She shook her head. “When I reached the staircase I saw the flames at the bottom. They were so bright and red and yellow and orange. And the heat, Liam, you could feel it from the second floor. The fire was in the living room and had spread to the foyer and was starting to burn the stairs. I knew that if I didn’t get out right then, I’d be trapped. I wet the baby’s blanket, wrapped him up tight and ran down the stairs. My robe caught fire, and it was sticking to my body but I had to protect the baby, and I ran, and running made the flames worse and…”
“That’s enough, Cat. I understand.”
“I made it to the walkway where I could lie on the grass and put out the flames. There was a man’s body on the sidewalk. There was a gun in his hand but he was dead. Mr. Chaikin was lying in the street. Then I heard the sirens and the fire truck and then the paramedics were there and they put us in the ambulance. That’s when I realized my leg was really hurting me. Ben was coughing. He was having trouble breathing and the paramedics put an oxygen mask on him. Oh, Liam…”
I put my arms around Catherine and she cried onto my shoulder for several minutes.
The nurse finished replacing the bandages, gave Catherine more medicine and closed the door.
Catherine sniffled, looked at me with sad eyes, pushed out her lower lip and said, “They told me I’m going to have a scar, Liam. A big one. My leg won’t be pretty anymore.”
“You’ll still be the most beautiful woman in Chicago.”
I hugged her, so happy that it wasn’t any worse. I shuddered to think of what might have been.
“How is Mr. Chaikin?” she said.
“He’s recovering. They tell me the surgery went well and his vitals are good. He’s a tough old bird. We’ll pray for him.”
After a few minutes, Catherine said, “I’m scared, Liam. When you go back, what should I do?”
“I’m not going back. I’m going to resign as trustee and let the Bank of Antrim and O’Neill finish up the estate. McLaughlin will work on the criminal case. My place is here.”
“No, Liam. You have to go back. You have to finish. You’re not a quitter.”
I shook my head. “This is not a matter open for discussion. It’s my decision.”
* * *
SIX DAYS LATER, I moved Catherine and Ben into a two-bedroom condominium I rented on north Lake Shore Drive. We didn’t have a final report on the fire damage yet and we didn’t know how much of the house could be salvaged. Assuming it was repairable, it would be months until the work could be completed. The insurance policy provided for alternative housing and I opted for a unit in a thirty-story building with a doorman and good security.
During the remaining days at the hospital, we did not discuss Antrim, the murders, the investigation or the fire. Because it was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room, there were many hours that passed in silence. But that was okay with me. Silence was better than rehashing the fire or arguing whether or not I should return to Northern Ireland. I didn’t want to talk about the murders or the investigation. I really wanted to put the whole thing behind me and close the door on Northern Ireland.
Catherine needed skin grafts on her leg—what they called split-level thickness grafts. It was a deep burn in places and the recovery was painful for her. She really needed restful sleep but the pain in her leg and her recurrent nightmares kept her from anything but short naps. Me? I came to a better appreciation of the dark emotions that stir revenge and retribution. All I wanted to do was catch the son of a bitch and have ten minutes with him before the police arrived. And I was lucky. I didn’t lose my wife or my child. I vowed there would come a time, you could be damn sure, that I would have my revenge. I would settle the score.
Our new apartment was comfortable, the view was nice, the kitchen was modern, but it wasn’t our home. It didn’t have any of our furniture, our precious mementoes, our pictures, or the special things we’d saved to mark the days of our lives. What little was salvageable was in storage. The condo was temporary, it was someone else’s home and it felt that way.
The attack on Catherine had taken a toll on all of us. How casually we throw around terminology in everyday conversations. We say “terrorist” so casually, but in fact, Cat and I had been terrorized. Nothing would ever be the same. Could we ever feel totally safe again? Deirdre was terrorized. Robert was terrorized. The Taggart family had fallen victim to terrorism.
I didn’t want to let Catherine and the baby out of my sight and that was driving Cat crazy. If we needed groceries, I wouldn’t leave to go to the store. There were delivery services. I could call them. If we needed medicine from the pharmacy, I paid for delivery.
Catherine was homebound until her leg healed and I think she would have gone stir crazy but for her law practice. Thank God for the Law Offices of Catherine Lockhart. Gladys shuttled Catherine’s work papers and mail back and forth. When Cat wasn’t on the phone, she was on her computer. I was happy just to be her nursemaid. Her movement was limited and she wasn’t allowed to walk very far. I assisted her with her bandages and her ointment. Otherwise I sat and read a book. I was present. I was there. Nobody was going to hurt my wife ever again.
Back when Uncle Fergus died and I returned to Antrim for the funeral, I placed my PI practice on hold. I told my client base that I was taking a short leave and I’d contact them on my return. Of course, I had no way of anticipating the series of disasters that would unfold. Now that I was back, I told my clients I couldn’t accept any assignments for the time being, but I hoped things would normalize in a few weeks.
As the days wore on, it became obvious that my service as Cat’s constant guardian angel was becoming an irritation. The condo was a small two-bedroom unit and it felt cramped. The first bedroom was ours, with a twin bed and a bulky hospital bed. We used the second bedroom as Ben’s nursery. Catherine had commandeered the living room for an office. That pretty much accounted for all the square footage in the unit. There wasn’t much more room left. I’d sit in the kitchen and read or watch the Cubs on a small TV with headphones. Sometimes it felt like the walls were closing in.
“Will you go take a walk?” Catherine would say, and I’d say, “No.”
“I’m getting better, Liam. I can manage by myself for a few hours. I’m allowed to walk around the condo. I don’t need you sitting here looking at me all day.”
“I’m catching up on my reading,” I’d say. “I’m becoming steeped in the humanities.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“Well, why don’t we just pretend we’re having a three-foot snowfall, and we can’t go outside for a few days and we have to hunker down?”
“They call that cabin fever, Liam, and it makes people go bananas. And it’s not snowing. Go run an errand or take a run in the park or something. Liam, we can’t live like this forever.”
“It’s not forever. In a little while, you’ll be up and around and then we can all go out … you know, a family outing.”
That proffered solution did not carry the day, but truth be told, even if she was 100 percent better, I would still worry for her safety and I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving them alone. There was still a maniac out there.
Throughout the travail, Catherine had kept her nanny on salary, even though she wasn’t needed. Sarah felt guilty about taking our money and not providing nanny services. She insisted that she be allowed to come over to the condo to watch Ben or to take him for a walk or to do anything to help out. Catherine finally decided that Sarah should come for six hours a day. Now there were four of us in the little apartment. After a few days of that, I decided that short breaks in furtherance of saving my marriage were worth the risk. And the risk was slight. It was unlikely that anyone in Northern Ireland would know our new address and it certainly wouldn’t be easy to firebomb the twenty-first floor of a residential high-rise.
So, with that in mind, I went to visit Chick Chaikin. He had been moved to a regular room and his condition had been lowered to “guarded.” I repeated my deep appreciat
ion and my promise to give him a case of Canadian Club, which I had initially offered to him when he was unconscious.
“I think I must have heard you,” he said, “because I keep asking the nurse for a cocktail glass and some ice.”
“I owe you big time, my friend. You saved their lives.”
He waved it off. “No big deal,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, which was a typical Chaikin response.
“I nailed that asshole, didn’t I?” he said. “What do they know about him?”
“Not much. He had no identification. He didn’t have a cell phone. CPD found his Toyota a block away. The plate came up stolen. They took his prints and they’ll let me know if there are any matches. CPD is working on it out of Belmont station. What do they say about you, old man?”
He lifted his bedsheet and showed me the wound in the middle of his generous paunch. “I took one in the gut. It didn’t get very far, so you see, it pays to have ample padding. All those beers, people thought I was getting fat, but I was building an impenetrable barrier—that’s what they call preventative medicine.”
I had to smile. “How long will you be here?”
“They tell me a few more days. Then I’ll collect on the CC and those cigars.”
* * *
I RETURNED TO OUR Lake Shore Drive address and nodded to the doorman before heading to the elevators. It was comforting to have that level of security.
“Back so soon?” Catherine said.
“Love you too, dear.”
My phone rang. It was McLaughlin. God bless him. He had called every few days. I filled him in on everyone’s condition and thanked him again for arranging for the helicopter and the police protection.
“You don’t need to keep thanking me, Liam. I was glad to do it and it’s good to hear that everyone is recovering.”
“What about Conor? Were you able to locate him and did you find any connection with the fire? I’m sure that he’s in the middle of this somehow.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Liam. He walked into my office, on his own. Unannounced. ‘I heard you were looking for me,’ he said. ‘I was up north, vacationing with the family.’ He verified his story with a hotel receipt from Castlerock Beach and pictures of his kids playing in the sand. I ran his phone through the carrier and there were no calls to the U.S. He said he was shocked and sorry about your family and offered to help in any way he could.”
“You believe him?”
“Do I believe he had an alibi? Yes. Do I believe he was shocked and sorry? Maybe. He seemed genuine.”
“Why are you so quick to cross Conor off the list? You’re the one with the relativity theory.”
“Well, I didn’t say I was crossing him off. Hell, he could have been involved for all I know. But when he stood in my office and I told him everything that happened, he was visibly shaken. He confronted me. He said, ‘Because I threatened Liam, you think I had something to do with this, am I right?’
“I shrugged and I said, ‘Well, did you?’ My question pissed him off and ignited that famous Conor temper. ‘I’d never do that,’ he snapped. ‘Oh sure, I wanted Liam to leave. I told him to get the hell out of Antrim. More than once. I resented him sticking his Chicago nose into my father’s estate. I cursed him, I even shoved him, but I would never do harm to him or his family and you can go to hell for thinking that.’”
“And you believe him, Farrell?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. You should have seen his face. He looked sincere. Maybe he’s able to fool me like Deirdre fools you?” McLaughlin chuckled.
“Where does that leave us? It certainly couldn’t have been Walker.”
“Well, don’t cross Walker off your list just yet. Our friend the bartender called and told me that Walker had stopped by Willy’s and tried to cash a three-hundred-fifty-pound check. Apparently, he’s a master pipefitter and he gets assignments from time to time. The check was drawn on a Gladstone Heating company account. Willy’s wouldn’t cash it.”
“So now you’re thinking that he has enough money to get something done in Chicago, and the firebomb of my house mirrors what happened to his brother Archie, is that it? Payback time?”
“Look, I don’t know if the payments came from Walker or from some unknown guy. Who knows where the arsonist got his money? Does Walker have enough money to hire someone in the U.S.? Just add that to all the things we don’t know.”
“That’s disturbing.”
“Yes it is. Any second thoughts on returning?”
“To Antrim? Nope. I’m not returning. I’m resigning my appointment as trustee. O’Neill and the Bank of Antrim can take over.”
“We’ll miss you, Liam, but that’s probably a smart decision. Just don’t let your guard down in Chicago, not until we catch the guy.”
TWENTY-SIX
CATHERINE WAS GETTING STRONGER every day and her leg was healing nicely. Sarah was coming to the condo each morning to take care of Ben during the day while Catherine did her legal work. She had also taken over the job of helping Catherine with her bandages. So I decided I would go to my office for a few hours every day. I let my clients know that I was able to accept some investigations, as long as they weren’t surveillance assignments or jobs that would take me out of town. I had a very loyal client base and most were happy to give me work.
I told myself I had washed my hands of Northern Ireland—I guess I had become my mother’s son—but I often wondered how Farrell and Megan were faring with the investigation. It was more than curiosity; I was emotionally invested in the case. I didn’t want to pester them, but every so often I’d call one of them. Farrell told me that the investigation was active, but he was disappointed that so little progress was being made. Efforts to find Walker were thus far unsuccessful. Because of the newspaper clippings, he and Megan were looking into whether McManus or Lefferty had surviving relatives. Otherwise, he and the PSNI were keeping an eye on the Taggart clan. No more photographs had been found in any mailboxes.
I also called Deirdre at least twice a week. I promised to not shut her out again. I’d failed to stay in touch with her for sixteen years and that hurt her deeply. So now I would call, if for no other reason than to tell her I loved her and I was thinking of her.
I called O’Neill to tell him that I wasn’t coming back. I asked him to contact the Bank of Antrim to arrange for an orderly transfer of authority and to send whatever documents he needed me to sign in order to resign my trusteeship.
“Please don’t do that,” he said. “You know how I feel about an institutional trustee. It will not be in the best interests of the beneficiaries and the bank officials will eat away the assets. You can continue to serve as trustee from your office in Chicago. I will represent your interests here.”
I discussed it with Catherine and she sided with O’Neill. Most of the trustee’s duties could be managed by email but I was resistant. I had a bad taste in my mouth and I didn’t want to stay involved with the trust. If I remained as trustee, something was bound to come up and drag me back and I did not intend to return. It had almost cost me my family. From the very beginning, from the time that someone rifled my hotel room and slashed my tires, there were people that wanted me out of the picture. Maybe these were the same people that firebombed my house. Why would I ever consider returning there and putting my family at risk?
“Because your uncle trusted you, that’s why,” Catherine said. “He knew that something evil was afoot. He saw the future. I’m sorry I never met your uncle, but I feel like I know him from your stories. It’s true he feared for his own life, he said so in his letter, but he also feared for his family. He said that too. And in the midst of all this, the only one he felt he could trust was you, Liam.”
Catherine sat with me and put her hand on my shoulder. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I know the past few weeks have been very hard on you. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through in Northern Ireland when you found out about Ben and me. But you can’t let it change
who you are. You’re Liam Taggart. You can’t sit here, hang around this condo and babysit me forever. The Liam I know would never back away from a responsibility. He is not a quitter. I’m sorry, Liam, but I do not want to be the reason that Liam Taggart turns into somebody else.”
She might as well have hit me with a two-by-four. She was right, of course. I was changing. I was becoming an isolationist. I was living on an island. But everything that mattered to me was living there too and I intended to defend my island at all costs. To my way of thinking, that was the right move. As long as there was a killer on the loose, Liam Taggart would be whoever I needed him to be. If that was isolationism, I had no regrets. Still, Catherine hit a nerve when she accused me of shirking a responsibility or betraying the trust my uncle had placed in me. I did not want to let my uncle down again. If I could handle the trustee’s duties from my office in Chicago without traveling back to Antrim, then I would continue to serve.
I called O’Neill back and told him that I would not resign yet. I would try to manage the best I could from afar. But if it became too much of a problem, if it required me to be present in Northern Ireland, then I would resign at that time.
“Excellent,” he said. “I am delighted. Actually, the bank will be pleased as well. When I discussed the possibility of your resignation with the bank president last week, he told me that the bank would prefer not to take the trust in-house. There’s far too much controversy associated with the Taggart Trust. It would be bad banking business.”
“What would happen if the bank declined an appointment as a successor trustee?”
“I expect that Judge McNulty would have to appoint a trustee.”
“Could it be a family member? Could it be one of the beneficiaries?”
“There’s no law against it. But if the family members could not agree or there were objections, then she’d have to select an independent attorney, probably a solicitor who practices in her courtroom. On the other hand, if the beneficiaries all came to a consensus, then I don’t see why Judge McNulty would refuse to adopt it.”
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