It takes about thirty minutes to get back to his hotel. He pulls his windbreaker from the pocket of his golf bag to cover his arm. Taking only his briefcase, he makes the journey to his room.
He puts the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, drops everything and goes straight to the refrigerator and chooses a jar of apricots. He opens a packet of sanitary wipes, cleanses his hands first, then the jar. He snaps the cap open and begins to eat, staring out at the breaking waves.
He can still feel the pulse of the match and the second murder rushing through him, and the discomfort when he moves his right arm. He finishes the apricots, removes the labels from the jar and washes it in the sink.
He fills the jar with alcohol, opens the plastic bag from the briefcase and dumps the trophies from the intruder into the liquid. A trail of pink spreads behind them as they swirl around the jar.
He can’t help feeling triumphant. He has won again, and with ease.
He lies back onto the bed, calm spreads over him, fatigue overcomes him. He can hear the ocean as he lies there, holding a jar in each hand, gently squeezing them.
David awakens sometime after midnight and puts the jars in the refrigerator and places his briefcase on the table. He removes the sheath of knives and begins the ritual of cleaning and sanitizing them; he sharpens the ones he used for the second hole.
Removing his clothes he is relieved his arm is not bleeding, although it stings more than before. There are blood spots on his shirt. He will dispose of it and the gloves and coveralls.
When he showers, washing his arm relieves the sting. He applies first aid cream and is confident it will soon heal. He lies down. He must make plans. Things have changed so abruptly. The Kraft Nabisco Championship does not start until Thursday, April 4, and he has already played the second hole. He made an ace; a hole in one. Emily was thirty-one, a par 3, 3;1.
He is certain now he can stop in Chicago.
The rhythm of the waves soothes him and he closes his eyes hoping tonight will not be one of terror dreams.
North of San Diego, California, Monday, March 25
Chapter 18
Bill Spencer, golf pro at Aviara Golf Club, parks his pickup in his usual spot adjacent to the cart shed. It is six-fifteen a.m., foggy and chilly. In another hour the sun will burn through the marine layer. He jumps out of the pickup, slams the door and walks toward the clubhouse.
Ambling across the parking lot, he notes a Kia with dealer plates that must be one from the players’ fleet. He enters the clubhouse and looks up the tee times to see when the pros will be finished but does not recognize any names. He gets involved in his routine duties and soon forgets about the car in the lot.
David Steadman walks into the restaurant at eight-ten a.m., picks up a paper and surveys the room before choosing a seat. Sitting at a booth he begins to casually glance through the paper. He is working his way through the current news sections as the waitress arrives with his breakfast of Eggs Benedict. To his surprise the eggs are cooked nearly perfect and the Hollandaise sauce appears to be palatable. He cleanses his hands and begins to eat.
He continues to flip and scan pages as he eats. Very little in the news interests him; he waves at the waitress and asks for more coffee. His meal is finished and he studies the pages one more time. He sees nothing about his match in either Arizona or California, and he feels momentary disappointment that his game has not been discovered.
Saving the sports section for last, he checks the final round scores for the Kia Classic and reads an article about the upcoming Dinah Shore Kraft Nabisco Championship at Rancho Mirage. He will leave for Palm Springs on Wednesday and is very anxious to watch a practice round, but knows he will have to wait another week until the pros arrive.
His brow is furrowed as memories of the previous day are vague yet vivid at the same time. His psyche is recreating the details but without any context beyond the match. He cannot remember what Emily Cho looked like; the intruder retains more of an identity, but only because she interfered.
He pays his check and walks out the door into a perfect California morning at the beach. The fog has burned away; the air is getting warmer by the minute, the sun is shining brightly.
Walking back to the hotel he decides to extend his stay another two days to play golf at a couple of the courses in the area. He stops at the front desk and makes the arrangements, pays for the room in advance and deposits more cash for incidentals. David takes the elevator to his room to retrieve his briefcase. He washes his hands, scans the room to make sure everything is in order and returns to his vehicle.
He moves the Glock to the side compartment in the back of the Navigator; he knows there’s a high probability it will be discovered during an intensive search, but there is no reason to expect one. David is a conscientious driver, a law-abiding citizen.
He decides to play one of the courses at Torrey Pines and gets on the I-5 rather than the PCH. If he cannot get on the course there, his alternate plan is to play La Costa.
He reaches Torrey Pines around eleven and finds it extremely crowded; he will go on to La Costa. He finds La Costa to be pretty much wide open and goes to the driving range. He hits the balls exceptionally well; he only hits about half the balls and returns to the clubhouse and the putting green. He starts with his putts from a three-foot circle around the hole and works his way out. He is putting from about ten feet when the pro shop calls his name: Steve Johnson.
David knows it is not prudent to use the same name he used in Phoenix at the first hole, but sometimes he enjoys risk.
He picks up his equipment and checks in. The course looks well-maintained, and he is surprised when he notes the scorecard indicates the slope is 137. He pays the fees of $210.00, gets the receipt, and is pointed in the direction of the starter.
The attendant tells him, “I’m sending you out with a trio of regulars. They play skins for twenty dollars a hole, but they don’t mind if you go along. Their fourth couldn’t make it today.”
“Thanks, I’ll enjoy watching.” He is wearing sunglasses and a cap with his hair hidden inside.
He reaches the starter and sees that his group is all men in their late thirties or early forties, about his age. They are standing behind the tee box, flipping a tee in the air to determine who will hit first. He approaches the men just as the tee lands, pointing in his direction.
David puts on a congenial smile. “Hello, I’m Steve Johnson. The pro shop put me out with you gents. I hope you don’t mind? Looks like I hit first,” he says, nodding to the tee.
In unison they smile and welcome him. They continue to flip the tee until the teeing order is determined and then encourage him to go ahead and tee off.
“We’re playing skins,” one of them offers. “Our usual fourth didn’t make it today. Perhaps you’d like to join us? It’s only twenty dollars a hole.”
David is hesitant to hustle them. “Well, since I’m intruding, it’s the least I can do; sure, twenty dollars a hole, why not?”
“It’s the usual rules, ties carry over,” another man specified.
“Okay, sure.” David walks up to the tee with his 3 wood. The hole is a short par 4, only 394 yards. He hits a screaming low draw that lands on the left side of the fairway just past the fairway bunkers. He doesn’t make any fuss over it, and neither do his playing companions.
After watching the three men hit, he knows he is in for an interesting round of golf. They all have drives equal or better than his and one even hit a 1 iron. He straps his bag to the second cart, one driven by the player with the 1 iron. His name is Brad, he has invented some sort of unique software and has his own company. They exchange the usual information as they drive away and, of course, David lies.
FBI Office, Los Angeles, California, Monday, March 25
Chapter 19
Agent Lou Schein gathers his team in the conference room early Monday morning. He is dressed in a sharp blue suit with a red striped tie. Pre
sent is the four person FBI team and Dr. Nancy Cochran.
“No news has come in from San Diego, so the ball is in our fairway.” He sets down his coffee cup. A couple of the men suppress a snicker at the allusion. “The Kia Classic was held all last week and ended yesterday, and with no crimes reported, our guy is certain to strike before the LPGA leaves California.” He waves his hand at the monitor screen behind him that displays the tour schedule. “Rancho Mirage is his next opportunity.”
Agent Payne has assembled a crime board that exhibits the photos and other pertinent crime-related information from the Phoenix scene. “Sir?” Payne pushes a photo toward Lou. “I have a photo of a golf tee from the file. I didn’t read the description carefully until I was putting the crime board together. At first glance it’s just a golf tee from the crime in Phoenix, but when examined closely the tee is engraved ‘Carlsbad.’”
Lou picks up the photo as everyone becomes more attentive. He studies it carefully and reads the description at the bottom: “A golf tee was found in the living area, lying on the carpet in the proximity of the victim’s right breast. Pressed into the wooden tee is the words ‘Kia Classic Carlsbad.’ No connection was found to any individual or business in the Phoenix area.”
The tee is rotated slightly in the photo, with the word that is so important barely visible. But here it is: the tease, the clue he has been looking for. He has overlooked it just as everyone else has; too subtle. He looks up. Everyone already knows what he is going to say.
“It is certain he killed during the Kia Classic. This is exactly what I have been talking about; and it only illustrates further that this guy doesn’t even think we are in his league. And he’s right, we missed the clue.”
“I remember that tee,” interjects Nancy Cochran. “We noted the Kia Classic Carlsbad but never put the two together.”
Lou glances around the room, evaluating his resources. “My gut tells me it’s already happened. We need to get information and alerts to Carlsbad and the courses in the vicinity, probably all of San Diego County. Gibson and Phillips, get on that immediately. Let’s prepare for a couple of days on the road. Dr. Cochran and I will start at Aviara and work our way north. Payne goes east, Gibson and Phillips, you go south.
“Our artist’s sketch from our first victim’s golfing partners is vague but use it anyway; if anyone identifies this guy or he approaches anyone, they’re to contact us only. He is to be considered armed and dangerous. At the very least, the warning will encourage the public to pay attention; and if we have a suspect, we’ll let him play himself into our hands. We’ll just have to make the best of the false leads, and with such a vague description there will be a bunch of them, but we can’t risk missing him.
“The tournament officially started last Thursday, the 21st, and it’s unlikely he’s using the same name he used in Phoenix. Make certain the name Steve Johnson is noted on the alerts that accompany the artist’s sketch. Ask the pros to check their teeing lists. We should assume he’s driving. If he isn’t he’s not going to give us anything at the airports or other public transits, so let’s not use our time there; just have research run the usual checks. Anyone have questions?”
Shaking heads in unison, the team picks up laptops and paperwork and prepares to leave.
Lou leans over the photo on the table, studying it again and shouts, “Damn!”
Agent Schein and Dr. Cochran arrive at Aviara Golf Club in Carlsbad about an hour and fifty minutes later. After seeing the sketch, the manager tells them Aviara is a semi-private course, the staff recognizes most of the members and a guest has to be signed in by a member; therefore, it is doubtful that Steve Johnson played there. He looks through the last two weeks of tee times to make sure, but since the Kia Classic just ended he reminds them that spectators often buy tickets with cash. Agent Schein tells the manager that another agent will be interviewing him again and will request the credit card receipts for the last two weeks.
Schein and Dr. Cochran drive on to Torrey Pines and after an unusually long wait, they finally sit down with the course manager and an official from the LPGA. Both men are apprehensive and not particularly cordial; after all, the suspicions are an affront to the LPGA. The interview proceeds and concludes much the same as the one at Aviara.
The two investigators take the coast highway and stop at the courses near Newport Beach and Laguna Beach. When they reach the coast, the bright sun is shimmering on the ocean as far as one can see. Dr. Cochran watches the sailboats while Schein drives north. Between the highway and the ocean is some of the most exclusive real estate in Southern California. A fixer-upper beach house can go for millions.
Lou’s cell phone rings. “Lou Schein.” He listens and then clicks off. “I’ll find a place to exit and turn around; we’re going back to San Diego. He’s killed again.”
Chapter 20
Emily Cho is scheduled for a crucial appointment with one of her sponsors early Monday morning. She is late and although the staff is accustomed to late arrivals, their concern grows and soon the San Diego Police Department is called.
“Please check on her,” they plead. “Emily Cho never misses sponsor appointments.”
The responding officers find nothing out of order during their peripheral examination of the property. One officer knocks several times, then looks through the small windows in the door and sees a torso on the living room floor.
The officers force open the door and cautiously enter with weapons drawn. It doesn’t take long, after the detectives arrive, to determine that this crime scene is similar to the Phoenix crime cited in the FBI alerts.
Agent Schein is perplexed. “I don’t quite get it. We won’t know for certain until we examine the crime scene, but it’s inconsistent with the pattern in Phoenix. The timing is right, but the San Diego PD is reporting a double homicide, and it doesn’t make sense.” He clenches the steering wheel in frustration. “We’ll know more when we get there.”
He pushes a button on his steering wheel to activate his hands free calling. He places calls to Agent Gibson, who is with Phillips; and to Roger Payne. He directs them to meet him at 4529 10 Avenue in San Diego. “All preliminary indications are that our guy has killed again. CSU is on the way. Dr. Cochran and I will meet you there.”
When they get to San Diego, they exit on Ocean View and turn onto 10th Avenue. They show their FBI badges at the street blockade, drive past several police cars and unmarked vehicles. The San Diego Police are awaiting their arrival. They flash their badges for the officers who are on sentry duty and are told the detectives are waiting for them on the porch.
Schein and Dr. Cochran introduce themselves to the detectives just as Agent Payne arrives. The detectives accompany the FBI into the house.
At first glance, the scene is remarkably similar to Payne’s crime board and both men look at each other with raised eyebrows.
Schein turns to the lead detective and asks, “You reported a double homicide. Where is victim two?” He is directed to a door in the hallway where an officer stands guard. He steps in and when he returns to the hallway, he asks the waiting detective, “Where were the appendages of victim one found?” The detective tells him there is another bathroom at the back of the house.
“All right, thanks. Your officers kicked in the door?”
“Yes, they saw the torso through the window and responded accordingly.”
“Very well, CSU and additional agents are in route. The FBI will take lead on this investigation. We’ll keep you abreast of developments, and we’d appreciate it if you would leave a few officers for supervision of the public.”
The FBI Crime Scene Unit and more agents arrive. Schein gathers everyone in the temporary command post that has been set up by the San Diego PD; just a canopy but it isolates them from the curious onlookers. He briefs everyone on what they will find inside the house and reviews the similarities of the Phoenix crime scene. He insists it is imperative not to overlook anything; the smallest i
tem can be a piece of evidence.
He recaps what they do know: “Victim one is Emily Cho. The pennant in her navel displays the number two; we can safely assume she is the second hole. The Kia Classic ended yesterday and just as was implied by the killer at the first hole crime scene, another hole of the match has been played. Ms. Cho’s appendages are in the back bathroom; you will find her head and torso in the living area. Victim two is unidentified at the moment and her body is in the front bathroom.”
Agent Schein introduces Dr. Cochran, reminding the team she was on the scene in Phoenix and performed the autopsy on the first victim. Her expertise in this case results in Phoenix PD lending her to the FBI. He makes assignments, including giving Dr. Cochran lead on the CSU forensic team.
A tech finds a set of car keys in victim two’s pants pocket, bags them and hands them to Agent Payne. He goes outside and presses the auto lock on the key and determines which car belongs to the victim. He searches the car and finds her wallet and identification and hands it to Agent Schein.
They now know the identity of victim two. Schein announces, “Victim two is Mary Parker, age twenty-eight, lives in Santa Monica. I believe she surprised the killer. Her neck is broken; I have no theory for her missing right hand or the absence of her eyeballs. The fact that her nipples have been removed, as well as Emily Cho’s, convinces me they are the killer’s trophies.”
Agents Gibson and Phillips arrive and are given the task of making sure the families of the victims are informed.
Match Play Page 8
