I looked out the window and said, “Just a man turning around. Were you expecting someone?”
He ignored the question and went on with his story. “I did pretty well, keeping my ears open. And I had Olive. She got the best, clothes, education, food. I sent her to some fine boarding schools. But she has her mother’s fire. Her mother was—Spanish. Olive didn’t always—conform.”
“She’s a lovely woman now,” I said.
He didn’t indicate he’d heard me. “I finally got her married to Jim Fritzell, as good a boy as you’ll find in this town. I put myself into the background. I thought maybe she was resentful because of my work. I thought that might have been her trouble.”
I was sorry I was here. I said, “I’m not a policeman, Charles. Maybe I’ve heard enough.”
He shook his head. “Then one day I caddied for Doctor Evans and Bud Venier and heard them talking, joking. I haven’t been the same since.”
“Did you talk to Olive about Bud?”
“I tried. She was lost. She was hopelessly in love with him.”
“Where did they meet?”
“At Bel-Air. Jim and Olive are members there.” His smile was bitter. “Canyon’s closer for them, but I was at Canyon.”
“Did you think Olive was with Bud that night at Griffith’s house?”
He shook his head. “He wasn’t with anybody. He was waiting for somebody, I guess, and it could have been Olive. I beat him up and dumped him over the cliff. I thought maybe I could get his clubs out of the pro shop and put them somewhere near him, but I never got the chance. I didn’t want to involve the Griffiths.”
“And Henry found out and tried to blackmail you?” I prompted him.
He nodded. “Henry has, I mean had, a bigger ear than I have. But he didn’t have a knife. And I couldn’t trust him. Even paying him off, I’d never be able to trust Henry.”
“But you think you can trust Chopko?”
He stared at me. “You know about him, too, hey?”
“I’ figured he was at the end of his trail. He’ll bleed you white, Charles.”
“I don’t care about that. It’s Olive I’m thinking about. It’s Olive; it’s her marriage that has to be saved.”
“He’s probably blackmailing her, too,” I said. “I think Henry would have been a better bet than Chopko, Charles.”
He shook his head.
I stood up. “Well, as I said, I’m not a policeman.”
He looked at me as though waiting for more.
I said, “I can’t turn you in. Maybe there’s something lacking in my character, but I can’t turn you over to the law. I think you should go to the police, though, Charles.”
He shook his head. “Denny, ten thousand dollars is five hundred days on the trail at twenty dollars a day.”
“I don’t want that kind of money,” I said.
“You’d be doing me a favor by taking it,” he said. “A big favor, Denny.”
“I couldn’t take a dime from you, not any more.”
His smile was unholy. “I wouldn’t give it to you. You’d get it from Mr. Venier. For turning me in.”
It was my turn to stare.
“Look,” he said, “I’ve already given Chopko five thousand dollars. And the check cleared this morning, with his endorsement on it. He’s in real bad shape, isn’t he?”
“How?”
“When you turn me in. If he then tries to blackmail Olive, we’ve got the check I gave him. He not only was withholding information from the police, he was blackmailing the killer. He’s in a mighty hot spot. If you turn me in, I’m sure Olive will never hear from Mr. Chopko again.”
I shook my head. “The police will learn about Olive.”
“From whom? Henry’s dead and Chopko will be stymied. Will you tell the police about Olive?”
“There has to be a motive, Charles. The police will want a motive.”
“There’ll be one. I caddied for him, didn’t I? I took his insolence, his abuse, his rotten language. All these things are true, aren’t they? It might even be the real reason I killed him.”
“The Evans know about an Olive.”
“And wouldn’t they rather have Bud killed for my reasons. For the papers, I mean?”
“Probably. But you don’t need me, Charles. You’ve got Chopko’s endorsement on that check. You can phone Sergeant Morrow right now.”
“I need you,” he said quietly, “and you need Mr. Venier’s money. There’s poetic justice in you getting ten thousand out of Bud Venier’s father. Have you forgotten the locker-room incident that Saturday night?”
“I’m trying to. I like to maintain an emotional balance.”
“A bank balance is more important and it won’t cost me a dime. And it will help me to know that you’ll be keeping Chopko off Olive’s neck.”
Ten thousand dollars at fifteen dollars a day…I asked, “Do you want me to call Sergeant Morrow now?”
He shook his head. “First we see Mr. Venier. Let’s get it all down in writing, first. Either we do it my way, Denny, or I phone Sergeant Morrow—and everybody suffers.” He paused. “Everybody but Chopko.”
The Chev bored on into the night. A Cad went by, her big tires singing. I was looking at the road, but seeing the headlines, tomorrow’s headlines.
Burke Wins Open, I saw, and Burke Beats Snead. Hogan Says Burke Is Tops. Burke Unbeatable, Says Holscher. Burke Top Money Winner.
Judy said, “Your way; everything has to be your way.”
“Move closer,” I told her. “It’s our honeymoon.”
She moved closer. “Honeymoon—? On the way to the Motor City Open. Some honeymoon. What am I, the caddy?”
“My own beloved wife, and I’ll be proud of it all my life,” I told her.
She moved still closer. “I know, Denny. You do have your moments.”
“I guess,” I said, “I’ve loved you from the first day I saw you. But I was too concerned with the unimportant things.”
“Like golf, you mean, Denny?”
“No. Like money. Your dad took it very well, Judy. I’m so glad we’re all friends. There’s really only one thing that’s bothering me.”
“What, darling?” she asked softly.
“Those middle irons.”
She sighed and I waited. She sighed again, and said, “You’ll get ’em. You’re going to be the greatest in the world, Denny Burke.”
The Chev went on, her tappets clacking.
The End
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