uniforms present,” Walt reminded.
“So lose the uniform,” Dryer said. “Meet me at the cocktail party, Sheriff. You and the AG will step out for a minute. See if you can come up with a game plan for First Rights by then. We’ve got to hit this proactively.”
“See you at seven,” Walt said.
Fourteen
A knock came on the hotel room door at 4:44. Before answering, Trevalian unlocked the dead bolt on the door that connected to the adjacent room, knowing he would need this later. He then rechecked his appearance—the face of the man, Rafe Nagler, in the bathroom mirror. Satisfied, he grabbed his cane and answered the door.
“Here to take you to the movie, sir.”
Trevalian wore Nagler’s wraparound sunglasses, but not the opaque contact lenses. The lenses he now wore provided a horrid sight, if anyone caught a glimpse of his eyes, but allowed him to see, though a little muddier than usual. Karl turned out to be a brute of a man, well over six feet, with wide shoulders, a big brow, and deeply recessed eyes. He led Trevalian by the elbow out into the heat and sunshine, along beautifully landscaped paths and past an outdoor mall of boutiques. To the north, the Pioneer mountain range, tipped with snowfields, rose like the Alps.
Karl bought him a ticket and, at his request, showed him to a seat in the back row of the Opera House theater. A large auditorium that seated four hundred. Its seats faced a production-sized stage, in the middle of which hung a commercial movie screen. Rows of exit doors flanked the seats on both sides. The washrooms were not out in the foyer but instead accessed at the back of the hall, behind where Trevalian now sat. Karl offered to arrange for someone to meet him later, but Nagler politely declined.
As the film started, Trevalian counted seven others in the cavernous theater—two families, both sitting much closer to the distant screen. He casually checked behind himself: The red velvet curtains were pulled across the entrance to the lobby.
Fifteen minutes into the movie, Nagler slipped off to the men’s room and locked the door. He removed and pocketed the facial hair and wig. He left the stall to wash the coloring out of his eyebrows and lashes at the sink. Five minutes after entering the men’s room, he departed one of the side doors as Milav Trevalian, his white cane collapsed and tucked into his sock.
Sun Valley’s pedestrian mall included a bookstore, a minimarket, a gallery, and several ski and apparel shops that in the summer carried mountain biking garb, white rafting paraphernalia, backpacking supplies, as well as T-shirts, sweatshirts, ball caps, and golf goodies. Trevalian paid cash for a small overnight bag, some T-shirts, and two pairs of chinos that would fit him better than Nagler’s wardrobe. At the minimarket he bought toothpaste, a toothbrush, some deodorant, and a razor.
He headed back to the lodge.
“Checking in?” asked the young blonde, whose name tag read Hannah, Prague, Czech Republic. Trevalian could have spoken fluent Czech to her, but he resisted showing off.
“Meisner.” Trevalian supplied the name the reservation was booked under and slid across a valid credit card also in Meisner’s name. “I requested a room that—”
“Yes. I have it right here,” she said, running her finger across the screen. “We were able to accommodate your request. Your room communicates with Mr. Nagler’s.”
“My friend is sight-challenged,” Trevalian explained. “When I realized we were both going to be here—”
“Yes, of course.” After he filled out the register she handed him a key.
“May I have one of our bellmen—”
“No, thank you.”
“Enjoy your stay.”
Trevalian thanked her and crossed to the elevator, rode it to the third floor, then let himself into the room rented to Meisner. Less than a minute later, with the hallway door locked and secured, he opened the shared door that connected to Nagler’s room. He could come and go now
“So lose the uniform,” Dryer said. “Meet me at the cocktail party, Sheriff. You and the AG will step out for a minute. See if you can come up with a game plan for First Rights by then. We’ve got to hit this proactively.”
“See you at seven,” Walt said.
Fourteen
A knock came on the hotel room door at 4:44. Before answering, Trevalian unlocked the dead bolt on the door that connected to the adjacent room, knowing he would need this later. He then rechecked his appearance—the face of the man, Rafe Nagler, in the bathroom mirror. Satisfied, he grabbed his cane and answered the door.
“Here to take you to the movie, sir.”
Trevalian wore Nagler’s wraparound sunglasses, but not the opaque contact lenses. The lenses he now wore provided a horrid sight, if anyone caught a glimpse of his eyes, but allowed him to see, though a little muddier than usual. Karl turned out to be a brute of a man, well over six feet, with wide shoulders, a big brow, and deeply recessed eyes. He led Trevalian by the elbow out into the heat and sunshine, along beautifully landscaped paths and past an outdoor mall of boutiques. To the north, the Pioneer mountain range, tipped with snowfields, rose like the Alps.
Karl bought him a ticket and, at his request, showed him to a seat in the back row of the Opera House theater. A large auditorium that seated four hundred. Its seats faced a production-sized stage, in the middle of which hung a commercial movie screen. Rows of exit doors flanked the seats on both sides. The washrooms were not out in the foyer but instead accessed at the back of the hall, behind where Trevalian now sat. Karl offered to arrange for someone to meet him later, but Nagler politely declined.
As the film started, Trevalian counted seven others in the cavernous theater—two families, both sitting much closer to the distant screen. He casually checked behind himself: The red velvet curtains were pulled across the entrance to the lobby.
Fifteen minutes into the movie, Nagler slipped off to the men’s room and locked the door. He removed and pocketed the facial hair and wig. He left the stall to wash the coloring out of his eyebrows and lashes at the sink. Five minutes after entering the men’s room, he departed one of the side doors as Milav Trevalian, his white cane collapsed and tucked into his sock.
Sun Valley’s pedestrian mall included a bookstore, a minimarket, a gallery, and several ski and apparel shops that in the summer carried mountain biking garb, white rafting paraphernalia, backpacking supplies, as well as T-shirts, sweatshirts, ball caps, and golf goodies. Trevalian paid cash for a small overnight bag, some T-shirts, and two pairs of chinos that would fit him better than Nagler’s wardrobe. At the minimarket he bought toothpaste, a toothbrush, some deodorant, and a razor.
He headed back to the lodge.
“Checking in?” asked the young blonde, whose name tag read Hannah, Prague, Czech Republic. Trevalian could have spoken fluent Czech to her, but he resisted showing off.
“Meisner.” Trevalian supplied the name the reservation was booked under and slid across a valid credit card also in Meisner’s name. “I requested a room that—”
“Yes. I have it right here,” she said, running her finger across the screen. “We were able to accommodate your request. Your room communicates with Mr. Nagler’s.”
“My friend is sight-challenged,” Trevalian explained. “When I realized we were both going to be here—”
“Yes, of course.” After he filled out the register she handed him a key.
“May I have one of our bellmen—”
“No, thank you.”
“Enjoy your stay.”
Trevalian thanked her and crossed to the elevator, rode it to the third floor, then let himself into the room rented to Meisner. Less than a minute later, with the hallway door locked and secured, he opened the shared door that connected to Nagler’s room. He could come and go now
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