“Don’t say anything about this to the police yet, Trinky,” I suggested. “I’d rather we get what we can from Rupert Wellington first.”
“Understood.”
“What about me?” Wally asked.
Over her cup, Pollard smiled at him, impish and beautiful. “You, Mr. Schanno, can do the dishes.”
FORTY-THREE
Rupert Wellington saw us immediately. I didn’t know what that meant beyond the probability that when his secretary passed Preston Ellsworth’s name to him along with my own, I hit pay dirt.
He was standing in front of his glass-topped desk, which seemed like a postcard compared to the size of the window behind it that overlooked the bay, which dwarfed them both. He’d crossed his arms, not the most cordial body language for greeting visitors. Nor was the scowl on his face. He didn’t ask us to sit in either of the plush visitors’ chairs.
He got down to business the moment his secretary closed the door behind us. “What do you want?”
“First to introduce my friend here, Henry Meloux. Henry, Rupert Wellington.”
Wellington refused to offer his hand—a tradition Henry had never been particularly fond of anyway—and we skipped the formality.
“Preston Ellsworth’s name opened the door to us pretty fast. It’s clear you know about Ellsworth.”
“What are you here for? Money?”
“No.”
“Then what exactly are you going to do with what you know?”
“At the moment, nothing.”
“At the moment?”
“Eventually the police will have it, but I’d like to talk to your brother first.”
“The whole point of hiring Preston Ellsworth was to keep people from bothering my brother. Look, Hank’s a man who can have anything in this world, and all he wants is privacy, Mr. O’Connor. I’m not going to disappoint him in that.”
“Would it matter why I want to see him?”
“It has to do with that watch, I presume.”
“It’s gone far beyond the watch, Mr. Wellington. Or didn’t Morrissey tell you that before he died?”
“The police interviewed me yesterday afternoon. I’ll tell you what I told them about Morrissey. I didn’t know the man. I have no knowledge of the relationship that might exist between him and my brother. End of story.”
“Who arranged for Morrissey to escort me to the island?”
“I don’t know. My part in that was simply to pass along your request to Hank. What goes on with Manitou Island is completely in his hands. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“Hank?” Meloux said, as if testing the word on his tongue.
Wellington glanced at him and seemed both puzzled and annoyed by his presence.
“You have nothing to do with the island?” I went on.
“My brother bought out my interest in the island when he decided to step back from the world. Whatever goes on there is in Hank’s hands.”
“And you have no idea why your brother might want Henry Meloux dead?”
Wellington paused a moment and understanding entered his blue eyes. “Henry Meloux. You’re the one who shot this Morrissey fellow.”
“He was going to shoot me,” Henry said simply.
I tried again. “Do you know why your brother might want Henry dead?”
Wellington looked at me. The steel returned to his eyes. “That question presupposes that he does.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
Wellington finally uncrossed his arms. He turned away and wandered to the window where he stood looking at the bay that lay shining in the morning sun. From there, he could see Sleeping Giant and, in its shadow, Manitou Island.
“Since my brother stepped down as head of Northern Mining, I’ve tried very hard not to be curious about his activities. It’s pointless, for one thing. Hank behaves as he behaves. That’s all there is to it.”
“For one thing?”
He faced us and looked resigned. “He’s brilliant, Mr. O’Connor. But when Roslyn died—that was his wife—when she died, he had a bit of a crack-up. It was a rough time for him. He wanted to step back from everything. The company, the public, even from his own family. I tried to talk him out of it. We all did. His children, me, his friends. But with Hank, once he’s made up his mind, that’s pretty much all she wrote.
“He concocted this scheme, having an actor step in for him, to divert the eye of the media, and he slipped away to the solitude he desired. I believe that at first he thought it would be a short-term situation, just until he felt able to deal with life again. But he found the isolation to his liking. So far as I know, he’s not planning to come back into the world anytime soon.”
“What’s your part in the charade?”
“I have no part except to keep Hank’s behavior as separate from the name of Northern Mining as possible.”
“You have nothing to do with the men who live on the island?”
“Benning and Dougherty? No, Hank hired them when he hired the Ellsworth fellow. I have no part in any of it. Except that sometimes, as when you showed up the other day, I pass requests along to him, but that’s all. Hank takes it from there.”
“I’m still having trouble with Morrissey.”
“I really don’t know anything about him. From what I understand, Hank knew Morrissey from the guide work the man sometimes did. It’s rough country where my brother is, Mr. O’Connor. There are a lot of people who are capable of the kind of behavior this Morrissey displayed.”
“Where is he?”
“I won’t tell you that. It’s Hank’s decision.”
“You’ll let him know I want to see him?”
“I’ll do that.”
“You don’t have much time before I go to the police and everything comes out.”
“From what you’ve told me, it’s all going to come out anyway. What does it matter about the time?”
“One attempt was already made on Henry Meloux’s life. I want answers before anybody else gets hurt. You still have my cell phone number?”
He didn’t answer. He looked pained, as if his stomach had knotted suddenly. Finally he said, “You talk about people being hurt. I care very much about my brother. What he’s gone through, what he continues to struggle with, isn’t easy. I’d prefer that his solitude be respected, but that’s a choice he’ll have to make. If it were up to me, I’d have you tossed out of Canada.”
“You have my cell phone number?” I said again.
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll expect to hear from your brother.”
He looked at me, unhappy and probably angry, and he looked at Meloux. We turned away and left his office.
In the elevator, Meloux said, “That is a man at war.”
“With us?”
“It spills out at us, but it is something else, I think.”
“He’s going to have his hands full when the truth of all this comes out. Northern Mining and Manufacturing will have to perform some pretty amazing magic to give any of it a good spin.”
Pollard and Schanno were drinking coffee in the front-porch swing when I pulled into the driveway. They looked comfortable together.
As we mounted the steps, Schanno asked, “How’d it go?”
“We’ll have to see. Wellington promised to talk to his brother, but he couldn’t guarantee anything. Hank Wellington makes his own decisions.”
“Hank?”
“What his brother called him.”
“I need a drink of water,” Meloux said and went inside.
“How’s he doing?” Trinky asked, her voice low and full of concern.
“Okay, I guess. We learned a little more about his son.” I explained what Rupert had told me about his brother and the Manitou Island setup. “What did you find out about the number Ellsworth gave you?”
“An answering service,” Trinky Pollard said. “Ellsworth leaves a message, the service notifies the account owner, who accesses the message. I’d need a court order to g
o any deeper. But I did find out that Entertaintec, which pays for Ellsworth’s services, is a subsidiary of Larchmont Productions, which is owned by Henry Wellington.”
“All roads continue to lead to Rome,” I said.
“Wherever that is in Canada.” Schanno shook his head.
“Any coffee left?” I asked.
“Half a pot,” Pollard said. “Help yourself.”
I’d turned toward the front door when my cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket. It was Jo.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I answered.
“You’re alive.”
“And kicking.”
“I’d hoped to hear from you.”
“Sorry. It’s been busy up here.”
“How’s it going?”
“Closing in, I hope. I’m waiting for a call from Henry Wellington, so as much as I love talking to you, I need to keep the line open. How’re things on the home front?”
“You mean Jenny?”
“She’s at the top of my list of concerns.”
“She’s doing remarkably well. She’s strong, Cork.”
“She’ll need to be. How’s everyone else?”
“Annie’s working her rear end off at Sam’s Place. And Stevie’s in seventh heaven with Walleye around. Cork, we really need to consider getting him a dog.”
“We’ll talk when I’m home,” I said, aware that I was putting it off again. “I need to keep this line open.”
“Sure. You take care of yourself. And Meloux.”
“I’m on it.”
I poured myself some coffee. Meloux was at the kitchen sink, drinking water from a plastic tumbler. We headed back outside together.
“What now?” Schanno asked.
“Nothing to do but wait,” I said.
We didn’t have to wait long. In twenty minutes, my cell phone chirped. I answered and recognized the voice, the same one that, on my first visit to Thunder Bay, had given me the instructions that got me to Manitou Island.
“I’ll see you, Mr. O’Connor,” Henry Wellington said.
“When?”
“As soon as you can get here.”
“Where’s here?”
“Go to the marina, the south end of the parking lot. Mr. Benning will be waiting for you. He’ll bring you to me.”
“I’m not coming alone.”
“The old man, the one called Meloux? You’ll bring him?”
“Yes. And a colleague.”
“Walter Schanno?”
Wellington was informed.
“Yes. Schanno.”
“All right. Leave immediately. It’s a long trip.”
He hung up without the cordiality of a good-bye.
The others looked at me.
“The great and powerful Oz will see us,” I said.
FORTY-FOUR
We took Trinky Pollard to the marina and let her off near the dock, where her boat was moored and where, she’d told us, her car was still parked.
She stood in the sunlight, blinking at us, clearly disappointed. “Sure you won’t let me go?” The whole way she’d argued for the wisdom of taking her along to see Wellington.
I leaned out my window. “He only agreed to Henry and Wally. I don’t want to blow this chance.”
“He also tried to have Henry killed. He doesn’t strike me as the most gracious host. You might need all the backup you can get.”
“We’ll be fine, Trinky,” I said.
She came around to Schanno’s side. “You’ll be careful?”
“Always have been,” he said.
She kissed him on the cheek. “When you get back, give me a call, promise?”
“Promise.”
She stepped away. We headed toward the south end of the marina. In the rearview mirror, I watched her watching us. Then she turned toward her boat.
Benning was standing beside a black Ford Explorer, leaning against the driver’s-side front door. The Explorer looked new and reflected sunlight shot from the polished finish in long bright arrows. Benning wore a T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up over impressive biceps. He had on a ball cap that shaded his face and sunglasses that hid his eyes. As we drove up, he looked our way. When I stopped, he pushed from his vehicle and walked to my side of the Bronco.
“I have instructions to take you to Mr. Wellington.” He kept his shades on when he spoke to me.
“Lead the way.”
“How’s your gas?” he asked.
“I filled up on the way here.”
He nodded and turned back to the Explorer.
“What if we get separated?” I said.
“We won’t.”
We followed him northwest out of Thunder Bay, keeping to Highway 17, part of the Trans-Canada Highway system. The sun had just passed its zenith when we finally put civilization behind us. For a long time after that, the highway cut through flat country with a lot of timber and not many towns.
A little over two hours later, we came to Ignace and turned north. We stopped at a gas station with a small restaurant. Benning pulled up to a pump and signaled us to do the same.
“Last chance for gas for quite a while,” he said.
Meloux used the men’s room while I filled the tank. Schanno went inside to get us some bottled water. He came back with three microwaved burritos as well. Within ten minutes, we were off again, following a hundred yards behind the Explorer. The burritos were hard beans and tasteless sauce wrapped in tortillas the texture of white leather, but we were all hungry and gobbled them down.
In a while, Meloux was napping in the backseat. Schanno and I talked.
“You and Trinky seemed to hit it off,” I said.
Schanno thought about that and then nodded. “She’s a good, sensible woman. Easy to talk to.” He studied the pine trees that walled the highway. “It’s been lonely.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Know what I miss most, Cork? Arietta used to sing around the house. It didn’t matter what she was doing, she was always singing. I could tell from the nature of the tune just how she was feeling. A snappy song and she was happy. Something blue and she was down. But always her voice there, filling the house. Place seems so damned empty now, I almost hate being there.”
“I can imagine,” I said.
“It’s been hard saying good-bye.”
I didn’t think that needed a response, so I studied my side-view mirror.
“Trinky’s thinking of sailing up the Saint Lawrence to the Atlantic in a few weeks, then heading south along the East Coast to the Caribbean. Needs a good deckhand, she says.”
“You told me. You interested in the job?”
“It’d be something to do.”
“And you like the company.”
He swung his gaze my way. “Is it too soon, you think?”
“Wally, I don’t know that there’s any blueprint for the affairs of the human heart. You try to do your best to listen to what it tells you, and do your best, when possible, to follow. That’s how it seems to me.”
He nodded. “Funny, you know, that I’ve got a dog named Trixie. Almost like Trinky. I called her Trixie last night.”
“She hit you?”
“When I explained, she thought it was cute. Say, what’s so interesting in that mirror of yours?”
“We’re being followed.”
He craned his neck to look back. It took a minute before the vehicle behind us came into view as it rounded a curve.
“How do you know it’s following us? This is probably the only good road in a hundred miles.”
“In the absence of evidence to the contrary, it’s safest to assume the worst.”
“The worst being?”
“Benning’s ahead of us. If Wellington wanted to put us in a pinch, he’d have someone behind us as well.”
Schanno unbuckled his seat belt and crawled into the back. Meloux was so deeply asleep he didn’t notice the jostling. Schanno dug in his bag, then came back up front. He was holding a handgun and a box of cartridges.
“What the hell is that?” I said.
Thunder Bay (Cork O'Connor Mysteries) Page 26
