by S Doyle
After collecting her bag Mark led her to his rental car and without too much fanfare, Reilly gazed out the window as she drove back down Azalea Lane and left the American National Golf Course for the last time.
“I can’t believe it’s over,” she whispered.
“In a good way or a bad way?” Mark asked.
“Both. I’ll be happy to return to my life, but I’m sad to see it end.”
“It didn’t end, though. Not really. You can come back next year.”
Next year. Another American. It seemed too far away for Reilly to even consider it. No, she would much rather think about the more pressing issues that she was facing.
Like what came next.
She was pretty sure she’d agreed to a marriage proposal on 15 so there was that.
They were getting married. It was almost too impossible to believe. Then came all the questions. When? How? Another big wedding? Another dress? Part of her recoiled at the idea of a formal wedding, but another part knew deep inside this time, it was for real. She had no idea if they could make it work, but she knew without a doubt either way, it would be her very last wedding.
There was also the little thing about her career on the LPGA tour. As dominant as she’d been before, what was she going to do now that she could hit a ball twenty yards farther?
Would they even want her back? Would the PGA?
“Damn,” she muttered.
Mark glanced at her.“Now there’s a sour expression if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Just thinking about the next tournament.”
“Already? You don’t want to give yourself a break?”
“It’s not when I’ll be playing next, but with whom I will be playing that’s got me preoccupied.”
“Ah, I see. I guess that means you’re thinking about making the switch to the men’s tour permanent.”
Reilly watched him as he stared out at the road. Something in his tone suggested he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but she couldn’t imagine why it would matter.
“You don’t agree?”
He shot her a quick glance.
“It’s not my call. I guess I just hate to see you leave the LPGA. It’s smaller and more intimate. I can actually see you putt when I watch you play. You end up on the men’s tour you’ll be surrounded all the time by gapers. Everyone will want a piece of you. Sponsors. Fans. They’ll be all over you.”
“That would be the downside, I suppose,” Reilly said dryly.
“Sorry,” Mark chuckled. “I didn’t mean to be so grim. I suppose I’m jealous. When you play on the women’s tour I feel like I have you all to myself.”
“Like I said, it’s just something to think about.”
Mark leaned over the wheel more. “Hey, do you have a second? I want to show you something I think you might be interested in seeing.”
Reilly glanced out the window. All she saw was tall grass on either side of a road stretching on endlessly, broken up by the occasional trailer parked just beyond the edge of the road.
“Trust me,” he prompted.
“You’re driving.”
“I’m not sure I want to leave. This place offers some excellent service.”
Kenny was sitting up on the bed while Tessa was helping him with his coat.
“Don’t get used to it,” she warned him. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about us and I’ve decided I’ve been far too accommodating with you. If we’re going to make this work we’re going to have to find a way to be on equal ground.”
“Please,” Kenny snorted. “Once the baby comes we’ll both be outdone by something even needier than we are. It will be the great equalizer.”
“Good point.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to be a great-grandfather,” Pop said from a chair. “I’m thrilled but it makes me feel old.”
Luke patted him on the back. “You’re as young as you feel, Pop. If you’re ready, Kenny, we’ve got to…”
“Excuse me.”
The door opened and Luke recognized the detective in charge of the Walters case. He’d forgotten his name in all the hoopla of yesterday, but the drooping mustache and the heavy southern accent identified him.
“Detective?”
“Mr. Nolan, would you mind a word with me outside. Nothing important folks, just some details I need to clear up.”
Luke and Kenny exchanged a glance, but Luke shook his head as if to indicate there was no need for concern. He couldn’t imagine there was since the attacker was dead.
He let the door close on the room and waited. The detective touched the edge of his mustache as if uncertain where to start. The gesture made Luke more nervous than he should have been.
“I’m confused, detective, what’s left to talk about?”
“You told us the federal agent involved in the shooting worked out of the Atlanta field office?”
“Yes. Agent Leonard. Mark Leonard. He wasn’t officially looking into the stalking issue. It was at the request from a friend of mine in DC.”
“Right. Here’s the thing. I called the FBI’s Atlanta field office today to get in touch with him and there is no Agent Leonard assigned there.”
“What?”
“There is no Agent Mark Leonard. An agent watching the event saw the shooter identify himself to the crowd as FBI and wondered who the hell he was. They’re looking into it on their end now.”
Luke closed his eyes and shook his head.
“This doesn’t make sense. The man had a badge and gun and…this doesn’t make sense.”
“I agree. I don’t know there is reason to panic yet. We just want to find out who he is. Can you get in touch with this friend of yours in DC? Maybe track down how he contacted Agent Leonard.”
“Sure. Right.”
Luke reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He scrolled for a while on the display, then settled on a number and waited while it dialed.
“Mr. Simm’s office.” A pleasant feminine tone sounded in his ear forcing Luke to check the number he dialed but his display indicated it was Bob’s number.
“Yes, this is Luke Nolan. I’m a friend of Bob’s. I need to speak with him. I thought this was his cell number.”
“Oh, my gosh. The Luke Nolan? The golfer. I saw you on TV. Do you know Reilly Carr?”
“Yeah, look, I’m trying to reach Bob.”
“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Nolan, Agent Simms is currently on assignment. All his calls are being forwarded to this office. Can I leave a message with him?”
Right. He knew that. Mark had told him that. “I need to know what he did with the package I sent him a few weeks back. I called him and told him it was coming. It was a medium-size, yellow envelope. Is there any way you can reach him and…”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nolan, when did you say you sent it? I do have instructions from Agent Simms to be on the lookout for a package, but haven’t seen anything like that come across his desk.”
“A few weeks ago. Maybe four.”
“You sent it to this office?”
Luke listened as she rattled off the same address Bob had given him. That was where he sent it. Bob never got it.
“I know Agent Simms was concerned he hadn’t received it before he left, and I was supposed to forward it to him as soon as it came. It wouldn’t have gotten past me and I can see it’s not on his desk.”
Luke saw white spots dance in front of his vision. Bob never got the package.
“I put it in the mail… in the mailbox outside of the development. Because I didn’t feel like finding a post office and …”
“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you, Mr. Nolan.”
“He had a badge…” Luke continued to mutter as he tried to think back. He snapped off the phone and stared into the face of the grim detective.
“What does this mean?”
“Your friend Bob never contacted anyone?”
“No. I called him and told him what was happening. He told me to send him the package. The next t
hing I know Leonard shows up at our door. He says he’s the FBI, that Bob sent him the package. He referenced… it was in the letter. I asked Bob how it was hanging in my note to him.”
Luke stumbled toward a bench situated in the corridor along the wall. He sat, his face in his hands, as he thought about how easily he’d been played.
“He said although the bureau couldn’t officially investigate, he had plenty of vacation time and was willing to give us any assistance we needed. He said he was a fan.”
The detective walked over to him and nodded.
“Okay. We checked into Neville Walters’ background a little further. We got his medical records from the outpatient facility where he was treated in Omaha. The man was indigent, living off state disability. His IQ was well below normal.”
Agitated and needing to get to his car to find Reilly, Luke jumped up.
“Why the hell do I care what Neville Walters’ IQ was?”
“You need to think this through. I’ve seen Neville’s type before. They’re obsessive and fixate on someone close. Someone they see every day. It’s my understanding that Ms. Carr began to receive threatening letters in her hometown and that pattern continued in Savannah.”
Luke stopped. “Yes. The letters and the calls started while she was in Little Creek, but we know Walters pursued her. He broke into the house. He was at the golf course watching her practice. Kenny almost chased him down.”
“He had no money on him,” the detective said, counting out points on his hand. “No credit cards. Just a worn-out wallet with a single piece of identification. How did he get to Savannah? How did he find you? How did he get past the security at your home and more important, how did he get past the security at the event?”
The answer was remarkably easy. He had a partner.
“Where in the heck are we?”
The sun was setting and the air was growing cooler. Reilly had raised her eyebrows when they turned down the dirt road off the main highway, and now they were bumping along to what seemed like the middle of nowhere.
“It’s right up there,” Mark said, pointing to a large brown van parked in the middle of a cleared-out area.
“You wanted me to see a van?”
“It belonged to Neville Walters. His home base. The police and I were able to track it down. I thought it might help bring you closure on all of this.”
Reilly stared at the van. An old Volkswagen model, it looked like it should have had a peace sign painted on it and a sticker that read “If it’s rockin’ don't come a- knockin’.” Intrigued, despite her instinctive revulsion, she got out of the car and waded through the grass toward it.
“That poor man,” she whispered, staring at the state of the old vehicle. “So sick and with only this to live in.”
“It’s not so bad. You’ll see. Let me show you inside.”
Reilly turned and saw Mark standing behind her.
“I don’t think so. You have to know me to know I’m not exactly a closure-type person.”
Reilly made a motion to turn back to the car when something cracked against her skull. Her body jolted and her legs folded underneath her. As she fell to the ground she thought this was what it felt like to be hit by a golf club.
She wondered why anyone would do that.
33
Her head hurt. The back hurt worse than the front, but the front hurt pretty bad, too. Her forehead was bumping against something rattling beneath her cheeks. Reilly knew the only way to put the pieces of the puzzle together was to wake up, but she held back. A hunch told her there was no good reason to wake up.
But the rattling wouldn’t stop and the throbbing pain wasn’t going anywhere and whatever she was afraid of wasn’t going to go away in her sleep.
Reilly opened her eyes carefully and allowed herself to adjust to the faded light inside what was t he back of a big car. A van. A Volkswagen van.
How did she know that?
Memories replayed themselves. She kicked ass on the back nine today, she finished fifteenth overall. There was press. There were girls with copies of her hat. There was Mark. He wanted to show her something. It was about Neville.
Then he hit her on the back of the head. Why did he do that?
Still groggy, but more curious than anything now, Reilly tried to push herself up into a sitting position but her arms were dead asleep. No not asleep, pinned behind her.
The loss of mobility pushed a surge of adrenaline through her bloodstream and had her blinking her eyes open wide. She was lying on her side with her shoulder and face pressed into the metal floor of the van. Rolling onto her back, with her hands underneath her she relied on her stomach muscles to pull her up into a sitting position. Behind her she could see the back doors rattling together creating a clanking noise. A dark cloth was draped over the windows.
Reilly could see the outline of his arm and head behind the wheel.
“Uh… Mark. Please tell me this isn’t some kind of crazy government conspiracy to do away with women golfers.”
A dull overhead light blinked on in the back of the van forcing Reilly to close her eyes against the intrusion.
“Hey, you’re up. Really sorry about the head but it was the easiest way.”
“Right,” Reilly sighed, moving herself slightly to take the pressure off her butt bone. She opened her eyes and scanned the contents of the van floor for some kind of weapon she could use, but it was empty except for a blanket curled up in the corner, and a pillow on top of it.
The interior of the van was lined with paper. Paper that flapped with the wind pushing its way through the small break in the doors.
Reilly turned her head to get a better view of what was on the paper and saw herself. They were pictures of herself. Pictures swinging a club, pictures with celebrities at pro-am events she’d played. Pictures out of magazines and newspapers. Personal pictures taken with a zoom lens. On different courses. Walking the streets of her hometown.
It was obsessive. It was madness.
Bile rose in Reilly’s throat but she swallowed it down. She wanted to scream. Scream her goddamn head off and not stop until all this was over, but she knew it wouldn’t help. She thought answers might.
“Who are you, Mark?”
“You figured out I’m not an agent,” he said over his shoulder with a flash of a smile.
I’m slow,” she admitted. “But not that slow.”
““You can’t blame yourself,” he offered. “I’m very good at what I do. Although this was my first time impersonating a federal agent. I have to tell you it was worth every penny for the badge. People see it and are immediately enthralled. No one questioned me once. Not you, or Luke, or the security at the event. Hell, even the cops who arrived on the scene bought it and let me walk out of there without so much as taking me in for further questioning. It was like having a golden ticket.”
There was a lot she wanted to know. Where one obtains a fake badge? How he knew about Luke’s friend, Bob? But something he said stuck in her head and made her want to whimper with fear.
“Your first time, huh? What were you all the other times?”
“Let’s see. My last lover was Carol. I told her I was a Hollywood agent. She was a very pretty weathergirl on a local news station. I had her convinced I was going to make her a big star.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” he said slowly. “When I finally took her, she didn’t like being with me as much as I had hoped. Our relationship ended… badly. That’s not going to happen between us. We are going to work. You’ll see. You’re not like Carol.”
Reilly figured that was as much as she wanted to know about Carol.
“Why take her? Why take me? You’re a handsome guy. Charming. If I wasn’t with Luke and you had asked me out I would have said yes.”
She could see him bobbing his head.
“You know, I knew that! I knew we would connect! When I first saw you, you were playing in a golf event in the same town I ultimately… wel
l… broke up with Carol. I was sitting in my hotel room watching the news and they showed you hitting the ball and talked about how you were in the lead by so many strokes. I fell in love. I have an eye for talent. I always have. I knew you would be next. I followed you for a while and thought about asking you out. I was going to be a sales rep for Nike. Then everything changed. All of a sudden, the new ranking came out and you were going to play in the American, and I just hated it!”
He banged his open palm on the steering wheel in front of him so many times Reilly thought he might have seriously hurt himself.
He stopped and she could hear his heavy breathing.
“I hated the idea of you giving yourself to all of those people. You were mine. Mine. I couldn’t breathe for wanting you.”
Breathe.
“Oh, my God,” Reilly whimpered. “It was you. You were the caller.”
“Of course I tried to reach out to you. To make you understand. I wanted to stop you in Nebraska. I thought it was you driving that day, but it wasn’t.”
Reilly thought back to the accident that had driven them out of Little Creek. Her grandparents.
“Then you left and I had to follow you. I tried to scare you again but that didn’t work. Neville was supposed to paint the mark on the doors. I didn’t realize until later he got inside. Even that wasn’t enough to stop you. So I decided to let you play in the American.”
He let her. For his condescension alone, she hated him. Hate was good. It was better than the fear.
“You used Neville. Then you shot him. Not the loyal sort, are you?”
He turned his head back around to look at her, his expression fierce.
“I am very loyal! You’ll see, Reilly. I will be your dedicated servant from this moment forward. Your every wish…”
“I wish you would stop this car and let me out.”
He turned back to the road in front of him.
“I can’t do that,” he said tightly. “You shouldn’t feel sad for Neville, though. He was a very sick man. He thought I was his guardian angel. A total nut job.”
There was a horrific example of the pot talking to the kettle.
