“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.