Ridley Pearson - Killer Weekend

T revalian heard a woman’s voice say, “Isn’t that him?” It came from the hotel’s registration desk. His instinct was to flee.

He turned and headed up the stairwell, pretending he’d not heard her comment.

At 3 A.M. the hotel lobby was empty. The woman at registration had to have been speaking to someone. The hotel detective?

He cautioned himself to stay calm. They couldn’t possibly connect him to the recent events. He’d changed shirts. Donned a jacket. Shaler’s clothes were in the knapsack slung over his right shoulder.

“Sir? Mr. Meisner?” A male voice a few feet behind him.

He knows my name.

Trevalian stopped and turned on the stairs. He was looking at a man in his mid-forties, fit and darkly tanned. A full head of hair. He’d sprung up the stairs like a ballerina.

“Yes?” Trevalian said.

“I wonder if you might have a minute?”

“You are?”

“Neil Parker.” He offered a business card. Sun Valley Company. Guest services.

“It’s three in the morning.”

“There’s been an…incident,” Parker said.

Two things occurred to Trevalian: They’d found the compound he’d cooked, or they had him for the break-ins.

“It’s a situation that requires discretion on all our parts,” Parker said.

“I’m afraid it’s very late, and I’m very tired and I don’t understand.” Trevalian evaluated his chances of breaking the guy’s neck without any noise. Not great.

Parker climbed another step.

Trevalian extended his hand to stop the man. “I don’t like tight spaces,” he explained. He could knee the man in the face from this position.

Parker lowered his voice. “There’s been an incident with one of our staff. A Ms. Cunningham.” He answered Trevalian’s blank expression. “Lilly Cunningham. Our lounge singer in the Duchin Lounge. I believe you met Lilly.”

He said nothing, wondering if he’d been set up. She’d managed to get into his room; she’d drunk his booze. An extortion racket?

“There’s been an assault. All I need is five minutes. Really. I’d rather not do this in a stairwell.”

“Do what?”

“Lilly remembered your room number. That’s how I got your name.”

Trevalian said nothing.

“She said you got a look at the man,” Parker explained. “A possible suspect. These can be tricky cases to prove. He-said, she-said.”

“A matter for the authorities,” Trevalian said. “Please leave me out of it.”

“She’s not pressing charges. The police are not involved. But if we can confirm the man’s identity, he will never set foot on company property again.”

Trevalian doubted the explanation. “I saw her with a man. But I’m afraid I didn’t get a good look at him.”

Parker’s face fell. “Anything about him would help. We’d like to get rid of this guy.”

Trevalian spoke, bringing the man into his confidence. “Let me put it this way: If you saw Lilly and some guy in the hallway, who would you be looking at?”

“Yeah…I hear you.”

“I’m sorry,” Trevalian said, “but that’s how it was.”

The man appeared crushed. “Listen, you remember anything, give me a call. The front desk can find me.”

“My apologies to Ms. Cunningham.”

“The difference is,” Parker said, more determined than ever, “you can choose not to be involved. But Lilly’s going to climb back up on that stage with that creep out there looking at her.”

“I’ll sleep on it,” Trevalian said. He rounded the landing and hurried up the stairs, thinking there was precious little time for sleep.

His mind had briefly been elsewhere-a mistake he rarely made. He had a switch to make, and, if possible, he wanted to do it now, while it was still dark out.

C ivil twilight was listed as 5:41 A.M., a naval term referring to the first glimpse of a defined horizon. Trevalian didn’t want the horizon or himself defined or glimpsed as he made the switch, and so two hours after being stopped by the hotel security man, and an hour before civil twilight, he made his way out of a ground-floor exit as Rafe Nagler. Toey, the German shepherd service dog, pulled at the harness at his side.

The first of these switches was changing Nagler to Meisner, for a blind man could not be seen climbing behind the wheel of a car. At 5 A.M. the Sun Valley grounds stood deserted, nothing but faux gas lamps and vacant sidewalks. He followed sidewalks from the lodge to the indoor ice rink and a dark open-ended shed that contained a backup Zamboni. He used the shed as a changing room, stripping off and pocketing Nagler’s facial hair, wig, and glasses. He dumped the sport coat there-the only evidence he would leave behind for the next hour-revealing the black fleece vest that had been hiding beneath it. He quickly clipped a leash to Toey’s collar and unfastened the harness, concealing it up his back, inside the fleece vest. He let the string leash play out, to where Toey had a twenty-foot lead, and the two made their way out into the giant parking lot that serviced the resort.

He appreciated the black-hole quality of both sky and air as he drove north from the resort into national forest. He kept a close eye on the odometer as well as the rearview mirror. He turned east onto a dirt track marked for Pioneer Cabin, and put a half mile between him and the asphalt he left behind, having never seen the twinkle of another set of headlights.

The darkest hour really was just before the dawn. He double-checked the car’s ceiling light making sure it wouldn’t turn on as he opened the door. He stepped outside. The cold mountain air stung his lungs and he coughed, immediately trying to stifle the sound.

He leaned back into the car facing two dogs-both shepherds. Toey remained in the front seat, where he’d put her, the leash still attached to her collar. Callie lay down on the backseat, nothing but a long black shape.

He shut his door, came around the car, and opened the passenger door. Callie jumped to all fours and stuck her nose from behind the front seat. Toey bent around to meet noses. Trevalian yanked on the leash and pulled Toey from the car. He double-checked that the small flashlight worked, and then, returning it to his pocket, he led Toey off into the dense forest of Douglas fir and lodgepole pine. A hundred and fifty yards later he knelt and fed her some cheese-flavored chowder crackers from the minibar. He lavished her with praise and softly thanked her for being a good dog. Then he unclasped the leash, commanded her to stay, and walked away.

Twice he turned back and used the flashlight to ensure she was holding the command, her eyes a hollow luminescence in the dark. But in the short time they’d been together he’d learned that Toey was a particularly kind and obedient dog. She wasn’t going anywhere.

His original plan had been to cut her throat and bury her out here, miles from any possibility of being found. But now he walked away, then ran, knowing she would obey his command and “stay” for probably ten or fifteen minutes or more.

He reached the car, fastened the guide harness to Callie, and moved her into the front seat.

The switch was made. And with it, he’d cleared the last of his obstacles.

W alt awakened in his daughter Emily’s bed to the ringing of the phone in his own bedroom. For the second night he’d avoided that mattress.

He dragged himself out of the stupor of two hours’ sleep, managing to answer the kitchen phone before voice mail picked up.

“It’s Kathy. I’m sorry to call you at home, Walt.” Dispatch. Walt pulled himself into focus. “I tried both your cell and pager first.”

“Go ahead.” He rubbed his face to clear his thought. It didn’t work.