Thunder Bay

by William Kent Krueger

  “Can’t?”

  “Breach of contract. If I tell you, I lose everything.”

  “Everything’s already lost, pal. The gig is over. We’re busting Wellington wide open, and I’ve got no problem busting you open first. Who hired you?”

  “Wellington,” he said.

  “Henry Wellington?”

  “Yes.”

  I eased up a bit, let him off the wall. “Tell me about it.”

  “Six years ago. He called me to the island and laid out what he wanted.”

  “Which was?”

  “Somebody to be him.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He offered me a deal I’d have been a fool to turn down. But there was a stipulation. I could never reveal the agreement, never tell anyone about my role.”

  “His idea to be so eccentric?”

  “More or less. He said he’d been compared to Howard Hughes all his life. No reason to stop now. He thought it would be a good way to keep people at a distance. So I studied Hughes.”

  “He’s okay with this character?”

  “I assume. Once I signed the agreement, I never saw him again.”

  Meloux walked forward. Ellsworth shifted his eyes toward the old man.

  “What was he like?” Henry said.

  Ellsworth thought a moment. “Rather cold. Unhappy.”

  Meloux nodded.

  “Who pays you?” I asked.

  “I get a monthly amount deposited into my bank account. A retainer. And for each performance, I get something additional.”

  “How often do you perform?”

  “A couple of times a month, usually. I make an appearance at twilight for the benefit of the gawkers. Every once in a while, like when you showed up, I’m called to make a special appearance. I use the darkened room and the mask bit to keep people from looking too closely.”

  “Wellington’s never on the island?”

  “As far as I know, he hasn’t set foot there in six years.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest.”

  “You know his brother, Rupert?”

  “I know who he is. I’ve never met him.”

  “The money that’s deposited in your account, where does it come from?”

  “On my bank statement, the notation reads Entertaintec, Inc.”

  “You don’t know anything about the company?”

  “No.”

  “Who contacted you for my performance?”

  “I have a cell phone dedicated to gigs on Manitou. Whenever they want me, they call me on it.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “I don’t know. A voice I don’t recognize.”

  “Has it always been just a voice?”

  “At first it was Wellington himself. That lasted a couple of years. Then it was a different voice.”

  “No name?”

  “No.”

  “And so no face to go with it, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What if you decided to contact your contact? Can you call him?”

  “Yes. There’s a number.”

  “He answers?”

  “No. I leave a message. I don’t do it often. They don’t like it.”

  “If I had the number, I could have it traced,” Pollard said to me.

  “Give it to her,” I told Ellsworth.

  He went to his sport coat and took a pen from the inside pocket. He wrote the number on the back of a program lying on the dressing table and handed the program to Pollard.

  “What can you tell me about Morrissey?” I said.

  “Nothing. He sometimes rides out with me in the launch and sticks around until I go back. If there’s anything special about the gig, he explains what Mr. Wellington wants. He told me you were coming and what he wanted me to do.”

  “Which was?”

  “Listen to what you had to say and hold on to the watch.”

  “Did he tell you the importance of the watch?”

  “No.”

  “And after I left, you told him everything I told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He passed the information along to Wellington?”

  “I don’t know. I’d done my part. Benning took us back to Thunder Bay. That’s all there was to it.”

  “You said Morrissey comes out sometimes but not always. Who usually takes care of the details of your appearances on the island?”

  “Benning and Dougherty.”

  “Why not that time?”

  He shrugged.

  I thought to myself, Because that time, Meloux had to die.

  “Look, I’ve told you everything I know. I’ve probably screwed myself good.”

  “I think you can count on an end to the engagement,” Pollard said. “When the police understand the nature of your involvement with the dead man, they’ll want to talk to you, and as soon as they do, you’re headline news. You’re finished impersonating Henry Wellington, Mr. Ellsworth.”

  I thought it would hit him hard, facing the end of the luxurious ride he’d managed to get out of Wellington. But he brightened.

  “Hey, I could get great publicity out of this. ‘The man who was Wellington.’ The media will love it.”

  “I’ll contact the police,” Pollard told him. “Where can you be reached?”

  He gave her his home address and phone number.

  “Stay available,” she cautioned him.

  “I’m all theirs,” he said and opened his arms magnanimously.

  In the lobby, the kid had finished sweeping the carpet. He watched us as we trooped past.

  “How’d it go?” he asked.

  “He brought down the house.”

  “That’s a first. Was he really playing Henry Wellington?”

  “He was.”

  “And he got a Ferrari out of it?”

  “It appears he did.”

  As we walked out, the kid shook his head and grumbled, “No fucking justice.”

  FORTY-TWO

  We headed back to the marina to take Pollard to her boat.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked along the way.

  “Get rooms for the night,” I said. “These wet jeans are starting to chafe.”

  “You’re welcome to stay at my place,” she offered.

  “Don’t think we’d all fit in the cabin of your sailboat, Trinky.”

  “I have a house. I’m not there much during sailing season, but it’s a perfectly fine place. I’ve got a guest room, a sofa, a cot.”

  “We’ve already imposed enough,” I said.

  “Nonsense. This is the most fun I’ve had since I retired.”

  “Guys?” I said.

  “I’m game,” Schanno replied.

  Meloux said, “Migwech.”

  Pollard said, “Eh?”

  “Ojibwe,” I told her. “Means thank you.”

  Instead of returning to the marina, we went directly to her little bungalow on a tree-shaded street northwest of the downtown district. I parked in the drive, we grabbed our bags, and headed toward the front door along a walk lined with flowers. We climbed four steps up to a small, covered porch with a swing. When we stepped inside the house, everything looked simple, neat, and clean.

  “Nice woodwork,” Schanno noted.

  “That’s what sold me on the place,” she said. “I’d be happy to make coffee. Decaf, I suppose, at this time of night. And I’ve probably got frozen pizza I can throw in the oven. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starved.”

  She gave Meloux the guest room. From the hallway closet, she pulled a cot, which I set up in the living room. She brought in linen for it and for the sofa. Schanno offered to take the cot, but I could see that big as he was, his feet would hang over the end, and I argued him out of it.

  By the time we’d changed into dry clothing, Pollard had the coffee ready. She pulled the pizza from the oven, and we sat around her dining room table, feeding our faces and talking about plans for the next
day.

  “We still haven’t located Henry Wellington,” I said. “I think we should talk to his brother, Rupert.”

  “Think he knows what’s been going on?” Schanno said. “Sounds like it was Henry who set up the whole charade.”

  “Rupert can’t be clueless. He probably knows where his brother is. Or at the very least, how to contact him.”

  Pollard said, “The contact number Ellsworth gave me, I’ll have that checked, see if it leads us anywhere.”

  “Thanks, Trinky.”

  Meloux looked tired.

  Pollard saw it, too. “We should all get some sleep,” she suggested, rising from her chair. “Tomorrow’ll be another busy day.”

  I woke in the night. I wasn’t sure if I’d heard something or dreamed it. I lifted my head from the pillow and saw that the front door stood ajar. Through the open window overlooking the front porch, I heard the gentle scree of the chains as the swing went slowly back and forth.

  I was about to check it out, just to be safe, when Schanno got up and shifted himself so that he could look through the porch window, which was directly behind the sofa. He stared awhile as the swing kept up its quiet rhythm. He glanced my way, and I pretended sleep. He slipped from the sofa and padded to the front door. After a minute of hesitation, he pushed the screen door open and stepped outside.

  The regular beat of the porch swing ceased. I heard their voices, hushed. I heard rain dripping from the eaves. I heard a car drive past, its tires sighing on wet pavement.

  Then the swing began again.

  Wally Schanno did not return to the sofa that night.

  In the morning, I found Schanno and Pollard in the kitchen. Crisp bacon lay on a plate on the table, eggs were frying in a pan on the stove, coffee was fresh and hot in the brew pot, and bread was ready to be dropped into the toaster. The rain had long ago ended, and the sun was rising in the sky like a bubble in a champagne glass. Pollard wore a white terry-cloth robe. Her feet were bare, her hair brushed, her eyes happy. Schanno had on a T-shirt, plaid sleep bottoms, and a big grin.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” Pollard said. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sit down.” Schanno wielded a spatula, which he aimed at the small kitchen table.

  I sat. Pollard poured coffee while Schanno tended the eggs.

  “Hungry?” she asked.

  “Give me a minute. But probably.”

  “Hope you like your eggs over easy,” Schanno said. “Only way I know how to cook ’em.”

  “Over easy’s fine, Wally.”

  “How’s that toast coming, Trinky?”

  “Going down,” she said.

  Then she laughed, as if it was the funniest thing she’d heard in forever. Schanno laughed, too.

  “You guys sleep okay?” I asked.

  “Marvelously well,” Pollard said.

  Marvelously was drawn out and affected, the way Tallulah Bankhead might have said it. They both laughed some more.

  “Henry up yet?” I asked.

  “Gone for a walk,” Schanno replied. “He said he’d be back for breakfast.”

  I heard the front door open, and at the same time, the toast popped up.

  “On cue,” Pollard sang. “What timing.”

  Meloux came in looking refreshed. He was beaming just as brightly as the other two. Everyone seemed to have had a better night than me.

  “It is a good day,” Henry pronounced. “On this day, I will see my son.”

  Schanno lifted the coffee cup that sat near him on the counter. “To this day,” he toasted.

  Trinky Pollard did the same.

  Despite the sunny morning and dispositions, I’d awakened with a sense that we were all swimming upstream against a current of doom. Why, I didn’t know. But I didn’t want my concern to infect the others. Who was I, anyway, to blunt their optimism?

  I raised my cup. “To this day, Henry,” I said and hoped it was true.

  Over breakfast, we talked specifics. I proposed that Meloux and I go together to see Rupert Wellington.

  “I’ve spoken with him before, so he knows me. Henry will tell his story, and we’ll see what Wellington does.”

  “What if he refuses to see you?” Schanno’s elbows were on the table, and his coffee cup was lost in the grip of his big hands.

  “When I trot out Preston Ellsworth’s name, I’m betting he’ll want to talk,” I said.

  Pollard said, “In the meantime, I’ll see what I can run down on that contact number Ellsworth gave us. And also the company that’s been paying for his performances.”

  “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.”