Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery

by R. George Clark

“Alright, are you familiar with the Rose Hill Hotel in Aiken?”

  “Sure, who isn’t?”

  “Meet me there, tonight, 9:30. I’ll be out front, sitting on the porch,” Marc said, remembering he was also meeting Bill Goodspeed there a half hour later.

  “See you then,” she said. There was a click, and the line went dead.

  “Everything alright, Dad?” Ann Marie asked when Marc returned to the table.

  “Yeah sure, no problem,” Marc said. Noticing she wasn’t convinced, he continued, “That was just some guy from an insurance company back home. He called looking for my charges to conduct a slip and fall investigation at the Plattsburgh Mall. They’re going to email me the particulars tomorrow.”

  “Uh huh,” she said.

  Apparently, she’s unconvinced. Wonder where she gets that from?

  Attempting to change the subject, Marc ordered a carafe of wine to celebrate Jake’s success on winning the low amateur trophy.

  An hour later, Marc returned to his room and turned on the TV. Not surprisingly, all local programming had been overridden by the events at the Savannah River Golf Links earlier in the day. According to the newscaster, there were no fatalities reported; however, several people had been transported to area hospitals and were recovering from the effects of chlorine gas exposure. A spokesman for the Israeli Prime Minister said only that he had been treated at the Doctors Hospital, was released and recovering at an undisclosed location.

  There was no mention of the impending meeting between the Prime Minister and the U.S. Secretary of State.

  Marc heard a light tap on his door. Through the peephole, he saw it was Laura.

  Figuring that she had overheard his TV, he opened the door.

  “The kids are off somewhere, and I thought now would be a good time for us to talk. May I come in?”

  Marc opened the door and moved to one side. “Sure, what’s up?” he asked, as she entered. He closed the door and pointed to a chair that was positioned in front of the room’s desk, then he muted the TV.

  She sat, exhaled and crossed her legs. “Before we leave Aiken and head for home, I’d like to clear the air about my behavior the other night.”

  She must be referring to the incident that had been witnessed by the gentleman in the room across the hall, he figured. “If you’re referring to our little episode in the hallway, no explanation is necessary. Remember, we’d been drinking.”

  Laura sat quietly for a moment. “So that was all it was, just a ‘little episode’?”

  “Alright, my bad. Poor choice of words.” Marc paused. “Look, I appreciate all you’ve done for Ann Marie and me. However, my plate has been pretty full lately, caddying for Jake and getting my head wrapped around the news of my daughter’s impending marriage to your son. Not to mention what I suspect has been happening at the Apex Irrigation Company, then today, with the attack at the golf course. Maybe I haven’t been as attentive to your feelings as I should have been.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I want to thank you for your understanding.”

  “Sorry. Are we talking about two different things?” Marc asked with a confused look.

  “No, I don’t believe so. You have to understand that my life has taken a few turns in the past couple of years. It started with my husband leaving me, then Jake going off to college in Plattsburgh, and now with his intentions of marrying Ann Marie, I guess I’m feeling somewhat abandoned.”

  Marc could see her eyes begin to well-up. He reached in his drawer and retrieved a fresh handkerchief and handed it to her. Laura dabbed the tears.

  “I see the relationship you and Ann Marie share,” she said. “I don’t have that with Jake and don’t know how to make it happen. What I did, in the hallway was wrong, and I apologize. Sometimes I just feel so alone, and of course, the alcohol didn’t help.” She snuffed back more tears.

  Marc hesitated, giving her a moment to recover. “Honestly, thinking back on it, it’s probably a good thing that old guy showed up when he did, or, who knows, maybe we’d both be apologizing. I think your feelings are normal. You have a lot going for you, a fantastic son who happens to love my daughter, a great business that I understand is doing very well, and to be candid, you’re a bright, attractive woman. I’m probably the last person to give matrimonial advice. After all, I’ve had more than my share of problems in that regard. The best thing I can say is to be yourself. Good things happen to good people.”

  Laura dabbed her eyes again, then sighed deeply. She seemed to study the wallpaper pattern for a long moment. “You know something, Marc LaRose?”

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. So, what time should we leave tomorrow? It’s about an hour or so to Columbia. It’s a small airport. We shouldn’t have much trouble checking in and—what?

  He noticed Laura was giving him a look,

  “Do you always act so flippant when praised?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound superficial. Guess I have a few things on my mind, and, well, I meant what I said.”

  Laura stood. “Thank you for listening and for your advice. I just wanted to clear the air before we left.”

  Marc rose from his chair. “Look, Laura, with what’s happened today, there’s a little unfinished business I should attend to this evening. But, if there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

  She gave him a doubtful look. “No problem, Marc. I have some packing to do myself. Besides, I need some time to reassess my plans for the future. Good luck with whatever you have in mind. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

  “Till then,” Marc said, and opened the door as Laura left the room. A moment later the door clicked shut and she was gone.

  Marc looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was just after 7:00 p.m. He made his way to the lobby where several people had gathered. By their dress and haggard appearance, he suspected they had just returned from the golf tournament.

  Marc passed through the main entrance onto the long front porch. A few people were already sitting in the line of rocking chairs, facing the street. He chose a seat at the far end, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. As he was contemplating his upcoming meetings with Rebecca and Bill Goodspeed, he felt the presence of someone close by. When he looked at the chair beside him, he saw that a gentleman had taken the seat. He was busy lighting a Meerschaum pipe that appeared to have been carved in the likeness of a bearded man. Although Marc’s initial desire was to be alone with his thoughts, the pleasant aroma of pipe tobacco that drifted in his direction had its benefits. Shortly after, Marc felt the man’s gaze. He glanced over at him.

  “Sorry. If the smoke offends, I’ll—.”

  “No, not at all,” Marc interrupted. “Actually, I used to smoke a pipe, but gave it up years ago. My wife didn’t approve.”

  “Too bad, but I understand. Sometimes it’s prudent to surrender a passing desire rather than incur the wrath of someone whose presence is dear.”

  Marc estimated the man to be in his late 60’s. His unruly mane of grey hair covered the tops of his ears and was accompanied by an equally unruly moustache. Despite the unseasonably warm weather, 80 degrees or so, the man wore a tweed jacket over a long-sleeved shirt.

  “You sound like a philosophy instructor I once had in college,” Marc said.

  The corners of the man’s mouth turned upward, but only for an instant. He drew deeply on his Meerschaum, and while tilting his head slightly upwards, he released a long plume of the mellow essence. “I’ve been accused of many things, but this is the first time I’ve been called a philosopher.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—,”

  “No apology necessary. Actually, I’m into politics,” the stranger said.

  “So, you’re a politician, then?” Marc said.

  “Well, not exactly. I’m a consultant for a local project. And, as with many projects, especially wi
th those that may be viewed as somewhat controversial, people need to be persuaded that the long-term benefits of a particular endeavor usually outweigh the initial or immediate costs.”

  Marc’s defenses went up as he again watched the man draw deeply on his pipe, this time holding the smoke inside his lungs for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

  “That’s ironic,” Marc said.

  After releasing the pent-up cloud, the man asked. “How’s that?”

  “Just that, the fellow that I mentioned, the philosopher? Well, come to find out, he wasn’t a philosopher, or a teacher. He was actually a defense contractor.”

  The man appeared unfazed by Marc’s unsolicited evaluation. After another slow draw on his pipe, he slowly exhaled and watched the plume drift toward the street in front of them. “It appears your reputation as a quick wit is only slightly diminished by your grasp of reality, Mr. LaRose.”

  Marc studied the man’s profile. “So, you know my name. What do I call you?”

  “Call me what you like. The question you should be asking is: Why am I talking to you at all?”

  Marc felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “I suspect I know. How is the Israeli Prime Minister doing, by the way?”

  “A bit better than we’d hoped for, but the long-term prognosis has not yet been determined.”

  “Apparently, the attack at the golf course was a failure then,” Marc said.

  The man again drew on his pipe, but the flame appeared to have extinguished. He gently tapped the spent ash into the palm of his hand and dropped the ashes on the concrete next to his chair. “A momentary setback. More importantly, you have a decision to make, Mr. LaRose. You can leave Aiken, while your family and friends are still in good health, or stay, and risk losing what is dear to you.”

  Marc glared at the stranger. “That sounds like a threat.”

  The man slowly slipped his pipe in his jacket side-pocket. “To threaten would imply the possibility of future harm. Please do not take my words as an idle threat. They are meant to provide you with ample warning. Return to where you came from, sooner rather than later. It would be the sensible thing for you to do. What happens here, in Aiken, is none of your affair. Your life, your ex-wife and your on-again-off-again amours, are all located in upstate New York. The prudent thing for you to do would be to gather your loved ones and simply leave, while you can.”

  Marc remained silent as the stranger stood. “I understand your flight from Columbia leaves at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. The traffic in Columbia can be a bear at any time of the day. I’d suggest you leave early.”

  As the man turned to leave, Marc got up from his chair. The stranger hesitated.

  Marc stepped close to him, and glared down into the man’s rheumy eyes. Marc was a good three inches taller. “Before you slither back to your library or tobacco-soaked den or wherever the fuck you hide out, listen, because I will not say this again. If anything should happen to anyone I care for, I will find you and whoever else is accountable. I will not contact any authority. It will not be necessary. Not unlike the COVID pandemic, I will quietly remove you and your kind from existence. If you believe your veiled threats will, in any way, impede what I think should be done, you will soon find that you’re fucking with the wrong man.”

  The man looked up at Marc. His smug expression had not changed. “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. LaRose.”

  Then, as if on command, a black sedan pulled up to the curb. The man got in the back seat and firmly shut the door. The car’s windows were lightly tinted, barely distorting the man’s image. He did not look at Marc. The car pulled away. It turned left at the end of the street and was gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Although Marc had warned the man with the Meerschaum pipe about messing with his family, he had to assume everyone was exposed and being watched. He needed to inform Ann Marie and Jake to remain in the hotel for the evening, which, he figured would be an easy sell. Laura, on the other hand would be a challenge. Marc was pretty sure that Ann Marie and Jake were still in his room. Through the door he could hear the sound of the TV playing. Not wanting to interrupt, Marc knocked before entering. It was the prudent thing to do.

  “Oh, hi Daddy! We didn’t expect you back so soon,” Ann Marie said, rearranging her hair, then straightening her blouse.

  Jake’s face was flushed.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. But, I have a favor to ask,” Marc said.

  “Yeah, sure. What’s up?” she asked.

  “Would you mind staying in the hotel this evening? I have to go out in a while and I’d feel more comfortable if I knew where you were.”

  The two kids exchanged glances.

  “Marc, is there something wrong? Anything I can do to help?” Jake asked.

  “No, everything’s good. But there is one more thing.”

  “What’s that?” Jake asked.

  “Check in on your mom every now and then. I think she’s alright, but she’s had a long day, and it would be nice if someone looked in on her.”

  “No problem, Marc,” Jake replied. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine.” He glanced toward Ann Marie. “And I’ll make sure to check in on Mom.”

  Satisfied the kids and Laura were where they should be, Marc went back down to the lobby. He noticed it was beginning to fill up as more guests straggled in from their day at the golf course. Several were missing their hats and most looked tired and bedraggled from the ordeal. He glanced at his phone. It was just after eight o’clock. With a few more hours to wait, Marc ordered a glass of white wine and took a seat at the bar. As he was contemplating what he needed to do, he felt someone slide onto the stool next to him.

  “Figured I’d find you in here.” It was a woman’s voice. At first glance, he didn’t recognize her, although the voice was familiar. Her long brown hair that had been tied up under her guard cap now hung loose on her shoulders. Her uniform had been exchanged for a dark, loose fitting blouse and a pair of designer jeans. She had traded her clunky work boots for a pair of light grey Sketchers. Instead of a purse, she was carrying a large envelope.

  “Hello, Rebecca. I thought we were to meet around nine-thirty this evening?” Marc glanced at his phone that he had laid on the bar. “It’s only a little after eight.”

  “Yeah, well, I came across something I figured you’d want to see before the lights went out, so to speak.”

  Marc felt his eyebrows raise. “Okay, I’ll bite. Whatcha got?”

  “You’re probably aware that all visitors and patrons attending the Monarch Golf Tournament had to go through specific gates on entry.”

  “Yes. I believe that’s standard procedure for most tournaments of this size,” Marc said.

  “And that all gates were monitored with high-definition cameras equipped with internet protocol and capable of identifying people we suspect of carrying out nefarious activities?”

  “Uh, no not really. I mean, I was aware the course had surveillance capabilities, but not to the extent you’re describing.”

  “Well, they do. Not long after you left the course today, I gained access to some of their video. I’ve printed out a few photos of people I suspect may have had a hand in the attack.” She laid the envelope on the bar.

  “Do you have any idea who these people are?” Marc nodded toward the envelope.

  “Not really, they all have a list of aliases. We couldn’t connect their real names to faces.”

  “Have you notified the authorities?”

  “Didn’t have to. They have everything we have and probably more.”

  “Is your vehicle nearby?” Marc asked.

  “Just around the corner.”

  “I’d like to look at the photos, but not here. Let’s go sit in your car.” Marc finished his wine and picked up the envelope. He followed Rebecca out of the hotel’s main entrance to a white Ford Explorer parked close to where he’d had the discussion with the Meerschaum pipe smoker earlier that evening.

&nbs
p; The vehicle’s lights blinked as Rebecca pressed the fob button to unlock the doors. Marc got in on the passenger side. Rebecca slid in behind the wheel.

  When she switched the interior map light on, Marc opened the envelope and slid out four 8 x 10 black-and-white glossies. They were close-ups of three white males, captured at different entrance gates at the golf course. The time stamps indicated the photos were taken over a ten-minute span. There was also an aerial photo of a portion of the parking lot.

  “You suspect these men had something to do with the attack at the course today?” Marc asked, “Why these three in particular?”

  “As you’re probably aware, the gates open at 7:00 a.m. These guys all showed up within the first hour, the busiest time, every day, entering through different gates.”

  “Okay,” Marc said, urging her on.

  “Each day that I observed them, all three would usually get together at a different spot about the same time for a short while. Then they would separate.”

  “And you thought this was suspicious because…”

  “Because it revealed a pattern of behavior. Entering the grounds separately through different gates, then meeting up. Who does that? And once they were on the confines of the course, they didn’t seem to follow any particular player, or even a group of players. Rather, they seemed to be focused on course layout and security.”

  “What do you mean?” Marc asked.

  “The Monarch Golf Tournament requires that discreet surveillance be conducted to monitor the gallery, mostly to assist in evacuating the course in the case of impending inclement weather or any other emergency. But we also watch for more nefarious conduct, such as someone interfering with or impeding the performance of a particular player, shoplifting, or other criminal conduct. When I wasn’t physically on the course, I was assisting in monitoring these hidden cameras.”

  “So you were looking at each other?”

  “Not exactly. Without the proper equipment, the cameras are virtually impossible to detect. These guys seemed interested in determining routes of egress and ingress, especially in the area around the eighteenth green.”