‘So why’s your client interested in it?’ I was still trying to make up my mind what all this was about. Wolchak himself, I thought, probably belonged to one of those ethnic groups that stem from America’s flood of refugees. There was an accent but, as Brian Halliday had said on the phone, it was more an undercurrent, difficult to place. He could be Irish, I thought, or equally from one of the Mediterranean countries; there was a quickness about him, and the tanned face, the nose, the dark eyes. But definitely a man who had lived quite a bit of his time in America, fortyish and well fleshed, the face a little leathery from the sun. California perhaps. But that was only a guess. I’d never been to California — or anywhere very much for that matter.
‘It’s the timber in the bottom. All the rest of the property has been cut over, nothing good left, but down by the river and round the lake expansions there’s a stand of real good timber, and all of it western red cedar. SVL Timber specializes in western red cedar, either putting the logs through their sawmill or trucking them to other outfits in the States. It’s just that bottom stuff, otherwise the property’s ripped out and not worth a damn. So we’re talking about a square mile or so of top-grade timber.’ He glanced at his watch and got to his feet. ‘I’ve kept you long enough.’ That smile beaconed out. ‘Think it over. Have a talk with Brian Halliday — that’s if he comes into it, as I understand he does.’
‘Did he tell you that?’ I asked.
‘He didn’t deny it.’ He produced his own card and flipped it onto my desk. ‘I’m staying with friends in Brighton over the weekend, back at my London hotel Monday. Get in touch with me when you’ve made up your mind.’ He held out his hand. ‘I take it you’ll be contacting the lawyers in Vancouver and arranging for a firm of forestry consultants to make an independent valuation. If so, kindly put it in hand right away, then as soon as you have it we can start talking figures. Option money ten per cent of agreed total, management in the SVL Company’s hands from date of signature.’ The smile flashed out again. ‘When you get the valuation you’ll be pleasantly surprised, I think. That bottom stand should see you out of any difficulties with a good margin.’
‘Supposing the worst has happened and Mr Halliday is dead,’ I said. ‘I think the executors might well decide to put the property up for auction.’
He looked at me sharply. ‘Timber is an up-and-down business. It’s down at the moment, so there aren’t many buyers around over the other side and this Cascades place is up north so it’s a long haul down to the markets. Also, auctions aren’t sure money, and they don’t produce cash on the nail for an option. If Halliday is dead, then I guess you’ll be needing cash very badly, and that’s what I’m offering you.’ He nodded and was about to walk out when he looked back at me. ‘I’m in this for the commission, you understand.’ His eyes, sharp and grey, were fixed on mine. ‘I’m sure you and I can come to a sensible arrangement.’ He nodded, smiling confidently, as though bribing lawyers was all part of the day’s work. ‘Just so long as the deal goes through. And don’t be too long making up your mind, Mr Redfern.’ His eyes flicked wide in a stare, and then he was gone, a broad, neatly suited man of uncertain age with something near to a bounce in his walk.
Three hours later I was on board my boat and getting ready to make Littlehampton and back over the weekend. It being new and everything to be checked out by trial and error, my mind was so concentrated on the business of sailing that I thought of nothing else until I walked into my office on the Monday morning and found Brian Halliday sitting in the little waiting room that was really a part of the old entrance hall when the house had been a private residence. He had no appointment, but that I presumed was typical. I wasn’t at all pleased as I was due to appear in court in Brighton that morning for a client who was up on a drink-driving charge.
He was short and dark, a long face with a long beak of a nose and big ears, high cheekbones — not exactly ugly, but definitely an odd appearance, his hair black and somewhat lank. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with Greenpeace on it, canvas shoes on his feet. He seemed very agitated and I thought at first it was because Miriam had gone. He blurted this out almost as soon as we were into my office and I thought at first it was why he had come to see me. With feminine practicality she had apparently gathered up some of the more portable valuables in the house, silver chiefly, also the gold cigarette box I had seen on the dinner table and the silver-gilt chamber pot that had been the centrepiece. She had taken them off in her car on Saturday — ‘presumably to flog them to a dealer for some ready cash. Have you seen her?’ he asked me.
‘No.’
‘She hasn’t been here, then?’
I shook my head, and at that moment my secretary came in and handed me a typewritten slip. ‘It was on the phone tape. I thought you’d like to see it right away.’
It was a message from Miriam. She had phoned on the Sunday morning to say she was flying to Canada that day and would be away a week, maybe ten days. I’ll be staying part of the time at the Bayshore, Vancouver. Very extravagant of me. But what the hell! And she had added, I’ll be in touch with you if I have any news of Tom.
I showed it to Brian Halliday and he said, ‘Do you think she’s going out there to sell the Cascades? You saw Wolchak, did you?’ And when I nodded, he added, ‘I haven’t had a word from him since I phoned you. Do you think that’s what Miriam’s up to?’
‘She can’t sell it,’ I told him.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then what’s she going to Vancouver for? It’s just across the Juan de Fuca Strait from Seattle with a daily ferry service and Wolchak said he was acting for a timber company in Seattle. If Miriam can bugger off with the silver like that…’
‘You shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’ I could see the makings of a vicious family row and, noting the almost wild light in the very dark brown eyes staring at me across the desk, I added quickly, ‘You seem to forget your father is reported missing, nothing more. And in any case, a slice of timber land in British Columbia is a very different matter to a few items of household silver.’
He nodded slowly, sitting back, but still tense. Finally he said, ‘I’d like to see the deeds. If it turns out that I now own the trees …’
‘I told you, the deeds are at the bank.’
‘Your secretary said you had photocopies.’
I hesitated, not sure I would be justified in refusing him. And then he said, ‘Tom said there’s a curse.’
‘A curse?’ I stared at him, wondering what he was talking about. ‘How do you mean, a curse?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, not really. It’s quite a time back. Eight years almost. We were chewing coca together in an Indian hut, not the leaves, but the powdered sort they call patu — ’ He smiled, a sleepy, almost feline smile. ‘It was real potent stuff, like dust — took your breath away if you inhaled it before you’d got enough spittle worked in to make a masticating ball of it.…’
‘Where was this?’
‘In the Andes. Below the pass that leads to Cajamarca. Anyway, that’s what he said.’ And he added, ‘He hadn’t seen the deeds. Not then at any rate. He wasn’t much interested in trees. But he said his father had told him he’d put a curse on anybody who cut them.’
‘Why?’
‘He’d planted them, hadn’t he? Not all the trees, but the real good stuff in the valley bottom, the area Tom always refers to as High Stand. Planted them with his own hands.’
‘And this curse is in the deeds?’
‘I think so. I don’t know. I wasn’t that interested, you see, not at the time. I was still in my teens, and though I was engaged in forestry — we were doing a lot of planting for the Peruvian Government — BC seemed like a million miles away, and anyway the chances of my ever being involved with the curse seemed very remote, my father just divorced and full of energy again. Didn’t you feel that about him?’ Again that strange, almost secretive smile. ‘All that machismo, the adrenalin flowing — ’ The smile became a laugh as he added, ‘And then suddenly you’d see it was all a sham. He was just a kid, nothing for real, the world a toy.’ The face became solemn, a sadness in the eyes, so that I had the impression he was fond of his father.