At nearly three A.M., Scott Schelling escorted Jill Klein out of his room and down the hotel hallway to the elevators. When he pressed the button, the nearest elevator opened immediately, they stepped inside and the doors closed with a quiet, rolling sound. Jill Klein gave one of her semaphore smiles, embraced Scott and kissed him. Scott knew that hotel elevators usually had cameras in the ceilings, but he decided it was best to acquiesce. The mouth-breathers who looked at the tapes certainly wouldn’t know who Scott Schelling was.
Scott didn’t want to seem timid to Jill Klein. Everything she did was flagrant. While she kissed him, her hands moved below his belt, and he had to break off the kiss. “If you do that, I can’t very well walk back through the lobby with you.”
She laughed. “I’ll be good.”
“I just mean right now, not in the future.”
“No? Then next time I see you, I think I’ll be as bad as I can possibly be.”
“When will that be?”
“I’ll try to call you tomorrow. If I don’t, then find an excuse to skip the European conference in a couple of weeks. I’ll fly to L.A.”
“Good. You have my cell-phone number, right?”
“How could I lose it this soon?”
The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. The lobby was nearly deserted at this hour. A uniformed man with an electric machine buffed the floor, but he paid no attention to them. A night clerk looked up as they passed the main desk at a distance of seventy feet, and then returned his eyes to the magazine he was reading.
Schelling and Jill Klein went out the main entrance, and Schelling’s eyes were already sweeping the parking lot and the street beyond to spot anyone who might be watching them. As far as Schelling could tell, tonight he was in luck: There were no visible watchers. The valet-parking attendant and the doorman were sitting on a bench a few paces away beside the cabinet full of keys. The parking attendant jumped up eagerly and took the chit from Jill, then ran down the ramp under the building and came back up with her car. Scott had asked him to park the car below, even though there had been spaces in the open lot when she had arrived. He handed the attendant a ten- dollar bill.
He opened Jill’s door so she could slip behind the steering wheel, then leaned in to kiss her.
She turned away. “Don’t be stupid. I’ll see you soon enough.” She drove out of the lot and turned toward the central square in front of the old Palace of the Governors. After two blocks he saw the lights of her car turning north toward the road to the Klein house.
Back in his room, Scott caught a faint scent of Jill’s perfume. The twisted upper sheet thrown back from the bed and the scattered pillows brought back the surprise Jill Klein had been. He had expected the night to be only a couple of hours of diplomacy to pacify an aging beauty, but this had been a night of new emotions. Now he was alone again. As he took off his sport coat and hung it in the closet, he took his cell phone out of the pocket and pressed the menu for Tiffany’s line at the office. He got her voice mail. “Hello, Tiffany. I’m going to stay longer in Santa Fe. I’ll cancel my own flight and make another reservation. Coordinate with Kimberly.”
He disconnected, put the phone on his nightstand, brushed his teeth and lay on the bed. He had another reason for not going home in a few hours. Carl had not yet called to tell him that he had solved the problem of the Turners. Maybe Carl had found he needed to kill them. If so, then it was a good idea for Scott to stay away until it was over. Occupying a hotel room in another state wasn’t the best alibi, but it wasn’t the worst, either. He reached for the house telephone. When the clerk answered, he said, “This is Mr. Schelling in 362. I’d like to stay an extra day. Can you arrange that for me?”
“One moment, please, while I check.” After a moment she said, “Yes, sir. I’ve extended your reservation an extra day. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, thank you.” He hung up. It struck Scott Schelling that a subtle shift had taken place in the universe yesterday afternoon, and now the purpose of the whole world was to say “Yes, sir” to Scott Schelling.
42
ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Carl drove up to the gate of Scott Schelling’s house. He pressed the remote-control unit he carried in his car and watched the electric motor slide the gate along its track and out of his path. He pulled up to his usual spot at the end of the row of six visitors’ spaces near the right side of the house. Carl was pleased to see that his was the only car.
Scott Schelling was a demanding employer. He worked long hours, and he wanted everybody available until he quit for the day around eight. Carl sometimes worked long after that. On the occasions when Scott went out of town, the office girls tried to give the staff a break. Kimberly wasn’t in, even though it was Saturday afternoon. Sonya the maid was gone, too, so Carl had volunteered to feed the dog.
Carl was eager to get inside. He had guessed that if he came over here he would be alone, but he had been mentally prepared for the possibility that one of the others might show up after all.
Carl had not slept well last night, thinking about today. Scott had never really been fair to him, but in the past few days, things had gotten worse. At the start of the relationship, he had liked the job. He and Scott had been two young guys, and on many nights they would be out looking for women together. The only real difference between them had been their bank accounts. They each had assets. Scott Schelling may have had more money and status, but Carl had a handsome face, good hair and teeth, a muscular body, and a sense of humor. In the early years, Carl had practically invented Scott Schelling’s personal life. He had taken him to clubs, found his women for him, and talked them into being interested in Scott.
But things between Carl and Scott Schelling had changed six years ago. Carl had been out at a club late one night when Scott called. Carl could have had his phone off, he could have let it ring and listened to the message, but he had answered. It had been Scott, telling him that he needed him right away.
When Carl arrived at the house, Scott was wearing only a pair of jeans, pacing back and forth in the driveway in his bare feet. Scott was wild-eyed and scared, like a kid. Carl said, “What’s the problem?” and Scott shook his head and pulled Carl inside. Once the door was shut, Scott said, “Carl, I’m in trouble. Kit died.”
“What do you mean, ‘died’? Of what?”
“Come on.” Scott hurried him along the corridor past the workout room and into the big master bedroom. There was Kit, lying on the carpet with a belt tightened around her neck.
Carl had felt revulsion, but his strongest impression now was how scared Scott had been. Scott swore through clenched teeth at his bad luck, and then blamed Kit for making him do this to her. He paced, looking in every direction but at the body. Then he collapsed on the bed, sobbing at the fact that he could go to jail for life.
Repelled and disgusted, Carl felt ashamed to be there. But he had known Scott for years by then, and he couldn’t help having some concern for him. Scott was usually so definite and decisive, so sure of himself; but here he was, whining and swearing, yet absolutely helpless.
Carl had looked at the clock on the nightstand. “Scotty, it’s going to be light in three or four hours. Call the cops and tell them you killed her, and it was an accident.”
Scott said, “I can’t call the cops. What can I say—that I thought she was an intruder, so I strangled her with my belt? Please. You’ve got to help me get rid of the body.”
Carl had resisted. “You’ve got no record. If you call them, maybe it was just a fight and you lost your temper.”
But Scott had kept after him, begging and pleading, offering money and eternal gratitude. Finally it had gotten to be too much to listen to anymore. “All right,” said Carl. “I’ll help you. There’s an old tarp in the garage. We’ll wrap her in that for now, and get her out of the house.” Carl took over and told Scott what to do. He made Scott put on some shoes and a hooded sweatshirt. They rolled Kit in the tarp, dragged her along the hall, and out to the garage. Then they lifted her into the trunk of the Town Car. Carl set two shovels and a case of bottled water in with her.
Scott asked, “Why use the Town Car?”
“It’s got a big trunk. She won’t fit in the Maserati.”
Carl drove them out into the hills to an area above the San Gabriel Reservoir. Carl drove the car off the road into a stand of big trees, and then kept driving as far as he dared. After he stopped, he took a shovel, handed the
