“Yes. Could the application have been mistaken as to the name of the high school?”
“No, Megan got a copy of the Princeton application. It’s a St. Patrick High School transcript. It says he got straight As and played football. Obviously a phony. And that’s not all. There are no birth records for Charles Dalton in any of the six counties at or about the time he would have been born. There are no elementary school records for Dalton children in the area where he supposedly grew up. And every time I ask him about his youth, he’s quick to change the subject.”
“So maybe he wants to hide something from his younger days. It’s not a crime to change your name.”
“It’s a crime if he submits a phony application to Princeton.”
“True. But that doesn’t make him a suspect in a series of murders.”
“What if my uncle discovered Dalton was a fraud? What if he threatened to expose him? It puts the two of them in a confrontational situation. It might give Dalton motive.”
“To shut up your uncle? Maybe. But a series of murders? Why would your uncle want to expose Dalton anyway?”
“For Janie’s sake. He’d do it to protect Janie from a bad relationship.”
“How effective would such a threat be? From what you tell me, Janie seems very committed to Charles. I doubt exposing him for identity fraud in filing a false college application would make any difference to her or to the business world. Dalton owns a multimillion-dollar company. Who would care if he faked a college application in America? After all, he did go to Princeton and he did graduate. With honors.”
I shook my head. “I guess so. I just know he’s involved somehow.”
Catherine finished doctoring me and I decided to take a rest. I lay down and quickly fell asleep.
* * *
SOMETIME LATER, I WAS awakened by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. I lifted my bruised body out of the bed, looked out of the window and saw a PSNI Rover. I first thought it was a changing of the guard, but then I saw Farrell get out of the car. He started walking toward the house, but not with his usual spritely gait. His pace was slow. Something was wrong. I walked out to meet him.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, kicking at the stones in the driveway. “I’m very sorry to tell you this, Liam. Riley Taggart died this afternoon.”
I felt his words in the pit of my stomach. I immediately thought of Deirdre. She had lost her husband, her brother-in-law and now a son. How much more could the woman endure? And Robert, how was he going to handle this? Or Conor, or Janie? Riley had become unhinged, but since the confrontation with Penters, I was hopeful he would get back on track. Hell, I loved him. He’d been despondent and I knew he was in a bad state of mind. I’d asked McLaughlin to put him on suicide watch, but I guess we were too late.
“Damn,” I said, “I could see it coming.”
McLaughlin shook his head. “You’re wrong, Liam. It wasn’t suicide. I called over to Warden Sheldon after we spoke and he told me that Riley was found in his cell this morning, stabbed right between the shoulder blades. Prison shiv. I’m really sorry.”
“Penters?”
“No, he was moved to Belfast yesterday.”
“Then Penters paid someone.”
“We’re considering that.”
All at once I felt overwhelmed. Another loved one was murdered and the great Liam Taggart had failed to stop it. I was totally ineffective. “How could this have happened in Riley’s cell? Did he have a cell mate? Was the cell unlocked? Where the hell were the guards?”
“Take it easy, Liam. He was found in his cell shortly after the inmates returned from lunch.”
“What about the cameras? What do they show?”
“We’ll be studying them, but I’m not optimistic. We only have a single camera in the block and it doesn’t show much. The inmates have a morning break and they always hang around in bunches. We give them a little leeway, a short time for socialization. The problem is, when they’re standing in a group, the coverage is obscured. Warden Sheldon questioned the group, but of course no one saw anything. I’m very sorry.”
“This is going to send some of my family over the edge.”
“And ’tis true there’s cause for that. I wish it were otherwise. Let me know which mortuary will be coming to pick him up.”
* * *
CATHERINE HAD BEEN WATCHING us and when McLaughlin turned to walk back to his car, she came outside to meet me. My expression must have said it all because she began to weep.
“Who?” she said.
“Riley. He was murdered in the jail and I was the one who put him there.”
“No, Liam, this isn’t your fault. He put himself there. He alone bore responsibility for his actions.”
“Now it’s up to me to break the sad news to Deirdre and the rest of the family.”
We walked inside, my wife and I, our arms around each other. When we reached the kitchen and Deirdre saw us, she knew to expect the worst.
“What is it?” she said.
“Riley,” I answered and lowered my head.
“How did he die? Did he take his own life? Jesus, God forgive him.”
I held Deirdre. Her every muscle was tensed and she was shaking. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t self-inflicted. He didn’t take his own life.”
“How? In a prison? Who killed him?”
“You don’t want to know any more, believe me. Just know that his journey is over and he’s in a better place, a much better place.”
Poor Deirdre. Another blow, just as she was fighting so hard to get back on her feet. She retreated to the living room, to her chair in the corner, with a glass of whiskey—once again the solitary person I encountered when I first returned to Antrim. “Give her some time,” Catherine said. “Let her be for a while. I’ll come sit with her later.”
I found Robert sitting in his bedroom reading a book. I can only describe his reaction as fatalistic. He spoke in a monotone. “They’re taking us down one by one, Liam. Nobody’s safe. You’ll not know the killer till he’s the last one standing.”
I tried to reassure him. “Riley was in a lot of trouble. His death could have come from any number of sources—his boss, an unhappy investor, or even another crazed inmate. His death wasn’t necessarily part of a series, he was different.” But neither one of us believed that.
I couldn’t reach Janie and I texted her to call me. Conor was next.
“Conor, it’s Liam. I’m afraid I’m the bearer of very sad news. Inspector McLaughlin just stopped by to tell me that your brother died today and…” The line went dead. I redialed in case it was my phone that dropped the call, but it immediately went to voice mail. I guess each person is entitled to deal with tragedy in his own way.
THIRTY-FIVE
ALL WAKES ARE SAD and lamentations are painful, but where the death has been sudden and shocking, there is a chilling realization that drifts from person to person—life is ephemeral. The next day is not a given but a gift. Mortality is parked just outside the door. I recalled how mourners attending Eamon’s wake moved about the parlor as though low-hanging clouds were passing through the room. Now at Riley’s wake, the mood was repeated, coupled with the frightening knowledge that each Taggart had been the victim of a vicious murder and each had been served with a calling card. Marked for death.
In fact, it was at Eamon’s wake where Riley came running in, waving the photo with the legend on the back: Two down. How many to go? As many as it takes! Up the Union. Down the murdering Taggarts. At the time we all believed it was a photo delivered by one of the Walkers. If not from a Walker, then surely from some unionist taking up the Walker cause. Now, some weeks later, I had come to believe that these photos were a classic misdirection. It was highly unlikely that Walker or some unionist would be firing up the vendetta forty years later. Nevertheless, there was no disputing Robert’s statement—the Taggarts were being taken down one by one. We had all been served with calling ca
rds. Myself included. We were all in the crosshairs. Who would be next?
Though many were in attendance, Murphy’s Funeral Home was as quiet as a library. If you spoke at all, you whispered. The line of people waiting to express their condolences wound around the room. And what was there to say? Susan and the children were seated on a couch near the open casket. The other day when I left Riley at the jail, I spoke briefly with Susan as I had promised Riley I would. She knew he was in trouble. I told her I hoped he would receive a minimal sentence and I asked her if she could give him a second chance. She said she loved him and she would try. I respected her for that. Unfortunately, the next day I had to deliver the sad news, and she took it hard.
I was looking at a poster board of pictures when a voice behind me said, “He was such a quiet, gentle soul.” I instantly knew the voice and turned around to say hello to Annie. I didn’t want to tell her that she should have seen this gentle soul a few days ago with a shotgun in his hand and the look of a wild man.
“A million good qualities,” I said. “We’ll all miss him dearly. But lately he was at the end of his rope.”
“I know. I witnessed the strain between Riley and Uncle Fergus. There were harsh words.”
“So you said. You told me that Fergus was critical of Riley’s investment practices.”
“Not just that. Riley had changed. He was preoccupied with his perceived social status. Fergus knew that Riley was living beyond his means and was measuring his self-worth by what he could buy, and that distressed your uncle greatly. They had some mighty arguments. But I don’t want to speak ill of Riley, not tonight. In his heart he was a lovely man.”
While we were talking, Janie and Charles walked into the room. “Mr. Wonderful,” I said quietly to Annie.
She nodded. “Janie’s grief is nothing but an inconvenience for him. She was devoted to both of her uncles and to Riley, and their deaths are very hard on her. And she’s frightened. She could use Charles’s support, but doing for others never seems to enter his psyche.” Annie uttered an expletive under her breath and said, “What does she see in that phony?”
“I think that mystery is universally held. I understand Uncle Fergus banned him from the Sunday dinners.”
“Oh, it was more than that. You have to understand, Janie was like a daughter to Fergus. He was protective of her. He witnessed the discord between Janie and Charles, the spats, the angry words. He saw the marks on her pretty face. Recently Fergus told me that he had started looking into Charles and his company. ‘I’m going to find out what this guy is all about,’ he told me. I think Fergus was trying to build a case on Charles to let Janie know what she was in for. I don’t know whether Fergus ever found out anything, but you’d have been proud of him. He was a very good spy.”
“Did he look into Northern Exports?”
“He did. Like all of us, Uncle Fergus was suspicious of Charles amassing wealth from a linen export business. He wanted to make sure, for Janie’s sake, that her boyfriend wasn’t up to something nefarious. Not too long ago, Uncle Fergus told me he was going to take a ride into Belfast and see Northern Exports for himself.”
“And what did he find?”
“I don’t know.”
Standing there talking to Annie, I decided I would follow up on what Uncle Fergus started. I’d look into what Dalton was all about. I was certain that the man who didn’t exist would have a shadow, leave a footprint. I’d follow it.
I saw out of the corner of my eye that Megan and Farrell had entered the room and joined the line. After they had kneeled at the casket and expressed their condolences to Riley’s family, I walked over to talk to them. I should say whisper to them.
“It’s awfully nice of you to come,” I said. “Riley’s family is in a bad way. When he left home last week, they didn’t know where he’d gone. He didn’t call. First they file a missing person’s report. Then they learn he’s in the Antrim jail and the next thing they know he’s been murdered.”
Farrell nodded. “It was a nasty murder, Liam. Not only was he stabbed, but his shirt was ripped open and ‘RAT’ was written on his chest. Written in Riley’s own blood.”
“It has to be Penters. Is there any doubt? He did it to shut Riley’s mouth.”
McLaughlin shook his head. “Why would Penters need to make a statement? A rat makes a statement. Penters would know we’d immediately finger him for the crime. Why would Penters want to draw attention to himself if all he wants to do is shut Riley’s mouth? Riley’s death would ensure his silence. Penters wouldn’t need to brag about it. No, this is someone who wants the whole world to know that Riley Taggart has been executed.”
“McManus was found in the yard with his throat cut and a rat painted on his chest. Just the same.”
McLaughlin nodded. “I know you’re focused on McManus because your uncle saved that clipping, but we have no evidence that any McManus relative exists.”
“Maybe you didn’t look hard enough. Or maybe it’s someone seeking revenge for McManus,” I said. “A friend or a social club member? Wasn’t McManus active in some RIRA bunch? Couldn’t it be one of them who would seek revenge?”
“Who indeed? We have no leads.”
Conor, who had been standing by the casket talking to a group, saw McLaughlin and walked straight over. I feared this could get ugly. McLaughlin extended his hand and Conor took it. His eyes were red. His brother’s death had hit him hard. He didn’t have the look of someone who intended to start a scene with McLaughlin. He nodded in response to Farrell’s expression of condolence and said, “What’s it going to take to catch this guy?”
McLaughlin shook his head. “Conor, you have to believe we are doing everything we can. It’s my top priority. I have two men posted at your father’s house. I have a patrolman on the street outside your home. Sooner or later, we’ll get this guy, I promise.”
“I’ve seen the car sitting on my street. I thank you for that. I understand you had a talk with Walker?”
“We did. We’re keeping an eye on him.”
“But you’re not picking him up?”
McLaughlin shook his head. “Nothing to hold him on yet. He says he sold the pictures and we believe he probably did.”
Conor nodded and walked away. I looked across the room and saw Janie. She was sobbing and Annie was consoling her. Dalton was out in the hall on his phone. Annie was right; Janie’s sorrow was an inconvenience for him. He was a classic study in egocentricity. There was nothing that would connect him with Riley’s murder, but my instincts were in sync with my uncle’s.
Father Sweeney entered the room and led us all in prayers. When he concluded, Conor addressed the gathering on behalf of the family and expressed his gratitude for everyone’s thoughts and wishes. Then, quite unexpectedly, he turned to McLaughlin.
“Inspector, we have lost yet another family member and I know that many of us here are frightened. They are scared that the PSNI, which is sworn to protect Northern Ireland’s citizens, has turned its back on us. Just a few minutes ago, you told me it was your top priority and I want to believe you. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to say a few words and give us all comfort that the police are doing everything they can to protect us and that you care about each of us.”
McLaughlin nodded and strode to the center of the room, his cap in his hands. “Conor, I thank you for what you just said. It is indeed our top priority and I give you my word that we do care. I know that old biases die hard and it’s easy to believe that the PSNI is insensitive to your family. I want to assure all of you that I take Riley Taggart’s death personally. I arrested him and he died in my jail while under my care. I wouldn’t fault you for holding hard feelings against me and my department. You have that right. But in this situation, you’d be wrong to think us insensitive. I deeply mourn his passing.
“Many of you know me, I’m an old-timer. I’ve been a policeman for fifty years and my wife has told me for the last ten years that it’s way past time to retire. But I’ve c
ontinued to stay on because I love my country and I want to serve. As with many of you, I’ve watched the Troubles rob us of some of our brightest and most promising youth. It never mattered to me whether the death came on this side of Divis or the other. It was always a tragedy. Northern Ireland is wounded by the loss of each and every one of its children. Do I care about each and every one of you? Aye, that I do.
“I am not an eloquent man, and it’s not easy for me to express my sincere belief that the loss of a single life is a loss to us all. Long ago, witnessing the senseless deaths on the streets of Belfast, I listened to a minister recite a poem and I committed it to memory. I’m sure many of you know it. It was written four hundred years ago by John Donne and it’s particularly poignant when applied to our country and the lives taken by the Troubles. If you will permit me:
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend’s
Or of thine own were:
Any man’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
McLaughlin walked slowly to the back of the room. I saw water in his eyes. So did everyone else. They nodded to him and whispered their thanks.
Before Farrell and Megan could leave, I thanked them for their presence and their concern. But there was one more thing on my mind.
“Megan, when you inquired at St. Patrick High School about Charles Dalton, did they tell you they had no records?”
“Correct. None at all.”
“Who did you talk to?”
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