanation for the accident?
“This was no accident,” I said.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I mean that someone intentionally collided with my uncle and pushed him into a tree. He was marked for death. This was an attempted murder.”
“Well, you have no proof of that, do you now? That seems like a bloody poor excuse for an old man who backed into oncoming traffic.”
That infuriated me and I quickly got up into his face. “You stupid son of a bitch, he was targeted,” I yelled. “Don’t you get it, someone tried to kill him!”
He yelled, “Back off,” and his hand went for his baton when I heard, “I’ll take it from here, patrolman.” It was Megan. She put her arm around my shoulders and led me to the bank of chairs along the wall.
“I’m so sorry, Liam,” she said. “Did anyone get a look at the other car?”
I hung my head. “No. From the look of Uncle Eamon’s Toyota, he was hammered by something a lot bigger than a car.”
“Hopefully, your uncle will be able to give us a description.”
I nodded, but I had my doubts. He was in bad shape when they took him out of the car. All of his vitals were weak. And he was no spring chicken. Even if he fully recovered, there’s no assurance that he’d remember. The human mind often blocks memories of sudden trauma. But to be frank, I didn’t know when or if he’d ever be cognizant enough to talk about it.
“Why Eamon, Liam? Why would someone want to kill Eamon?” Deirdre said.
“I wish I knew, Aunt Deirdre. I wish I could have prevented it.”
Megan looked at me and whispered, “The picture—payback time—is that what you’re thinking?”
I nodded. “The Walker calling card was in his mailbox. Just like Fergus. If Fergus was killed because of the vendetta, then Eamon was targeted because he’s one of the Taggart brothers who retaliated against the Walkers. On the other hand, if you believe Fergus was killed for his property, Eamon stands to inherit as an equal beneficiary. He has a one-seventh share. With him out of the way, everyone else’s share increases.”
“What if there’s another theory, one we haven’t articulated?” Megan said.
“What would that be?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t buy into the certainty that there are only two motives, only two valid theories. McLaughlin’s got his relativity theory and you seem locked into a remnant of the Troubles, but both of those theories are simple solutions and life is complicated. I don’t know why there can’t be another reason.”
“Why don’t you believe that Fergus and Eamon were targets of a Shankill gang? The Taggart boys went on a rampage after my father was killed. I’ve been told that some of these sectarian vendettas lay dormant for years and then explode.”
“Liam’s right,” Deirdre said. “Eye for an eye. Tit for tat. It’s the law of Northern Ireland.”
“It was also forty years ago, Deirdre,” Megan said. “Northern Ireland has changed. All those combatants are dead and buried. Just like the Troubles.”
“I don’t think you believe that any more than I do,” I said. “Otherwise, why are the peace walls still standing almost twenty years after the peace agreement?”
The door to the waiting room opened and a doctor walked in, still in his green scrubs, his surgical mask loosely hanging around his neck. We rushed over. His eyes looked down and his face bore the signs of exhaustion and disappointment. We could tell in an instant that the news was bad.
“We did all we could,” he said quietly. “His injuries were too severe. I’m sorry.”
Deirdre dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Her wails tore at my heart. We helped her back to her seat. I didn’t know how much more this poor lady could take. Once upon a time there were five Taggart siblings and now there were just two.
SEVENTEEN
“CAT, I HAVE TERRIBLE news. Uncle Eamon died tonight. He had just got into his car after dinner and…”
“Oh, how awful. I’m so sorry. How did the accident happen?”
“It was no accident, Cat. Uncle Eamon was murdered, just as sure as if someone had shot him dead. His car was intentionally rammed from the side.”
“Oh, my God. Who hit him? Did they catch the guy?”
“Nope. Hit and run. Long gone. Somewhere out here there are people who are trying to kill off the Taggarts one by one. I’m certain of it, and I believe it’s an old vendetta from the Troubles.”
“Is that what the police think as well?”
“No. McLaughlin believes it has something to do with my uncle’s estate. We don’t agree. However, what we both know is that Fergus and Eamon were each marked for death. They had pictures of Walker’s house in their mailboxes.”
“And now I have one as well, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes. It sure is. I need you to come here right now where I can protect you.”
“Liam, it’s such a bad time, but if you really want me to come to Antrim, give me a couple of days to continue my court hearings and I’ll come. I’ll have to bring Ben.”
I sighed. She didn’t want to come. Was I going overboard? She was three thousand miles away and I had hired around-the-clock protection. And I would be home soon. She had her practice and her clients to consider. Neither of us wanted to drag Ben on this trip. Besides, if there are killers running around Antrim, I didn’t want Catherine and Ben anywhere near the crossfire. They were much safer in Chicago. Chick Chaikin was reporting that everything was quiet on our block.
“No,” I said with a sigh. “I don’t really want you to come. It’s too dangerous. I’m sure I’ll be home in a few days, and I don’t want to screw up your practice. But we think so well together and I bet if you were here, we’d figure this thing out.”
“I’ve been giving this matter a lot of thought as well, Liam. One question stands out as foundational: what was it that prompted Uncle Fergus to fear for his life? Why did he believe that someone would try to kill him? It wasn’t because he was ‘marked for death.’ The picture was still in the mailbox when he was killed. Whatever clues he saw were developed over time, while he was preparing his will and trust with O’Neill. Remember the letter he wrote to you? It said, ‘Over the past several weeks, I have become alarmed over certain things that I have heard and seen.’ What had he heard and seen over the past several weeks? Whether he thought it was some leftover vendetta from the Troubles, or something to do with his property, it was frightening enough to threaten everything he valued.”
“I know,” I said, “‘the entire treasure of a man’s life.’ So, why wouldn’t he identify the danger or his suspect? Why would he write me a note that forecast his assassination without naming his assassin?”
“I admit it’s puzzling, but he also said he could be wrong. I’m sure he didn’t want to carelessly accuse someone. Or, maybe Uncle Fergus was on to something and he knew who it was but he thought he could talk him out of it, or work it out? I’m siding with Inspector McLaughlin and his theory of relativity. I think it might be someone very close to Uncle Fergus, not some stranger or enemy from bygone years. There was a reason he deferred all distributions until the killer was identified. The only people who are getting distributions are family members.”
It was hard to argue with Catherine’s logic. “There are only six beneficiaries left, and one of them is the Bridget McGregor Trust.”
“It’s a puzzle, Liam. No doubt about it. But you’re the best. I’m sure you’ll come across the answer soon enough. I’ve been thinking about that box, the newspaper articles and the picture of the guns. They’re there for a reason.”
“I agree. I’ve studied the newspaper clippings and the picture, and I’ve even given them to McLaughlin, but we haven’t come up with anything. Especially with that picture. It’s just a box of guns.”
“Is there something hidden in that picture?”
“Oh, come on, Cat, this isn’t a video game.”
“I know you, Liam, you’re a great investigator. Something will come up, it always does.”
“This is a tough one, Cat. The picture of the Walker house, doesn’t it stand to reason that the Walker gang is picking off the Taggarts and claiming credit? That’s what I’m focusing on right now.”
“Well, you’ve got the bloodhound’s nose. For me, it’s too obvious.”
“Bloodhound’s nose? Is that what you think?” I checked my reflection in the mirror. “I think it’s a damn fine nose.”
Catherine laughed. “It’s just an okay nose, nothing special.” I wished she were here with me. But then she added, almost as an afterthought, “Why couldn’t the Walker picture be a misdirection? I mean if someone wanted to divert suspicion, shift attention, that’s a pretty clever way to do it.”
“I can’t fault your logic,” I said. “It would be a masterful misdirection. Still, if you were out here with this family, you’d find it hard to believe that one of them is a murderer.”
“Even Conor? Aren’t you the one who says he was responsible for the phone calls, the slashed tires and the note in your room? You said he was out of control.”
“Out of control, yes. Violent, to be sure. A whack job, I’m certain. But a man who would kill his father and his uncle? I don’t see it.”
“Be careful, Liam. If you’re right, and if this is clan warfare, you’re not exactly a neutral observer. You’re a Taggart.”
“I know. But I can take of myself. You and Ben are the ones that need to be careful. You’re Taggarts as well.”
“Is that why Mr. Bent Nose is sitting out front? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“Let him be, Cat. It’s for your own good. He’s there to protect you twenty-four/seven until I get home. It lets me sleep at night.”
“All right, you win. I’ll let him enjoy his coffee. I’ll even bring him a donut. Now I gotta go. I love you, take care.”
I hung up the phone and retrieved the walnut box from the trunk of my car. I laid the documents out on the bed and examined them for yet another time. I saw bank statements with no unusual withdrawals in recent months. I saw deeds that were forty years old. I saw grain contracts and machinery invoices. I saw the Global Investments stock certificate in the name of Fergus Taggart. I saw several printed proxy forms and notices of Global meetings of shareholders. Then I looked at the handwritten letter again. Was there a clue? Is there something imbedded? I read every word, considered every implication. Nothing.
* * *
WHEN I ARRIVED AT Deirdre’s later that evening, the family had once again gathered to mourn a loved one. Robert, Harry, Sean, Riley, Janie and Charles were already there. Megan was seated quietly in the foyer. Deirdre was in the living room and when I entered she came over and put her arms around me. Her face was flushed, her eyes were red and her bearing was a bit unsteady. Since Fergus’s death, Eamon and Deidre had grown closer. They had leaned on one another. She blew her nose into a handkerchief and sniffled. “I’m really going to miss that old curmudgeon. You know, he had a heart of gold.”
“I do know that.”
“You were special to him.”
Memories of Eamon flipped like flashcards and materialized in my mind. The nights I spent at his house playing matchstick poker. His “famous” breakfast of eggs, rashers and brown bread for soakage. The way he’d look at me out of the corner of his eye with a knowing smile that challenged me to confess the mischief I was up to.
“He was special to me too,” I said.
“What am I supposed to do, Liam? I’m scared. Are they coming for me next? Or will it be Robert? Look around. Look at us, Liam. We’re all scared to death.” She grabbed my hand. “Please help us, Liam. Find the man who killed Fergus and Eamon and take him off the face of the earth.”
I assured her that she’d be all right, that we were all looking out for her, but she was right to be afraid. I’m sure that everyone had the same fears and they’d all sleep with one eye open. Shocked, saddened and scared to death. Whoever was doing this was terrorizing my family.
I made my way back to the foyer where I pulled up a chair next to Megan. “You were right about the size of the vehicle,” she said. “We see tire tracks from a heavy-duty pickup. Eamon was T-boned and pinned against the tree. There are grille impressions on Eamon’s car consistent with a GMC Sierra and there are silver paint marks on the door. We’ve put out an alert for a silver Sierra. There can’t be that many of them in this area.”
“Deirdre’s worried. They all are. They’re terror-stricken.”
“With good reason. We’ve assigned a patrolman to watch her house around the clock. We offered a guard to Robert as well, but he says he feels safe. He lives in a sixth-floor apartment in the Titanic Quarter and there’s security in the lobby.”
I shook my head. “He’s not safe. Robert’s not going to stay inside all the time. Eamon was killed in his car.”
“I know. Belfast division has been alerted. They’ll keep an eye out. There’s not a lot more I can do. Inspector McLaughlin is still looking into the Walker family and the documents you gave him. We’re trying to follow every lead.”
Charles and Janie walked toward the front door. They were ready to leave when Charles walked over. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Eamon was always very nice to me.”
After they left, I asked Megan, “Did you come across anything on Northern Exports or Charles Dalton?”
“Very little. Northern is a privately held company that operates out of a warehouse near the harbor. It’s gated and well secured.”
“Gated and secured?”
She nodded. “There’s a guard in a gatehouse that controls entry in and out.”
“Don’t you think that’s unusual for a linen distributor?”
“Yes, but it’s not illega
l.”
“How about Riley’s company, Global Investments?”
“Not much more than the newspapers disclose. The company seems to be in trouble with the financial regulators. You saw the paragraph in the Financial Times.”
“Seems to be? Nothing more specific than that? The financial regulators are part of your government. Come on, you must know more than you’re telling me. Don’t they talk to you?”
She smiled. “Not really. Their activities are top secret.”
“Come on.”
“The EU requires each member to operate an Egmont Financial Intelligence Unit, called that because directors of each FIU meet at the Egmont Arenberg Palace in Brussels to discuss and monitor money laundering and potential terrorist financial transactions. Here in Northern Ireland, the National Crime Agency operates the FIU. NCA tells us that both Northern Export and Global Investments have open files in Egmont. But that’s all they’ll say. Neither has been prosecuted, but there is ongoing analysis. NCA requires top-security clearance, which I don’t have. That’s as much as I can tell you.”
Just then, Conor arrived, threw open the door and burst into the hallway with all the subtlety of McNamara’s Band. He gave me a dismissive look and headed into the living room. I turned to Megan. “Hurricane Conor just made landfall.”
“That’s bound to raise the tension level.”
“No doubt. Still, I don’t think he has a killer’s profile, do you?”
“He wouldn’t be my first choice,” she said. “But I also wouldn’t cross him off the list.”
“Who would be your first choice?”
She shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, reached into her purse for her car keys and said, “I don’t have one. Inspector McLaughlin would like you to come by the station in the morning. Can you make it?”
The Trust Page 15
