The Trust by Ronald H. Balson

Author:Ronald H. Balson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press

TWENTY-FOUR

I ROSE EARLY AND TOOK a long run around the northern shore of Lough Neagh, along the road to Toome. As I neared the city, the traditional Irish song I sang at Conway’s played out in my mind—young Roddy McCorley, the hemp rope ’round his neck, fated to die on the Bridge of Toome.

There was never a one of all your dead, more bravely died in fray, then he who marches to his death in Toomebridge town today.

That was too grim an omen to start my day. I’m not normally given to superstitions, but I made a U-turn and headed back to Antrim. I didn’t want to push my luck.

As a private investigator, I was a flop. Try as I might, I could not come up with a plan for solving these murders or preventing the next one. Every solution seemed to raise more questions than answers. The most likely theory, that of a latent vendetta, made the most sense but I was hesitant where Thomas Walker was concerned. If Walker was avenging his family’s murders, why wouldn’t he seek to replicate the crime? What is the point of dropping warnings like bread crumbs and picking off Taggarts one by one? Uncle Fergus was shot at very close range. There were powder stains on his shirt. Fergus wasn’t weak and he wasn’t stupid. Why would he let a guy like Thomas Walker get that close?

If it wasn’t Walker, then who? Was it someone related to the newspaper clippings? Why did Fergus save two articles about crimes fifteen years and eight years ago? Why did he have a picture of a box of guns? Fergus wasn’t killed with an assault rifle.

I kept thinking about the Bridget McGregor Trust. McLaughlin said his investigation was blocked by a bunch of red tape. McLaughlin had no jurisdiction in Dublin and had to work through the Dublin police. That required something akin to an international warrant. And of course, the jackpot question, ladies and gentlemen: why did Fergus defer distribution of his estate until the killer was caught? Was it because he suspected involvement of a family member, or was it to protect the beneficiaries? These questions all needed answers and I didn’t have them.

McLaughlin had called me late last night and said, “There’s a unionist bar called Willy’s Pub, where my officer spotted Walker. It’s always been a UVF and LVF haunt and probably a watering hole for a bunch of former gang members as well, like your Butchers. I’m going to pay the bar a visit tomorrow. Come along if you like.”

When I finished my run, I had just enough time for a shower and a quick breakfast before heading over to the station. McLaughlin wanted to hit the bar at the lunch hour. Physically, I felt fine. Mentally, I was frustrated, confused and exhausted, and to make it worse, I hadn’t spoken with Catherine for two days. The six-hour time difference made connections difficult. I had intended to call her last night, but I was so tired I fell asleep.

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