The Trust

by Ronald H. Balson

  McLaughlin shook his head. “No, I reject that theory. Even if Lefferty has a surviving member of his family, how would that person know about you? Or the Walkers? How could he possibly connect the dots? How could he circle back to you or to your uncles sixteen years later? Nah. It’s someone who knows about the Walkers and the Taggarts and you can’t eliminate a family member. Relativity theory. I like it more every day, especially since I saw the anger in the courtroom yesterday.”

  “Then why would my uncle keep those clippings in a folder? Isn’t it possible that they had something to do with his murder?”

  “Why don’t you ask your aunt Deirdre?”

  I shook my head. “I think she’s given me everything she knows. Fergus didn’t want to worry her and didn’t open up to her about these matters.”

  A thought came to mind. Deirdre said that Annie was close to Fergus and he discussed personal matters with her. That disturbed me on several levels. I didn’t like the idea of Annie knowing all about this and I certainly didn’t want to reopen communication channels with Annie to find out. It was uncomfortable enough seeing her at the church. I didn’t want to go sleuthing with her.

  “If you think the documents in the folder are all related, then the picture of the box of guns makes more sense,” McLaughlin said. “It might have been a picture of the guns seized from Lefferty in 1999.”

  I nodded. “So, you agree that my suspicions might have merit? Why else would my uncle put that photo in the folder?”

  “Maybe, but let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  I stood up to leave. I was anxious to get back to Deirdre and ask her about McManus and Lefferty and if she knew anything more about them. Besides, I had to call Catherine. Why hadn’t she called me back? I’d texted her hours ago.

  I grabbed a sandwich from Flaherty’s and ate it in the car. The more I tried to make sense of the killings, the more frustrated I became. It was now one o’clock and time to call Catherine. I placed the call but reached her voice mail. Half an hour later, I got the voice mail message again. Where the hell was she at seven thirty in the morning when I needed to talk to her? She couldn’t have been sleeping. I left another message for her to call me and proceeded down A26 toward Deirdre.

  As I neared the farm, I placed another call. Voice mail: “Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message.” I tried all her numbers. No answer at home, no answer on her cell and no answer at the office. I was getting nervous. I called Chick Chaikin. Voice mail. Now I was sure something was wrong. I could feel it. I was practically crawling out of my skin when my phone rang. Caller ID said it was Gladys Jimenez, Catherine’s secretary. Thank God, Cat’s office was calling me back.

  “Hey Gladys,” I teased, “how many paper clips did Catherine use this week?”

  There was no joy in her voice. “They’re all okay, Liam. I mean, I’m sure they’ll all be okay.”

  “Who’s okay? What’s okay? What are you talking about, Gladys?”

  “There was a fire. At your house. A man threw a bottle of gasoline through your front window. It exploded and caused a big fire. They’re all at the hospital now. Ben, Cat and Mr. Chaikin. It happened early this morning.”

  “Gladys, what’s their condition? Cat and the baby, how are they?”

  Gladys started to cry. “Cat got burned real bad on her leg and her hip. Ben had smoke in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. They’re both in the hospital, but they’re alive. Doctor says they’re gonna be okay. Mr. Chaikin was shot bad and he’s in surgery.”

  “What about the man who threw the bottle? Where is he?”

  “The man who threw the bottle is dead. Mr. Chaikin shot him and it was a good thing because the man had a gun and he would have…” Gladys was crying harder and couldn’t finish her sentence. She took a breath.

  “What, Gladys? Tell me.”

  “He was ready to shoot Cat and the baby when they came outside.”

  Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. I was going out of my mind. “Gladys, I’m coming right back, I’ll catch the next plane.”

  “Cat says no, you need to stay and finish your job.”

  “Tell her I’ll be there as soon as possible.” She was sobbing heavily into the phone. “Gladys, listen to me, is there a policeman guarding Catherine’s room? Is there anyone watching out for her? Gladys?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I don’t see a policeman.”

  “Are you anywhere near Catherine? Can I speak to her?”

  “I’m at the hospital, outside her room. They gave her medicine for the pain and she’s sleeping.”

  “Can you stay with her for a while?”

  “Sí,”

  “Gladys, I’m going to try to get a policeman to watch over them, but in the meantime, if you see anything, anything at all, I want you to shout for help at the top of your lungs, okay?”

  Gladys was sobbing, breathing in gasps. “Why did they do this, Liam? Who would do such a thing? My Catherine! And the little baby! Oh Dios mio. El pequeño bebé! Por qué? Por qué? Que haria esta cosa?”

  “Gladys, Gladys, listen to me. You must guard her until the police come. Shout for help.”

  “I will. I will.”

  “You said Mr. Chaikin was in surgery. What happened to him?”

  “He tried to stop the man from throwing the gasoline. He jumped out of his car, but the man saw him, turned and shot him in the stomach. Pero Senor Chaikin lo mato. Gracias a Dios. Lying in the street, Mr. Chaikin, he shot the man dead.”

  “Gladys, stay with Cat. Guard her. Don’t leave her. Call me if anything at all happens. Anything. Do you follow me?”

  “Liam, I’m going crazy, but I’m not scared and I’m not stupid. Don’t you worry; No one’s coming near my Catherine or the baby. No one’s getting by this Puerto Rican woman. And I’ll call you when I know about Mr. Chaikin.”

  “Thanks, Gladys, I love you. I’ll be there soon.”

  I made a quick U-turn and headed for the Dublin airport. Even though my route took me by Belfast International I knew there were no direct flights to Chicago. A cell phone check with Aer Lingus informed me that there was a four o’clock out of Dublin. If I stepped on it, I might make it.

  Next I called McLaughlin. “Farrell, the bastards attacked my family. They firebombed my house. I’m headed back to Chicago.”

  “What?”

  “Just like the one I stopped at Deirdre’s. Same deal. A Molotov was tossed through the window in the middle of the night. The guy was armed and Catherine’s secretary thought he intended to shoot my wife and baby if they came out of the door. I had hired a friend of mine, a private guy, to sit outside the house and thank God he was there. He killed the shooter, but not before the bomb was tossed through the window. My wife’s been injured and she’s in the hospital. So’s my little boy. I’m headed home.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m so sorry, Liam. How bad are the injuries?”

  “I don’t know. Gladys says they’re bad. My friend Chick is in surgery. He may not make it.”

  “Who’s looking out for your wife right now? She could still be a target, even in the hospital.”

  “I don’t know if the guy who threw the bomb was working alone, or if there were others, but I agree with you and I’d feel a lot better with police protection. Catherine’s secretary is with her right now and she’s one tough woman, a real pit bull. She’ll do what she can, but Farrell, I need a favor. Can you contact the Chicago police? See if they’ll post a guard outside Catherine’s hospital room? At least until I get there? I don’t know if they’d do it for me, but if the call came from you, it might make a difference.”

  “Consider it done. Where is your wife?”

  “Northwestern Memorial. Listen Farrell, I don’t think this is Walker’s doing. A lowlife like Walker would not have the funds or the wherewithal to get this done three thousand miles away. I believe you’ve been right from the beginning: the killer’s a relative, and I’m betting it’s one of my two cou
sins. I’d like to know where Conor and Riley are right now and what they’ve been doing for the past two days. Maybe you can get their phone records and find out if there are any calls to the States.”

  “I understand. I’ll do my best to track them down. When you get back to Chicago, try to get an ID on the arsonist. Find out if he has any travel records. Get his cell phone. Where are you right now?”

  “On the A26 heading toward Antrim from Deirdre’s, I’m trying to catch a four o’clock out of Dublin.”

  “Four o’clock out of Dublin, are you kidding? It’s two thirty. Are you anywhere near Belfast International? I’ve got a chopper there.”

  “Just passed it.”

  “Go back. I’ll get you to Dublin. I don’t want you getting killed on my highways. You’ll make the flight on time, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks, Farrell. I owe you.”

  I pulled into the lot at Belfast International and waited for McLaughlin. I had never endured anything like the pure panic I was feeling. I paced around my car waiting for Farrell.

  My phone rang again and I slipped into the car to take the call. It was Gladys. “You told me to tell you when Mr. Chaikin was out of surgery. They’ve taken him down to ICU. His doctor says his condition is critical, but he’s got a chance. Cat woke up and she wants to talk to you.”

  Chills ran up my spine. I had almost lost her. Thank God I could talk to my wife.

  “Hi, honey,” she said in a weak, breathy voice. “How are you?”

  “How am I? Oh my God, sweetheart, how are you and Ben?”

  “We’re going to be okay. I got burned on my leg from the fire and…” Cat didn’t finish her sentence and even though she tried to muffle the phone, I could tell she was crying. I was so upset. Here I was in Northern Ireland and my family, my responsibility, my whole life was in Chicago fighting for their lives. I clenched my fists. I could have ripped the steering wheel off the post. I should have been there. I should have been in Chicago protecting them ever since the threats started coming. What was I doing playing trustee, trying to protect money and stock certificates from being prematurely distributed, when my wife and my son had received a death threat? I’m going home and I’m never coming back. Damn the Fergus Taggart Trust!

  “Liam,” Catherine said, sniffling. “I love you.”

  “Cat, I love you so much. I’m coming home, sweetheart. Take care of little Benny and I’ll see you soon.”

  “Ben’s fine. He’s right next to me. I guess you were right about the phone calls. I should have listened.” She started crying again.

  “I’ll be there before you know it. Just be real careful and alert to anyone in the area. Gladys said she’ll stay with you until I get there.”

  “I know. She’s so sweet.” Catherine was slurring her words. I assumed she was heavily medicated. “When I didn’t show up at the office this morning, Gladys called the police and tracked me down. She’s been sitting here ever since. She won’t leave. I tried to send her home.”

  “Don’t send her away, Cat. Not unless a policeman comes. I’ll be there tonight.”

  “Okay,” she said weakly. “Liam, I just want to go home. I don’t know when the doctors will let us go home, but I want to go home. Would you tell them to let us go home?” Her words were all melting together and she was hard to understand. I was sure the medicine was making her goofy.

  “Go home? Honey, we had a fire. Wasn’t the house destroyed?”

  “Oh, how silly. I forgot. Yes, it was. The fire was real bad. I’m tired, Liam, I’m sorry.”

  “Cat, just be careful, get well, watch Benny and I’ll be there soon.”

  Just then the PSNI patrol car pulled into the lot. “Get in,” Megan yelled, and with lights flashing she drove out onto the tarmac where a helicopter was waiting. The flight took about thirty minutes. We didn’t get to Dublin International until 4:15, but Megan ushered me through security and down to the gate where Aer Lingus was holding the plane for me. Nice job, Farrell.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THE MINUTE I STEPPED out of the elevator onto the sixth floor at Northwestern Memorial I could sense the heightened security. I was required to stop at the nurses’ station, empty my pockets and show my ID. A uniformed police officer was sitting on a chair outside Catherine’s room.

  “Liam Taggart?” he said. I nodded and showed him my ID. “You’ve got friends in high places. It’s not often we set up in a hospital. When I got the assignment, I thought it was a government informant in wit-pro. Then they told me about the gasoline bomb. Real sorry, man. It was front page in the Trib. You had some enemy out there. I think your family’s doing okay, though. Mrs. Taggart’s sleeping right now.”

  I slowly opened the door. The room was dark and Cat was sleeping. Ben was in a crib next to the bed. He looked so beautiful, so innocent, lying there all curled up. I pulled up a chair and sat beside my family. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I clenched my fists. Whatever happened to them, whatever could have happened to them, was all my fault. If this was an outcrop of the Troubles, if it was because the Taggarts were targets of the Walkers or some other Butcher gang, it was my lineage and it was all my fault. If my CIA activities in Northern Ireland, or the deaths of McManus or Lefferty or anyone else brought this on, then it was all my fault. If it was because I accepted an appointment as trustee and Conor or Riley or any family member wanted me out of the way, it was all my fault. No matter how you looked at it, it was all my fault. I felt like I had personally put Catherine in this bed and endangered the life of my little boy. I could not have felt any worse. One thing I knew for sure, sooner or later I was going to get the guy behind this.

  There was a text message on my phone from McLaughlin. “No word on Walker. Bartender hasn’t seen him. Saw Riley at his house. Gave me his phone. Nothing. He was sorry re: fire. Not able to find Conor. Be careful.”

  Farrell had proven himself to be a great friend. So had Megan. I hated to leave them with the whole matter unresolved, but I did not intend to return to Antrim. To be honest, I didn’t know how much I was adding to the investigative process anyway. Truth be told, I had no level of confidence in any suspect. My instincts had totally failed me. The one certainty was my resolve not to abandon Catherine and Ben ever again.

  I walked out to the nurses’ station. I wanted to find out about Chick Chaikin. Although he was a professional and he knew the score, I was the one who put him in the line of fire and I felt responsible. Again, all my fault. The nurse told me that the surgery went as well as it could, but it was a serious gunshot wound. They would know more in a day or two.

  “You know, he saved the lives of my wife and my son,” I said.

  She smiled. “I know. It’s all over the papers. He’s a hero. If you want to see him, he’s in ICU, but he’s not conscious.”

  The door to his room was open. He was wired and tubed. The monitors were flashing and beeping. I stood at the foot of his bed. His eyes were shut and his breathing was shallow.

  “I owe you, Chick. You’re a hell of a man,” I said to his unconscious body. I blinked the tears out of my eyes and held his hand. “I’m sorry I put you and my family in harm’s way. The blame is all mine. I should have stayed in Chicago where I belong. Safe at home in Chicago.” I smiled at that irony. “When you get out of here, Chick, I’ll buy you a case of Canadian Club and a box of those ten-dollar cigars you love. We’ll take in a Cubs game and…” My emotions wouldn’t let me finish. I shook my head and returned to Catherine.

  I sat in the dark for two or three hours, dozing off now and then, when I heard Ben stir and make some chattering noises. I leaned over the rails on his crib and started to reach down for him when Catherine said, “Hi honey, when did you get here?”

  “A little while ago.” She threw her arm around my neck, pulled me down hard to the pillow and hugged me tightly. We both cried.

  “I think he’s hungry,” she said. “Would you hand him to me? I’m not supposed to walk very much. I have to keep
my leg elevated.”

  I sat beside her while she gave Ben his bottle. I didn’t want to ask her about the incident. I didn’t want her to relive the terror. I was so damn thankful just to be sitting in the company of my wife and child. Everybody alive. Everybody safe. My focus was on tomorrow and the day after. Yesterday, Northern Ireland, the Walkers, the trust, the death threats—as far as I was concerned, they never got on the plane. They did not come with me to Chicago.

  In a little while the nurse came in to change Catherine’s bandages. She pulled back the covers. Catherine’s left leg was wrapped in white from her hip to her ankle. She grimaced and clenched her teeth as her bandage was removed. I consider myself a tough guy, but when I saw my wife’s leg, my stomach turned in twisted knots and I almost lost it. She saw my reaction.

  “My robe was burning, but I had the baby in my arms and there wasn’t anything I could do about it until I made it outside.”

  The nurse looked at me. “She’s very brave, your wife. She didn’t hesitate. She knew what she had to do. She held that baby and brought him to safety even though her leg was on fire.”

  “How bad is it?” I said.

  “Mostly second-degree. Some a little worse. We’ll treat it with antibiotics and ointment. She might need some grafting, but she’ll recover. She’s very brave.”

  “And Ben’s okay?”

  She nodded. “He got a little smoke in his lungs, that’s all. He didn’t get burned.”

  “I was sleeping. Liam. It was the middle of the night. I heard a crash and the first thing I thought was that someone threw a rock through our window. Maybe the man who was making the phone calls or whoever sent that picture decided to do something more serious. I dialed 911 and I was waiting for the operator when I smelled the smoke and the smoke alarm went off. I dropped the phone, ran and got the baby, but when I reached the staircase…” Her words got caught in her throat.

  “It’s okay, Cat. Let’s leave it for now. Someday you’ll tell me all about it.”