“That’s correct.”
He thanked her and hung up the call.
Typically unruffled, Trevalian jolted with surprise at the sound of a knock-not from the door, but from behind him. He turned to see a woman’s shapely form out on the balcony. Although he’d pulled his privacy drapes, he had no doubt she could identify him as well as he could identify her: Lilly, the jazz singer.
He wanted to hide. He wanted to pull the blackout drapes, and he chastised himself for not having done so earlier. The back balcony was shared by a dozen rooms and overlooked the outdoor skating rink.
She knocked again. “Please?”
He didn’t need attention drawn to the room. Who knew how many of the people gathered for an early dinner three stories below might hear her? He could make this quick. He parted the gauze curtains, unlocked the sliding door.
“Hello,” she said.
She’d done well with the makeup. He saw no bruises or cuts, and though she looked tired, there was no self-pity in her face.
“I’m sorry, but I’m busy, Lilly.”
She did not take this well.
“Sorry to hear about your…ordeal.”
“Please? May I come in, just for a minute?”
“Tomorrow would be better,” he said.
“Checking out, are you?” Sarcastic. Nasty.
“No…”
“How could you be so spineless?” She pushed past him.
Sympathy was not in his emotional range. She’d come to the wrong place. He slid the door shut behind her.
“All I needed was a description,” she complained, now patrolling the room slowly, her back to him. “And don’t tell me you didn’t see him,” she added accusingly.
“I was looking at you,” he lied. “I would have helped if I could have. Now…at the moment I’m busy.”
“Oh, I can see that,” she snapped. “Did he buy you off?”
“What?” he fired back indignantly.
“Anything for the right price?” she asked.
“I helped you,” he protested. “I took a chance doing that. I had no idea what I was getting into at the time-other than I’d seen you on stage, and I liked your voice.” He hoped flattery would calm her long enough to get her out the door.
“I’m singing here again tonight.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
She shrugged, and caught his reflection in the desk mirror, making sure he was still watching her. “He hit me,” she said. “He touched me inappropriately.”
“I’m sorry.”
“All I wanted was to make sure he was never coming back. Too much to ask?”
“If we could deal with this tomorrow?”
“What’s so damn pressing, Mr. Meisner? That’s right: I know your name. So sue me. I want an explanation. You seemed so nice. All they needed was a physical description.”
“I think you should go now.”
“What? You’re going to call security or something?”
“Or something,” he said. He wanted to tell her to stop wandering around the room. This, above all else, worked devilishly against his nerves.
“I just don’t understand it,” she whined. “How difficult is it?” She stopped at the connecting door to Nagler’s room.
He focused on the dead bolt: unlocked. The door connecting was ever-so-slightly ajar. He watched as her fingers slipped into the opening and pulled. “You didn’t tell me you had a suite,” she said.
He moved to shut the door-to cut her off. But she was already in.
“A dog?” she asked. “Whose room is this?” She turned around, looking bewildered. When their eyes met, hers were filled with fright.
“What’s going on here? Who are you?”
“Lilly,” he said. “Oh, Lilly,” the weight of disappointment and betrayal impossible to miss.
Twenty-five
N ear closing time, Walt caught up to his father at the Sawtooth Club, a Main Street restaurant and bar in Ketchum that serviced a more subdued clientele than the two rock clubs a few doors down. The ground-floor bar was open to a surround balcony for upstairs dining. A canoe hung where a chandelier belonged. The wait staff was women and men in shorts and T-shirts.
Jerry was at the bar making love to a glass of Scotch. Walt had been summoned here. He told himself to maintain his cool. Seeing his father drunk didn’t help matters. He persuaded Jerry onto a couch between two silk ficus trees, where he hoped there was less chance of being overheard.
“You shouldn’t have used the split tail, son.” His father sounded quite sober, despite his looks. “When you want something done right, always do it yourself.”
“Split tail?”
“This photographer of yours.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Such a detective. You coulda been, you know? A detective. More’s the pity.”
Walt stood. “I’m in the middle of a lot of things right now. If you’re looking for a whipping boy-”
“Sit down.”
Walt hesitated. The door was only a few feet away.
“Sit…down!”
Walt returned to the couch, regretting his cooperating.
“The trouble with the truth is that some people just don’t want to hear it.”
“You’re drunk and I’m tired. Maybe another time.”
“Your girlie girl took the Salt Lake photos to Shaler.”
Walt felt himself swallow dryly. “Who? Fiona?”
“Dryer caught her, and is, of course, convinced you were behind it.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Cutter’s told Dryer not to let you anywhere near her before the talk.”
“You must be thrilled,” Walt said.
He glowered.
“No worries. He can’t roadblock me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Dryer can play the federal card. Couple phone calls and the local guy is out of it. That’s you.”
Walt mulled over his options. “I don’t have much of a role anyway. We secure transportation routes. That’s about it. It’s up to Dryer and Dick O’Brien after that. They’re the ones that have to keep her safe once inside.”
“But if you’re right about this shooter…”
“I am right,” Walt said. “The guy is here, Dad. No doubt about it. He’s here and he means to fulfill that contract.”
“So how do I help?”
“What?” He made no attempt to mask his astonishment.
“Let’s just say, hypothetically, I was going to help you…I have six men with me. That’s not insubstantial. My men will be on the inside. You may not be.”
“Are you playing me?” Walt asked, bewildered. He glanced around the bar and up into the restaurant. “What’s going on?”
“Focus, son,” his father said, motioning to his own bloodshot eyes. “What can my guys do on the inside tomorrow? What are we looking for?”
“You do believe me,” Walt nearly said aloud. Instead, he reached over and sucked down some of his father’s Scotch. Jerry raised his hand and signaled a waitress for two drinks.
“If she goes down on your watch, son, you not only won’t be reelected, you’ll lose any shot at corporate work, private work. Any kind of work. You’ll be blackballed the rest of your life.”
“And it’ll be a stain on the family name,” Walt said bitterly. “Like Bobby.”
Jerry stiffened. “That’s not what this is about.”
“You did such a good job with that one,” Walt said.
“Fuck you. I’m offering to help,” Jerry said.
Walt caught sight of the waitress heading back with the two Scotches. It all felt too cozy. He stood before the drinks arrived and threw a five-dollar bill down on the table. It landed in a ring of water left from the Scotch glass. Jerry went back to consulting his ice.
Walt moved toward the door, reluctantly at first, wondering if he was making a terrible mistake.
SUNDAY
One
T revalian had three hotel towels laid out on the floor. On the first he’d placed a pair of his own socks. On the second, Elizabeth Shaler’s jog bra. And on the third, a pair of Nagler’s shoes.