The Trust

by Ronald H. Balson

  “You ran for such a long time, you should eat lots of breakfast,” she said, nodding her head.

  “That run was to make up for the dinner you’re going to serve me tonight, Aunt Deirdre.”

  She shrugged. “So, then you run tomorrow.”

  Hard to argue with that logic.

  Catherine and I talked about Riley. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “I don’t know many men who would have been so generous and forgiving. He put us all through hell for an entire afternoon, not to mention the damn phone calls he made to my house.”

  “The stuff he pulled—the tires, the phone calls—they were nothing but juvenile pranks to get me out of Antrim. I don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. He’s never been a serious threat to anyone. I still have a lot of affection for him.”

  Just then, my new cell phone rang and I could tell it was a PSNI number.

  “Liam, are you busy?” It was Megan.

  “I’m just sitting down to breakfast. Considering what’s been placed before me, I may not be able to get up.”

  “Riley received a response from Ross Penters. Inspector McLaughlin would like to set up an exchange for this afternoon. Can you bring the stock certificate after you finish your breakfast?”

  “If I finish this breakfast, probably not. If I eat judiciously, I can be there in an hour.”

  * * *

  RILEY WAS BROUGHT INTO the interrogation room in his prison greens. He was seated at the table and McLaughlin came in holding Riley’s cell phone. “Your boss has replied to your email.” McLaughlin held the phone up and read, “‘Good work, Riley. There’s a hefty bonus in store for you. Meet me at Brian’s. Two p.m. Bring the certificate.’” He set the phone down in front of Riley.

  Riley shook his head. “Oh, no. No way I’m doing that.”

  “You’re not backing out on us now, are you, Riley? We’ll catch up with him eventually, but your window to cooperate will have slammed shut along with any chance at reducing your sentence.”

  “I’m not trying to back out, but what you’re suggesting is suicide. Penters is telling me to go to Brian Lonnigan’s house. The place is protected by a fence, a dozen cameras, guard dogs and Lonnigan’s bodyguard. The email tells me to bring the certificate to Lonnigan. I don’t trust a deal that goes down at Lonnigan’s. Penters won’t be there, they’ll take the certificate and I won’t survive the afternoon.”

  McLaughlin slid the phone across the table. “Reply to Penters. Say, ‘I don’t want to hand the certificate to anyone but you. I don’t trust Brian. I think he’ll call the police.’”

  “He’ll know that’s bullshit,” Riley said. “Lonnigan is his right-hand man, his CPA.”

  “The CPA has a bodyguard?” I said.

  “He’s a security freak.”

  “What’s the name of the CPA’s bodyguard?”

  “Jenkins. Kurt Jenkins.”

  “Tell him that you heard Jenkins was cooperating with the regulators,” I said. “Tell Penters to meet you in a public place.” I looked to McLaughlin for approval and he nodded his head.

  McLaughlin added, “Tell him to meet you at three o’clock at the Ulster Museum. First floor, in the back, the Ice Age exhibit.”

  I wrinkled my forehead. “Ice Age?”

  “It’s an enclosed area, out of the way, more secure. Besides, it’s my favorite,” McLaughlin added. “The museum has metal detectors at the entrance, just in case Penters and his friends get any ideas.”

  Riley nodded and sent the text. We waited a few minutes and the phone buzzed. “See you there at three.”

  “Jolly good,” Farrell said. “Dooley, I’ll want you up there on the first floor in plainclothes. Tell Rothschild and Berger I’ll need them on the perimeter.” Looking at Riley, he said, “We’ve had your clothes laundered. You need to change and clean up. We’ll leave in half an hour.”

  * * *

  THE ULSTER MUSEUM HAD changed since I was there in the nineties. It was always a magnificent building sitting alongside Belfast’s botanical gardens, but it was closed to the public for three years, totally remodeled and reopened in 2009. The four-story museum was divided into three zones: a nature zone, an art zone and a history zone, with an in-depth exhibit on the Troubles, which one would expect in a Belfast history museum. The Ice Age exhibit was on the first floor, which meant it was one floor up from the ground floor. McLaughlin wanted the arrest to take place in the exhibit and not on the ground floor in case Penters had friends waiting outside or in the lobby coffee shop.

  Riley was wired and coached. He was given a script to memorize. McLaughlin hoped that Penters would incriminate himself. Maybe we’d get a confession. Wouldn’t that be dandy?

  Megan was in jeans and a T-shirt, looking every bit like a student at nearby Queens College. She had a notebook and was seated next to a storyboard on the life of the woolly mammoth. McLaughlin stationed two plainclothesmen outside the building on either side of the entrance. Farrell and I were positioned in a first-floor overlook, surveying the ground floor lobby. Riley was nervously pacing behind us.

  Precisely at three o’clock, a tall, thin, white-haired man in slacks and a sweater strolled into the building. He was alone. Riley nodded and whispered, “That’s him.” McLaughlin alerted his two patrolmen and we took our places in the Ice Age room.

  Penters didn’t look around. He didn’t check with anyone on his cell phone. He didn’t seem nervous at all. He just walked up the steps to the first floor and into the Ice Age room as confident as could be. Contrast that with poor Riley who was shifting his weight from foot to foot and his eyes from Megan to me and back again. Sweat was forming on his forehead.

  Penters saw Riley standing by Megan. With an air of confidence he walked directly to Riley and shook his hand.

  “Great work, buddy. Do you have the certificate?” Penters asked. Riley nodded and handed it to Penters along with an assignment of the stock from the trust. His nerves made the papers shake.

  “Did he just hand it over to you?” Penters said quizzically. “I mean you didn’t have to do anything illegal to get it, did you?”

  Riley shook his head.

  Riley cleared his throat and said, “Now that you have the stock, all the violence will stop, right?”

  “What violence, Riley?”

  “Oh, you know what I’m talking about. The shootings, the arson. Right? No more killings, right? I mean you have the stock now.”

  Penters shook his head as if to clear the confusion. “Are you drunk or something? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. This stock is going to save our ass. You struck gold here.”

  “But now you have the stock, no one else has to die, right?”

  “Die? What the hell…” Penters looked at Riley who was glancing from side to side, a bundle of nerves. He saw Riley’s phony smile and the sweat dripping from his forehead, and it all came together for him. “Aw, Jesus. What the hell is going down here?”

  Penters made eye contact with Megan who had come to her feet and was positioned directly before him. He grabbed Riley by the collar. “You prick, what are you trying to do here? Are you wearing a wire?” He shoved him back and spun around to leave.

  McLaughlin stepped in front of him and Penters lowered his shoulders as he realized there was no escape. “Riley, you bastard. You are such a fool. What did you tell them? Don’t you understand that our solicitors are filing a petition to quash that subpoena? We can beat this bullshit regulatory charge.”

  “Ross Penters, you’re under arrest,” McLaughlin said. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  “For what? For ducking an illegal subpoena?”

  “No, sir, for murder, arson, attempted murder and conspiracy.”

  “Are you insane? What has this man told you? Are you all crazy? Murder who? Arson? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Farrell nodded to Megan, who walked Penters down the stairs and out the door. He complained bitterly the entire way, which, in my mind, se
rved to support Catherine’s doubts that the financial guy was the killer. If he was actually the mastermind, he was a first-rate actor as well. He had come to the museum alone. In fact, he had taken a taxi. And his protestations seemed authentic. I turned to McLaughlin. “It’s pretty obvious, Farrell, it’s not him. Catherine was right. I told you she has uncanny instincts. How’s that theory of relativity holding up?”

  “You mean because Penters is so righteously indignant? Wait till I get him to the station. Relativity still stands. To me, it’s likely that Fergus thought it was Riley and his cohorts all along.”

  * * *

  WHEN WE RETURNED TO PSNI headquarters, and before they could send him back to his cell, Riley asked McLaughlin if he might have a few minutes alone with me.

  McLaughlin nodded. “Use the interrogation room. Take all the time you need.”

  I brought in two of cups of tea and sat across from him at the table.

  “I’ve really made a mess of my life, haven’t I?” Riley said sadly. “It’s what ambition can do to you. I was handed all the advantages. Supportive family. Good schooling. Trinity University in Dublin. And I was a damn good investment counselor, Liam. Why wasn’t that enough for me? If I’d only stayed at Gershman & Templer, I wouldn’t be sitting here today. I could blame Penters, but I’d just be kidding myself. It was me. It was all greed. I was romanced by Penters’s high life and all I wanted was to be just like him. Make the big trades, buy my wife fancy jewelry, drive the fast cars, live in a house that I never could afford. I was a fool.

  “Working for Penters was life in a pressure cooker. ‘Find me the next option, Riley, the next thirty-to-one return, where five ticks can mean millions.’ We’d throw the money out there, and if it failed this time, we were sure to make it up on the next trade. Only where do you find the fresh money? You have to con some clueless investor—maybe an elderly person, a widow living on her husband’s life insurance. Shame on all of us. I deserve whatever happens to me.”

  “Riley, you’re not a bad guy. You’ve got a good heart. We’re going to put your life back together. Me and you. You’re going to testify and the prosecutor’s going to give you a break.”

  “Even if he does, how do I patch it up with Susan and the kids? How can I ever hold my head up again?”

  “She’ll understand because she loves you. Your kids love you. People make mistakes. I’ll go talk to Susan.”

  Riley stood, threw his arms around me, hugged me and buried his tears on my shoulder. I felt so bad for him. This was my childhood brother. I intended to do whatever I could for him, but I was afraid that his testimony wasn’t going to be as valuable as I’d previously thought. Not if Penters wasn’t behind the serial killings, and I had my doubts.

  Still, providing testimony against Penters and assisting in bringing him in was worth something and I held out hope for probation.

  “Penters looked surprised when McLaughlin accused him of murder and arson today, didn’t he?” I said.

  “Oh, he’s good, isn’t he? That’s why he’s the quintessential confidence man. No one ever doubts Ross’s sincerity or his ability to bring it home. Not for a minute. Including me. That’s why I’m sitting here.”

  “Let me ask you very bluntly, Riley, what evidence do you have that Penters was behind the murders, the fires or the sniper? Is there anything you can give us? Anything you’ve seen?”

  Riley shook his head. “No, he’s too slick. Penters didn’t get where he is without covering his tracks. I just know he is.”

  “But how do you know Penters was behind the violence? You seem so sure.”

  “Because I work with him every day. I’ve seen his rage. I’ve seen him blow up at me and other financial advisors if we didn’t bring home the big trade. He’s ruthless. He ordered me to get the stock from my father. He screamed at me. ‘Do whatever you have to do!’ He stressed whatever.”

  “Did you ever see him become physically abusive? Ever see him with a weapon? Does he even own a weapon?”

  Riley snickered. “He’s far too clever for any of that. He hires people to do his dirty work.”

  “Who, Riley? Who does he use to do his dirty work?”

  Riley shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. He’s too slick.”

  I had one more question. “Riley, how well do you know Charles Dalton?”

  “Janie’s boyfriend? Not too well. I know one thing—he was smart enough not to give me any of his money to invest in Penters’s wild schemes. Lord knows, I tried many times to get his account. He would just give me that big smile of his and say he’d think about it. Personally, I think he’s an asshole.”

  “Because he wouldn’t invest with you?”

  “Nah. Because he smacked Janie around. Once I saw him backhand her outside my father’s house as he was getting into his Porsche. I don’t know why she stays with him. The night my father banned him from the house, there was a blowup at the dinner table. Charles had driven Janie to tears. My father declared that Janie would be welcome in the future, but not Charles.” Riley shook his head. “He’s an arrogant asshole. I know if I smacked my wife, she’d be long gone.” He looked around the room and then lowered his head. Tears were falling. “Liam, I’m afraid Susan will leave me now and who could blame her? I’ve really made a mess of my life.”

  I tried to console him and told him we would get through this together and that I’d talk to Susan, but both of us knew it would be a long road back for him. I checked my watch. It was six o’clock and Deirdre’s dinner was starting in one hour.

  “Riley, there’s lots of people that love you. We’ll be rooting for you. We’ll help you get your life back together. Just remember that.”

  I bid Riley good-bye and watched the guard walk him back into the lockup. Damn, I felt bad for him.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  I RECOGNIZED CONOR’S CAR as I pulled into the driveway. I suppose I should have figured, after all it was a family dinner and he was family, but I wondered who’d invited him. Was it Janie? Either she or Charles might have mentioned that they were coming out for dinner and just assumed he was invited. Or was it Uncle Robert? Conor had visited Robert every day in the hospital. They were close. I’m sure they kept in touch on a daily basis. I doubted that Deirdre had invited him, even though she was his mom for forty years. Conor had tried to evict her and throw her out onto the streets. In fact, I recall him referring to her as the “girlfriend” and saying that she’s “had a free ride for too long.” Not exactly endearing words.

  Catherine met me in the hallway and told me that it actually was Deirdre who’d invited Conor because she thought it was time to patch things up. She wanted to “make amends.” God bless that woman. What a saint.

  Cat whispered, “Deirdre said that Conor had called her earlier today and asked if it would be all right to come over and visit his uncle Robert. He was very polite, not like the Conor you describe. He didn’t say, ‘It’s my house and I’m coming in whether you like it or not.’ On the contrary, Deirdre said he was very contrite and asked for her permission. He even said, ‘I understand that my father wants you to have the house and I’m not going to fight you on it.’”

  I didn’t understand this turnaround in Conor. I didn’t understand it at the hospital and I didn’t understand it now. Still, I wasn’t about to trust Conor, that’s for sure.

  Conor and Uncle Robert were both sitting in the living room. Robert was leaning forward in a tufted chair, his left arm still taped to his body and locked up tight. Nevertheless, he had that patented Uncle Robert smile that puffed his cheeks and squinted his eyes, as pleasant a man as God has ever made. But he also looked like he’d gone twelve rounds with the champ.

  Conor got up when I came into the room and stuck out his hand. “Hello, Liam.”

  This from the same Conor who told me that he didn’t like me and screamed that if the judge didn’t kick me out, he was going to do it himself. I shook his hand.

  “Uncle Robert’s looking much better, don�
��t you agree?” he said. I agreed.

  “I understand Janie and Charles are coming this evening,” Robert said. Conor made a face. I guess no one likes Charles. Except Janie, of course.

  “Actually, I was the one who told her to bring him along,” I said. “He was nice enough to take me for golf and dinner at his country club. I wanted Catherine to meet them both. As you say, maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet.”

  “Hmm. It depends on where you bury it,” Conor said with a sly smile and pointed to the middle of his forehead. Now that’s the Conor we know and love. You can’t hide for long.

  A few minutes later, Charles’s Porsche rolled up to the house. Janie hopped out, a spring in her step. There seemed to be joy in everything she did. How a person could backhand Janie was as foreign and vile an act as I could imagine. Unforgivable.

  Charles opened his door and took a moment to compose himself. He wore a navy sport coat over light tan trousers and a white polo shirt. Tan shoes with no socks. He walked into the house with his million-dollar smile. I wish I had his teeth.

  Catherine came out of the kitchen to greet Janie and Charles. Catherine could make anyone feel welcome—as gracious as they make ’em. It gave me the creeps to have her shaking hands with someone I loathed. And still suspected, although I didn’t know why. “I understand you treated Liam to a lovely day of golf and dinner,” Catherine said. “I’m so glad he insisted that you come tonight.”

  “Liam insisted?”

  “I certainly did,” I said. “I can’t repay you with golf and we don’t have that spectacular view of the North Atlantic here, but Catherine’s been sous-chefing Deirdre all day, and she tells me the dinner is spectacular.”

  Catherine nodded enthusiastically. “I wouldn’t say I was a sous-chef, more like a stargazer, but I’ve been learning. I’m going to fatten Liam up when we get home.”

  Janie asked about Riley and I said I had just visited with him this afternoon. “His boss, Ross Penters, has hired a top-notch lawyer and they’re hopeful that this whole financial regulation mess is just a big misunderstanding,” I said, lying through my teeth. I didn’t want anyone else to know about the incident at the fishing shack or the sting we ran on Penters.