done it now if he had been talking only to Paul. But he had heard Sylvie, and he knew that things were worse than he had suspected. If Paul hesitated, Sylvie would goad him into pulling the trigger.
In the instant required to draw in a breath to reply, he formulated a plan for the next few months. He would separate Paul from Sylvie. It would require some care because she had an animal cunning that he had not noticed before, but his strategy was obvious. He would find another woman for Paul. And Paul would never risk stepping into a divorce court with Sylvie. She was too crazy, too likely to say something that would incriminate both of them. She might even try to kill him if he replaced her. So Paul would kill her.
Densmore could hardly wait.
Densmore had to talk quickly now. “Of course, Paul. The client is Scott Schelling.”
“What is he?” It was Sylvie again.
He wanted to ignore her, to speak only to Paul, but he couldn’t let one of her questions hang in the air for fear it would seem to be a refusal to answer. He also couldn’t let her suspect that he hated her. “He’s the president of Crosswinds Records.”
“A music executive?” Sylvie exclaimed. “You sold us out to some little record salesman?”
“I don’t feel that I sold you out, and he isn’t a little record salesman. He’s barely forty now, and he’s already being talked about as a possible contender for CEO of Aggregate Electronics Industries when Ray Klein retires. That’s movies, television, cable companies, and God knows what else. Scott Schelling is a powerful man, and he’s getting more important every day.”
“Well,
Densmore had to grit his teeth to keep from making a sarcastic retort. “Scott has always had an understated style, and that’s contributed to his success. The entertainment industry is made up of lunatics and bureaucrats. If you’re smart, you want to be on the side of the people without talent, the bureaucrats. Singers and actors come and go, but executives are forever. He knows that. He’s stayed in the office and out of the spotlight. I think the reason he’s so concerned about Wendy Harper now is that he knows he’s reaching the point where he can’t be invisible anymore. Power and money create celebrity.”
“Why would a man like that be stupid enough to kill his girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. He’s never told me what happened. Six years ago nobody knew or cared about him. He was a third-rank talent manager in a fourth-rate company. Since then Aggregate Electronics bought Crosswinds and fired the president. Then the second in command got a face-saving offer from another company, and here’s young Scott Schelling, the meek inheriting the earth. Only he wasn’t meek. He had great influence with certain elements of the music business. I’m referring to the talent that came out of street gangs and jails. Crosswinds is hugely profitable.”
Paul said, “Scott Schelling.”
“Yes. What we’re doing is erasing the last evidence of a youthful indiscretion for a rich man who will only get richer. He’s into having power over people. Maybe six years ago he overdid it with some girl. Wendy Harper is the only one left who knows it, and he’s willing to pay big to end the threat. And I guarantee he will have problems of the same sort in the future. Men like him always do. Then you can be sure I’ll get a call to have you come and solve his problem.”
“Interesting,” said Paul.
“Yes, interesting,” Sylvie echoed. “It’s interesting that you gave our names to a man who loves having power over people, and surrounds himself with thugs. Thanks.”
Densmore’s breath caught for a second. While he had been talking she had driven up the Golden State Freeway almost to the foothills. They passed under a big green sign that said “14—Antelope Valley Freeway.” Densmore had made so many mistakes. He hadn’t needed to stay in his office this late. He just had not wanted to go home and face Grace’s resentment. The whole office had cleared out long ago. For that matter, he could have paid for bodyguards—the thugs that Sylvie seemed to be so afraid of. She was driving him up into the mountains. He hated her. He felt such contempt for her that it was making him stupid.
He had to appeal to Paul. “Paul, think about this. You and I have had a good working relationship. We’ve made money. We’ve lived well.”
“Pretty well.”
“And this time, when things got tough, did I question your competence or insult you? No. I offered to pay four times—” Densmore saw the expression on Paul’s face too late. Paul must have been keeping this from her. He closed his mouth, but too many words had already come out.
The gun roared in the confined space of the car, fulfilling Densmore’s premonition: The bullet burned through his belly. He bent double, not even in reaction to the pain, but as though the bullet had forced the muscles to spasm. Then he felt the hot muzzle of Paul’s gun against the back of his head.
Darkness came.
33
TILL AWOKE AND LOOKED at the clock beside the bed. It was seven in the morning. He inhaled slowly and smelled Wendy’s scent on the pillow, then turned to face her. Her facial muscles relaxed during sleep, so her face looked smooth and untroubled.
He took his cell phone, slipped into Wendy’s room, then into her bathroom, closed the door and called Max Poliakoff. He got Poliakoff’s voice mail. “Max,” he said. “This is Till. The man who is after Wendy Harper is named Scott. I don’t know if it’s a first name or a last name. But now you know what I know. I’ll talk to you later.”
He called Holly’s number, but her phone was turned off. He said, “It’s just me, your early-bird father. I love you. Have a great day.” He disconnected, and went to Wendy’s window to look outside. As always, the sidewalks and the path to the rock were full of tourists—men wearing baggy shorts and women in unflattering hats. He studied them, and after a minute he had satisfied himself that there was no sign of suspicious activity, so he closed the curtain again.
He went back to his room, and when he stepped in, he saw that Wendy’s eyes were open, looking at him, and he smiled.
“Good,” she said.
“What?”
“When you saw me, you didn’t frown and think, ‘What the hell have I done?’”
“I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m sorry if I made noise.”
“You didn’t,” she said. “But it was time to get up and get moving. I’m feeling energetic today.”
“Why? What happened?”
“You know what happened.” She smiled. “Don’t start pretending you weren’t in your right mind or something.” She stood up, threw her arms around him, and held him.
They embraced for a long time, and kissed. Then he pulled back a bit. “Do you think you’re up to going the rest of the way to L.A.? I think it’s time to go finish what we started.”
They stood there together for a few seconds, and then she said, “I think you’re right. Let’s do it.”
They went about packing, showering, and dressing without speaking. The silence was new. There was an intimacy to it, a change that came over them because they had slept together, but there was also an element of dread. As Jack packed his suitcase, he thought about the trip to Los Angeles, and about the man named Scott.
The telephone on the nightstand rang, and startled him. He supposed she had probably asked for a wake-up call. He picked it up. “Yes?”
“Mr. Till?”
“Yes.”
“This is Rob Sheffield of the Cheapcars rental company, San Luis Obispo office. I hate to bother you, but I understood from the police that you were staying here, and if you could spare me a few minutes, we could get the accident report out of the way for the car you rented in San Francisco.”
Till said, “Do you already have the police report?”
“That’s been received at the San Francisco office, but I don’t have a copy with me at the moment. I was out when I got the call, so I’m in the lobby, and I thought maybe you would come down to speak with me for a few minutes.”
