‘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 youth. It wasn’t quite a party for him, but sometimes it sure seemed that way. In the end, he wasn’t even there when my father finally passed away. One of my dad’s friends had to go drag him from a bar before the body went cold.’
‘Can you trust him to keep his mouth shut?’
Her shoulders sagged. ‘I couldn’t even trust him to stay sober for the funeral.’
‘You have to make the possible consequences of loose talk clear to him. Did your father leave much in his will?’
‘Hardly anything at all: the house, a little money in the bank. Most of his savings –’ she paused at the word, smiled resignedly, and continued – ‘went to caring for my mother.’
‘Who gets the house?’
‘Everything was split evenly between us. Even with all of Grady’s problems, my father didn’t want to be seen to favor one child over another. I’m trying to secure a bank loan to buy out Grady’s half of the house. He doesn’t want to live up in the County again, and he certainly doesn’t want to be tied to Falls End. There aren’t enough bars for him, and his exes are mostly married, or overweight, or gone to Texas. The novelty of being back in Falls End wore off about the same time that my dad died.’
‘Do you want me to speak to your brother?’
‘No. I imagine you can be quite persuasive, but it’s better if I talk him around myself. We get on okay, Grady and I. His beef was with our father, not with me.’
‘Well, make sure he understands that, if he talks, the house itself may be at risk, and in that case nobody will get anything. And you, Mr Scollay? Did your brother bequeath you anything when he died?’
‘Just his truck, and even then he still owed payments on it. He was only ever renting his house. Money went through my brother’s fingers like sand. I’m just glad that he held onto enough of that forest cash to make fighting his sickness easier for him, but it was all pretty much spent by the time he died. I guess that’s as it should be. That money was tainted from the moment they found it, and I’m glad I don’t have to worry about any of it now. In conclusion, I got no interest in anybody else hearing about that plane in the woods. In an ideal world, you’d forget we ever told you anything at all.’
And that seemed to be that, as far as they were concerned. Marielle asked me about payment for my time, and I told her that all I’d done was listen to a story over coffee and wine in a bar. That hardly counted as billable hours. Ernie Scollay looked relieved. He probably didn’t believe that anyone down in the cities did anything for nothing. He asked Marielle if she was ready to go, and she said that she’d follow him in a few minutes, just as soon as he brought the truck around. He looked a little reluctant to leave, as though fearful that there might be further disclosures.
‘Go on now, Ernie,’ said Marielle. ‘I just need a moment or two with Mr Parker here about a private matter. I’m not going to speak out of turn.’
He nodded, shook my hand, and headed out into the evening.
‘A private matter?’ I said.
‘Private enough. This Brightwell: who was he really? None of that bullshit about him being unusual or nothing. I want to know the truth.’
‘You could say that he was a member of a cult. They called themselves “Believers”. That trident symbol on his wrist was an identifying mark.’
‘For whom?’
‘For others like himself.’
‘And what did they believe in?’
‘They believed in the existence of fallen angels. Some of them even believed that they were angels themselves. It’s not an uncommon delusion, although they took it to a rarefied level.’
‘Did Brightwell believe he was a fallen angel?’
‘He did.’
She considered what I had just said.
‘What did my mother mean when she spoke of a “hidden angel”?’
There were two possible meanings. The first was a legend arising out of the great banishment of the rebel angels, and their fall from heaven to earth: that one repented and, even though he believed he had no hope of forgiveness for his transgressions, he continued to make recompense, turning his back on his angry, despairing brethren, eventually concealing himself amid the great sprawling mass of humanity.
But I shared with Marielle the second possibility. ‘Brightwell believed that he was the servant of twin angels, two halves of the same being. One had been found by its enemies a long time before and imprisoned in silver to prevent it from roaming, but Brightwell and the other angel had continued to search for it. They were consumed by their need to free it.’
‘Jesus. And did he find what he was looking for?’
‘He died finding it but, yes, he thought that he did, at the end.’
‘That woman, Darina Flores, could she have shared the same beliefs?’
‘If, as it seems, she was with Brightwell when he came to Falls End, then it’s possible.’
‘But she didn’t have a mark like that, I asked my father.’
‘It might have been hidden. I’ve never heard of Darina Flores until tonight.’
She sat back and stared at me.
‘Why was Brightwell so interested in that plane?’
‘Are you asking me to find out?’
She considered the question and then some of the tension released itself from her.
‘No. I think you’re right, and Ernie is too. We should just stay quiet, and leave the plane where it is.’
‘In answer to your question, Brightwell wasn’t interested in money, or not as an end in itself. If he was curious about that plane, it was because of something else. If your father was right about a passenger being on that plane, cuffed to a seat, then it’s possible this individual was the object of Brightwell’s curiosity; that, or the papers your father saw. Those names had meaning. They’re a record of some kind. So the cash was only a means to an end for Brightwell. He confronted your father at your mother’s rest home because he and, presumably, the Flores woman were looking out for unusual spending patterns. The cost of your mother’s care qualified.’
‘Do you think Brightwell accepted my father’s lie about the source of the funds?’
‘Even if he didn’t, he never had the chance to pursue the matter. He died in the same year that he confronted your father.’
Again, she gave me the stare. She wasn’t a fool. Ernie Scollay might principally have been worried about the police, or someone coming after him for money that he didn’t have, but Marielle Vetters had deeper concerns.
‘You called them “Believers”, plural. Even if the woman wasn’t one, that still implies that there are more of them out there, more like him.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘there were never any others like him. He was unpleasant in ways that you can’t even begin to imagine. As for the Believers, I think they’ve been wiped out. But this Flores woman may be something different. That’s why it’s better if you and Mr Scollay keep a lid on this. If she’s still out there, you don’t want to bring her down upon yourselves.’
A horn tooted in the parking lot. Ernie Scollay was growing impatient.
‘Your ride’s here,’ I said.
‘Ernie knew about the plane before I did,’ said Marielle. ‘His brother told him the story before he died, and it was only when I came to him with the rest of it that he felt compelled to seek advice. He’ll stay quiet now. He’s a good man, but he’s no fool. I’ll work on my brother too. He can be an idiot, but he’s a self-aware idiot. He won’t want to put easy money at risk.’
‘And you’re not going to say anything either.’
