"He's hiding something?" Imogen said.
"But why? Why would he do that?" I asked, albeit a bit wound up. "Erase the initials, and then cover it up with a bad doodle. What the hell is he hiding? Why would he be covering up something?"
"Jesus, Dutch. Steady on. I don't know. You don't know either. But what's with the panic?"
"Sorry, my love. I don't know. Carl's dead. And now it looks like Bill was part of something. Covering something up. I like Bill. I've known him forever. Well, ever since I joined Delmar, which seems like forever. I can't see him covering something like this up."
"We don't know if he is. We don't know what he did or didn't do. All we know is he erased something and then doodled something over it."
"Are you listening to yourself? That doesn't sound very promising for ol' Bill."
"Yes, I realize that, Max. But it's apparent that we should talk to him before we draw any conclusions."
"Agreed, my love. Jabber, what do you think?"
I looked down. Ginny looked down. And all we saw was Jabber still sleeping, completely sprawled out, legs everywhere. She snorted then made some high-pitched noise.
"She's in agreement," Imogen said.
"Good. Then let's do it. After I call John."
"Why?"
"I want to ask about the golfer who found Carl."
I dialed John and put him on speakerphone.
"Carrington," he said, answering the phone.
"John, hi, it's—"
"Max. Glad you called."
"I've got Imogen here too, on speaker," I said.
Habits are hard to break. I've been on so many conference calls that my first inclination is to announce who is on the call. I surprised myself though. I didn't say, "Max Slade here," when he picked up.
"Hi, John," Imogen said.
"Miss Whitehall, I mean Miss Slade, Imogen," he said.
"Pick one, and go with it," I said.
John chuckled. "Sorry, still getting used to the whole married thing. Imogen, good to hear your voice," he said. "Interesting day yesterday, huh?"
"That's an understatement," I said.
"So what's up, Max?"
"What can you tell me about the golfer who found Carl?" I asked.
"I knew you were going to ask me about him, Max. That's why I brought you along. You're a logical guy. I like the way you work."
"Thanks," I said.
"I spoke to him yesterday," he started. "He was playing solo too. The back nine. Teed off about fifteen minutes after Carl."
That meant he was probably the 1:15 guy on the schedule. I sat back a little in my chair. Imogen was sitting with her elbows on my desk, head close to the phone speaker, listening.
John continued. "He said he hit a great shot right onto the fairway, to the left of the sand trap. As he came upon his ball he saw the body off by the trap. He said he rode over to the victim, got out, saw he was dead, pulled out his cell, and called the police."
That didn't sit right with me. He didn't leave the course, tell someone, and then call the police?
"He called right from the course?" I asked.
Ginny looked over at me and started to whisper something. I hit the mute button.
"That doesn't sound right," she said.
"I know."
I unmuted the call.
John had already started speaking. "He said he called from the course, then promptly left to talk to the golf marshal, what was his name?"
"Bill," Ginny and I said simultaneously.
"Right, Bill, the former golf pro," John said.
Carrington spoke to Bill. Of course he did. He was the cop here. He was the sergeant. He knew what he was doing. He must have also asked him for the list of golfers. But something told me he didn't check Bill's log. He probably didn't even know that it existed. I was willing to bet that John Carrington had never played a round of golf in his life.
"The golfer ran to the marshal, talked to him, and then Bill shut the course down and called us immediately. Cops were on the scene within a few minutes. They talked to the golfer, took his statement, and got his information while they proceeded to tape off the area."
"What did he have to say?"
"What I already told you, Max. He came upon the body and then called the police. Everything he said makes sense. Checks out. The body didn't appear to be moved. Or touched postmortem. Forensics is still going over the data to see if we can find something that could help. But for now, he's not of any interest to us."
"Makes sense," Imogen said.
"What was the guy's name?" I asked, fishing to see if John had pulled the list.
"It's the guy who teed off at 1:15 PM, Kevin Sweeny."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"I've got the list of tee times right in front of me, Max."
He was good. And he must have known that I was digging to see if he had that information. But he wouldn't let me know that. He just played it off.
"The list of tee times?"
"That's the one, Max. And, in case you're wondering, we've already spoken with all of them, and their stories checked out. So I'll save you the time."
He knew. Of course he did.
"Bill told me that you asked for the printout," John continued. "Good thinking. I figured I'd save you some time. Like I said, or maybe I didn't, I was going to call you and let you know."
"After all, we're colleagues now," I said.
"Glad to see you're finally starting to get it. I'll talk to you both later."
Then he disconnected.
"Why didn't you tell him about the doodle?" Imogen asked.
"Why bother? He obviously didn't check Bill's schedule, and more importantly, Bill didn't offer it up to Carrington. And, he didn't exactly offer it up to me either."
"You're quite the detective, Max."
"I've just played way too many rounds of golf at Delmar," I said.
"I know one thing, we'll have to talk to Bill," Imogen said.
"You're damn right we will. See if Bridie murdered our friend Carl."
"You're so dramatic, Max."
"Maybe I am, my love. But we've got a date with Alese first."
"Smashing."