by Sam O'Brien
His mother’s face lit up, and she threw her arms around him. “That’s wonderful news! She’s the best thing that’s happened to you.”
“Yeah, she is.” His mind suddenly filled with Martin’s theory. He excused himself, went up to his room, and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to come to terms with the fact that he was in business and out of his depth with a ruthless thug.
Rebecca arrived on January second. On the journey from Shannon Airport, Oliver told her all about his mother’s confessions about the past and his regrets over Richard. He decided not to ruin the moment by telling her about his meeting with Martin. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t real until he shared it with her.
His mother opened the front door with a flourish as their car pulled up. Oliver, smiling, guessed that she had been sitting by the window waiting for them to arrive.
Evelyn hugged Rebecca warmly on the threshold of the house. “My dear, it’s so good to see you again. I’m delighted that you’re going to be a part of this family, or at least what’s left of it.”
Rebecca was taken aback by her words. She looked at Evelyn awkwardly.
“Oh, don’t worry, my dear. I’m trying to focus on the future, not the past. It’s 2006 now. New year, new start.”
“All the same, I was so shocked by what happened and, well, I don’t know what to say . . .”
Evelyn rubbed Rebecca’s shoulders. “I know, my dear, I know. You don’t need to say anything. Now, don’t feel you have to be in the least bit formal here. Relax and enjoy your hard-earned break. You and Oliver are my future.”
“I hope so, ma’am.”
“Please, how many times did I tell you to call me Evelyn on your last visit? Ma’am makes me feel old!”
“We can’t have you feeling old. Evelyn it is, then.”
“That’s much better. Now, what about a cup of tea?”
Oliver stood by the car watching this exchange. A wave of calm and relief engulfed him. For the first time, he felt like he had brought genuine happiness into his mother’s life. He smiled. Now he just had to make enough money to secure everybody’s future.
That evening over dinner and two bottles of rich red wine, Evelyn – overcome with festive cheer – blurted out, “I do hope you two will provide me with some long overdue grandchildren.”
Oliver nearly choked, but Rebecca took it all in her stride. “I’m sure we will, Evelyn, but in our own time,” she said, winking at Oliver.
Normally the thought of children would have prompted Oliver to dive headlong into depressed thoughts of a boring life, shackled to a brood of screaming brats and wasted time. And this in turn would have sent him to dive headlong into a rebellion of alcohol. For a second, he didn’t know whether to smile or finish the bottle. In a break from past form, the smile won. He gazed across the table at Rebecca, and he felt nothing but love and serenity. Maybe it was the wine, but he could even picture himself taking a small child by the hand to lead them across the street.
* * *
Huntley snapped the laptop shut and swivelled in his chair. He phoned his partner. “Rosen, any result on the bugs?”
“Nah, mundane shit so far. That’s when they actually work. My guys are bored to death.”
“Something big’s going to happen, I can sense it.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’ve been saying that for ages.”
“Get a load of this. The Irish cops are trying to question an Italian after he was caught smuggling coke on a plane belonging to the Irishman’s brother.”
“You’re shitting me?”"
“Oh no,” said Huntley. A smile cracked his gaunt face.
Chapter 37
A few days later, the three of them sat in the comfortable office of Richard’s solicitor and executor of his estate. James Foster was a senior partner at leading firm, O’Brien, Rooney and Clarke. A tall, distinguished man in his fifties with a razor-sharp mind, he had played rugby for Ireland in his youth and still cut a dash with his impressive physique, despite his advancing years.
Before graduating top of his class at Trinity, he had broadened his horizons by taking off to the Philippines each summer to work with an Irish religious mission, building houses for the poor. After graduation, his philanthropic streak had been quashed by the lure of an offer from Dublin’s top law firm, where he stayed burning the midnight oil until he became the youngest partner in the firm; though he and his wife still did charity fundraising. He and his team specialized in inheritance and helping the rich to hide their money from the Government. Today, though, he looked haggard and pale.
“Let’s begin then,” said James, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I understand that Miss Liddell is attending these proceedings at your request.” He looked quizzically from Oliver to Evelyn.
“Yes,” said Oliver.
“That’s correct,” said Evelyn. “She is virtually family.”
“Very well then. This won’t take long; it’s a straightforward testament.” He took a deep breath and scanned the notes on his legal pad. “First, let me bring you up-to-date on the police investigation.” He checked off the first item on the list. “Richard’s death has been ruled as manslaughter by an, as yet, unknown assailant; presumably a drug addict. It seems highly unlikely that the culprit will ever be found, barring a lucky break. The CCTV cameras in the area did not manage to positively identify the perpetrator. The police are also inclined to believe that Richard did not have any part in the smuggling of narcotics aboard his planes.”
Foster looked at them with sympathetic eyes. “I can say with absolute certainly that he had no
idea what was going on. He gave a formal statement to the police, in my presence, the day before he died. He stated that he hired Pietro Busoni because he applied directly to Richard via e-mail. Your brother was apparently impressed by Pietro’s resourcefulness and CV, and he knew he needed someone a bit ‘smooth and sexy’, as he put it, to work on the Opulence Service. The police were happy with this statement, though they would certainly have required your brother to testify in court had he not died. It seems that Pietro was indeed resourceful, though now he is proving to be silent, and this is making the police very frustrated. His documents are all forgeries – very expensive ones – and they have no other information to go on.”
Oliver sat in uncomfortable silence; Martin’s theory began to seem a little more real.
Evelyn stared out the window.
Rebecca sat between them like an anchor.
“Now for the testament.” He checked another item off the list. “The will is very simple and was amended last week. It simply states that everything is to be left to ‘my brother, Oliver’. The assets include his house in Tipperary, the apartment in Dublin, the contents of the residences, and shares in Freefly Airlines. The shares are to be sold on the market and the proceeds are to be given you.” He looked up from the document, directly at Oliver, whose jaw hung open. “There is one condition.”
“What’s that?” said Oliver, barely able to get the words out.
“You have to provide fully for your mother from now on.”
“I would have thought that went without saying,” muttered Oliver.
Foster paused.
Rebecca shot Oliver a dirty look; he grimaced. “Er, well, I’m sure Rich was just being thorough.”
“Indeed he was.” Foster nodded. “OK, moving on. As well as the properties, there are significant monies in various accounts and investment schemes. There is also a large amount of gold held in a bank in Switzerland. The current value of the estate, excluding the remaining shares, is in the region of fifty to sixty million Euro.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in, but they couldn’t fully appreciate the figure. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid your brother liquidated a large chunk of his shares into gold and cash a few years ago. He had a theory that the economy would soon cycle into a bust.” Foster shook his head with an uncomprehending expression. “
I don’t know. Sure, things have never been better and don’t look like they’re going to slow down. Anyway, the remaining stock is potentially worth another twenty, but with the scandal and the lack of an apparent successor to your brother, the value could diminish considerably, I’m afraid. And the testament does leave instructions for the stocks to be sold not more than one week after the reading.”
“Jesus,” said Oliver, with a whistle. “Who cares if it loses a bit? That’s a lot of money. If the stock drops by 50 per cent, it’s still a huge windfall. Go ahead, do what you have to do.” He rubbed his eyes then looked at Foster. “Look, are you sure this was what he wanted? It just . . . I just . . . I can’t . . . that is, I don’t get it.”
“Which brings me to the next point.” Another flick of pen on pad. “I’m afraid I must ask you two ladies to leave the room for this final section.” He looked sympathetically at Evelyn. Before his mother could get up, Oliver cut in. “Whatever has to be said, can be said in front of them.”
James shook his head. “No, I’m afraid it can’t. I have specific instructions.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” said Evelyn, getting up.
Rebecca opened the door for her and they left.
Foster listened to the latch close and the footsteps disappear before he produced a plain brown manila envelope sealed with wax, and handed it to Oliver. “It’s from your brother. Read it in full, then feel free to ask me anything.”
Oliver took the envelope. He held it in his hands for a second, feeling like a superstitious widower waiting at a séance. He ripped the brown paper open and read the spidery handwriting.
Chapter 38
Oliver read it a second time, then a third. When he had finally got his head around the words and wiped the tears from his cheeks, he asked Foster, “Do you know what’s in this?”
“No. However, your brother did come to see me about a week before he died. He was deeply troubled by the incident with Pietro. We discussed his position and options. As I said, he made a full statement to the police.”
James tossed his pen on the desk and clasped his hands. “Your brother made sure that I was paid an advance to provide legal advice to you for a period of two years. If you wish to retain my services after that time, then we can discuss fees, should the need arise. So if there’s anything I can do for you, either in terms of organizing your affairs or anything else, just let me know, but I should also inform you that I’m considering retirement, or at least seriously cutting back on my workload in a few years.”
“OK.”
Oliver’s mind was galloping: time to take hold of the reins and control the beast. His brother’s change of heart was sinking in, but he felt that he had already punished himself enough for not burying the hatchet. The more pressing issue was the realization that he was possibly on the periphery of a bizarre and deadly situation. Could Marco really have had Rich killed? He’s over in America trying to keep a low profile; it didn’t make sense. He still doubted it – wanted to doubt it – but his brother’s words rattled around in his brain: Marco asked me directly . . . Break the link . . . “Jesus, if it’s true?” he mouthed.
“I’m sorry?” said Foster.
“What? Oh, nothing.” Oliver didn’t even look up; he kept thinking. After ten minutes of frantic cogitation, Oliver counted silently to ten, took a deep breath, cleared his throat and spoke in a tone not dissimilar to the way Marco spoke when he gave orders.
“First, get me a new envelope and some wax to seal this letter. Then I want you to open a safety deposit box for me in whichever bank you think is best, put the letter in it, along with half a million in cash. Buy another half million in diamonds and gold coins and put it with them. Then, sell his apartment near Clontarf. It must be worth something; I never want to set foot there. Sell the contents, too, pay all taxes and give the proceeds to Mum.”
Foster blinked in surprise and hurriedly scribbled a few notes.
“These matters will remain confidential, I take it?”
“Absolutely, you are my client.”
“Good. Is there anything else?”
“Er . . . No,” he said, scanning his pad. “That’s all for today. There’ll be papers to sign, but I’ll have someone bring them to you in Limerick.”
“Great. Thanks for everything, James.” They shook hands warmly and firmly.
Late that night, Oliver and Rebecca lay together on the sofa in front of a roaring fire. His mother had long since gone to bed, but they were in no hurry. Evelyn had never permitted them to sleep together under her roof.
“Hey, Bec, remember when I told you about Agent Huntley, that day at the races? You said that it was like a movie.”
“Yeah.”
“Wait till you hear this.” Oliver told her about the letter and Martin.
“Holy shit!” She sat up straight, trying to make sense of it all. “You reckon he’s behind it all?”
“I don’t want to believe it, but it has to be true. I can feel it. I’m in the shit this time.”
“Hmm.” She played with the loose threads on the sleeve of her jumper. “I don’t think you should do anything rash, like confronting him.”
“I’ve no intention of confronting him with the opinions of one of my brother’s accountants.”
“Hon, what I really meant was, even if you get proof that Marco had your brother killed, you need to think of yourself. Get yourself away from him quietly and leave it at that. I’m sorry your brother’s dead and all, but like he said in the letter, look after yourself and your mum.”
“And my fiancée,” he said.
“Damn right! But seriously, promise me you won’t do anything rash.”
“OK.”
“I mean it, hon. Grief and guilt can do strange things.”
“I don’t feel guilty.” Oliver knew it wasn’t entirely true, as he said it. He told himself he was doing a good job, making good money for everyone, and Marco was like a father figure to him. He pulled Rebecca on top of him and told her it would all work out right. He wanted to believe it as he said the words.
Oliver stared at the ceiling for a while. Rebecca lay with her head on his chest. All of a sudden he said, “I think I’ll call Claude, get the progress report, and tell him about Rich. Then when I call Robert with the updates, I’ll break it to him, too. It’ll look a bit weird if I don’t say a thing, even if it means I won’t have the chance to gauge Marco’s reaction.”
“Can’t you wait till you go over to see him?”
“I don’t think I’ll go till the spring. You’ll be flat out with a breeding season, and Claude wants to give the horses an easy build-up for Kentucky in May. Besides, there’ll be things to take care of here.”
“That’s a long wait. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, but you won’t have time to miss me. The delights of another frantic breeding season await you.”
“Gee, hon, you’re such a romantic.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said with a grin.
“Smartass!”
“Smartass, is it? Whatever happened to successful owner?”
“Hopefully he’ll make a comeback in the spring. Now, do we make the most of this cosy fire
before the desolation of separate bedrooms?” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
* * *
Huntley sat in the empty diner, sipping coffee and biting his nails. Rosen ambled in, slid into the booth, and ordered a burger and fries.
“"Any progress?” said Huntley.
“Mitch and Jerry’re like zombies, they need more guys to go through all the footage. It’s a fucking nightmare.”
“What about Kimble?”
“We can’t have her for another two months. Besides, if I shut her in that house with those two, she’ll kill them.”
“Well, we can’t have more guys until we get a warrant.”
“We don’t have jack shit to get a warrant.”
“Yet. Please tell me you were going to say, yet?”
&
nbsp; Rosen shrugged and looked doubtful.
“Fuck. Jesus H. Christ. Something’s going on, I know it. Something really big. We have got to get on it before we run out of time and funding, or before the bodies start piling up.”
Rosen tucked into his burger. Huntley grimaced at the sight. “You don’t give a fuck, do you?”
“Sure I do," he said, chewing. “I want to get him, but I’m not goin’ to lose sleep over it or drive myself into an early grave.” He took another large bite.
Chapter 39
“We’re going to kill ‘em all! Blow ‘em right away. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“That’s, er, great news,” said Oliver a little shakily. His palm started to sweat as he held the receiver to his ear, suddenly unsure of whom he was talking to.
“Goddamnit man, you could sound excited! I’m telling you, first weekend in May we’re going to win the Kentucky Derby and the Oaks – a double whammy. It’s almost unheard of. Well, not exactly. I did it the year I had Pop Up Piston, but seeing as he went on to win the Triple Crown, everyone kinda forgot I won the Oaks with Cactus Queen.” Claude bellowed down the line. “Thing is, though, The Boot, as I call him, is a difficult horse. Freakish ability, but he’s a bit of a loon. I’ve got to race him lightly. He’ll get two runs, then blow ‘em off the track in the Derby.”
“Great, but . . . Yeah look, sorry. I’m a little distracted.”
“Well focus, man. This could be a big year.”
“Claude, I guess you haven’t heard. My, my brother died.”
There was a lengthy silence on the other end. “Christ, I’m sorry. Don’t know what to say. Guess I was too wrapped up in my horses.”
“Don’t worry about it, Claude, I get tunnel vision myself.” He sighed. “I probably won’t come over for a while, though. Maybe not until you ship north from Florida in April. What’s the program?”