“A woman in the attendance office. First she said that the school has a firm privacy policy. It will not provide any information about any of its students to anyone other than a parent or legal guardian without consent of the student. I told her we had seen an application for admission we obtained from Princeton that showed his graduation from St. Patrick. Would she just tell us if he graduated? She reluctantly ran his name through the computer. ‘I don’t find anything,” she said. ‘No enrollment, no degree, no evidence of matriculation.’ She had no information to give us.”
I turned to McLaughlin. “I’m not satisfied. I want to go out to St. Patrick tomorrow morning. I want to talk to an administrator. Maybe the principal or the dean of students. Will you go with me?”
“I can’t go and I think it’s a waste of time, but you can go. This time take my advice and let Dooley go with you.”
I looked at Megan. “I don’t think they’ll give us information without a warrant. Can you get one?”
She nodded. “Come by at ten o’clock.”
I turned to McLaughlin. “Riley’s funeral is Thursday morning, the day after tomorrow. The entire Taggart family will be present. We’re going to need extra police coverage.”
“It’ll be there.”
To my right, I saw Catherine take the baby out of the parlor. Ben was fussing and I needed to get them home. I said my good-byes and drove back to the farm.
* * *
CATHERINE AND I SAT in the kitchen long after midnight. The house was quiet. I told her how Riley’s body was found.
“McManus was killed the same way,” Catherine noted. “It’s macabre. Ghastly. I’ve been thinking, maybe we’re not giving those two newspaper articles the proper attention? Wasn’t there another killing in prison?”
“Lefferty.”
“Right. And what’s the connection between McManus, Lefferty and the Taggarts?”
“Me. I’m the connection.”
“Weren’t McManus and Lefferty both IRA, both Catholic?”
“Yes.”
“Could Charles be related to either of them?”
“Well, Megan can’t find the connection, but let’s say he is. Let’s say he’s a McManus or a Lefferty and he changed his identity. McManus didn’t know who I was. Lefferty never heard of me. Neither one knew I existed or could make the connection between their misfortunes and the Taggart family. They were both killed in prison. Even if Charles were a relative how would he know to blame the Taggart family? How would he know to plant pictures of Walker’s house as a calling card? How could he connect the dots between the Taggarts and the Walkers if he didn’t even know about the Taggarts? Someone would have had to give all that background information to him.”
Catherine gave me that look, that spontaneous look that said she knew the answer and didn’t like it. “Janie,” she said. “Didn’t Annie tell you that she and Fergus and Janie would sit and talk?”
I was stunned. Why hadn’t I realized that? Annie said he’d discussed it all on the porch and wasn’t Janie present as well? He’d talked about McManus. He’d talked about my turning in the names of the RIRA operatives. Would she have unwittingly passed these stories on to Charles? Was Charles really a McManus?
THIRTY-SIX
GOTHIC SPIRES, RESIDENCE HALLS, acres of green grass and a good-size high school soccer stadium stood in sharp contrast to Charles’s description of St. Patrick as a small Catholic school. As soon as we walked into the entrance hall, Megan and I were greeted by Sister Maria, the assistant dean of students.
“We’d like to talk to you about Charles Dalton, who claims he was a student here twelve years ago.”
Sister Maria smiled sweetly, but shook her head firmly. “I’m afraid we’re not allowed to divulge information about any of our students. We have a strict policy here at St. Patrick that requires us to honor our students’ privacy. We have our reputation to uphold.”
Megan tendered the search warrant and Sister Maria read it carefully. She gave us an indignant stare and said, “Well, this search warrant requests production of St. Patrick’s records for Charles Dalton. While I resent your coercive intrusion into St. Patrick affairs, I have no problem cooperating with the warrant because we have absolutely no records for a Charles Dalton. And I believe we already told you that.”
She handed the warrant back to Megan and offered a plastic smile as a final exclamation point to this obtrusive visit. She started to walk us out when I took out my cell phone and showed her Dalton’s picture. “This is Charles Dalton,” I said.
Her eyes widened and she nodded. “Hmm. I do recognize him,” she said softly. “One moment, please.”
She moved into an anteroom and picked up the phone. We saw her talk quietly for a few minutes and then return to us. “All right. We do have records, but not for a Charles Dalton. The man in the picture is Michael Charles Lefferty. He was an excellent student and an accomplished athlete. He got straight As and played football. His father died quite tragically. His tuition was paid by an endowment.”
Megan responded, “The father, the one who died quite tragically, was that Sean Lefferty, the convicted criminal who was killed by an inmate while serving a twenty-year sentence for possession and sale of illegal weapons?”
“Unfortunately for Michael, yes. Is there anything further, Officer Dooley?”
“Yes, the records, please,” Megan said, “and who did you just call on the telephone?”
Sister Maria’s lips were tightly sealed and she shook her head.
“Who, Sister Maria?”
“That is none of your business,” she snapped.
“The man in the picture is a person of interest to the PSNI for a multitude of crimes. If you don’t answer my questions here, you will have to answer them at the PSNI station in Antrim and explain why you are obstructing our investigation.”
She took a deep breath and said, “Well, if you must know, I called Mr. Lefferty, of course. St. Patrick will defend our students’ privacy at all costs. He has a right to know you are inquiring about his status. He has a right to know that someone is forcing us to violate our sacred policy of confidentiality.”
Megan and I exchanged glances. That was going to be troublesome. “What did Mr. Lefferty say?”
Sister Maria raised her chin and folded her arms across her chest. “I suppose I have to tell you or you’ll take me to jail?”
Megan nodded.
She made a face at us, as though she had just bitten into a lemon. “Mr. Lefferty wanted to know who was asking. Naturally, I told him the truth. I said Officer Megan Dooley and Mr. Liam Taggart. And they had a warrant or I wouldn’t have told them a single thing. He said thank you very much. That was all.”
“What number did you call?”
“His office number. I should tell you that Mr. Lefferty is a generous alumnus and St. Patrick appreciates his yearly donations. And he insists they be credited anonymously. He seeks no glory.”
She printed out the records and happily showed us the door.
* * *
“WE NEED TO GET into Lefferty’s plant,” I said on our way back to Antrim.
Megan was not optimistic. “We’d need a warrant to get into the property of a private corporation and Inspector McLaughlin doesn’t think there’s probable cause. We were lucky to get the warrant this morning. I had to tell the judge that we suspected the fraudulent use of school records. But for his business, we really have no basis at this time. It’s not illegal to own a business under an assumed identity and we have nothing that ties Lefferty to any of the murders.”
“But you and I both know it’s him. Through Janie, he’d have learned everything: my sting at the jail, McManus, even the feud between the Taggarts and the Walkers. He knows it was me, a Taggart, that turned his father in. What better motivation for picking off the Taggarts one by one? He’s Lefferty’s kid, and I’ll also bet he’s carrying on the family business of running guns. My uncle must have suspected that as well. That’s why he wrote, �
��God help this family if I fail.’ That picture, the crate of guns, has to be tied to Lefferty. If silencing my uncle wasn’t a strong enough reason for Lefferty to kill him, then avenging his father’s death surely would have been. Isn’t that sufficient enough to get a search warrant?”
“It’s Inspector McLaughlin’s call.”
“Megan, I’m worried about Janie. Thanks to Sister Maria, Lefferty knows we’ve uncovered his identity. I’m sure that Janie doesn’t know who he really is. And she’s a Taggart.” I dialed Janie’s phone and it went immediately to voice mail. “We need to get to her,” I said.
Megan nodded. “I agree. Where does she live?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know where to find her. Hell, most of the time she lives with Charles. Wait. Annie’s her best friend. She would know.”
I called Annie’s number but she didn’t answer. I texted her, “Call me right away. It’s an emergency.” With the knowledge that his false identity was blown, there was no telling what Charles would do. As we pulled into the Antrim PSNI, Annie returned the call.
“What’s the matter, Liam? Is everything all right?”
“No. Do you have any idea where Janie is?”
“She’s right here. We’re at the mall. We just ordered lunch.”
“Don’t let on what I’m about to say to you. Whatever you’re doing, stop doing it and bring her out to the Antrim police station immediately. Don’t let her call Charles. We have reason to believe that Charles is the man behind the murders. Just get in the car and bring her out here. Use whatever excuse you need to.”
“Oh my God. Is she okay?” I heard Annie say. There was panic in her voice. “Poor Deirdre. Tell her we’ll be right out. Janie, cancel our order, we have to drive to Antrim right away. Deirdre’s had a bad fall.” And she hung up.
Good work, Annie.
* * *
MEGAN GAVE MCLAUGHLIN A full report of our visit to St. Patrick and the revelation that Charles Dalton was really Michael Charles Lefferty. As Megan had feared, McLaughlin didn’t feel we had enough to get a search warrant. “I can’t bust in there just because his father was a criminal,” he said. “As to his assumed identity, if my father was Sean Lefferty, I’d want to change my name as well. Still, I’ll alert the patrolmen guarding Deirdre’s house to be on the lookout for Dalton. If he shows up, I’ll bring him in for questioning.”
Annie and Janie walked in a few minutes later and Janie was angry. “What’s this all about?” she said. “Why did Annie lie to me about Deirdre and bring me to the police station?”
“Janie isn’t very happy with me,” Annie said. “You need to explain why.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Blame me, not Annie. I forced her to get you out here, and I asked her not to give you the real reason. You wouldn’t have come if she told you the truth.”
“What’s this all about, Liam?”
“It’s about Charles. He may not be who you think he is. We think he could be the man we’re looking for, the person behind all the murders.”
“What are you talking about? Are you all nuts? Every one of you?” She clenched her fists. “Oh, I see it all now. None of you ever liked Charles. Uncle Fergus told me to leave him a hundred times.” She turned and gave a glaring look at Annie. “You told me to leave him a hundred times too. And I thought you were my friend.” She started to walk out but I jumped in front of her.
“Wait, Janie. Let me explain.”
“You all hate him because sometimes he acts out when he’s under stress. You have no idea the pressure he’s under. Running a huge company takes a lot out of him. None of you would understand that. Yeah, sometimes he acts out, okay? But a serial murderer? Are you all crazy? Go to hell, all of you! I’m leaving.” She tried to push by me but I held her arms.
“Please, Janie,” I said. “Just give me one minute. Let me explain and then if you want to leave I won’t stop you.” Janie stood with her arms folded on her chest and a furious look on her face. I felt so sorry for her, sorry for the hurt and disillusionment she would soon feel. But she needed to know. She was a Taggart and possibly Lefferty’s next target.
“Please sit down,” I said. She shook her head, remained standing in her defiant posture, tapping her foot. I took a breath. “Charles Dalton’s real name is Michael Charles Lefferty. His father was the convicted arms merchant, Sean Lefferty. Does the name ring a bell?”
Janie nodded. “Uncle Fergus told me about Sean Lefferty. Both Lefferty and McManus and what happened sixteen years ago. But Charles’s name is Dalton. He’s an honest businessman and he loves me. And I love him. Now can I go?”
“Charles always told us that he graduated from St. Patrick High School, right?”
Janie nodded. “That’s right.”
“But St. Patrick has no record of him ever being enrolled.”
“So, their records are screwed up.”
I took out my cell phone and showed her the photo Catherine took of Charles in his golf cap. “Remember this? I’ve had suspicions about Charles, so I took this picture and brought it to St. Patrick this morning. The assistant dean, Sister Maria, identified this picture. She said she recognized him.”
“He’s right, Janie,” Megan said. “I was there. But she ID’d this photo as her former student, Michael Charles Lefferty, who she knows well. She also told us he’s a large benefactor and the son of Sean Lefferty.”
Janie’s eyes were tearing, her cheeks were twitching and her lips were quivering. She took quick breaths. “I don’t believe you,” she said in a quavering voice, barely audible. “The dean must be confused. Charles is a wealthy businessman. I have no doubt he’s a benefactor; he’s very charitable. She must have gotten the name wrong. He’s not a Lefferty and he’s not a killer.”
“Janie, have you been inside the Northern Exports plant?”
“Part of it. Charles tells me that because they ship overseas, it has to be secure. I was only in the offices, not the warehouse.”
“How is it secured?”
“Well, I don’t really know the details. Montgomery is in charge.”
“Who’s Montgomery?”
“Northern’s security officer. He used to be a sergeant in the British army. He’s very large and very stern. He rarely smiles. Charles hired him to make sure that his competitors don’t sneak in and get access to Northern’s products and sales programs. You know, corporate espionage and all. Charles is always worried about that.”
“That’s what Charles told you?”
She nodded. I opened Fergus’s folder, took out the picture of the guns and laid it on the table. “Do you recognize anything in this picture?”
Janie shook her head and said, “It’s a wooden box full of rifles. I’ve never seen this box before. Should I have?”
That was disappointing, but I suppose Lefferty wouldn’t have kept boxes of guns lying around where anyone could see them. “Not necessarily. We believe it’s a box of illegal assault weapons.”
“Well, why would I know anything about illegal assault weapons?”
“Did you ever hear Charles talk to anyone about guns?”
“No. And I really want to go home. I don’t care if he fudged some school records.”
I sighed. This was going nowhere. She’d never believe me.
“Wait a minute,” Janie said suddenly. “Let me see that picture.” She picked it up, held it close to her eyes and squinted. “The floor beneath the box of guns—it’s blue swirly tile.”
“Does that mean something?”
She held her hand on her mouth. “That’s the tile on the floor at Northern Exports. This picture was taken there. Who took it?”
“We think Uncle Fergus.”
“He said he was going to visit the plant.”
McLaughlin and I locked eyes. “Is that enough?” I said. “She’s tied the box to the Northern. Does it get us in?”
He nodded. “I think so. Let’s take a ride out there and see what Mr. Lefferty has to say.�
� Turning to Megan, he said, “I’ll want three cruisers. We’ll need warrants. Judge Collins should be at home, and he’ll sign them. Bring them back and we’ll go.” Turning to me, he said, “Do you want to ride along?”
“You better believe it.”
I turned to Janie, who was sobbing on Annie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Janie, truly I am, but please don’t call Charles.”
“It doesn’t mean he’s a killer. Just because he has a box of guns doesn’t make him a killer.”
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, THREE PSNI Land Rovers pulled up to the gate at Northern Exports. An armed guard came out of the gatehouse and approached the lead vehicle where McLaughlin and I were seated. Several PSNI officers jumped out and stood with their rifles at the ready.
“Take your weapon by the handle and lay it on the ground,” McLaughlin demanded. The nervous guard slowly lifted his pistol from the holster, gently laid it on the pavement and walked over to our car. McLaughlin showed him the warrant and instructed him to open the gate and not to make any calls, though we were certain the cameras would alert Northern’s personnel. Moments later the mechanical gate rolled to the side.
We entered through the main office door into a reception area. Seven of us. The young lady sitting at the reception desk was shocked to see a police force march in and she quickly rose from her seat. McLaughlin waved for her to be seated. “Relax. We’re here to see Mr. Dalton.”
She shook her head. “Mr. Dalton’s not here. He received a telephone call this morning that he described as quite urgent and he left to attend to an emergency. He told me he’d be out of town for an indeterminate amount of time. That’s all I know.”
“Where did he go?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. I didn’t make the arrangements. He drove out about ten thirty.”
“Will you please show us into the warehouse?”
At that moment, a thickset man with a buzz-cut and a closely cropped beard walked into the reception area. His shoulders were broad. His hips were narrow. He wore khakis and a white polo shirt with NORTHERN EXPORTS stitched in script over the pocket. “What’s going on here?” he said with a growl.
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