“If you’re looking for the first tee, you passed it on the way in.”
“Actually, I’m looking for Bill Goodspeed.”
“Yeah? Well, you got him,” he answered in an irritated tone. “You must be the guy who called me last night.” Goodspeed leaned back in his chair and stifled a yawn.
“Yes. Name’s Marc LaRose.”
“Shit. I was hoping that conversation was just another one of my weird dreams. You’re here, so obviously, it wasn’t.” He yawned again, dropped his pen on a pad, and motioned to an empty chair in front of his desk.
Glancing around, Marc noticed there was a bank of TV monitors along one wall that showed different parts of the golf course. “Looks like you have the course pretty well monitored right from your vantage point at the superintendent’s desk.”
“It helps, but look, I’m sure you’re aware, today is our biggest day of the year. What can I do for you?”
Marc thought how to answer. “Got a little situation. Like I mentioned last evening, it concerns Zach Saylor.”
“Yeah, and like I mentioned, I’ve known Zach for years, even worked with him when he installed some of the irrigation here at the Savannah River Golf Links. Felt really bad when I heard about the accident. So, what’s up?”
“Right before I spoke to you last night, I had a conversation with Eleanor Saylor. She gave me your phone number. She’s not convinced her husband’s death was accidental.”
Simmons rubbed his eyes. He started to speak, but before he could answer, his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. “I have to take this.”
As Marc waited, he listened to the one-sided conversation. Apparently there was a problem with a water sprinkler somewhere on the eighteenth fairway.
“Have you checked the timer?” Goodspeed’s brow furrowed as he listened to the response. He glanced at his wristwatch. “Okay, Jimmy, we only have about four hours or so before the first player reaches that area, so we can’t wait. Try resetting the timer and let me know,” he said and ended the call.
“Problem with the irrigation?” Marc asked.
“Yeah. The entire system was overhauled this past winter, and it just so happens that Zach Saylor designed it. Up to this point, it’s been functioning well, but as you’re probably aware, with anything new there’s bound to be a few glitches. I doubt this is anything that can’t be managed. So, tell me, what’s your connection with Eleanor and Zack Saylor and his apparent accident?”
“None, really, other than the fact that my future son-in-law is playing in the tournament today.”
“Let me get this straight,” Goodspeed said. “Your future son-in-law’s made the cut and you decided to come and talk to me? You know I can’t talk to you about course conditions.”
“I’m not here for that, I’m here to talk about Zach Saylor’s death, accidental or otherwise.”
Goodspeed stared up at Marc. “Alright. But why are you so interested in Zach’s death?”
“We’re staying at the Rose Hill in Aiken. Last Tuesday I made the short walk to The Palm Tree Golf Club and while I was there, I heard about Zach’s accident, or whatever it was.
Goodspeed reached into his desk and retrieved a fresh pack of Marlboros, shook one out and offered it to Marc.
“No thanks, gave them up years ago,” Marc said.
Goodspeed lit the cigarette and took a deep draw. He turned his head and blew out a cloud of blue smoke. “Yeah, that was quite a shock when I heard about it. Quite frankly, at the time, I didn’t think his apparent accident was anything serious, but obviously I was wrong. Zach was a good friend.”
Bill Goodspeed looked genuinely saddened.
“So, Mr. LaRose, you still haven’t told me how – and why – you got involved with this.”
Marc’s eyes wandered toward the monitors as he thought how to answer. “In the days since Zach’s death, a few things have piqued my interest, including a couple of run-ins with the people at the Apex Irrigation Company.”
“Run-ins? What are you talking about?” Goodspeed asked.
“I’m not a professional golf caddy. I run a private detective agency in upstate New York. I’ve been asked by Zach’s widow to ask around, see what I can find out. She has her doubts about her husband’s death, and quite frankly, so do I.”
“I see,” Goodspeed said. “So your New York State PI license allows you to conduct investigations in South Carolina?”
“No, of course not. I’m doing this as a courtesy for Eleanor Saylor.”
“Uh huh,” Goodspeed grunted.
“Mr. Goodspeed, I noticed you’ve referred to Zach’s death as an apparent accident. Sounds like you’re not convinced that it was an accident either.”
Goodspeed exhaled deeply, then glanced at the monitors again. “Zach’s been…had been…working at Apex for years. He knew the irrigation business forward and backward. Like I said, he re-designed the irrigation for this golf course. Took him over a year. They say he died of chlorine gas inhalation.”
“You don’t think so?” Marc said. He noticed Goodspeed’s face begin to redden.
“Total bullshit. Zach may have been a lot of things, but when it comes to irrigation, he was the best. It takes an accomplished agronomist to know what chemicals and fertilizers to apply, when to apply them and in what quantity to keep golf course fairways looking green and lush, especially for a tournament such as the one your future son-in-law is playing in. He knew the effects of chlorine and how to use it. I seriously doubt that Zach accidently inhaled chlorine gas.”
“So, are you saying that he intentionally inhaled the gas?” Marc asked.
“Hardly. In the first place, chlorine gas is an irritant. One whiff and you’ll choke, gag and run for fresh air. No, I tend to agree with Eleanor’s suspicions. I can’t prove it, but I think Zach had some help.”
Marc let Bill Goodspeed’s statement settle in. “Okay but who would do that to him, and why?”
“You are aware that Apex was recently bought out?”
“So I’ve heard. Understand a guy named Akhtar bought the company a couple of years ago. The way it was explained to me, sounded like it was more of a hostile takeover.”
Goodspeed took another deep drag on his cigarette. The ash lengthened and turned downward like a gray worm. He tapped the ash onto the floor. “Apex was on the ropes. It was a successful family business, had a good customer list, including the Savannah River Golf Links. But over the past few years, the family seemed to have lost interest. Debts were piling up. They lost their line of credit with the bank. Then, a little over a year ago, Akhtar appeared out of nowhere with money to burn. The banks like local business, but they love a healthy balance sheet even more.”
“So why do you think Zach was killed?”
Before Goodspeed could answer, his desk phone rang again. He glanced at the caller ID, then back up at Marc, “Shit, I got to take this one too.”
Marc nodded.
“Yeah, Bill. That sprinkler still giving us fits?”
Goodspeed glanced up at Marc, but continued with his call, “Damn it. Okay, look, I’ll be right out there. Take me about ten minutes.”
Goodspeed hung up the phone, rose from his chair and again glanced at Marc, “Sorry, Mr. LaRose, we’ll have to continue this conversation another time. Today, of all fucking times, that sprinkler head doesn’t seem to want to cooperate.”
“I understand,” Marc said, “Just one last question. How was the relationship between Zach and the new ownership?”
Goodspeed took a few steps, then, after taking one last draw, dropped the remains of his cigarette on the cement floor and ground it out with the sole of his shoe. “Oil and water. Zach only had another year remaining on his contract with Apex. He disliked Akhtar and, from what he told me, the feeling was mutual. I wish your future son-in-law all the best with the tournament, but if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a golf tournament to attend to.”
“Good luck with your sprinkler problem,” Marc said.
<
br /> With one last glance and a wave, Goodspeed was out the door.
Marc looked up at the TV monitors. He located one showing the practice range and saw Jake and Laura at one end of the line of golfers. Jake was hitting his driver which, as it is for most golfers, was the last club in his warm-up routine. Marc glanced at his watch. Jake’s tee time was about forty minutes away, barely enough time remaining for a few practice putts, then the short walk to the first tee. It was time to go.
When Marc got to the practice putting green, he found Jake and Laura in the middle of the green, standing about ten feet from the nearest hole. There were a number of golf balls around the hole.
“There you are, Marc. Is everything alright?” Laura asked.
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”
She looked at her son. “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask him.”
Jake looked up with a nervous grin, “Glad you’re here, Marc. For some reason, I seem to be pulling the ball a little more than usual.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Marc said, glancing at the balls lying around the hole Jake was motioning toward.
An awkward silence fell over the trio.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to figure it out,” Laura said. “Besides, I think Ann Marie would like some company.” Laura left to join Marc’s daughter who was waiting just outside the ropes.
Marc watched as Jake dropped two balls on the green, then methodically putted them in, center cut each time. “Your putting stroke looks good. So, what brought all this on, pulling the ball?”
Jake glanced at Marc. “It’s not what, it’s who.” His glance then shifted toward his mom who was standing next to Ann Marie at the far side of the practice putting green.
“Sounds like your mom’s pressuring you to succeed.”
“Always has. You think I’d be used to it by now, but I’ve never been in this position before in a professional golf tournament.”
“I doubt she has either,” Marc said. “You know, Jake, I think she sees your success as an extension of her own desire to succeed.”
Jake sighed. He recovered a few of his golf balls and dropped them on the green, this time a few feet back from where he putted them before. Once again he smoothly stroked each of them into the back of the cup.
Marc glanced at the time clock near the first tee box. Jake’s tee time was fifteen minutes away.
“Tell me, which clubs were giving you problems on the driving range?”
“Most all of them, especially the long irons.”
“Probably some tension. It’s natural on the final day of a tournament. Sorry I wasn’t there to watch. Let’s try and take it easy for the first couple of holes and see how it goes. Maybe I can pick up on something.”
“Okay, but Mom said—”
Marc cut him off. “Jake, let me handle your mother. Right now, I think it’s time for us to be heading to the first tee.”
“You think you can handle my mother?” Jake picked the balls out of the hole and handed them to Marc. “My father tried. He got mauled.”
Marc flashed a small grin. “You concentrate on playing golf and leave the lion taming to me. Believe me kid, this isn’t my first wild animal act.”
As Marc and Jake left the practice green, they heard the announcer introduce the next pairing. A moment later, Jake and his playing partner, Teddy Doubles, were called to the on-deck circle. They were second in line to tee off. Marc felt he could use this time to get Jake settled down and help him to put aside a lifetime of pressure his mother had laid on him to succeed.
“So, it sounds like your feelings for Ann Marie are pretty sincere.”
Jake hesitated a moment before answering. “I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s a serious person, but doesn’t take life too seriously. She’s optimistic, but knows the risks. She’s beautiful, but doesn’t think so.”
“Those happen to be her mother’s traits as well,” Marc answered.
“You would know that better than I do, but Ann Marie really looks up to you.”
As Marc thought about what Jake had said, he heard the announcer calling Jake and Doubles to the first tee.
“You ready to do this?” Marc said.
“It’s what we came here for,” Jake answered.
Doubles, the experienced champion of several professional tournaments, seemed relaxed, though Marc could tell there was an anxious air about him. After all, Marc thought, Teddy Doubles was closing in on his forties. How much longer could he remain competitive in this ever-evolving game where youth had the advantage of hitting longer tee shots and using shorter, more accurate irons into the greens?
Doubles won the coin toss and chose to tee-off first. Marc knew this was the smart play, setting the pace right from the start. Trouble was, Doubles’ swing was too quick, and he pulled his tee ball to the left toward a stand of pine trees.
“He must have been talking to your mother,” Marc whispered with a grin and handed Jake the driver. Jake returned the grin and Marc noticed how this had an instant calming effect on his young player.
Jake followed his routine of standing behind his tee-ball to line up his drive. He then moved over the ball and with a smooth, languid swing, sent the dimpled sphere carrying his initials “JM,” well over 300 yards down the middle of the fairway. The gallery announced their approval with a chorus of “Ahs,” followed by polite applause.
Jake handed the driver to Marc, who slid it into its place in the golf bag. As the two started off toward Jake’s ball, Marc said, just loud enough for Jake to hear, “Nice shot, son.”
With a grin and a wink, Jake replied, “Thanks, Dad.”
Not unlike the days before, Marc couldn’t help but notice the extra security mixed in with the throng of golf fans lining the fairway. Almost as disconcerting was the appearance of a small group of young girls that seemed to have gained a particular interest in Jake. Whenever he hit a shot, the girls erupted in a chorus of applause and giddy cheers. Although Jake didn’t seem to pay much attention to his newfound admirers, Ann Marie appeared keenly aware and kept herself and Laura between Jake and his new fan club.
Reaching the area where Doubles’ ball made its exit from the fairway, Jake and Marc assisted in the search. About a minute later, his caddy located the ball laying partially covered in some loose pine straw. Doubles managed to chop it out, sending it back to the middle of the fairway. Then, with practiced precision, he chipped his ball onto the green, five yards short of the hole.
“Got to hand it to him,” Jake said. “He doesn’t get rattled, even when he’s hit his drive into trouble.”
“That’s how he got to be a champion. He plays the game one shot at a time,” Marc replied.
Jake grinned again. “Where’ve I heard that before?”
After making a birdie on the first hole, Jake continued to maneuver through the next few holes well, leaving no blemishes on his card while adding another birdie. The angst that he had demonstrated on the practice tee with his mother had apparently subsided.
At the long dogleg par five, sixth hole, both Jake and Doubles hit their drives straight down the middle of the narrow fairway.
“Looks like we may have a mini-contest on who can reach the green in two,” Marc said.
When they turned the corner toward the hole, they could see the players in front of them were still in the fairway, having hit their second shots short of the green. This, coupled with the fact that the players in front were just leaving the green, was contributing to a small back-up. All Jake and Doubles could do was to wait for the pair in front to finish the hole and move on. Of course this pause in the action gave Jake’s newfound fan club a chance to inch ever closer, much to the chagrin of Ann Marie.
“This is like watching paint dry,” Doubles exclaimed, obviously anxious for play to resume.
Jake knew there was nothing they could do and simply shrugged his shoulders.
Marc nodded in agreement. There was nothing more to say. While monitoring
the activity in front of them, Marc heard a rhythmic thumping coming from somewhere in the distance. As the noise grew louder, he spotted a large helicopter beyond the pine trees over the city of Augusta. From his vantage point, he could see the familiar dark green color of the U.S. President’s helicopter, Marine One. Marc knew when it was used by the Vice President or the Secretary of State, it carried the moniker, “Marine Two.”
“Bet you that’s the Secretary of State,” Doubles said. “Looks like he’s landing over at Daniel Field.”
Marc was aware that the public airfield was located about three miles from the Savannah River Golf Links. “Yeah, I didn’t realize he was a big golf fan.”
“I’m not sure he is,” Doubles replied. “Rumor has it he’s attending the golf tournament with the Secretary of Energy and the Israeli Prime Minister as a run-up to some announcement concerning the Savannah River Nuclear Site. Something about a partnership with the State of Israel, I think.”
As Marc was pondering this bit of news, he heard a smattering of applause from the crowd around the sixth green. The twosome in front of them had finally putted out and were heading for the next tee box.
Since Doubles’ drive was a few yards shorter than Jake’s, he was first to hit. Marc estimated they were about 285 yards from the green. With a light breeze blowing from their left, it was a challenging shot, even for an experienced professional. Doubles pulled his three-wood from the bag. Employing a smooth swing with his trademark short pause at the top, he made a solid connection. The ball started out a little to the right, then drew back to the left. It landed a few feet short of the green, took one bounce and came to a stop about twenty feet short of the hole. It was a marvelous shot that brought hearty applause from the gallery.
Jake nodded his approval, then addressed his ball. Using his five iron, he launched his ball high, directly toward the center of the green which would have been perfect if it hadn’t been for a sudden gust of wind that seemed to come out of nowhere and pushed his ball off to the right. Marc watched as Jake’s ball bounced off the side of the green, then took a bad hop toward a stand of pines. A chorus of “ooh’s” could be heard from the collection of onlookers around the green.
Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery Page 13
