I seriously thought Keith would explode. I’ve never seen someone literally have a stroke, but I imagine the seconds before a stroke look just like Keith Hamilton right then. He lost all color, his skin turned a shade of gray, and his eyes fluttered like a starlet.
I decided it was time to jump in, if for no other reason than I didn’t want to have to perform CPR on Keith. “Can I say something?”
Every eye turned to me.
“There may be another way to look at this. First, I don’t think the gator ate a caddy.”
“What?” said Barry. “They found him. Well, parts of him.”
“Parts, yes. But I recalled that last night when some of the caddies were drinking after walking the course, I and some others heard a splash. I was out the back of the clubhouse. I asked Ron if you had a pool.”
Ron nodded. “You did. We don’t. But I remembering hearing it, too.”
“I think it was whoever got eaten entering the water. But it wasn’t the missing caddy, because I ran into him after that. In the parking lot.”
“You’re sure it was him?” asked Martin Costas, ever the litigator.
“I am. We had a memorable encounter.”
“So what?” exclaimed Barry. “Who cares who it was? Someone got eaten by a gator, right? It’s still a crime scene.”
“Yes, someone did. So maybe it’s a crime scene. Maybe it was a drunken accident. Either way the sheriff’s office will keep it off-limits until they know one way or the other. But it was pointed out to me that this is not all bad news.”
“Not bad news?” said Keith. “How on earth is this not bad news?”
I looked at Paul, the guy from the network. “What do your sponsors want?”
“Market share. Eyeballs.”
“Right. And what is your most profitable programming?”
“Sport.”
“Aside from that?”
“Unscripted drama,” he said.
“In other words, reality television.”
“Right. Your point?”
“People love drama. And let’s face it, golf tends to be light on drama. Outside the majors, audiences are waning. Am I right?”
“The corporate market is strong, but yes, total audience share isn’t what it was. I still don’t see your point.”
“Let’s put it this way. Which tournament would get more viewers? The Aqueta Open at South Lakes, or the Aqueta Open at the course with the man-eating gator?”
The CBS guy leaned back and thought. He was really churning it through. Then he started nodding. Then he smiled.
“The gator open. You might have something.”
Kent, the PGA Tour guy looked at Paul. “What’s that worth?”
Paul thought on it again. “Could be a ratings point, could be two. But it could mean more in the 18–35 demo. That audience loves reality drama, and the advertisers love that audience.” He looked at me. “This could work.”
“Okay, are we forgetting something?” asked Barry. “There’s still a crime scene in the middle of the course.”
The group fell silent. I looked at Dig Maddox. He looked unhappy, and I couldn’t quite pin down why.
“I think I’ve got an idea for that, too,” I said. “We can’t play through the area because until further notice it remains a crime scene. But the lake is out of play anyway, right. It’s a marked water hazard. A player hits a ball in there, he has to take a penalty drop. So why not change the current crime scene tape into out-of-bounds tape. It removes the visual connection between the crime scene and the sponsors, but still preserves the potential crime scene.”
“You’re asking the sheriff to mess with an investigation into a death,” said Barry. “I don’t think he’ll do it.”
“I do,” I said, looking at Beck smoldering in the corner. “If he got a call from the governor.”
Beck smiled, which resembled an eel and made me shiver involuntarily.
“And the governor isn’t asking him to pervert the course of justice,” I said. “No crime has actually been proven yet. It’s just an active investigation. But this way, the integrity of the scene remains. No gallery can go through the out-of-bounds area, and Keith can get some members to marshal the area so any investigators who are there don’t get hit by a foul ball.” I was fairly sure foul ball wasn’t a golf term, but I didn’t care. My point was made, and it had landed well.
Keith said, “Paul?”
The network man was still nodding and thinking. I wondered if he was dreaming up on-screen graphics and stats for the commentators, like other famous golf accidents, or the top ten most dangerous courses.
“I think we can work with this.”
“Kent?”
“If the police tape can be removed, then yes, I think we can change the course rules to make the area surrounding the lake out-of-bounds rather than a water hazard. A player can take a shot from inside a water hazard, if he thinks he can. But out-of-bounds the player is penalized stroke and distance, so he has to take the shot again. It might make the course a bit tougher, but I think the sponsors will be okay with that, and I know they’ll be excited about any additional potential audience. It might even boost ticket sales.”
“Mr. Beck?” asked Keith.
Beck nodded but didn’t say anything. He had already dialed a number, and his cell phone was to his ear. He pushed away from the wall and stepped out of the room.
Keith said, “All right, in that case, I put it to the board. All in favor of Mr. Jones’s plan?”
Keith put his hand up, as did Martin and Ron. Barry shook his head but followed suit. Dig Maddox frowned. He didn’t look keen for reasons I couldn’t fathom. But he succumbed to the peer pressure and waved his hand halfheartedly.
“Unanimous. Thank you, gentlemen. We all have work to do.”
The meeting broke up. I wanted to talk to Keith, and I wanted to talk to Dig. But there was someone I wanted to talk to more.
I needed to find Danielle. I wanted to tell her my plan, so she could pass it on to the sheriff. I didn’t want him getting blindsided by the governor calling to tell him to do something quite irregular. News of whose idea it was would inevitably filter through to the sheriff, and I didn’t want him holding my actions against Danielle. I figured if she warned him of the plan he would be thankful. He would be ready when the governor called. Hell, he could even position it as his own plan. The sheriff was an elected position, so he may have been a law enforcement officer but he was also a politician. I figured making it look like Danielle helped him get an IOU from the governor would do both him and Danielle good in the long run.
I found Danielle and told her my plan. She wasn’t as impressed as I had hoped, but she came around. She understood how the power was wielded in the sunshine state, like everywhere else. She got on her phone and called the sheriff’s office to tell him the plan. She was still on the phone when the missing caddy came wandering into the clubhouse, holding his head like he had the mother of all hangovers.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The big Englishman looked like he’d been on a bender. He was pale and thirsty and sucked on a water bottle as he walked. The plus for the guy was that he wasn’t gator food. The minus was that he had to be out of job. I couldn’t imagine missing a practice round and leaving your pro high and dry was the done thing. The other caddies just nodded as one, as if it were par for the course. Danielle finished her call to the sheriff and was primed to rip the big guy a new one. But he hadn’t actually broken any laws. It wasn’t illegal to turn up for work late.
The caddy found Heath McAllen and I watched from a distance as they had words. The big guy didn’t seem too remorseful and I wondered if he was going with the best form of defense is attack approach. I couldn’t see that working, but then McAllen put his hand on the caddy’s shoulder and together they walked over to the clubhouse and into the players’ locker rooms. McAllen came out alone shortly thereafter. He saw me and wandered over.
“Looks like he’s not gator bai
t, after all,” I said.
“Thank goodness.”
The kid looked calm and easy about the whole thing. I wondered if he was suffering through an abusive relationship and was in denial.
“You can’t be okay with that?” I asked.
“With what?”
“The guy missed practice and was suspected of being dead, all because he was in a booze coma.”
“It happens.”
“Yeah, it happens. But I gotta tell you, you seem like one of the most professional guys out here. You were first to arrive on Monday, you walked the course yourself, and you were first at the range when the practice round was delayed. I don’t see how having an unprofessional caddy fits your plan.”
“Can I tell you something, Miami? In confidence?” His open face grew serious.
“Sure. Of course.”
“Alfie’s had a tough year.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I know, I know,” he said. “But this has been really tough on him. We spend a lot of time on the road, you know? And things have not been good at home. His wife is divorcing him.”
I had to say, I was on the wife’s side in this one.
“And she has custody of his bairns—his kids. He hardly sees them. Now I’m not saying it’s an excuse to drown yourself in a bottle, but what kind of a friend would I be if I deserted him now?”
“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you’re his employer, not his friend.”
“No, I’m both. And I’ll be honest. I wouldn’t be where I am without him. When I need him on the course, he’s there.”
“Because he knows that you need the seven iron?”
“No, not for that. He calms me. When I’m struggling with my game, he knows what to say, and when. He knows when to keep his trap shut, and when I need a good talking-to. A good caddy doesn’t just carry clubs, Miami. A good caddy is your partner. He doesn’t hit any shots, but he makes the shots I hit better. And despite what you might think, we are friends. And I wasn’t brought up to walk away from a friend in need.”
I said nothing. I just looked at the kid, and pondered his Scottish upbringing. I wondered for a moment how proud his mother must be of him. He was a damn good golfer, but that was insignificant next to the fact that he was a damn good human being. My mother had died when I was in high school, but I hoped she was half as proud of me. I wondered whether that would be the case. Danielle had once said she wanted to make an honest man of me. She said it one time and never mentioned it again. I thought about it a lot. I wondered how it was and wasn’t the case. I wondered if she smiled at the kid when she spoke with him because she saw things in him that she saw in me, or if she saw things in him that she wished she saw in me.
It was too heavy a train of thought for a golf course, so I patted McAllen on the shoulder and I wandered off to find Danielle. I suddenly needed a hug. I found her standing by the practice putting green. I didn’t get my hug. She waved me over and put her phone on speaker.
She said, “Lorraine, I have Miami here. Can you say that again?”
“Hi, Miami. We just finished the necropsy of the gator. We found the remains of a man in his belly. The remains had a wallet. With a driver’s license.”
“Who was it?”
“The license says Ernesto Cabala. That mean anything to you guys?”
I looked at Danielle and nodded.
“He was the facilities guy here at the club,” said Danielle. “The one we wanted to speak with in relation to the viral outbreak at the wedding.”
“Well, someone didn’t want him talking,” said Catchitt.
“You think it was murder?” I asked.
“The guy was dead before he hit the water. You get pulled in by a gator you fight, at least a bit. You get water in your lungs. His chest cavity isn’t in the greatest shape, but there’s no water in the lungs. He was already dead. Someone put him in the lake.”
“Which suggests that someone knew the gator was there,” I mused.
“Most likely,” said Catchitt. “If I were a betting woman, and I am, I’d say they didn’t just know the gator was there. I’d say they put it there.”
Danielle thanked Lorraine for the call and hung up. We stood looking down in the general direction of the Pacific, although we couldn’t see the water hazard from where we stood.
Our attention was taken by the sudden busyness about the place. Caddies were rushing here and there, and most of the pros were headed for the locker rooms. Ron wandered out with a canister on his back and a spray wand in his hand.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Sheriff just called. He has allowed the crime scene to be nominated as out-of-bounds so the tournament can continue alongside the investigation.”
“The governor call?” I asked.
Ron shook his head. “Beck says not yet. Seems the sheriff came up with the idea all on his own. Beck says the governor will be calling him to thank him for understanding on the matter, and to offer the state’s help with the investigation. Anyway, I need to go pull down that police tape and spray paint out-of-bounds lines. We’re about to open up the course for a practice round.” He held up the wand like a gunslinger and gave Danielle a wink. Danielle gave me a sheepish grin. It wasn’t a hug, but it would do for now.
“So I think it’s safe to say old Ernesto was not working alone.”
She nodded. “We need to walk through the whole thing again. We’ve missed something.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
“Do you mind if I help with that?” said the deep voice behind us. We spun in place as one to see the FDLE guy, Nixon, standing behind us.
“Special Agent Nixon,” said Danielle.
“Deputy.”
“You guys are called special agents?” I asked. “Like the FBI?”
He nodded. “We are the FBI, for the state of Florida.”
“But they have federal jurisdiction. That trumps you.”
“It does, Mr. Jones. But then they have to spend time in the rain in Virginia. We get to stay in sunny Florida.”
I had to admit it seemed like a fair trade.
“The governor send you?” I asked.
“Of course he did.”
“So he can take credit for a county investigation?”
“He’ll take credit for it regardless. That’s the beauty of being governor. But my boss has given me the okay to share with you whatever I feel is relevant to share. So maybe we break this thing open before the television cameras get turned on?”
I shrugged. I was okay with it. I was getting paid one way or the other, and I figured appropriating Nathaniel Donaldson’s plan for the gator golf tournament and presenting it to the board had guaranteed that the club was going to be happy to pay. So I left it with Danielle.
“I think we could use all the help we can get,” she said.
* * *
We wandered over toward the hospitality tent where the wedding rehearsal dinner had happened, and where they had all picked up the bug. We thought about sitting in there to work, but despite the tent having being cleaned to the standard required by the health department, I just didn’t fancy it. We turned tail and took a table in the corner of the dining room.
“So what do you know?” said Nixon.
“It starts with the wedding,” said Danielle.
“Or before, if you believe Keith.”
“Right, but we don’t know that and we have no intelligence on it.”
“Fair enough. The wedding.”
Danielle continued. “The health department says the wedding party got sick as a group because the virus was put in the chairs at the rehearsal dinner. Connie Persil said the chair backs were covered in it in a way that suggested it was no accident.”
“But only the wedding party got sick,” said Nixon. “You were at the wedding, right? You didn’t get sick.”
“No, but we weren’t at the rehearsal dinner.”
“Okay, but you were sitting on the chairs, w
eren’t you? At the ceremony.”
I pondered that. It was a good point and had been nagging at me for some time. Connie Persil’s finding never quite made sense to me. As I was thinking it through a waitress came over and asked if we wanted anything. We ordered iced teas.
“Maybe the contaminated chairs were put at the front, where the wedding party sat again,” I said.
“Who moved the chairs from the dinner site to the ceremony site?” asked Danielle. “We didn’t ask that. We should have.”
“It’s never too late,” I said. The waitress brought our drinks over and I asked her if she could ask Natalie Morris to join us for a moment.
We sipped our drinks as we waited.
“But do we know that the dinner was the source?” asked Nixon.
Danielle nodded. “Connie Persil confirmed it. The incubation period of the norovirus is 12–48 hours. This was about twenty hours, so right in the middle. And her environmental tests said that the chairs were the only contaminated surface.”
“Okay, so someone definitely did it,” said Nixon. “And you think it was this Ernesto guy.”
“It was our suspicion,” said Danielle. “And now he’s dead.”
Danielle looked across the room and I turned to see Natalie Morris walking toward us. She was still dressed in all black, and she cast her eyes around the dining room for anything amiss as she passed through.
“Deputy, Miami. How can I help?”
I asked Natalie to sit and then said, “This is Special Agent Nixon. We’re just trying to piece together events at the wedding.”
Natalie nodded with a grimace.
“I know, I don’t want to think about it either, but here we are. And there’s one thing we don’t get. How come the people at the rehearsal dinner got sick but the rest of us didn’t. The health department says the virus was on the chairs, and we all sat on the chairs.”
Deep Rough Page 18