by Keith Miles
Since I was much further from the flag, I now played first and hit my best iron shot so far to find an excellent position from which to attack the green. Zuke and his caddie were trying to work out the precise yardage to the pin. The monster drive stirred us all but it left him with what was virtually a blind shot to the green.
From across the lake, I watched him take out a lofted club and try a few practice swings before addressing his ball. Back went the club in a fluent arc, then down it came with measured violence. The ball sailed high into the sky and was lost for a moment in the glare of the sun. Pandemonium around the green told us what happened next. After landing on the putting surface, it had rolled straight into the hole.
Zuke Everett had achieved an impossible double eagle.
I laughed as I imagined the look on the Bellinghaus face.
The remainder of the round was a march of triumph for Zuke. News of his miraculous play on the 13th flashed to all parts of the course and our gallery swelled as spectators deserted other contests to watch ours. Except that it was no longer a contest between two golfers. It was a shoot-out between two deadly rivals.
Zuke Everett and the Golden Haze course.
When he walked off the 18th green with his name near the top of the leader board again, he’d done what he promised. Taken its virginity. In recording an unbeatable 64, he’d also jumped back into the limelight. Gamil Amir, dropping strokes further back down the course, was a usurper who had been thrust aside.
Rutherford Kallgren was the first to congratulate Zuke and told him they would put his name on a plaque at the 13th hole. Lean and gorgeous in a pink suit, Suzanne Fricker rushed up to throw her arms around the hero. He accepted her kiss and then said something into her ear that made her smile harden slightly but she recovered her composure at once. The contract lawyer in her came to the fore.
‘How much does Tom Bellinghaus owe you, Zuke?’
‘Plenty.’
‘$500 for a birdie and $5000 for an eagle.’ Her teeth shone in the bright sunlight. ‘I’d say you have a pretty good case for claiming $50,000 for that double eagle.’
‘At least that.’
‘Mr. Kallgren brought you luck, after all,’ she argued.
‘No, Suzanne,’ he corrected. ‘I brought myself luck.’
Once again her smile froze slightly.
Fans milled around and fought to shake his hand. I ducked out of the throng and found myself next to Clive Phelps. Even a cynical, battle-hardened, seen-it-all-before veteran like him was carried away by the excitement.
‘That was out of this bloody world, Alan!’
‘I couldn’t be more pleased for Zuke.’
‘Some idiot in the press tent called him Fluke Everett but I told him he was talking through his arsehole. Zuke deserved everything he got out there today.’
‘I can vouch for that.’
‘He played mad, marvellous golf.’
‘Who’d have thought he’d climb back up the leader board after what happened yesterday?’ I asked. ‘Quite frankly, I’d written off his chances completely.’
‘Somebody had faith in him.’
‘What?’
‘First thing this morning—while everyone else was laying out their folding stuff on Amir—someone put $10,000 on Zuke to win the tournament. Seemed like lunacy at the time.’
‘Who was it, Clive?’
‘Haven’t a clue. Just one of those juicy snippets I tend to pick up in my line.’ He gave a rich chuckle. ‘Tell you what, though. It certainly wasn’t that silly sod.’ He pointed at Tom Bellinghaus. ‘Look at him. I bet he’d like to murder Zuke Everett.’
Bellinghaus was some distance away but we could see his ferocious scowl. As he glared at Zuke, he was not looking at the golfer who relieved his beloved course of its virginity.
He glowered at the man who raped his daughter in public.
Tom Bellinghaus wanted retribution.
***
Celebrations which began in the bar continued back at the house in Santa Monica with a superb meal by candlelight. Zuke, Helen, Mardie Cutler, Howie Danzig and I were treated to the finest Mexican cuisine as prepared by Dominga, the diminutive housekeeper and cook. Because the old woman spoke only Spanish, our compliments had to be translated by Helen into her native tongue.
It was wonderful to be in the house when it was filled with such happiness. Helen was ostentatiously loving towards her husband and he was glowing. Mardie giggled at almost everything and Howie told us some very funny jokes.
Zuke Everett was back on the winning trail again.
Everything was all right.
‘I still don’t understand about this double eagle,’ complained Helen, who had refused to watch any of the tournament. ‘How does it work and why is it so special?’
‘I’ll show you, doll,’ promised Zuke, kissing her on the forehead before darting out of the room.
I tried to explain. ‘A double eagle is three below the par for a hole. Otherwise known as an albatross. It’s special because it’s much rarer than a hole-in-one. With a double eagle, you have to play two magic shots in succession. I’ve had a few holes-in-one, Helen, but I’ve never got a double eagle in a tournament.’
Drink had mellowed Howie Danzig, who spoke gently for once.
‘When I was a scrawny kid back in the thirties,’ he said, ‘Gene Sarazen had an amazing double eagle at the Masters—or the Augusta National Invitational, as they called it in those days. They reckon that Sarazen’s second shot was one of the greatest ever played on a golf course.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘I think that Zuke matched it out there today.’
‘Okay, everybody! Up you get!’
Zuke marched back into the dining room and lifted us up from the table. Wearing my baseball cap, he carried a pitching wedge and a couple of golf balls. The women laughed as he shepherded us out to the rear of the house. He gave me a broad wink.
‘Hope you don’t mind me borrowing these things, Al. Your bag was in the hall. Mine’s locked up in the garage.’
‘Help yourself. Cap looks great on you.’
It was cold outside on the patio but that did not deflect him. The swimming pool was lit but the lawn was largely in shadow. At the far end of the garden, we could just make out a small birdbath set in a concrete circle.
‘Right,’ announced Zuke, swaying a little. ‘We’re on the 13th tee. The pool is the lake. And that birdbath down there is the hole. Up on a plateau. See?’
‘You’re going to hit a ball into the birdbath?’ Mardie was torn between wonder and amusement. ‘Nobody could do that, Zuke.’
‘I can. Two shots. Stand back.’
He dropped a ball on to the paving, trapped it with his foot, stepped back to address it, then swung the club. He sliced the ball straight into the deep end of the pool. The female laughter made him quite annoyed.
‘I’ll do it properly this time!’ he insisted. ‘So watch, will you? Watch!’
Zuke put the second ball on a rubber mat and took more care this time. With a swing of the club, he chipped it over the water and into the middle of the lawn. Mardie clapped but Helen had seen enough.
‘It’s cold out here. Let’s go back in.’
‘One more shot,’ said Zuke. ‘Stay right there.’
He lurched across the grass and sized up his next shot. He was only twenty yards or so from the birdbath when he swung his wedge again. It connected too hard and the ball went shooting off into the bushes at the far end of the garden. Mardie laughed and Helen jeered but Zuke was adamant that he should be given another chance.
Swaying more than ever, he lumbered off into the bushes.
‘He’ll never find the ball in the dark,’ I noted.
Howie agreed. ‘He’s so liquored up tonight that he’ll need two hands to
find his own ass. Go get him, Al.’
‘Bring him back inside,’ added Helen, impatiently. ‘I’ll organise some fresh coffee.’
The women went back into the house and Howie waited for me as I went down the lawn to retrieve my host. Beyond the birdbath, it was almost pitch dark. I called out to him.
‘Zuke, where the hell are you?’
I went into the bushes and felt my way through them.
‘Come on out!’ I urged.
But there was no answer. I stood still and listened. Not a sound. I expected Zuke to be blundering about in the undergrowth but there was complete silence. I moved on more quickly. When I came into a clearing, I soon realised why he had not replied. My foot kicked against a solid object that all but tripped me up.
It was Zuke Everett. Flat on his back.
Something seemed to be sticking out of his chest.
I knew at once that he was dead.
Chapter Three
The shock was like a punch in the solar plexus. It took my breath away. I knelt beside the body for several seconds and fought against the urge to be sick. A close and valued friend had been murdered in his own garden. On one of the greatest days in his career, a brilliant golfer had been separated from his game forever.
It was devastating. The sense of waste overpowered me.
I began to retch.
A car started up in the distance and moved off at speed. The sound got me back to my feet at once and brought me out of my daze. Zuke Everett’s killer was making a run for it. Anger blocked out all other feeling. Determined to strike back, I charged headlong through the undergrowth in the direction from which the sound had come.
I did not get very far.
As I went hurtling past a cluster of palm trees, I hit something hard and metallic that sent me bouncing backwards. The force of the impact made my head spin and drew blood from my nose. It also produced a loud ringing noise that was heard by Howie Danzig.
‘Come on, you guys!’ he called. ‘Quit horsing about!’
‘Bring a torch!’ I shouted.
‘Why? What’s the trouble, Al?’
‘There’s been an accident. A bad one.’
‘Zuke?’
‘Keep the ladies away!’ I ordered. ‘And bring a torch. Quick!’
‘Yeah, yeah. Okay, Al.’
While Howie went off into the house, I used a handkerchief to stem the flow of blood, then tried to identify the barrier into which I had run at full tilt. It was a high chain-link fence that surrounded a tennis court. The thick wire had left its imprint on my forehead and its sting all over my body. I realised that it must have been the fence that I saw glinting in the sun above the trees on my first day in Santa Monica.
My eyes were more accustomed to the gloom now. I picked my way carefully back to the clearing and stood beside Zuke. The handle of a knife was protruding from his chest. He had been stabbed through the heart. As I gazed down at him, I seemed to feel the blade sliding in between my own ribs.
It was a squalid end to his day of glory.
‘Al! Where are you?’
Howie Danzig was hobbling across the lawn on his stick. He had a flashlight in his other hand and its beam cut through the bushes.
‘Over here!’ I said.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, anxiously. ‘Is Zuke hurt?’
‘Worse than that, I’m afraid.’
He came into the clearing and I took the flashlight from him. When I shone it down on Zuke, there were fresh horrors to comprehend. Blood had gushed freely from the wound to darken the front of his shirt with vivid effect. His body had not behaved itself in death. Vomit ran in a stream from his open mouth and his trousers were stained with urine.
Howie Danzig staggered back a few paces.
‘Jesus!’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Not Zuke!’ he protested, a hand going to his own heart. ‘He was the most beautiful guy in the world.’
‘Take it easy,’ I advised.
‘Who would do that to him?’
I caught Howie as he stumbled forward. His eyes were bulging, perspiration was oozing from him and his breath was coming in short gasps. Easing him towards a tree, I rested him gently against it. Then I switched off the light so that the corpse could be decently covered by a blanket of darkness.
Howie’s voice became a hoarse whisper.
‘Jesus H. Christ!’
‘Just relax,’ I soothed.
‘Did you see him? The man is dead!’
His whole frame shook uncontrollably for an instant and I held on tight. I could feel the blood trickling down over my lips but there was nothing I could do about it. Both my hands were needed to support Howie. It had been a massive blow to him. He had been much more than a manager to Zuke Everett. He had been mentor, friend and father figure.
A fifteen-year relationship was stretched out obscenely on the grass nearby. His grief was understandable.
Hard practicality at last asserted itself and he shook me off.
‘I’m okay now, Al.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah. I’m fine.’ He gave a grim chuckle. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t end up with two stiffs on your hands.’
‘That’s good news.’
‘I gotta call the cops,’ he decided.
‘Let me help you back to the house,’ I offered.
‘No,’ he replied, pushing my arm away, ‘I can manage. You stay here, Al. I won’t be long.’
‘Helen mustn’t see this,’ I warned. ‘Nor Mardie.’
‘Nobody oughta see it!’
‘Don’t tell them just yet.’
‘I’ve gotta tell them something,’ he argued.
‘Say it’s an accident,’ I counselled. ‘Whatever happens, keep them inside the house.’
‘I’ll try, Al. But it may not be that easy.’
I used the flashlight to guide him back to the edge of the lawn and I dabbed at my nose with my handkerchief. Howie Danzig went struggling off across the springy turf. Before the police arrived, I wanted to take a proper look around myself and so I swung the beam downwards to begin my search.
I soon found what I was after. My pitching wedge was lying on the ground near some thick bushes. Zuke Everett was about ten yards away with his head pointing towards the tennis court. Between the golf club and the body, the grass was heavily scored.
Something else caught my attention and it jolted me.
Zuke was still wearing my baseball cap. It had simply not registered when I had first seen him in the glare of the flashlight. Knife, blood, vomit and urine had dominated. Now it was the turn of my cap. I was at once afraid to touch it and keen to reclaim it.
Reaching out tentatively, I caught hold of the peak and tried to tease the cap off but it would not come. I put the flashlight on the ground and its horizontal beam gave a new perspective on tragedy. One hand still on the peak, I slipped the other under Zuke’s head to lift it. As soon as my fingers made contact with a sticky substance, however, I withdrew them. Blood was pouring from the back of his skull and the cap was saturated with it. I explored the ground near the head but it seemed relatively soft.
After a thorough examination of the position in which he was lying, I made my way towards the chain-link fence. When I let the light play on it, I saw that it belonged to one of several tennis courts that acted as a boundary line at the end of the adjoining gardens. I noted a more significant fact. A jagged hole had been cut in the fence that bordered on Zuke’s property. It explained how his killer gained entry.
Though I stooped down to squeeze through the gap, I still managed to catch my collar on the wire. I moved swiftly across the hard court until I reached the steel door. The chain and padlock which had held it shut were n
ow on the ground. Wire-cutters had been used to sheer through the links.
A large, empty car park confronted me. Beyond that was the dim outline of the clubhouse itself, a long, low building. When I got to the main gates, I found them securely locked, but the perimeter wall that fronted the club posed no real problems to anyone of normal agility. I shinned up the wall with ease and looked over into a quiet, tree-lined road. It was an ideal place in which to hide a getaway car.
Further investigation was cut short by a scream.
Mardie Cutler had seen the body.
I dropped down from the wall and sprinted back to the garden. As I raced up to the clearing, I found the two women involved in a strange reversal of roles. Mardie was weeping copiously and behaving like the distraught wife while Helen, one arm around the girl, was acting as the comforting friend. Helen was directing the beam of her torch on to Zuke’s face.
‘You should have stayed inside,’ I advised.
‘He was my husband,’ said Helen calmly. ‘I have a right.’
Mardie went into fresh paroxysms of grief and Helen enfolded her in both arms, patting her gently and trying to calm her down. Howie Danzig came stumping through the undergrowth.
‘Sorry, Al. They heard me calling the cops.’
‘I have a right,’ repeated Helen.
Her composure was both unreal and unsettling.
‘There’s nothing we can do out here,’ I reasoned. ‘Why don’t we all go back into the house?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Howie. ‘I could sure use a drink.’
Mardie wailed as she stole another glance at the body.
‘Come on,’ added Howie. ‘This is no place for you.’
He took the girl from Helen’s arms and led her firmly away. Mardie Cutler’s scream had been a powerful one. Lights had come on in neighbouring houses and voices were calling from other gardens.
Helen Everett shone her torch on Zuke once more and stared down at his face. I put my hand on her shoulder but she refused to budge. It was some minutes before she was ready to take her leave. With a rueful shake of her head, she whispered one word at her husband.
‘Angel…’