“One of the tanks?” Marc asked.
“We often mix the fertilizer with acid at different rates. This is done to regulate the PH of the soil.”
“So, who fills the tanks? Marc asked.
Goodspeed hesitated. “Well, I do. Not personally, but I instruct my fertilizing team to inject the fertilizer/acid combination based on the soil tests that are conducted periodically.”
“Going back to the fertilizer tank that was replaced, who replaced it?” Marc asked.
“Well, Apex Irrigation, of course. Zach and his crew came over to work on it a couple months ago.”
“Zach Saylor?” Marc asked.
“Uh, yeah. I sent Zach a work order to replace the tank that was leaking. It took a few weeks for the new tank to arrive, then Apex dug up the old tank and fitted the system with the new one.”
“Have you had a chance to use it?”
“Of course. It’s been working fine, up to now.”
“Okay, so who activated the sprinkler at the eighteenth green today?” Marc asked.
“I have no idea. The system can be controlled here at the course, or at the Apex office in Aiken.”
“Yeah, I remember hearing that. I thought it sounded kind of unusual. You know, for an irrigation supply company to control an off-premises system. But I was never in the irrigation business, so what do I know?”
Goodspeed shrugged his shoulders. “Supposedly, it was an option that the club purchased with the system. Kind of a back-up, I guess.”
“So let me get this straight, your watering system can be controlled by yourself, or by someone at the Apex Company in Aiken.”
“That’s pretty much it. Naturally, the system is usually turned off while there are players on the course. It doesn’t make for good TV to have water sprinklers come on in the middle of a player’s back swing,” Goodspeed said.
While Goodspeed was talking, Marc noticed a few more uniformed sheriffs’ deputies as well as several EMTs had arrived in the area. They immediately went about the job of attending to the remaining members of the gallery still experiencing the effects of the gas.
“Do you think it’s possible someone on the premises accidentally activated the system?”
Goodspeed seemed to give Marc’s question some thought. “I suppose anything’s possible. The main controls are in a panel in my office, but, when I’m not there, my door is locked. I have the only key.
Marc’s gaze drifted to where the police were stringing crime scene tape around the eighteenth green. He thought about what Goodspeed had told him.
“What can you tell me about the problem you had with the sprinkler back in the middle of the fairway?” Marc motioned toward the area where Teddy Couples ball had plugged.
“Looks like that was caused by a busted pipe. One of the lines that run under the fairway broke under pressure during the night. We found it early this morning, about the time we were talking in my office. We drained off as much of the standing water we could and notified the tournament committee, but the ground was already saturated.”
“You think someone tampered with the system overnight?” Marc asked.
“We had security on the premises all night, but like I said, anything’s possible. The system was completely overhauled this past winter. That’s when Apex installed the new fertilizer tank. It could have been caused by a loose connection. When I dig it up, I’ll know more.”
Marc thought about what he had learned. “Talking about Apex, I saw one of their workmen here on the course the other day.”
“That’s routine, especially during a tournament like the Monarch. We like to have one of their techs on hand for things like that busted pipe.”
Marc looked around. “So where are they now?”
“Funny you should ask. The tech that was supposed to be here got into a car accident yesterday on the way home. He’s in the hospital. I called Apex to get another tech to cover for him, but Mr. Akhtar, the owner, said he didn’t have anyone else to send.”
Marc hesitated. “So, the night before the final day of one of the biggest golf tournaments of the year, an irrigation service tech that was supposed to be here was injured in a car wreck, and Apex didn’t have anyone else?”
In the background, Marc heard multiple sirens coming from different directions. Probably more first responders dispatched to the course, he figured.
“That’s what Akhtar told me. Sounds like bullshit, I know.”
“I guess the only way to find out is to dig up the holding tank,”
Marc said. “But I’m sure the police are going to want to talk to you first. They’ll probably want to check that out for themselves.”
“Yeah, looks like this is going to be a long day,” Goodspeed said.
“Yeah, probably for all of us,” Marc said. “I’ve got to go and find my daughter and the other people I came with.”
“Want a ride?” Goodspeed asked.
“I’d love one, but I think this guy’s looking to talk to you.” Marc motioned to the security man that he’d spoken to earlier. The man was approaching them at a brisk pace.
“Okay, talk to you later,” Goodspeed said. “Remember, if the patrons’ gates are backed up, use the maintenance vehicle gate. It’s around back of the maintenance barn. And, let me know if you find anything.”
“Will do, Bill, and thanks for the heads-up on the gate.”
On the way to the parking area Marc noticed the remnants of the chlorine gas lingering in the air. There were still a number of people in different stages of recovery from the effects of the gas lying about. Although most were upright, a few were still on the ground, sitting, or kneeling. Some were being attended to by emergency responders, but most by friends or passers-by.
“Daddy, Daddy,” Over the sound of the sirens, Marc heard Ann Marie calling to him. She and Jake were standing next to the SUV, six rows deep into the vast parking lot. Marc could see that the exits had been blocked by the incoming emergency vehicles caught up in the crush of cars trying to leave. Nothing was moving.
Marc waved to her. “Stay there, I’ll come to you!”
It took him a few minutes as he dodged several rows of motorists, intent on escaping the melee, to reach the SUV.
“Daddy, what’s going on? We heard people screaming and we saw a helicopter. What’s with all the emergency vehicles and what’s that awful smell?”
“I’ll tell you later. But right now, we need to get out of here.”
Laura and Jake were already in their seats. Laura glanced at Marc, then rolled her eyes.
“Good luck if you think we’re going to get out of here anytime soon,” she said.
Marc remembered seeing signs for the Maintenance Personnel Entrance Gate when he’d visited Goodspeed earlier in the day. But to get there he would have to maneuver around the course to the other side of the property, bucking the lines of cars attempting to exit through the patrons’ gates. The horns from impatient drivers were being drowned out by the sirens of the first responders coming onto the property.
“Buckle up,” Marc said and pulled out of the parking space. He got behind a police car that was heading in the direction of the eighteenth green. Cars heading toward them veered off to the side to allow the police car through. Marc saw the road that he remembered would take him toward the maintenance barn coming up on his left. When the police car passed the intersection and continued straight, Marc, ignoring a chorus of car horns, veered left and headed for the barn.
As he passed the maintenance barn, he noticed a couple of nondescript cars were parked next to its open door. Marc recognized them as police detective cars.
Probably looking to talk to Bill Goodspeed. No doubt, he will have some answering to do.
Chapter Eighteen
Marc followed the narrow road past the barn to the gate that Goodspeed had suggested, but the gate was partially blocked by an SUV with the name of a security company on it. A female security officer was standing next to the vehicle. Marc stopp
ed behind the SUV.
When the guard approached Marc’s SUV, he recognized her. She was the K9 officer he’d seen at the Billiards Room Restaurant the night before, and on the golf course with the Belgian Malinois K9 earlier in the week.
“Why is this gate closed?” Marc asked.
Ignoring Marc’s question, she said, “I need to see some ID, sir.”
Marc noticed that she took note of his vehicle’s license plate. He handed her his State Police retirement identification. Like the State Department Security man had done twenty minutes before, she compared his face to the ID.
“Enjoying retirement?” she asked.
“It’s okay. But I still work.” Marc handed her one of his business cards.
She examined it. “Why are you exiting through this gate, Mr. LaRose?”
Marc noticed her name tag, Rebecca. “The other gates are jammed. Mr. Goodspeed, the course superintendent, suggested that we use this one.”
The guard returned Marc’s ID, but held onto his card.
“All right, can you get around my car?” she asked.
“I think so,” Marc replied.
She went to the gate and started to open it, then hesitated, “You know, you look sort of familiar.”
“Yeah, I saw you last night at the Billiard Room Restaurant, as well as on the course. My daughter’s boyfriend was playing in the match. I was his caddy.” He motioned with his thumb toward Jake sitting in the back seat next to Ann Marie. “I remember you were working security on the fourth hole.”
“Oh yeah, the Canadian amateur.”
Then, looking toward Jake, she said, “Understand you did pretty well. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Jake said.
“Too bad the tournament had to end like this. But we’ll figure it out, eventually,” she said, glancing at his business card again. “Have a nice day, uh, Mr. LaRose.”
When Marc cleared the gate, he looked in his rearview mirror. The guard had swung the gate closed. The short road from the course emptied onto a main thoroughfare. It was busy with traffic, including an abundance of first responders heading toward the main gate.
“Nice job getting us out of there,” Laura said. “For a while, I thought we were going to be stuck there the rest of the afternoon.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Marc said. “But, as you can see, we still have some maneuvering to get across the river and back to Aiken.”
Rather than take the interstate, the way they’d come, Marc followed the SUV’s GPS and found a two-lane highway that brought them through an area called Beech Island on the South Carolina side of the river. Several of the local businesses had steel cages strung across their front windows. When he hit the button to lock the doors, no one commented.
It took another half hour to get back to Rose Hill. It felt good to return to the relative serenity of Aiken and their hotel. Marc noticed that the parking lot was mostly empty. Many of the inn’s patrons were probably stuck at the golf course, he figured.
Marc parked the SUV. “What time does our flight leave tomorrow?”
“We fly out of Columbia at 2:30 in the afternoon,” Laura said.
Marc glanced at the dashboard clock. It was almost 4:00 p.m.
Everyone piled out of the car and headed toward the Inn’s front entrance, Jake proudly carrying his trophy in one arm while clinging to Ann Marie with the other.
“I don’t know if anyone has any plans for this evening, but first thing I’m doing is taking a shower and wash this chlorine stink off my body,” Marc said.
“Good idea, Dad,” Ann Marie said. “The inside of that car smells like an old laundromat.”
Laura was noticeably quiet.
A half hour later, Marc was out of the shower and dressed in a change of clothing. Jake and Ann Marie had wandered off, apparently to be by themselves. He picked up his phone and hit the number he had for Bill Goodspeed. He was curious to find out what was happening at the golf course. The phone rang several times. Just as it was going to voice mail, Marc heard a tired voice answer, “Hello.” It was Goodspeed.
“Bill, Marc LaRose. What’s happening?”
“Who? Oh yeah, the investigator. You still here, on the course somewhere?”
Marc could hear the tension in Bill’s voice, “No, I took your suggestion and left through the Maintenance Gate. We’re back in Aiken. Just thought I’d give you a call and see how things are going, but by the tone of your voice, it doesn’t sound so good.”
Marc heard Bill exhale into his phone. “It’s a giant cluster-fuck is how it’s going. Every federal police agency you can think of has been called in. The news people, CNN, Fox, MSNBC, and the locals are crawling all over the place. The Feds won’t let anyone get close to the eighteenth hole; it’s all roped off and ringed with security. It’s a wonder they let you leave the property. They’re taking statements from practically everyone who was near the hole when the attack went down.”
Marc thought about Bill’s revelations. “Just thinking. The chlorine gas that was emitted through the sprinkler system had to come from somewhere, and probably not the Augusta Water and Sewer Department. That leaves the underground fertilizer tanks as the most probable source of gas. Those tanks were recently replaced by Apex Irrigation, and apparently, Apex has control of the irrigation timing, right?”
After a brief silence, Bill asked, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That someone at Apex could be a suspect in this scheme? Yeah,” Marc said. “Bill, how familiar are you with their facility?”
“The one in Aiken? Why, you thinking of breaking in there and rummaging around?”
“Breaking into a building without the owner’s permission would be against the law; I think it’s called burglary,” Marc said. “And rummaging around sounds kind of amateurish. I was thinking something more in the lines of conducting some field research. Besides, we wouldn’t be breaking in if we used a key.”
“You have a key to the Apex building? How did you—”
Marc cut Goodspeed off. “What time can you meet me tonight?”
“Mr. LaRose, I want to get to the bottom of this as bad as anyone else, but…” his voice trailed off.
Marc could tell that Bill would need some convincing, “Look, I think the people at Apex killed your friend, Zach Saylor. It appears that Zach suspected the new owners were up to something and weren’t going to stop until they succeeded.”
“Wouldn’t it be prudent to take your suspicions to the police?” Goodspeed asked. “I mean, that is their job.”
“Why would they listen to me? I’m just a stand-in caddy from upstate New York down for the tournament. You’re the club superintendent. You know the irrigation system forward and backward and how your course is tied to Apex. All I’m asking is for you to accompany me and show me how they can control the irrigation at the Savannah River Golf Course from the Apex office.”
Through the silence that followed, Marc could hear Goodspeed breathing into the phone. He suspected Bill was still unsure.
“Bill, what occurred today was a case of international terrorism. You know more about that irrigation system than anyone else. I need your help.”
After a long pause, Bill spoke, “Alright, I just have to get away from here sometime before dark,” he said. “What time you want to do this?”
“How about ten this evening? Where can I pick you up?”
“I’ll pick you up. You said you’re staying at the Rose Hill Hotel?”
“I’ll be sitting in one of the rocking chairs out front,” Marc said.
“See you then.” Goodspeed said, and cut the connection.
After showering, everyone agreed that because this was their last night in Aiken, they would all go out to dinner together. Marc suggested a family restaurant on Whiskey Road near the city’s south end of town. No one objected, not even Laura.
The atmosphere at Applebee’s was pleasant enough. Marc overheard several patrons discussing the te
rrorist attack that had occurred earlier. A few even recognized Jake from his appearance on one of the many suspended TV’s positioned around the restaurant. An elderly couple stopped by the table to congratulate Jake, while a few others acknowledged his presence with a friendly wave.
As Marc was finishing his salad, he felt his cell vibrate. He glanced at the phone. He excused himself and walked toward the back of the restaurant where there were fewer patrons present.
“Hello.”
“Mr. LaRose, hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
It was a female caller. Her voice was familiar. As he was about to answer, the caller continued, “If you’re available later this evening, I’d like to meet up. I think I have some information that you might be interested in hearing.”
“Is this Rebecca?” Marc asked.
“Good to know the chlorine gas hasn’t affected your memory,” she said.
“Look, Rebecca, we’re leaving tomorrow to return home. What’s so important that you have to see me this evening?”
“I saw you helping the Israeli Prime Minister on the course today, then motioning for the helicopter to land. Afterwards, you were talking to members of the State Department Security team. What you probably didn’t see were the others, men who had arrived earlier and were watching, waiting for something to happen.”
Marc glanced back at the table. Laura and Jake were talking about something. Ann Marie glanced over at him.
“Rebecca, if you have information regarding the attack at the golf course, you should report it to the police. Why are you calling me with this?”
“Already tried that. The locals said to call the Feds, but between the FBI, ATF and the DEA, it’s alphabetic hysteria as to which agency should take the lead. With the tournament over, the private security company has pretty much washed their hands of the whole affair.”
“So again, why are you calling me?”
“I got your card and did some checking. Terrorism seems to follow you around, even on the golf course.”
Marc thought a moment. “Can you give me a quick rundown of what you saw?”
“Maybe, but not over the phone,” she said.
Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery Page 16
