Detective Mike Daniels didn’t need directions to find deceased golf legend, Larry Lawrence’s ocean view home. He could see it from the spot where Lawrence had driven his classic MG roadster off the cliff road the night before. He was the victim of an accident, but even an accident needed to be investigated. Daniels drove the short distance to the palatial home where smoke spiraled from the chimney.
He parked and admired the row of sports cars. There was a nice mix of European and American classics. He tried not to be jealous.
Sheila Lawrence appeared on the doorstep. “Larry’s pride and joy.”
“I’m sure,” he said and followed her inside.
Sheila showed him into the living room. “Apologies for the mess.”
She picked up two wine glasses and an open bottle of wine and disappeared into the kitchen.
Daniels looked at the photographs on the wall while he waited for Sheila to return. The pictures showed Lawrence in his PGA heyday and in his private life with his wife. One photo showed Sheila driving the now mangled MG sports car.
A log popped in the fireplace and rolled towards the hearth. He picked up the poker and rolled the log away from danger. He noticed the fire had been started using discarded letters. That’s one way of dealing with the stuff, he thought.
Sheila reappeared. “How can I help you, Detective?”
“Just a few questions. Can you tell me why he was out driving that late at night?”
“As you’ve noticed, Larry loved his cars. He liked to go out for a drive along the cliff road, especially when-” Sheila burst into tears.
“When what, Mrs. Lawrence?”
She nodded. “We had a fight and he stormed out, taking the MG. That was a regular thing when we argued. It was how he blew off steam.”
According to the gossip pages, fights between the Lawrences weren’t uncommon. Trusted sources predicted divorce, which wasn’t a good thing for Sheila with a prenup hanging over her head.
“Not a smart thing to drive angry on these roads.”
“No. I expected him home after a couple of hours, but when he hadn’t returned this morning, I went looking for him and spotted the car on the beach.”
“Why did you wait until the morning before you went looking for him?”
“I took a couple of sleeping pills and went to bed. I even broke out a fresh pack.” She produced a blister pack of sedatives from a pocket. Six of the tablets were missing.
“I think I have everything I need, Mrs. Lawrence,” Daniels said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sheila saw him out to his car. “Which one of these do you drive?” he asked pointing to the car collection. “You’re spoiled for choice.”
“None. They’re all stick-shifts. I can’t drive a stick.”
Daniels drove back to the crash site at the bottom of the cliff. Larry Lawrence’s body had been removed and the crime techs gave him the all clear to examine the vehicle. He got behind the wheel and tested the controls to see if something had given out on the car. He tried the gear-shift. It was in neutral.
“Has anyone touched the car?” he asked the crime techs.
“No,” one of them answered.
He glanced back up at the Lawrence house. Sheila was watching him from the second balcony. He waved at her. She didn’t return the gesture.
***
Sheila Lawrence dropped the phone instead of putting it back on the receiver. The caller’s words still rang in her ears. “I saw what you did.”
She fell onto the sofa. The house had never felt as empty as it did in this moment. Up and until now, she’d been enjoying the solitude. The police hadn't bothered her after Larry’s death. She was getting used to her days being her own. Life without Larry was everything she’d hoped it would be.
Now the new lifestyle she’d been embracing was on hold. The caller had put it all in jeopardy. She could get it back on track if she paid the twenty-five thousand he demanded by tonight.
Paying wasn’t a problem, but the money was. Taking anything over ten grand from the bank set off a red flag with the IRS and the cops. The blackmailer would have to be content with the few thousand she had in cash around the house. She’d make up the rest in jewels. The blackmailer wouldn’t like it but he wasn’t giving her any time to come up with the money.
She put the money and jewels in a Saks bag along with a bonus item—Larry’s .380 Sig Sauer. She was going to make it clear this was a one-time deal.
***
Her blackmailer had been cagey. He hadn’t given her a time or place for the payoff, leaving her to sweat it out as she waited by the phone.
The call came just before midnight. The message was simple. Hawk Hill. Now.
Well, the waiting was over. She grabbed the Saks bag, nicely weighted down by the .380. She ran over to her BMW parked at the end of the row of Larry’s cars. The security lights illuminated a new crisis—her tire was flat.
She cursed and ran back into the house. She grabbed the keys to Larry’s beloved Ferrari Dino. She jumped behind the wheel and tore into the night, working the gears and clutch like a pro.
Hawk Hill was an old Nike missile station on the Marin Headlands. She turned into the historical site surprised to see the gate open at this time of night. Her blackmailer either had connections or a bolt cutter. Maybe her witness was a park ranger. That was someone she could control. She stopped the Ferrari in front of the hexagonal bunker poking out of the ground.
Her blackmailer wasn’t in sight. She climbed from the car holding the Saks bag high in the air.
“I have what you want,” she called out. “I have your money.”
Flashlight beams coming from half a dozen directions immediately struck her in the face.
“Marin Sheriffs. Mrs. Lawrence, you're under arrest.”
Detective Mike Daniels emerged from the blinding light as a uniformed officer placed her in cuffs.
Daniels peered in the Saks bag. He fished out the pistol with a pen. “A trinket I wasn’t expecting.”
“You set me up.”
“You set yourself up, Mrs. Lawrence. I’ll admit you were clever. You destroyed all the evidence. You burned the divorce papers, no doubt in the fire the day I came over. The sleeping pills in the wine you poured down the sink. I had nothing.”
“You still have nothing.”
“No, I had one thing.”
Fear twisted Sheila’s stomach into a knot. “What?”
“Larry’s car. It wasn’t in gear. How'd he drive it off the road in neutral? He didn’t. Someone pushed the car off the cliff.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“I thought so too, because you told us you couldn’t drive a stick. I believed you until I saw that picture of you driving Larry’s prized MG. Now you’ve confirmed it.” He pointed at the Ferrari, “by handling that Dino so well tonight.”