The Trust

by Ronald H. Balson

  “I’m confused, Mr. Cooney. Doesn’t the trust provide for a successor trustee? Isn’t it the Bank of Antrim?”

  “Ah, but that is the problem. Because of the rash of violence that has arisen since Liam Taggart’s appointment, the Bank of Antrim has informed us that it will not accept an appointment as trustee. It will decline. If it pleases the court, the property is failing due to Liam Taggart’s absent management, causing deterioration and disrepair.”

  Judge McNulty took a deep breath. There was no way she was going to avoid this hearing. “I see. I hope this time you are prepared to offer evidence of the alleged deterioration and disrepair. And I mean evidence, Mr. Cooney. You may proceed. Call your first witness.”

  “Well, there’s a minor problem this morning. Our main witness, Riley Taggart, is temporarily unavailable. I request a short continuance, perhaps until next week.”

  The judge put her hand on her forehead. “After all that, you don’t have a witness?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said our main witness is unavailable. I mean, we do have a witness, but not our main witness.”

  The judge shook her head and looked at O’Neill. “Mr. O’Neill, as we all noted earlier, Liam Taggart is present in court this morning. Did he come in from Illinois especially for this hearing?”

  O’Neill stood. “He did indeed, Your Honor. Specifically for this hearing. His wife and child were hospitalized after their home was struck by an arsonist. His wife suffered serious injuries. Indeed, that is why Liam returned to Chicago a few weeks ago. Now, because of Mr. Cooney’s repetitive motion practice, he has been forced to bring his wife and child back with him. They could not be left alone.”

  Judge McNulty looked sternly at Cooney. “Did you inform opposing counsel that Riley Taggart would be temporarily unavailable and that you would be seeking a continuance, Mr. Cooney? Did you do that before you forced Liam Taggart to travel from Chicago with his wife and child?”

  “Uh, no, Your Honor, I did not. I was unaware of Riley’s unavailability until I appeared in court this morning. I hope and pray that nothing untoward has befallen my client.”

  Judge McNulty shook her head. “I’m not going to continue this hearing, Mr. Cooney. You’re either going to proceed, right here and now, with or without Riley Taggart, or I will deny your motion, assess costs against you, including Mr. Taggart’s travel expenses, and I will not entertain these issues again without a showing of good cause. That means solid evidence, Mr. Cooney, not the kind of speculative claptrap I’ve heard from you before. Am I making myself clear to you, Mr. Cooney?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course, quite sorry, Your Honor, very clear. We will proceed. The petitioner will now call Conor Taggart to the stand in support of the petition.” He looked over at Conor and nodded, but Conor remained in his seat and shook his head. “Get up, Conor,” Cooney said under his breath, “get up and take the witness stand.”

  Conor shook his head again. “Nope. You don’t want me to testify. I’m not going to lie and say that the property is deteriorating. It’s not true.”

  Cooney talked through clenched teeth. “For heaven’s sake Conor, she’s going to assess costs against me. Get up.”

  Conor just smiled. “I will, but I’m going to tell the truth and testify against the petition.”

  “Mr. Cooney?” Judge McNulty said. “Are you going to present a witness?”

  “Uh no, I’m afraid I must renew my motion for a continuance.”

  “Then your petition is denied. Court will assess costs. Mr. Taggart, please prepare a list of your expenses. Good day everyone.” The judge stood, whirled around and quickly left the courtroom.

  Conor looked at me and shrugged. “I’m not going to lie,” he said.

  A world of surprises. I was as confused as the judge. Riley’s absence and failure to support his petition seemed to confirm previous fears. Was Farrell right? Was Riley complicit in the violence, the murders and arson? Or had he gone into hiding fearing arrest by the government for financial crimes? Or, heaven forbid, was he himself a victim? I thanked O’Neill for his service and left the building. It was time to get back to Fortress Deirdre.

  * * *

  ONE THING I WAS sure to find when I walked in the door—a plate of tasty food. Living at Deirdre’s was going to do a number on my waistline. Deirdre was feeding the baby and Catherine was stirring something on the stove. Old Wicklow was lying under the table hoping someone would drop a morsel in his direction. The five-second rule didn’t apply in Fortress Deirdre. Old Wicklow was a two-second dog.

  “I made you a plate of bangers and mash,” Catherine said, smiling proudly. “Irish pork sausage, mashed potatoes and onion gravy. Isn’t that cool? I’ve been schooled by the best.”

  “You’re turning into the perfect Irish homemaker,” I said. “You’re not going to want to go back to Chicago.”

  “It’s tempting. How did it go in court?”

  “Petition denied. Riley didn’t show and Conor refused to lie for Cooney. As far as Judge McNulty is concerned it’s a dead issue.”

  “Conor wouldn’t testify? I thought Conor was the moving force behind the petitions to remove you.”

  “Well, he was definitely behind the first petition and probably the second petition as well. There’s no doubt he was furious when I was appointed trustee. He called me names and threatened me. He challenged the legitimacy of the trust and even his father’s sanity. But he told me that the most recent petition was Riley’s idea. He said Riley is frantic over the stock.”

  “But Riley didn’t show. Did his lawyer have any explanation?”

  “Cooney hadn’t heard from him. He was totally embarrassed. He suggested that maybe Riley was ill, or worse. After all, his wife filed a missing person’s report.”

  “Oh, I hate to think…”

  “I know. We all hate to think that. The anxiety level is high enough.”

  Catherine nodded. “True, but Deirdre is holding up pretty well. She’s planning a big dinner. She plays with the baby. Her spirits are lifting, and she’s not as depressed today.”

  * * *

  A FEW HOURS LATER, the doorbell rang and my nerves reminded me that, it being Friday afternoon, it was time to introduce Catherine to Annie. And vice versa. I had told Catherine about the appointment right after the phone call. I was anxious, even though it was Catherine who’d suggested that I talk with Annie. As much as I intended to conduct the meeting in a very businesslike manner, introducing my wife to my former almost-wife was a business I was unfamiliar with. Other than saying hello at the graveyard and Wednesday’s brief phone call, I hadn’t spoken to Annie in sixteen years.

  It was a warm afternoon and Annie was in a light blue shift. Her sun-bleached auburn hair was pulled back in a loose knot. Rebellious blond wisps escaped her barrette and fell gently on the sides of her face. Her smile, her soft dimples and her green eyes, at once reminded me of bewitching times and for the briefest of moments, pulled me back to 1999 as though she was coming over for Sunday dinner. She leaned forward and gave me a hello kiss on the cheek.

  I brought her to the kitchen where Catherine and Deirdre were sitting. Deirdre greeted Annie with a hug and a kiss. Old friends.

  “Cat,” I said nervously, “this is Annie Grossman. Annie, this is my wife, Catherine.” My two women appeared totally at ease and exchanged handshakes, warm smiles and casual banter about travel and the weather.

  I told myself it shouldn’t be so difficult but it was patently uncomfortable for me. I was standing between the two episodes of my life. It was a clash of epochs. Annie was a former life. Catherine was my present life. For the last several years, I had been able to neatly compartmentalize those eras, but now my two lives were colliding and it made me feel damn uneasy. Somehow, I think that each of them was amused by my discomfort. These two graceful women had one thing in common and it was standing in the room between the two of them feeling as clumsy as could be. I quickly suggested that Annie and I withdraw to
the living room to talk.

  We sat opposite each other at the coffee table. I offered her a cup of tea or something stronger, which she declined. Finally, it was she who bridged the chasm. “I’m happy for you, Liam,” she said. “Catherine’s a lovely woman and Deirdre tells me that your son is adorable. I’m so pleased that you found all this happiness in your life.”

  I felt like saying, “You didn’t give two shits about my happiness sixteen years ago,” but I didn’t. Truth be told, I felt apologetic. I had everything that she and I were planning sixteen years ago and I sensed that she had none of it. It’s not that I felt guilty; after all, it was she who made those choices. It wasn’t me who ran out at the last minute. But as she said, I had a lovely wife and an adorable son, and she seemed unhappy. I felt sorry for her.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Ben’s sleeping right now, otherwise I’d introduce you. What’s going on in your life?”

  “As I told you, I’m still teaching. I have a cozy little house in east Belfast where I’ve lived for the last six years. My health is good. I can’t complain. I suppose you want to know about my social status?”

  I shook my head. “It’s none of my business.”

  She smiled. “I’m not married and I’m not engaged. I’ve had my share of relationships, off and on, but not with a man that I could spend the rest of my life with.” She smiled at me: a soft, sad smile.

  “The vow to your father? Not to go outside the community?”

  She shrugged. “That and … we set the bar pretty high, you and I. I wouldn’t be content to settle for something less.”

  Oh God! She’s going to blame me for setting the bar too high? Enough of this intimacy, I thought. It’s getting way too personal. “Annie, I want to ask you about your conversations with my uncle. Maybe we can come across a sentence here or there that would give us a clue to solving these murders.”

  “I spent many an hour with Uncle Fergus. I loved him deeply, but I don’t know how much help I can be.”

  “Did you notice, during the last few months, that he was acting nervously or anxiously?”

  “Yes, I did. He asked me not to tell Deirdre, but he was sure that a person, or a maybe a group of people, were posing a threat. Whether it was to him or to the family, he wasn’t clear. He tried to recall events over the past several years, allowing for the possibility that there was an altercation or an argument left unanswered from years ago. You know, dormant for years but not forgotten? That seemed to make the most sense to him. And there were certainly plenty of suspects to choose from, according to Uncle Fergus.”

  “What made him feel threatened?”

  “He wouldn’t say. He spent time on the computer—well, let me correct that—I spent time on the computer with him sitting next to me, researching companies, researching people, tracing events, and looking into newspaper accounts of the arrests and convictions of people on both sides of the conflict. He seemed to narrow his search down to half a dozen scenarios.”

  “Did he actually receive any threats?”

  Annie nodded. “I think so.”

  “Written threats?”

  “I don’t know. He was never specific about the threats. Maybe the threats themselves were not specific. I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

  “Annie, when he talked about persons or groups of people, did he mention the name Walker to you?”

  “Oh yes. Many times. Archie Walker.”

  “He was killed forty years ago. Did he mention any other Walker to you? A brother perhaps?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Thomas Walker?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He asked me to get copies of newspaper articles on two men: Seamus McManus and somebody named Lefferty.”

  “Sean Lefferty?”

  “That’s right.”

  I showed her the newspaper clippings from Fergus’s folder. “Are these the articles you got for him?”

  She nodded.

  “Lefferty and McManus, were they two of the people he feared?”

  She nodded. “In a way. Both Lefferty and McManus were dead, but they were prominent in his analysis. What troubled him the most was his suspicion that there was a connection between one of them and someone he knew. That was one of his theories.”

  “Who, Annie?”

  “He didn’t share that with me.”

  “Think about it, Annie, did he ever bring up a family member in a bad light, a suspicious light? Did he ever express distrust or unhappiness with any of his brothers, his nephews or his children?”

  Annie pinched her lips and wrinkled her forehead, as I’d seen her do so frequently years ago. She sat in thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Some of the time he’d express his exasperation over this one or that, but you should know that the times I spent with Fergus were mostly pleasant times, full of laughter and warmth. Sunday night dinners were special occasions. Afterward we would often sit on the porch. Fergus and I shared a bond and he would open his heart to me on many occasions, especially where you were concerned. He’d reveal deeply personal thoughts and I was honored that he trusted me so well. But I don’t want to sound like I was his priest. Almost all of what he had to say was positive.”

  “He talked to you about me?”

  She nodded with a little raise of her eyebrows. “He loved you very much and would usually say things like, ‘Do you think I should I give the little rascal a call?’ Of course, I would urge him to do so right away. He’d nod and then shake his head. ‘What would I say? How could I undo the words we exchanged?’ I would tell him, ‘You don’t need to backtrack. Talk about the weather. Tell him there’s a new pub in town. Tell him he should come for Sunday dinner.’”

  “I would have come,” I said, with a lump in my throat. “In a minute.”

  “He would always say he was going to make the call, but the first step is the hardest, right? Such a stubborn old goat. So, in the end he didn’t call and it’s a shame.”

  “Yeah, he didn’t call and neither did I and it’s something I’ll have to live with. We could have talked through the whole thing. Maybe he had forgiven me.”

  “Oh, Liam, don’t doubt that for a second. He had, and in many ways he blamed himself for sending you away. I remember one time, not so many months ago, we were sitting on the porch, Fergus, Janie and I. Somehow the conversation got around to you, like it always did. We talked about the falling-out, the last time you were at the house. And you know what he said? He said you were right to do what you did, and he was going to tell you so himself. He said McManus was trash and the names McManus gave you allowed the police to take a bunch of killers off the street. He was proud that you turned in all those IRA street thugs. He was going to call you and tell you that himself. You can ask Janie.”

  “That’s really good to know, Annie. Thank you for that. But what about other people, other times he might have shared feelings of distrust or disappointment? Something that he may have said where he thought there was a connection between the threats and a member of the family?”

  “There were times when your uncle Fergus could be irascible. Some would say downright disagreeable. And he would grumble, but mostly it would be about insignificant incidents. In the last few months, his complaints were more focused. His suspicions had heightened He had become wary of someone close to him. You ask me who? He never said. Though I hate to even mention it, I suppose Conor and Riley would both fit into that category. Goodness knows, Riley and Fergus got into it a lot during the past several months.”

  “The Global stock?”

  “Oh, for sure the Global stock, but it wasn’t just the stock. I think Fergus was more disappointed in what Riley was doing at Global. There were rumors. Riley is an investment consultant, you know, and I think Fergus believed he was crossing over the line.”

  “The line being unlawful?”

  She nodded. “That and unethical. You know your uncle Fergus.”

  “What was Riley doing that Fergus thought was un
ethical?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I just saw them arguing a lot.”

  “Anyone else, Annie? Anyone else close to him that comes to mind?”

  “Well, he sure didn’t like Charles.”

  I smiled. “Me either.”

  She smiled back. “Me either. And the feeling is mutual. Charles hates me.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you, I’m good friends with Janie. They have a stormy relationship. I told her to leave him several times. Many an evening she’d spend on my couch rather than go home to him. Charles knows I counseled her to break up with him. He’s told me to mind my own business on more than one occasion. He calls me a meddlesome bitch.”

  I nodded. “I saw her with a black eye.”

  “Charles is an emotional and physical abuser. I think if Uncle Fergus had caught him red-handed, he would have walloped him right then and there. But all we ever saw was the aftermath and Janie always offered some lame excuse. I’ve tried to talk to her over and over, but it’s no use. Recently, Janie had been coming to Sunday dinners alone. Fergus said he didn’t want Charles coming over.”

  “What else did Fergus say about Charles?”

  “He thought he was sneaky. He didn’t like the way he flaunted his money or his status. Fergus could never understand how a boy from the Belfast neighborhoods could amass so much money in the linen business, such a small, boutique industry. But mostly it was the rude way he treated Janie.”

  I took the picture of the guns and laid it on the table. “Annie, have you seen this picture before?”

  She shook her head. “It’s a crate of automatic weapons.”

  “Is there any reason you know of that Uncle Fergus would have saved this picture?”

  “No, I didn’t know he had it. He never discussed weapons in my presence.”

  “One more thing, Annie. Do you know anything about a person named Bridget McGregor?”

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s confidential. Does Bridget McGregor mean anything to you?”