Soft sunlight filters through tall windows, onto several
desks, file cabinets and hard wood floors in the loft style office that Michael
rents. A lone man, George Devries,
sits at a desk, legs propped upon it.
Slightly round, with glasses, receding hairline and cherubic face,
wearing slacks, short sleeve button down shirt and a smart bow tie, George is
immersed in the daily paper when Michael strolls into the room. George looks up.
“Good
morning.”
Michael continues to walk to his desk. He tosses his keys on
it and drops down into his chair.
He rubs his face. George
looks at him.
“Or not.”
Michael looks up at the ceiling. He finally utters a few words.
“Where are
Finn and Riley?”
“Working on
something I suppose.”
Dead silence slips through the room for a moment. George takes
his feet of off his desk and sets down the paper, looking intently at Michael.
“You were
there, weren’t you.”
Michael rubs his eyes and nods. George lets out a light sigh.
“The write up
is in today’s paper. Felix
Emerson, pro tour golfer, found
dead at
Wilmington Club. No mention of
cause.”
Michael sighs, staring up at the ceiling.
“Yeah.”
George shakes his head.
“The guy buys
it right before the open, not that he had much chance of winning
anyway. Do you think the wife did it?”
“She hired me,
but I can’t rule that out…not likely though.”
Michael sits up in his chair, looking thoughtful.
“While I was
casing the place, the girl he was banging slipped out of the clubhouse,
around
the time he was killed, but there were several other men who left at
various
times as well.”
Michael looks at George who has been listening carefully.
“You know a
bit about this guy?”
George forms a round cheeked smile
“Hey, you are
talking to the sports library here.”
“Good, you are
coming with me.”
“Where to
boss?”
Michael gives him a good look and grabs his phone, starting
to punch some buttons.
“To the open
of course.”
_______________________________________________________________________________
Spectators mingle around the golf course, quietly moving along pathways under a brilliant sun. Pros are swinging on the driving range, chatting casually, and signing autographs. Fans gather at tees and greens watching players practice through the course. Media members scurry to speak with players and catch a quote or a lead for their stories. From some shady trees, Michael and George emerge. Michael, tall and slender strolls along in kaki pants, comfortable polo shirt and glasses, George still wearing his bowtie, tags along looking at a guide, sweat glistening on his brow. They stroll through the crowd of this opening day practice round. George pulls out a handkerchief and pats his brow..
“A beer would
be nice right now. Nice hook up on the passes by the way. Didn’t
know you
had connections on the tour.”
Michael nods
“Yes, Nicky’s
a good friend. Been meaning to
come to one of these.”
“Never been,
huh?”
“Nope.”
George looks back down at the tour guide.
“Well, Felix
was an average tour player at best. On the tour for about 10 years.
Made
decent
money, but never broke top 15 in any tournament play.”
Michael looks around as they continue along.
“What else?”
George shrugs.
“Well, he
wasn’t well liked, by pretty much everybody. He was a bit of an asshole.”
Michael stops for a moment, and looks up at the sky, shaking
his head slightly.
“That helps
narrow things down a bit doesn’t it.”
George laughs.
“Yeah”
Michael enters a beverage tent, George in
tow. He walks up to the bar and
orders two beers.
“We need to
track down one or two of the people I saw leave last night. Perhaps
we can
find out more from one of them.”
George takes a beer Michael handed to him and takes a long
sip, looking quite satisfied.
“How will we
do that?
“Hopefully I
can recognize one here. I believe
all of them work for the club or the
tour in some fashion.”
George nods his head.
“Ok. Give me a description of the ones you
saw and I’ll figure it out.”
Michael smiles.
“I knew you
would.”
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