10

 

 

For most of the broadcast crew, the next few hours unfolded in what must have seemed chaotic, frustrating and endless circumstances. That’s what happens whenever the police are investigating a suspicious death, which Parker Long’s certainly was. But I’d been through the drill before, so I just wrapped myself in my invisible patience cloak and let it all play out.

When Ben Oswald had gotten the word in the control room that one of his announcers was dead in his greenside booth, he immediately threw the program back to New York. There were just five minutes left in our allotted time, so the IBS newsroom took over and did a recap of the day’s news, which mostly involved the announcers listing the many ways the President was personally destroying the country.

Oswald arrived at the tower above the sixteenth green about the same time as the first cops. The Savannah PD had a number of officers assigned to the golf tournament for crowd control, traffic and the like, so when they caught the call, a couple of the senior officers on the grounds were sent over to see what was up.

Benny the camera guy had closed down his equipment on the platform above my head, then climbed down the ladder and stuck his head inside the narrow space of the announcer’s station.

“What the hell’s the matter with him?” he said, staring at the motionless figure of Parker Long.

“He seems to be dead,” I said.

“Jesus God,” the camera guy said, and he got out of there as fast as he could. I thought I heard him retching down below.

Oswald’s curly head of hair thrust through the doorway next.

“The fuck is going on?” he thundered as he entered. Then he looked at Parker closely. “Fuckin’ A,” he breathed. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“I believe that’s what they call it, yes,” I said.

Moments later, a very large black man, dressed in the dark navy field uniform of the Savannah police, climbed in through the doorway. He took a close look at Parker Long, felt for a pulse, shook his head, and reaching up to the microphone affixed to the epaulet on his left shoulder, muttered in a report with various number codes. Then he turned to look at us.

“Who found him?” he said.

“That’d be me,” I said. “The director…” I nodded at Ben standing next to me, “…couldn’t raise him late in the broadcast and sent me over to see what happened. I climbed up here and here he was.” I nodded at the body in the chair.

“Did you touch anything?”

“I took his headphones off,” I said. “Nothing else. Benny the camera guy stuck his head in. I think that’s him yorking in the bushes down there.”

The officer nodded. Then he sniffed, his face scrunching up.

“What’s that smell?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” I said. “Smells like something burning. I noticed it when I got in here.”

The cop pulled out his eight-inch flashlight and clicked it on. He flashed it around the desk, then bent over and shined it underneath.

“See anything?” I asked.

“Mmm,” the cop said. Noncommittal. We heard sirens outside. Two more cop cars had arrived.

“Gentlemen,” the officer said, “I’m going to ask you two to leave the crime scene right now. But we’re going to need a full statement, so if you’d please stick around for a while until I get can an officer to take it, I’d appreciate it.”

“Crime scene?” Oswald was stunned. “What crime? What do you think happened?”

“Sir,” the cop said, “I don’t know what happened. We call it a crime scene until we know what happened. We will investigate. You guys are with the TV network, correct?”

We nodded.

“OK, then. I want you to go back to your TV compound and wait until I can get an officer over there for an interview. We’ll need to talk to the camera operator and anyone else who might have been in contact with the victim.”

“Victim?” Oswald wasn’t giving up. “You think there was foul play here? Goddamit, I’m the executive producer and I need to know if ...”

“Sir!” The officer was out of patience. “Please do what I asked. Return to your compound and wait for my officer. Is that clear?”

It was. We climbed out of the tower and headed back to the compound of trailers.

Oswald got on the phone to New York. IBS corporate would want to know that one of their announcers had died during a live broadcast. They would especially want to know if that death had been caused by someone else. I suspected that within half an hour, either some corporate lawyer from New York would be on a private jet heading for the Lowcountry, or, more likely, some white shoe lawyer from one of the leading firms in Atlanta, on retainer from IBS, would be heading our way. At least his Gulfstream could get down here in an hour or less. Just another reason to sit tight, say nothing and wait. That was the drill.

Back at the trailer park, the rest of my colleagues gathered in bunches and buzzed as they gossiped and swapped theories about Parker Long’s death. Ben Oswald disappeared into the trailer that held his office on the road. After about an hour, Arnie Wasserman came into the main control room and announced that the police were about to begin taking statements from the crew. We were encouraged to tell them everything and anything we knew, especially anything we had seen that day concerning Parker Long. When he left, everyone went back to gossiping.

Four cops walked in, including the large black guy who came out to look at the body in the tower. He saw me sitting quietly against the back wall and waved at me to follow. I could feel the eyes of everyone else follow as he led me out of the control room. He went over to the canteen trailer and paused at the top of the wooden stairs that had been set up for the crew to use.

“We’ve taken over this space for the questioning,” he said. “One, they got coffee. Two, lots of chairs and tables.”

“Good call,” I said. “Might be a few stray brownies or cookies laying around too.”

“One can always hope,” he said and we went inside.

The Savannah cops were pretty sophisticated. There was already a crew inside, setting up a video camera and a bright light on a tripod. The camera was aimed at an empty chair, next to another chair set up for the interrogator. They were apparently prepared to videotape all the crew as they were questioned.

The big black officer led me over to the coffee urns and we each poured ourselves a cup. He saw me looking at his nameplate, pinned above his badge, which read Connor. He stuck out a beefy hand.

“Delbert Connor,” he said. “Savannah PD.”

I told him my name and what I did. The guy manning the video camera nodded at Delbert and we went over and took our seats. The lights were bright in my eyes, and a bit irritating.

“Can you adjust the lights down a bit?” Delbert said. “We’re just asking questions here, not trying to torture anyone.”

“Right, captain,” said the video guy, and he jumped up and adjusted the light a bit.

“OK, Mr. Hacker,” Delbert said. “For the record, can you tell us your name, your occupation and how you came to discover the body of Mr. Parker Long?”

I went through my story. Delbert nodded here and there. The video guy just looked at either the camera or the floor.

“You told me before that you smelled something burning when you first went into the booth,” Delbert said. “Can you elaborate on that a bit?”

“When I came into the announcer’s space and found that Parker was dead,” I said, “I was aware of a burning smell in the room.”

“What kind of burning smell? Paper? Leaves? Firewood? ”

“No,” I said. “More pungent that those. Kind of acrid. Like maybe something plastic was on fire. Chemical-like.”

“Was there any smoke?”

“No,” I said. “It was just an odor in the air. I think you caught it when you came in a few minutes later.”

“Right,” the cop said. “Did you know the victim?”

“Not very well,” I said. “I’ve only been with the network for a few weeks, and this is actually my first tournament on the crew. I met him last night for the first time when we all went out to dinner.”

“I see,” the cop said. “So I expect you don’t know anyone who’d want to see Parker Long dead?”

“No,” I said. “I’m afraid not.”

“Anyone on the crew who was mad at him for any particular reason?”

“Not that I know about,” I said. “He apparently was congenitally late. But that’s the only thing I heard.”

“Explain.”

I told them about the dinner the night before for “the talent,” and how everyone had joshed that Parker was always the last one down.

“OK, thanks Mister Hacker,” Conner said. “That’ll do for now. Of course, we may have additional questions for you. You in town for the whole weekend?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m supposed to fly out Sunday night.” I paused. Then went for it.

“You think he was murdered?” I asked.

“What makes you think that?” Conner said.

“Something about that acrid smell,” I said. “It’s the only unusual detail, except of course that Parker Long croaked. I mean, he was fine, doing his job, announcing golf…until he wasn’t. If someone got him, it was quick and it was silent. That burnt smell could have been wires. Electrocution. Somebody coulda zapped him, which could have caused that smell, and then removed the wires and skedaddled into the crowds. Pretty easy.”

Delbert Connor looked at me with fresh interest, head cocked to one side.

“That’s a pretty detailed analysis of a crime scene from a guy who covers the golf tour,” he said. “I think it’s a really good idea for you to stick around this weekend.”

I laughed. “Before I got into golf,” I said, “I worked the police beat up in Boston. Saw dozens of crime scenes. Know the drill. Know cops. So I know you smelled what I smelled and you are thinking the same thing. You’ve probably combed the area beneath the tower for wires, burned or not. Plus dusted everything in that room for prints. You’ll only find mine on Parker’s headset, which I took off his ears. And you’ll find out from the rest of the crew that I was sitting in the control room for the entire time of the broadcast. But don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. You need me, I’ll be right here.”

Delbert Conner looked at me with that level cop stare. He was hard to read, as are most cops, but I knew he didn’t like me for the crime, if in fact there had been a crime.

“Right,” he said. “Here’s my business card. You think of anything else, you call me. Thank you for your information.”

He nodded with his head at the door and I left.