Murder on the Front Nine

by Steve McMillen

“Yes, sir, let’s do it.”

  We leave the pro shop, get into his golf cart and wind our way out to the tee box on number 6. He is very talkative about what happened that day. He is also apologetic about bringing the golf cart back to the pro shop before anyone in charge had a chance to look it over.

  “Were you the first person to see the cart after the shooting?” I ask.

  “Yes, one of my rangers spotted Mr. Byers’ body back in the tree line along with his pull-cart and clubs. He rushed up thinking he might have had a heart attack or something but when he got there, he noticed the blood on his chest. He found no pulse and then he called me on his radio.”

  “So then, what did you do?”

  “I got on the phone and called 911 plus Chief Vette. I went into the clubhouse and told Mr. Cadium that we had found Trever and that he was dead. I then took my assistant pro and went out to see what was going on.”

  “What did you find when you got there?”

  “A sight that I never want to see again,” Justin slowly replies.

  “How did you find the golf cart?”

  “After the body was brought in I decided to go searching for the missing golf cart. My assistant and I noticed cart tracks in the soft ground and decided to follow them.”

  “So where did you find the cart?”

  “We found the cart at the edge of the tidal creek where an old boat dock was located.”

  We finally arrive at the 6th tee box and he drives the cart over in the trees where Trever Byers body had been found. It would have been hidden pretty well unless you were actually looking for something, which is what the ranger was doing. Justin then followed the path he had taken the day of the shooting and drove me out to the old boat dock. There was not much to see.

  “I’ve played here before but refresh my memory. Where is the 6th tee in relationship to the clubhouse and the rest of the course?” I ask him.

  “That’s interesting; it has to be the farthest point on the course away from the clubhouse,” he answers.

  We exchange small talk on the trip back to the clubhouse and when we arrive, Justin wants to know if I would like a beer. I say sure and as we sit down at the bar, I happen to glance around the room and there are four men playing cards at one of the tables.

  It hits me like a ton of bricks. I remember where I met Marty Vette. I played poker with Barry, Ted, Bill, and him maybe sixteen to seventeen years ago one night at Fort Bragg. I remember Barry had invited him but that’s about all I remember from that night. I probably lost money so I put that evening into my negative selective memory box.

  Isn’t that interesting. A guy who Barry invited to play poker years ago just happens to be the police chief on the island where a murder takes place and SIL is investigating the murder. It could be a complete coincidence. Yeah, right. I wonder if Chief Vette recognized me from that poker game and if he did, why didn’t he mention it?

  I say to Justin, “How long have you been the head pro here?”

  “I’ve been on Bald Head about five years now. I love it here, beautiful course, beautiful location and lots of nice people. It doesn’t get any better than this.”

  “Was Chief Vette here when you came or did he come after you?”

  “He was here when I got here. I think he has been on the island for almost ten years. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no real reason, I thought maybe I knew him from somewhere, but if he’s been here that long, it is definitely not him.”

  I thank him for the beer and drive my golf cart back to the dock area. I catch the next ferry back to the mainland. This has been a very informative day. I learn that the assassin is very good and that he cleans up the scene of his crime like a true professional. He cleaned up so well that it will be very difficult to learn much about the shooting or the killer. But I learn a lot more about Trever Byers’ death and that is that Barry knows a whole lot more than what he has told me.

  I debate with myself on the way back if I should call Barry and ask him about Marty Vette, but one of us loses the debate and decides not to call just yet. I make a mental note to call TC when I get home and ask him his thoughts on Chief Vette. I could call him on my cell phone but I am one of those crazy people who does not like to talk on a cell phone and drive.

  I get back to the house, immediately call the judge and ask him if Chief Vette said anything at the interview that sounded out of place or just not right. TC says not that he can think of, but then again the thing that now stands out is that the interview was very short and sweet and there has been no follow-up at all.

  Furthermore, the chief was not the least upset about the fact that Justin had compromised the crime scene when he drove the killer’s golf cart back to the clubhouse. It was as if the chief didn’t really care that much about the investigation or finding the killer.

  I thank TC and tell him I will keep him in the loop. I no more than hang up when the phone rings and it is TC.

  “Hey TC, did you think of something else the chief said or did?”

  “No, I didn’t, but I wanted to know if you would like to take a ride on the boat someday?”

  “Sure, sounds like fun, just let me know when.”

  “How about tomorrow, say eight o’clock my house. We’ll grab some breakfast and take her out for a spin.”

  I hesitate for a few seconds. Eight means I need to leave by seven, which means I need to get up by six. “Sure, I’ll see you around eight.”

  I added around just in case I am late.

  It sounds to me like the judge has something else on his mind besides just a boat ride. I guess I will find out tomorrow.

  I arrive at TC’s house about 8:15am. I almost made it on time. At the last minute, I elected to take my .45 along so I had to change into a shirt that will cover my gun stuffed in the middle of my back.

  He has bagels, scrambled eggs, bacon, orange juice, and coffee waiting for me. Since it’s the middle of the week, I think about asking for oatmeal but the bacon smells so good I decide to cheat and indulge myself. Around 9:00, we take off in his Mercedes and go over to the marina.

  We get to his boat, or I would call it a yacht, and proceed out of the marina. TC tells me about his boat on the way out to sea.

  It is a Carver 450 Voyager w/480 Volvos. Forty-five feet in length, fiberglass hull, diesel powered 560-gallon fuel tank, 150-gallon water tank and 80-gallon holding tank. 480 horse power with a 20-knot cruising speed. It has a beautiful interior and more instruments than I can comprehend. I was right in my thinking, beautiful home, beautiful boat.

  He shuts it down about two miles out and we drift. It is another Chamber of Commerce day along the South Carolina coast.

  “Mickke D, I hope you don’t mind but I did a background check on you.”

  “Not at all, what did you find?”

  “Well, you have quite a resume; you’re probably just what I’m looking for.”

  Puzzled, I reply, “I thought you already agreed to hire me to find out what happened to Trever Byers. Could I have been on another planet when that took place?”

  “Oh, no, we’re good on that, but I may have another offer to make you.”

  “Fire away, I’m willing to listen to any proposal.”

  “Remember when I told you about the coins that Rusty had, well, I forgot to mention that he told me where he found them. Freddy and I took the boat out and we may have found where the coins started out before they ended up on the beach.”

  “So what you’re trying to say is that you may have found the location of a ship wreck with a whole bunch of coins on board.”

  “That’s about it. Are you a qualified diver?”

  “You bet, I became diver certified while in Special Forces, I didn’t want the Navy Seals to have all the fun.”

  “Mickke D, I need a partner to help me go after that possible ship wreck, are you interested?”

  “Sure, sounds like fun. Tell me more.”

  He proceeds to go into detail about what he and Freddy h
ad found and how he had made a rough map of the location and mailed a copy to Trever Byers. He also tells me that the police found no map on Trever. He concluded that whoever killed Trever had also taken the map.

  Now my investigative wheels are starting to grind. Could that map be the reason SIL wants to find Paul Hills? Barry, Bill, and Ted were always talking about shipwrecks and sunken treasure beneath the sea.

  He tells me that he is willing to provide the boat, all the equipment and the capital for the operation. We will split everything fifty-five percent for him and forty-five for me. The extra 10 for him is to cover the expenses.

  “Sounds fine to me, let me know when you want to start?” We shake hands to make it official.

  Chapter 39: Mickke D & Mrs. Byers

  Before leaving TC’s house, I ask him for the phone number of Trever Byers’ wife. She lives just outside of Washington, D.C. and even though I always like to talk to witnesses in person, D.C. is too far to go for an interview. I ask TC to call Mrs. Byers and let her know I will be calling her. He says he will call her tonight.

  I call Mrs. Byers the following morning. “Mrs. Byers, this is Mickke MacCandlish in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. I was given your number by Judge Cadium.”

  “Yes Mr. MacCandlish, TC called me last night and said you would be calling me.”

  “First of all, Mrs. Byers, I am very sorry for your loss. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a few questions pertaining to your husband’s death?”

  “You mean murder. Not at all, Mr. MacCandlish and please call me Mandi Lee. I am just glad someone is looking into Trever’s death. The police and the government aren’t doing anything.”

  “Well, Mandi Lee, you can call me Mickke D. TC feels the same way about the investigation or lack thereof and hired me to see what I can find.”

  I hear a slight laugh from her. “Rhymes doesn’t it? Mandi Lee and Mickke D.”

  I say, “How did your husband meet TC?”

  I asked this same question of TC and I just want to verify that the two stories match.

  “They met at a Salvage Convention in Myrtle Beach about two years ago. They have been looking for sunken treasure ever since. I actually saw less of Trever after he retired than when he was working full time.”

  “Who hired your husband to do consulting work for Senator Brazile?”

  “His name is Dean Rutland and he’s an aid to the senator.”

  “Do you happen to have a number where I can reach him?”

  “Yes I do, please hold for a minute and I’ll get it.”

  She returns to the phone and gives me the number for Dean Rutland. I ask her, “Was that the only job your husband had?”

  She hesitates for a minute and then replies, “No, he was also doing consulting work and getting a check each month from someone at the Justice Department but I don’t know who it was.”

  “Did he ever tell you anything about the work he was doing for Justice?”

  “No, he was very open about the job for Senator Brazile but never said much about the other consulting job.”

  “Do you work anywhere, Mandi Lee?”

  “Oh yes, I’m an assistant attorney with the Defense Department.”

  “And what does an assistant attorney do for the Defense Department?”

  “It’s classified and if I told you, I would have to hunt you down and kill you.”

  I burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but that’s one of my favorite sayings. I have just never had it said to me before. I will not ask you any more questions about your job.”

  “Thank you,” she replies and there is no laughter in her voice.

  I hesitate for a moment to gather myself and then continue, “Did your husband leave any papers or notes about either one of his consulting jobs?”

  “I found the unfinished report he was preparing for Senator Brazile and I gave it to Dean Rutland at Trever’s funeral. Then the other day I was cleaning out Trever’s computer and I found the same report on his hard drive. Could that be important?”

  “Could you e-mail the report to me? I don’t know if it’s important, but it could be.”

  “I will e-mail it to you today.”

  I tell Mandi Lee I will let her know the minute I find out something about her husband’s murder. She sounds as if she is good with that. I almost tell her I know who killed Trever but since I can’t prove it, I don’t.

  I’m beginning to wonder what she does for the Defense Department and if maybe, that has anything to do with Trever’s death and SIL. I’m also wondering if Trever found out what she was doing and he died because of that. Maybe Mandi Lee has something on SIL. Furthermore, what about Trever’s consulting job with the Justice Department? There are whole bunches of scenarios out there. I need to figure out which one is the actual reason for Trever’s death.

  I receive the e-mail about thirty minutes later. It is a five-page single spaced report, which pretty much says that there will probably be no problem with offshore drilling unless there happens to be a spill.

  Trever is very clear that if a spill occurs, the results for the environment, fishing, and tourism industries will be catastrophic. It will cost in the billions of dollars to clean up such a spill and to compensate business for their losses. At the end of the report, Trever says that if offshore drilling were to go forward, there should be many safety controls in effect and someone should be overseeing the day-to-day business of drilling and production. He states that he was not one for more government controls but in this case, the ramifications of a spill would be over whelming.

  After reading the report several times, it sounds like a very negative report for the oil companies. Maybe Barry was right. Big oil had ordered the hit on Trever Byers. However, how would they know about the report? It would have had to come from Trever Byers, from inside Senator Brazile’s office or maybe even Mandi Lee.

  I think it is time to call Dean Rutland.

  I call the number Mandi Lee gave me and get Dean Rutland’s voicemail, “Hi, this is Dean, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Mr. Rutland, I was given your number by Mandi Lee Byers. I have some questions concerning Trever Byers’ death. Please give me a call back at your convenience.”

  I did not leave my name for a reason. Most people will not return a call if the caller does not leave a name. However, if they are curious or concerned about the call, they will get back to you.

  Ten minutes later my phone rings, “This is Dean Rutland returning your call, who am I speaking to?”

  I want to see if I can rattle his cage. “Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Rutland. I am looking into the murder of Trever Byers and his lovely wife gave me your number. She said you may have some insight into Trever’s death.”

  Dean’s voice gets much bolder and more irritated, “If you do not tell me who you are, I am going to hang up and give the FBI your number. Maybe you can explain to them what you’re looking for.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Rutland, how unprofessional of me. My name is Mickke MacCandlish and I was hired by Judge Thomas Allen Cadium to investigate the murder of Trever Byers.”

  After a slight hesitation, he replies, “What firm are you with Mr. MacCandlish?”

  “Oh, I’m with MacCandlish and Associates, Mr. Rutland, have you heard of us?”

  “No I haven’t, where is your office located?”

  “Myrtle Beach, South Carolina,” I answer.

  We are playing a game of chess. He is trying to get information from me so that he can get someone to check into me and I am giving him false information so that he will come to a dead end. I can tell by his tone of voice that he is getting uptight with the conversation. It is time to rattle his cage a little bit more.

  “Mr. Rutland, I know that Trever Byers was working for you but he was also working for the Justice Department. Do you know who he was working for over there?”

  “I’m sorry Mr. MacCandlish, I know nothing about that and this conversation is over. I woul
d highly suggest that you let the police and the feds do the investigating in this case.”

  I definitely have ruffled Mr. Rutland’s feathers. Now the question is who is going to call me, or show up at my door to advise me that I should keep my nose out of this case.

  Dean Rutland is pissed off to the highest degree of pisstivity! As soon as he hangs up after speaking with Mickke D, he calls SIL and asks for Barry.

  Chapter 40: SIL

  Bill is in Barry’s office when Marty calls. Barry hangs up and looks perplexed as he puts his feet up on his desk.

  “Guess who that was, Mr. Cutter?”

  “I have no idea.” Bill shifts in his chair to see the face Barry has blocked with his feet.

  “That was Marty Vette, the police chief on Bald Head Island.”

  “Oh yeah, you found out Marty was the police chief when you went down there to check and see if they had learned anything about the murder of Trever Byers.”

  Barry sighs. “Right and I asked him to call me if he learned anything or if there was anything he thought I should know.”

  “So I guess he had some new information for you?” Bill wonders why Barry is dragging this out.

  “Oh, yeah, he said that Mickke D just left his office and he told Marty he was working for Judge Cadium investigating the death of Trever Byers.”

  Bill’s chest tightens. “Wow, that is news.”

  He watches as Barry’s eyes narrow and darken. He knows where his partner’s thoughts are going.

  Bill breaks the ensuing silence, “You know Mickke D doesn’t work for us anymore so I guess he can work for anyone he chooses. Besides that, as far as we know, the assassin is dead, so what can he learn? Did Marty say that Mickke D recognized him?”

  Barry lets out a noise like a grunt. “Trust me, Mickke D will figure that out if he hasn’t already.”

  He stares off into space.

  “Why don’t you call Marty back and check?” Bill says as he notices the set in Barry’s jaw, the look of a warrior on his face.

  Barry says softly, then louder, as if breaking a trance, “I will. Have you heard back from that detective in Charleston? I would really like to know if it was Paul Hills who died in that accident.”