Killer Weekend by Ridley Pearson Read Free Book Online Page B

drawers, hung shirts and pants in the closet, and spread items from the toilet kit on the bathroom counter. He even smeared some toothpaste to imitate the man missing his toothbrush.
    Still contemplating a way around the death of the dog, he settled down onto the bed and lay back. Waiting came easy for him. Milav Trevalian had the patience of a saint.

Twelve
    I t felt strange to enter his own vehicle as a guest, but the Secret Service would occupy the Blaine County Sheriff Office’s Mobile Command Center—the MCC—for the next four days.
    A rock-and-roll tour bus confiscated in a drug bust and remodeled and equipped with every conceivable trick, the MCC was currently parked in front of the post office in the obnoxiously large parking lot that fronted the Sun Valley resort.
    Deputy Special Agent in Charge Scott Ramsey sat behind a laptop computer in one of two opposing booths. Behind him hung a seating chart for the inn’s ballroom, each seat labeled with a guest name.
    Ramsey gave Walt a nod. Three other agents stood and scattered into the back of the bus, from where Walt could hear a live feed of CNN.
    Ramsey had the thick neck and shoulders of a steroid user.
    “Dryer’s on-site in the hotel but busy at the moment. I told you that over the phone.”
    “Let’s make him unbusy, if we can.”
    “Not possible. How can I help you?”
    Walt laid the stack of photographs, cropped and printed by Fiona, down on the table.
    “We have a visitor,” Walt said.
    Ramsey flipped through the first five or six, his face impassive. “Give me the four-one-one.”
    “Salt Lake City airport, this morning. The victim was discovered zipped up in a body bag and hidden inside a hung ceiling in a restaurant under construction. We got lucky, I guess you could say: He was still warm. I believe his killer is the same person contracted to do Shaler.”
    Ramsey continued flipping through the photos. “Glad I ate a while ago.”
    “I can take these directly to the attorney general, but I thought I owed Special Agent Dryer the courtesy of a conversation. If you say that’s not important, then that’s not important. Thanks for your time.” He scooped up the photos, turned around in the small space, offering Ramsey his back.
    Ramsey stood. “Hang on.” He squeezed past Walt and led him into the Sun Valley Inn, the resort’s conference hotel.
    Walt felt color rise as he recognized snippets of conversation flood down the hall from one of the conference rooms. He rounded a corner and was greeted by a parade of familiar faces just leaving a meeting. Some of the men stopped to shake hands with him.
    “Better late than never, Sheriff,” someone called out.
    “Nothing like missing your own meeting,” a familiar but unidentified voice said.
    Reflexively, Walt double-checked his watch, though he already knew the time. The security orientation meeting wasn’t scheduled for another forty-five minutes and here it was breaking up.

Thirteen
    W alt entered the stuffy conference room prepared for a turf battle with Adam Dryer. He was entirely unprepared for what he saw: his father.
    The two men sat next to each other at a linen-covered table on a dais at the end of the boxy conference room. The dais was raised a foot off the floor facing rows of portable chairs separated by a center aisle, reminding Walt of a courtroom, and he the attorney pleading his case.
    Jerry Fleming lifted his head and met his son’s surprised stare. “I left a message.”
    Walt checked his cell phone: There was no message indicator.
    “That’s bullshit,” Walt said.
    Jerry Fleming served as director of security for Avicorps out of Seattle, the world’s largest aircraft manufacturer. He’d taken the job and its six-figure salary, a detail he loved to mention to Walt.
    “Who moved the five o’clock?” Walt asked.
    Jerry answered, not Dryer. “The cocktail party at Cutter’s tonight put a little hitch in our giddyup. It was in everyone’s best interest to advance