and then it’ll be just rain for a while. Last radio report I heard said it’s supposed to go on till near midnight. Seems to me rain would provide decent cover for someone wanting to get onto Manitou without an invitation.”
“They have security on the landing,” I pointed out.
She took another long draw of beer. “The official landing, the one where invited guests arrive. I’ve anchored us near an inlet on the other side of the island. You can’t really tell much about it because it’s blocked by a wooded peninsula. But on occasion I’ve observed motor launches coming and going, so I assume there’s another landing back there somewhere.”
“You seem to have more than a passing interest in this place,” Schanno said.
“Retired RCMP investigator,” she replied. “These days, I take my mysteries where I can find them. And there’s a lot about Manitou that’s never added up.”
“You’re a retired Mountie?”
She scowled at Schanno. “I was never fond of that term. For a woman in a profession dominated by men, it was too easy to make a demeaning joke of it.”
“Sure,” Schanno said.
“You sail around Manitou a lot?” I asked.
“I sail a lot, period, but I do have an investigator’s fascination with this place.”
The boat bucked like a restless pony. I was anxious for the storm to move on and for things to settle down.
“What do you know about Wellington?” I asked.
“A creative and charismatic guy before…” She glanced at Henry. “Before he became so odd. He was a very public figure in Thunder Bay and in Canada in general. He took the money from his father’s mining interests and created an industrial manufacturing empire with interests all over the world. Very popular, very public spirited and environmentally minded. Created the Wellington Foundation, a huge charitable organization. Then half a dozen years ago his wife died, and he withdrew from public view. Tabloids have always been after him. If you believe what you read in them, he’s become a bizarre eccentric who’s barricaded himself in his mansion.”
“From what I saw, they weren’t off the mark,” I said. “Sorry, Henry.”
Pollard got up and walked to the cabin door, not an easy maneuver with the pitching of the boat. She opened the door and eyed the sky. “Dark’ll come early because of the rain. Another hour maybe.”
“How do we get to the inlet?” Schanno asked.
“When the wind dies and the lake calms a bit, I’ll see about taking the boat in.” Pollard closed the door and returned to her seat.
“Dogs patrol the island,” I said.
“You saw them?” She seemed surprised.
“I heard them. Didn’t sound like animals I’d want to run into.”
“People who visit the island sometimes comment on the dogs they hear, and the tabloids talk at length about how vicious they are.”
“Guard dogs,” I said with a shrug. “For a man so crazy about his privacy, it makes sense.”
Pollard said, “I’ve never heard them except when I can tell from a docked boat that someone is visiting the island.”
“What’s so strange about that?” Schanno asked.
“Dogs are dogs. They like to bark, guests or no. Nature of the beast. They also like to run. I’ve sailed around this island dozens of times, and I’ve never seen the dogs being exercised. So far as I know, nobody has.”
“You’re saying what? That they’re virtual guard dogs?”
“Cheap security.”
“I ran into the expensive kind,” I told her. “Guys with guns.”
“How many?”
“There was Morrissey.” I thought about it. “Then there was the guy who piloted the launch and the security guy at the dock.”
“Benning and Dougherty,” she said.
“You know them?”
“Everybody at the marina knows them. They bring the launch in two, three times a week. They go to dinner, take in a movie, buy groceries, go back to the island. Nice enough couple.”
“Couple?”
“That’s the speculation among the sailors at the marina.”
“I didn’t pick up on that.”
“Why would you? You weren’t looking for it. Bob Calhoun, guy who docks at the slip two down from mine, is gay. He claims his ’gaydar’ tells him it’s true. Did you see anybody else out there?”
“No.”
“Nor have I. Benning, Dougherty, once in a while this guy you say was Morrissey, that’s it.”
“No house staff, no groundskeepers?”
“Not that I’ve ever seen.”
“But you’ve seen Wellington, right?” Schanno said.
“Every so often around twilight, I catch a glimpse of him walking alone along the shoreline. Never in full daylight. He’s like a ghost, all in white.”
“He seems to prefer the dark,” I said.
“Like a bat or a vampire,” Pollard said. Then she glanced at Henry and said no more.
Although the lake hadn’t settled down any, I could tell from the distance of the thunder that the electrical part of the storm had moved east. We still had time to kill until it was dark enough to approach the island, and Trinky Pollard hauled out three more beers.
Schanno said, “So, what do you do besides sail?”
“I read a lot. And drink more beer than is probably good for me.”
“No men in your life?”
She tipped her can to her lips and drank before she answered. “I was married for a dozen years. My husband finally left me because he claimed my job was more important to me than he was. He was right. In my experience, when men start being serious in a relationship, that translates into something like ownership. My boat and my books are pretty good company. When I want anything more, I pop into the Waterfront at the marina. I know all the regulars there.”
Schanno turned his beer can in his hands and seemed to study the label. “It takes a special person to understand the demands the job makes on a cop.”
“Your wife, she understood?”
“Not always.”
“But she didn’t leave you.”
“She did eventually. Not her choice.”
“Sounds like you were a lucky man.”
“Blessed is what I was.”
She lifted her beer in a toast. “To blessings.”
Schanno tapped her beer can with his own, and they drank.
THIRTY-NINE
Shortly before eight P.M., Pollard declared, “Time to get ready.”
The heavy rain persisted and, along with it, a stiff wind that kept the lake churning. The leading edge of the storm had passed long ago, but what followed proved not much better. We stood up and struggled to steady ourselves.
Schanno fell into Pollard. Though she was much smaller, she caught him.
“I thought you said the wind was going to die down,” he complained.
“Quoting the radio,” she replied. “Obviously they were wrong. You want to cancel the landing party?”
