My first putt slid past; hers was a gimme. It wasn’t a handicap hole, so we were even. “Sandbagger,” I said.
“We’re such good friends,” she said, “on the course.”
It wasn’t a joke; she’d said it gravely.
We parred the second and that gave her the hole with her handicap. She was one up. I parred the third; she bogeyed it, but it was another handicap hole. She was still one up.
The fourth is a par three and I hit my tee shot toward the right of the green, playing the slope. It rolled well, toward the pin.
From the ladies’ tee, she played it dangerously, straight over the traps fronting the green. Her ball plopped into the sand six inches from the far lip of the center trap.
“Concede?” I asked. “It’s not a handicap hole.”
“If you could only putt,” she said.
My first putt was three feet long; her explosion shot had put her ten feet past the pin. She put it away for the par, and she was still one up.
The fifth hole at Canyon has a cliff to the right of the fairway and trees bordering the left edge. About two hundred and sixty yards from the tee, the fairway dips sharply to a lower level and the green is positioned a little to the left of the upper fairway.
My tee shot was right down the middle, just on the edge of the dip. Judy’s started out well, and then began to hook. Charles had gone ahead on this hole and he found her ball without trouble.
But Judy said, “Come on along and tell me how to play this one.”
She was directly behind a huge eucalyptus tree; it was a dead stymie; she had no clear shot for any part of the green.
I said, “A strategy player would play position on this one and chip it out onto the fairway. An idiot would shoot for the canyon wall and try to hook it wildly enough to bring it back toward the green.”
“Stand back,” she said, “and watch this idiot work.”
“It’s your money,” I said.
For a moment, I thought she was going to bring it off. She used an exaggerated closed stance and put a lot of right hand into the shot and it started to hook after about eighty yards of flight.
But beyond the dip, on the right side of the lower fairway, a sort of promontory twenty feet high juts out from the canyon wall. It has a concave top and beyond it there is a weed-filled arroyo. That’s about as nasty a rough as the course boasts. The ball hit on top.
Charles said, “I think that’s out of bounds, Miss Faulkner. You’d better hit a provisional.”
“It couldn’t be out,” I said. “It was hooking all the way. It probably went over into that arroyo.”
Judy said, “I’ll hit another.” She chipped to the center of the fairway.
Charles was on top of the promontory now, prodding the high grass with an iron. I didn’t go up, but headed for the arroyo beyond.
Chaparral grew along its edges and thorns snagged at my trousers as I worked down to the eroded, clay bottom. There were beer cans down here and just beyond the out-of-bounds stake, I saw a golf ball.
“You’re out of bounds,” I called and went over to pick up the ball.
And as I bent over, I could look up the arroyo below the overhanging chaparral, and I saw a pair of feet. Some bum, sleeping? I didn’t think so. There were expensive homes on the cliff-top above and anyone who came down that way would have to come through some well-guarded yards. Of course, there were always a few gentlemen of leisure who walked the edge of the course, picking up balls to sell. One of them could be enjoying a morning nap.
Judy said, “Let’s go, hot-shot. What’s holding you up?” If it was a man sleeping, it was still my business, because I was an employee of the Club. And though the land beyond the stakes was not in bounds, it was still Club property. I walked up the arroyo, keeping below the chaparral. The man was on his. back, his open eyes staring into eternity. There was coagulated blood in two ribbons down his forehead. My stomach revolted and for a moment I thought I was going to vomit.
Judy called, “Denny, is something the matter?”
“Something’s the matter,” I said. “Bud Venier is in here. And he’s dead.”
CHAPTER THREE
CHARLES HAD GONE BACK to the clubhouse; Judy had gone over to sit on the bench at the sixth tee. I walked to the bubbler for a drink of water.
From the top of a cliff, a dog was barking at us. Judy looked up at him, and then leaned forward on the bench, her head in her hands. The dog began to howl.
When I came over to the tee, Judy said, “Do we have, to stay here?”
“Until the police come, it’s probably best,” I said. I sat down next to her.
“Do you think he might have fallen?” she asked. “Were his clubs anywhere around?”
I shook my head. “He didn’t play this morning. His clubs are in his bin.”
She stared at me. “Well, when did he?”
“Sunday. Unless he came out early and used another set of clubs. Some members like to play before we’re open in the morning.”
“What could have happened?”
“I don’t know, Judy. He could have fallen from the cliff, up there. But it looks to me as though he was murdered.” I inhaled deeply. “Let’s not talk about it”
“Murdered!” she said. “Who—?” She broke off, staring at me.
“Judy, for God’s sake, you don’t think I killed him, do you?” My voice shook.
A pause, and then she whispered, “No, of course not. Anybody could have killed Bud Venier. Almost everybody seems to dislike him.”
A rabbit came out of the arroyo and scooted across the fifth green and disappeared in the brush behind it. Above, the dog was no longer visible nor audible.
On the sixteenth green, Doctor Evans and his wife were holing out. I said, “Maybe Bud isn’t dead. I’d better go over and tell Doctor Evans about it.”
There was the sound of a siren as I walked over to beckon to the doctor. By the time we had reached the arroyo, a squad car was coming along the service road.
Doctor Evans said, “Perhaps I’d better wait until the police arrive.”
It was a pair of uniformed men who came, and they took the doctor with them into the chaparral. I went back to stand with Judy.
Other players were coming up, now, and a knot of them gathered around the fifth green as another Department car came bumping along the service road.
These were the plainclothesmen, and I was being questioned by one of them five minutes later. His name was Sergeant Morrow, and he didn’t look anything like a cop.
He was tall and thin and sounded intelligent to me. I told him how I’d happened to find the body of Bud Venier.
“He’s a member here?” Morrow asked.
I nodded.
“He wasn’t playing golf today, though?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“I see. He’s—married?”
I shook my head.
Sergeant Morrow looked at Judy and back at me. “Do you know of anyone in the club who didn’t like him?”
I didn’t answer right away, and Judy said, “He wasn’t our most popular member, Sergeant.”
He studied Judy a moment and looked at me again. “You and this lady were playing together when you found the body?”
“That’s right, Sergeant.”
“Only the two of you?”
“And a caddie,” I said. “I sent him up to the clubhouse to phone the police.” I looked around. “I don’t see him now.”
“All right,” he said. “Don’t leave before I see you again. “I’ll need a signed statement from you. If you’re going to finish your round, I suppose it will be some time before you’re back at the clubhouse?”
“We won’t be finishing the round,” I said. “I’ll be in the pro shop.”
“Fine. And keep that caddie around where I can talk to him. I’ll be up there in half an hour.”
We were climbing the hill behind the eighteenth green when the third vehicle came out onto the course, the long b
lack wagon.
Judy was crying now.
When we got to the top of the hill, she said, “I’ve known him all my life, almost. I just can’t believe he’s dead.”
Charles was over at the starter’s shack, talking to Sarge. I went over to tell him, “Hang around, Charles. The police want you to check my story about finding him.”
Charles nodded. “He’s—dead, for sure, then?”
I nodded, and went into the bar with Judy.
Willie was at the bar, talking to Henry, and he came over to meet us. “Have the police questioned you?” he asked me worriedly.
I nodded.
“Did you—tell them about Saturday night?”
I frowned. “No. Why? Should I have?”
“Of course not. And I’ll see that nobody else does, too.”
“Don’t,” I said. “That would really make it important. Willie, no cop would be stupid enough to think that was important, unless we made it seem important by trying to hush it up.”
“It’s already hushed,” he said.
I didn’t argue with him, but I knew it couldn’t be. Too many people knew about it. Judy and I had a drink and then she went home. She wasn’t feeling well; twice, she started to cry.
I tried to get back to work. Out near the starter’s shack, Sergeant Morrow was talking to Charles. In the grill, members were lamenting this horrible thing that had happened at their refined club. I wondered if they were including me in their discussions.
Willie came in and sat at his desk near the doorway. “It’s been a bad week for you, hasn’t it?”
I nodded.
“Even before Saturday.”
I shrugged.
He looked out toward the first fairway. “I can guess what’s eating you.”
“Try,” I said.
“That—girl, for one thing. And the tournament trail, for another.”
“Just the trail,” I said. “Judy’s not in my league.”
“She’s in love with you,” he said flatly.
“Come off it, Willie. What have I got that would attract a girl like Judy Faulkner?”
“I’ve no. idea,” he said. “But she’s been gone on you for about—let’s see, nine years, isn’t it, since you won the Juniors’?”
“That’s not love,” I said. “That’s adolescent mooning.”
“All right,” he said irritably. “I should have learned by now it’s pointless to argue with young people. Are you going out on the tournament trail, Denny?”
“I’m not completely sure, yet.”
His eyes were reminiscent. “It’s rough. It hasn’t any relation to ordinary golf. It’s murder.”
Silence followed that last word.
I asked quietly, “Is there anything new about Bud?”
“It’s been established as murder.”
“Any suspects?”
He shook his head and smiled wryly. “My guess would be any of a number of husbands. Bud had an insatiable appetite for women.” He looked at me. “I can’t mourn him. Can you?” From the doorway to the bar, Sergeant Morrow said, “Would you care to name some of the husbands, Mr. Partridge?”
Willie looked up, startled, and then shook his head. “I don’t know of any. It’s just his general reputation I was thinking of.”
Morrow smiled. “Country club gossip?”
Willie didn’t answer. Morrow looked at me. “Where were you last night?”
I stared at him. “I went to a movie. Why?”
“That’s when Venier was killed, last night. And I’ve been listening to some country club gossip myself, this morning. Venier humiliated you in front of a number of people last Saturday night, didn’t he?”
I nodded.
“And you took his girl home from the dance, didn’t you? The same girl who was with you, today?”
Willie said, “You’re being ridiculous, Sergeant.”
Morrow’s long face stiffened. “I can handle this without any comments from you, Mr. Partridge. I’m not a member here.”
Willie glared at him.
Morrow’s voice was softer. “A thing like Saturday night wouldn’t have much significance except that somebody tried to keep it from coming out. You may comment now, Mr. Partridge.”
“I tried to keep it from the police,” Willie said evenly, “because I know how ridiculous they can get.”
“Oh? You’ve had experience with the police, have you?”
Willie nodded. “Just the traffic division. You could look it up.”
“I’ll do that.” Morrow looked at me. “And now, is there some place where you and I can talk privately?”
Willie was muttering to himself as Sergeant Morrow and I went out to a corner of the veranda. Morrow sighed and smiled as we sat down out there.
“Nobody likes cops, do they? I’m sure Mr. Partridge doesn’t.”
“I’ve never had any reason to dislike them,” I answered. “How was Bud—Mr. Venier killed?”
“Bludgeoned to death. And then dropped from the top of that cliff above him. There’s a possibility the murderer might have thought the drop over those rocks could give the impression that Venier had fallen to his death. It might even have worked in a rural area. However, this is a big city and we have technicians.”
I said nothing.
Morrow said quietly, “Any police record, Mr. Burke?”
I shook my head. “Not even for parking.”
“Who would you say hated Venier the most?”
“I’ve no idea. I can’t imagine any of those who disliked him would react this violently. Bud wasn’t—evil. At least, so far as I know. He was just big and arrogant.” I paused. “And rich.”
“I see. A lot of snobbery in a place like this, isn’t there?”
I frowned. “I never used to think so. I’d always thought it was about the friendliest private club in town.”
“You had thought? Until Saturday night?”
“I worded that wrong. I still don’t think there’s much snobbery around here.”
Morrow’s smile was cynical. “I haven’t seen a single Negro all morning.”
I asked, “Any of them living in your block, Sergeant?”
He chuckled. “All right. I don’t even know why I said that. It certainly had nothing to do with the death of Venier, had it?”
I didn’t answer.
“Am I right?” he insisted.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why Mr. Venier was killed.”
“On a golf course,” Morrow said musingly. “At his club.”
I said, “How could anyone drop him from the cliff above? That’s private property up there. And pretty well watched, I’d guess.”
“Not well enough. The residents are back east for the summer.”
“And there is no caretaker?”
“Not last night.” Morrow smiled. “He went to a movie, too.”
He was playing it cool and casual, this Morrow, but that didn’t make him any less efficient. He’d already learned more than any taxpayer had a right to expect.
He pulled out a cigarette and lighted it. “What movie did you see?”
“East Of Eden. At the Bay Theatre in Pacific Palisades.”
“Like it?”
I nodded, and stared at him.
He smiled. “I did, too. Much better than the book, I thought. Any neighbors or friends see you there? You live out there, don’t you?”
“I live out there. I went to the show with my mother.”
“Oh? You didn’t mention that before.”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said thoughtfully. “Made any phone calls since you came back to the clubhouse?”
“None.”
“Mmmm-hmmm. In the movie, last night, what was the gimmick about the lettuce?”
“Gimmick? Do you mean that business about shipping it in refrigerated cars or that dingus the kid had stolen from the coal truck?”
“I meant both,” he said. “Wait here; I ha
ve to make a call.”
He stood up and went into the bar. I watched a foursome tee off, and then Doctor Evans came over from the practice green.
He looked uncomfortable. “I guess you know I was a friend of Bud’s,” he said.
I nodded.
“But I wanted you to know, Denny, that I didn’t tell that detective about Saturday night. He already knew about it when he talked to me.”
I nodded.
The doctor flushed faintly. “Bud could be very—obnoxious, at times. You had to understand him.”
It would take a doctor to do that, I thought. A psychiatrist. I said, “No harm’s been done, Doctor Evans. Sergeant Morrow is the kind of officer who overlooks nothing.”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. Well, I wanted you to understand, Denny.” He went back to the putting green.
The body had been taken away and the only Department car still here was in the parking lot. Life was getting back to normal at the Canyon Country Club. In the pro shop, General Hardtke was arguing that his posted handicap was way too low. In the starter’s shack, Sarge was eating his lunch.
I thought about Judy and Saturday night. I thought about Jack Fleck beating Hogan and Doug Ford winning the PGA. I thought about cheap hotels and elusive prize money and wondered how the old Chev would hold up on the road.
Sergeant Morrow came back to tell me, “I’m going over to see young Venier’s father. I’ll be back. Don’t plan any trips.”
“Today, do you mean, Sergeant?”
He looked at me quizzically. “What did you mean by that?”
“I meant I am planning a trip. I plan to play the tournament but I won’t be leaving today.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, I’ll tell you when it’s all right to leave town.”
I said nothing.
His voice was humorless. “Friendly people, are they? You don’t fool me, Burke. You resent every one of them. As much as I do, probably.”
I shook my head.
He nodded. “Well, just remember that young Roger Venier is from a very important family in this town. This case is going to get a lot of attention from us. And if you know anything that we should, it would be real smart to tell us.”
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