“Only chitchat about searching the mines for gold, finding jasper, making sculptures. His hobbies, basically.”
“No discussion of who else might have contacted him about wanting that artifact?”
“No.”
“Did you ever discuss his friend Margie Brooksfield?”
“He mentioned her from time to time. Nice lady. Brought him food. She arranged to have him baptized. I spoke to her once on the phone when she was visiting Willy.”
“What for?”
“Ah, no reason. Wanted to meet one of Willy’s friends, I suppose.”
“How did he feel about being baptized?”
“He said he’d recently had a strange religious experience and he figured it was worth hedging his bets.”
“What kind of religious experience?”
Castillo shrugged. “No idea. Nothing that made sense, I’m sure. As you know, the guy was schizo.”
“Anything about how Brooksfield handled his finances, managed his money?”
“Nothing about that.”
“Did you know she handled his finances?”
“I… didn’t know that.”
“No idea who might have killed him—besides aliens? I know it’s not as exciting, but we have solid evidence that humans were responsible.” She wasn’t going to tell him about the embalming and the Spanish boot. The investigation was keeping that information strictly confidential for the time being.
He looked at her steadily. “I don’t know about your evidence. As far as I know, he was a harmless old coot who didn’t have an enemy in the world—at least, a human one.”
Cash shook her head, reached over, turned off her cell phone recorder, shut her notebook, and stood up. And Castillo looked so normal—proof that you never could tell with these conspiracy theorists. “Thankyou, Mr. Castillo, I appreciate you meeting with me and sharing your thoughts.” She hesitated and took out her card, giving it to him, but not without misgivings. “If you have any further thoughts onhumanswho might have wished him harm, will you please let me know?”
