“All I can do is tell him you’re trying to contact him,” he answered, cautious now. “That is, if he comes out to play. I don’t think he’s been around for a month or so.”
“There was a caddy,” Kathleen said. “Shorty, I think. Does he still work here?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “Shorty Montgomery. He’s out with a loop right now. Should be finished with his client, I’d say, in about ten minutes. You’re welcome to wait.”
“Thank you,” she said, as the man left his office. It was obvious Dean had lied to her about being a professional golfer. Then how was he filling his time? The travel—why was he flying all over the place in a fancy jet? Maybe the people at the airport could answer that question. Extracting information from them might be tricky. Wealthy people didn’t want their business made public. Confidentiality was probably a high priority at Jet USA.
Her patience running thin, Kathleen walked back into the pro shop. “He’s right there, Ms. Masters,” Jake said, pointing at a caddy through the window.
She pushed open the door again, seeing a small, slightly built, olive-skinned man wearing dark sunglasses. “Shorty,” she called out. “Do you remember me? I’m Kathleen Masters. I met you a few months back. You went on the tour with my husband, the one who has the jet service.”
“Just a minute, Ma’am,” he responded, taking a hundred-dollar bill from the golfer he’d been caddying for and stuffing it into the pocket of his white smock.
She didn’t want to waste time with small talk. “I know you were my husband’s regular caddy. Have you seen him lately?”
“Sorry, Ma’am, I haven’t. Been quite some time now. Does he need me to caddy for him?”
“No,” Kathleen said, using her hand to shield her face from the sun. She was wearing a shoulder-length blond wig to help cover the scars she’d sustained from the assault. Since the left side of her face was where most of the damage had occurred, she pulled the artificial hair forward to conceal it. “Was he a good golfer?”
“Sure, Mr. Masters could hit the ball,” Shorty said, stretching his back as if it was bothering him. “Low seventies type of guy.”
“But he wasn’t a professional golfer?” Kathleen said, stunned at what she was hearing. Her entire marriage had been a fraud. She pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of her purse, holding it in front of her for the caddy to see.
He laughed. “Dean Masters is a long way from a professional golfer. That’s a fact.”
“I need you to tell me everything you can remember about him,” Kathleen said, steering him to a quiet corner so they could talk privately. “He’s intentionally disappeared, and I need to find him.”
“I’ll do my best,” Shorty said, reaching toward the money. “Is this for me?”
She released the bill, then grabbed his arm. “Do you remember Dean talking about anything that seemed out of the ordinary? You flew on the plane with him. Where the hell did you go if he’s not on a professional golf tour?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” the caddy hedged, looking anxious. “I don’t think he had another woman on the side, if that’s what you’re asking. I try not to get into the personal lives of my clients, Ma’am.”
Kathleen’s eyes narrowed. Whore, she thought, reaching into her purse and pulling out another hundred. “If you want this, start talking. I’m not here to waste my time. If you tell me something worthwhile, there’s more where this came from. Lots more, understand?”
“We spoke mainly about golf,” he told her. “The time you picked him up at the airport, we’d spent three days in San Diego. His favorite course is Torrey Pines South. He told me he played there at least twice a month. Is something wrong, Mrs. Masters?” he added, tilting his head. “You look like you’re not feeling well.”
“How would you feel if you…?”
“I’m sorry,” Shorty said, indicating a loud-talking group of men walking past them. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Forget it.” Kathleen started to walk away, more confused and frustrated than before. She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. “Did he leave his clubs here?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll check,” Shorty told her, rushing around the corner.
She wasn’t recovered enough to run all over the state of California. She’d have to hire a private investigator, someone who specialized in finding missing persons.
“Here you go, Ma’am,” the caddy said, placing a smallish golf bag upright in front of her. “This isn’t his regular bag, just one he used as a backup.”
Kathleen knelt down and started searching the bag. Shorty stood by, looking around to see if anyone was watching. She stuck her hand in the first pocket, finding nothing but balls. In the second, she found a sealed Baggie that contained a white Titleist golf glove, tees, and several circular ball markers. As she ripped into the plastic bag, several items slipped out of her hand onto the pavement.
Shorty picked up one. “See? I told you he loved this place,” he said, extending his hand to show her that the writing on the ball marker read Torrey Pines. “If you want to find him, that’s the place to look.”
“Thanks.” Kathleen turned to leave.
“Wait, you didn’t check one of the pockets.” He unzipped a pocket at the top of the bag and retrieved several business cards. “Here you go.”
There were four identical business cards that read “Matthew Sheppard” with a San Diego phone number. She assumed it was someone Dean played golf with at Torrey Pines. “Thanks, Shorty,” she said, more optimistic now.
He shuffled his feet, peering up at her over the rims of his sunglasses. “Normally, I wouldn’t let a wife dig around in her husband’s bag, know what I mean?”
Was there no decent man left on the planet? “I know exactly what you mean,” Kathleen said, pasting a phony smile on her face. “How much money did I give you? You’ve been so nice, I’d like to double it.”
“You gave me two hundred,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling the bills out to prove it.
Kathleen reached over and snatched the money out of his hand. “Doesn’t anyone ever do anything these days just to be nice? You think Dean Masters is a super guy, huh?” She yanked the wig off, showing the jagged scar on her scalp and the slash marks on her cheek. “This is what he did to me, okay! Still worried about protecting his privacy?”
CHAPTER 32
Thursday, October 19—1:30 P.M.
On her way back to the government center after interviewing a five-year-old child-molestation victim, Carolyn retrieved her voice mails on her cell phone, finding one from Hank. His voice was urgent, asking her to come to the police department right away. Not able to reach the detective on the phone, she transferred to Mary. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain everything when you get here. It concerns both the Holden and Sheppard murders. Hank thinks it might involve you.”
“Of course I’m involved,” Carolyn replied, thinking Mary had lost her mind. “Why can’t you tell me over the phone? Preston’s got me working my tail off. Don’t tell me you tracked down Holden and then lost him.”
“Something else has come up. Where are you?”
“On the freeway. I’m about to exit on Victoria.”
“Hold on,” Mary said, and the phone went silent for a few seconds. “That was Hank. We came up with a picture of Matthew Sheppard. Hank thinks he looks like Marcus. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in his office when you get here.”
Holden and Sheppard somehow connected to Marcus? This was the most absurd thing Carolyn had ever heard. When she arrived at the police department on Dowell Drive, she walked past the front desk and followed a detective through the security door. The desk officer jumped to his feet and caught her on the other side. When he recognized her, he said, “You can’t come barging in here, Sullivan. You have to sign in like everyone else.”
“Not today,” she said, continuing briskly down the corridor. She entered the detective bay and kept walking until she rea
ched Hank’s office, pushing past a detective who stepped out of his partitioned office to speak to her. “Would one of you please tell me what’s going on?”
“It may be nothing, Carolyn,” Hank said. “We’ve got a picture of Matthew Sheppard. Mary, why don’t you show her?”
“This first picture is one that I altered to remove the moustache and add hair where there was once a cowboy hat.” Mary placed the photo down on Hank’s desk. “This is the original shot.” She set the other photo beside it.” Ignore the people in the front. Look at the couple in the back. That’s Lisa and Matthew Sheppard.”
What Carolyn saw was terrifying. The altered photograph bore a striking resemblance to Marcus. “You made this look like Marcus. It’s obvious this isn’t the original picture. What are you trying to do to me?”
“It’s not about you, Carolyn,” Hank explained. “Even without Mary’s changes, the features are almost identical.” He stood and came around the desk. “Look at his chin. A cleft chin like that isn’t all that common. And the nose, even the forehead. Don’t tell me you don’t see it.”
“My God, Hank,” Carolyn told him, “you’ve only seen Marcus one time.”
Mary and Hank exchanged tense glances. “What do you think?” Mary asked her. “If anyone should know, it would be you.” She waited for Carolyn to respond. When she just stared at her, she continued, “I created this computer composite because Wright is too common a name for a DMV search. If you can provide us with his DOB, his driver’s license number, or even some type of physical evidence, we might be able to eliminate him. Can you do that, Carolyn?”
Carolyn fell silent, locking her hands on the arms of the chair. She’d brought a person into her life that she knew nothing about. She was even engaging in sex with him. Her eyes drifted to the floor as she played back their first night together. The old-fashioned phone booth, the way he had snuck up on her in the dark hallway, already partially unclothed. Why did he live in such a remote location when his business was located in Los Angeles? And there was the accident. He’d been adamant about not getting the police involved. Most people would sue you if you ran a stop sign and crashed into their car, not offer to pay your repair bill and ask you to lunch. She hadn’t had time to call the escrow office, but why would he pay for her house? Was he buying her off in some way, making certain that if anything came to light, she wouldn’t cooperate with the police? Danger signals had been flashing all around her, and she’d been oblivious.
On second thought, everyone was a stranger when you met them. In today’s world, with the trend in computer dating, Carolyn had been less reckless than the majority of women. Hank and Mary were making her paranoid, tainting her reasoning. Marcus had stayed in the hospital by her side for two nights after John was shot. What kind of killer would do that? Considering him a suspect based on a computer-generated image of a man who may have had nothing whatsoever to do with his wife’s death was the epitome of speculation. Mary knew it, she could tell. Hank may have convinced himself there was something to this, but subconsciously, she was certain he was trying to push Marcus out of her life.
Hank coughed to get her attention.
“What proof do you have that Matthew Sheppard killed his wife?” Carolyn asked them. “Maybe he’s dead, killed by the same person who murdered Lisa. You’re badgering me because I’m dating someone who looks like a man you aren’t certain even committed a crime.”
“Well,” Mary said, settling into her seat, “we know it’s not Holden.”
Lisa Sheppard’s body had been found in the same place as Tracy Anderson’s. Carolyn had been certain Holden had killed her. “Just because Holden’s DNA wasn’t in the box of the Sheppards’s old clothes doesn’t mean anything. He’s a sweeper, just like the press has dubbed him. Meticulous about cleaning up after his crimes. To be honest, I’d be surprised if you found anything. Holden spent eight years in the joint. These guys watch CSI, Law and Order, and all those other crime shows. He’s a smart man. He’s studied the Greek philosophers. He probably had a stack of forensic books in his cell.”
“She may have a point,” Mary said, looking at Hank. “Carolyn, that doesn’t mean we’re not going to follow through on this.”
“Maybe Lisa Sheppard was having an affair with another man and left her husband to be with him.” Carolyn said. “Since you found out the name of the computer company she did consulting for, why didn’t you find out if they had access to her files? Most people who do that kind of work from their home use the company’s computer systems.”
“She disappeared over a year ago,” Mary reminded her. “The independent consulting firm she worked for went out of business. We’ve been trying to track down the principals through their business license, but as far as we can tell, they didn’t have one. Some of these people work under the radar, selling bootlegged programs to a handpicked group of customers. Major players such as Microsoft are attempting to put a stop to it, causing many of these types of operations to fold.”
“Marcus is a gentle man,” Carolyn said, feeling perspiration pop out on her upper lip. “He’s not a murderer. He’s a successful businessman.”
“Have you ever called him at work?” Hank interjected.
“Once,” Carolyn said. “Usually we communicate over his cell phone.”
“Do you know the name of the business?”
“No,” she said. “When I called him, he answered the phone. I heard people talking in the background, though, so I’m certain it was a business. What about the safety deposit key? Have you tracked down the bank yet?”
“We’re working on it,” Mary said, reaching over and touching her arm. “I didn’t think there was anything to this, either, Carolyn. But wouldn’t you rather be safe than sorry? Just because a person has money doesn’t mean they aren’t a criminal. Even serial killers have been known to have decent jobs, a nice car, even a family. Look at the BTK killer from Wichita. The man murdered ten people and was elected president of his church council. Do you want something like this on your conscience if Hank’s suspicions turn out to be true? Please, Carolyn, tell us what you know about Marcus Wright.”
Carolyn attempted to detail her various contacts with Marcus. The only thing she held back was the intimate details of their sex life. After drilling criminals for years, she suddenly knew how they felt. “I would have found out more about him,” she said, flicking the ends of her fingernails, “but we met just before everything went down with Holden. There was too much going on. I was occupied trying to take care of John, as well as terrified that Holden would come back. Besides, Marcus isn’t a talkative person.”
As she spoke, the memory of the feeling of well-being she had when she was with Marcus returned. “Everyone always praises me for my ability to get inside the head of a criminal,” she said. “You don’t think I’d know if I was dating a murderer?”
Hank said forcefully, “Look at the picture, Carolyn.”
Her eyes drifted toward the piece of paper, then her head jerked back up. “You know how many people look alike? Think of all the witnesses who identify the wrong suspect. Before I became a probation officer, a ten-year-old kid up the street was killed by a hit-and-run driver. One of the witnesses helped the police put together a composite of the suspect. When I saw it, I was certain it was one of my neighbors. I was shocked when they caught the right person. The man they arrested didn’t look anything like the composite.”
“Lisa Sheppard was a computer programmer,” Mary threw out, seeing Carolyn reaching for her purse. “Maybe Marcus met her in school or at a convention. It’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
“His company develops software for the military,” Carolyn countered. “Marcus and Lisa Sheppard weren’t in the same league. All she did was tech support. Your premise doesn’t hold water.”
“You don’t know that,” Mary said. “All you know is what this man has told you.”
“I have to go back to work.”
“We need Marcus’s address,
Carolyn.”
Carolyn started to hold back, but this was too serious. She’d committed his address in Santa Rosa to memory. She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and scribbled it down, handing it to Mary.
“Can you get us a DNA sample?” Hank asked. “If it doesn’t match the San Diego samples, Marcus will be in the clear. Then we can all rest easier.”
“A DNA sample,” Carolyn said, her face muscles twitching. They didn’t have enough to substantiate a request for an arrest warrant, or even to pick Marcus up for questioning. Hank was using her to feed his own fantasies. She didn’t mind stepping to the line under reasonable conditions, but this wasn’t one of them. “How in the hell am I going to do that?” she said, fuming. “You must not take your own premise seriously, Hank, if you want me to sleep with him to get a DNA sample. This is ridiculous. I can’t believe you wasted my time.”
Hank looked away in embarrassment. “There’s other ways to get a person’s DNA, Carolyn.”
“Maybe I should leave so you two can talk privately,” Mary said, half out of her chair.
“Stay where you are,” Carolyn commanded. Turning to Hank, she said, “If you persist in trying to discredit Marcus, our friendship will be over.”
Hank was somewhat taken aback, but he refused to back down. “You’re a professional, Carolyn. Just cut me some slack and bring us a DNA sample.”
“I’ll think about it,” she tossed over her shoulder, storming out of his office.
Kathleen dialed the number on the business card she’d found in Dean’s golf bag, her frustrations escalating when a recording said the number was no longer in service. She tossed the phone to the floorboard of the rented Cadillac Escalade. “Dead ends, nothing but dead ends,” she yelled, speeding on the 101 freeway toward the Monterey Peninsula Airport. Picking up the card and holding it in front of her as she drove, she noticed a San Diego address, fax number, and e-mail. Maybe she could still reach this person.
Sullivan’s Evidence Page 32
