decaying body moving, would depart at the moment of his death and migrate to another form. Only the host body died: the infection remained. Frankly, I didn’t think there was enough whisky and wine in the world to make Ernie Scollay and Marielle Vetters happy to hear that. Anyway, it might not even be true. After all, who would be foolish enough to believe such a thing?
‘No, no chance,’ I said. Little chance. Perhaps.
‘How did you first come across him?’ said Marielle.
‘I encountered him in the course of a case a few years back. He was –’ I searched for the right word, but couldn’t find it, so I settled for ‘unusual.’
‘My father had served in Korea. He didn’t think anything could frighten him more than hordes of Chinese coming at him over the brow of a hill, but Brightwell did.’
‘He had that capacity. He terrified. He tortured. He murdered.’
‘No loss to the world, then.’
‘Precious little.’
‘How did he die?’
‘That doesn’t matter. It’s enough to know that he’s dead.’
Ernie Scollay came back to us from wherever his thoughts had taken him. He worried at the base of his tie, rubbing it between his fingers as though trying to remove a stain. Eventually, he said: ‘What would happen if the police found out about what Harlan and Paul did?’
Ah. There it was.
‘Are you still worried about the money, Mr Scollay?’
‘It’s a lot, at least for a man like me. I never had that much money in my life, and I sure don’t have it now. Could they make us pay it back?’
‘It’s possible. Look, let’s be straight with one another here: an act of theft was committed out there in the woods. The money wasn’t theirs to take, but you weren’t aware of the source of the money until Harlan Vetters confessed on his deathbed, right? Your brother never spoke of this to you, did he, Mr Scollay?’
‘No,’ he answered, and I believed him. ‘My brother wasn’t above doing some poaching, when it suited him, and I know that he used to smuggle liquor and tobacco too, once upon a time. I got used to him having money in his pocket one day and none the next, but I chose not to ask him how he came by whatever he had.’
Marielle looked at him in surprise.
‘Paul was a smuggler?’
Ernie shifted awkwardly in his seat. ‘I’m not saying he was a master criminal or nothing, but he wasn’t above engaging in illegalities.’
It was a wonderful turn of phrase. I was starting to like Ernie Scollay more and more.
‘Did my father know about Paul’s smuggling?’ asked Marielle.
‘I guess so. He had eyes in his head.’
‘But he didn’t—?’
‘Oh, no, no. Not Harlan.’ Scollay caught my eye, and a corner of his mouth rose mischievously, making him look decades younger. ‘Not that I know of, anyway.’
‘It’s an evening of revelations,’ I said. ‘As far as the money is concerned, any potential criminal action died when those men died. A civil action, well, that’s another matter. If you were to go to the police and tell them what you know, and someone came forward with proof of ownership of that money as a consequence, then it’s possible that an attempt could be made to seek restitution from the estates of the deceased men. I’d have to seek advice on that, though. I’m just speculating for now.’
‘And if we remain silent?’ said Marielle.
‘Then that plane stays where it is until someone else discovers it, assuming that ever happens. Who knows about it? Just you two?’
Marielle shook her head. ‘No, my brother was there when my father told his story. He knows most of what I do.’
‘Most’: that was an interesting choice of word.
‘Why “most”?’
‘Grady is a troubled man. He’s had problems with alcohol and drugs. My father’s dying hit him hard. They’d always fought, and even on my father’s deathbed they struggled to make up. I think Grady felt angry at my dad, and guilty for what he’d put my dad through by acting like a douche for most of his life. He found it difficult to be in the same room as him. The story my father told, he told to us over the space of two days. Sometimes he’d fall asleep, or lose his concentration. He’d become anxious or frustrated, and we’d have to calm him down and let him rest, but he always came back to the tale. But by then Grady wouldn’t always be around. He was hooking up with old buddies, reliving his