D
etective Barry Nichols recorded his entire interview of me on a small handheld device he referred to as modern technology that allowed him to capture everything I said. I felt like telling him recording devices had been around since before I was born, but I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.
“After the round today, I had lunch with most of the other players at the course. A few usually skip lunch, but I don’t know for sure if anyone did today,” I said.
“Was Doug there?” Nichols asked.
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Did you see him after you left the course?”
“No.”
“That unusual?”
“No. I rarely see any of the players after lunch or before the five o’clock meeting other than my roommate.”
“I thought the meeting today started at five thirty.”
“It does, sometimes,” I said. “Actually, the time for the meeting bounces around so much between five and five thirty, I never know myself.”
“Who had a reason to kill Doug?”
“I have no idea. None at all.”
Detective Nichols stared at me for a long second. “Tell me about the others in your group.”
“I’m only a part time member. This is only my second time with them. We’re all retired air force, but they’re all pilots.”
“Meaning?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Does that cause any friction?”
“None at all.”
Nichols stared at me again, like he was either pondering a tough question or waiting for me to say something else.
“Anyone in the group have a reason to hurt Doug?” He asked, repeating his earlier question.
“You mean his attacker may not have meant to kill him?”
“That is always a possibility.”
I knew that wasn’t always true. People don’t shoot someone in the head or stab them in the chest unless they meant to kill, but I understood him.
“I didn’t know Doug well. The only contact I have ever had with him was on this and my last trip here, which was a couple years ago. He seemed like a nice enough guy. I haven’t played in his foursome this year.”
“What do you mean?”
“Each day we rotate players, so we get to play with just about everyone throughout the week. So far this week, we haven’t been in the same foursome.”
“Okay, tell me about Frank Derby.”
“I met him in Spain over twenty years ago. We were assigned there along with Tom Marido and Pete Young. We all lived close together in the base housing, played some golf together, and became friends. I’ve run into them on a couple of occasions since then. I know of no issues that any of the three might have had with Doug.”
“And Mike Powers?”
“Also at dinner with us tonight. I knew him slightly at the Air Force Academy. We had a couple classes together, but until my first time joining this group in their golf trip here, I hadn’t seen him since graduation. He seems like a nice guy and like the others, I have no idea what his relationship was with Doug.”
“What about the guys who didn’t go to dinner with you tonight?”
“Not uncommon, we only have two large group dinners.”
“Anyone wonder off to see local friends?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible. I’ve never kept track of any of them.”
“How about you? Any local contacts? You’re not married? No local girlfriend?”
“No. I was married for a long time. Chasing women was a skill I lost years ago, if I ever had it. Here I play golf, socialize with the guys a little, and go to bed.”
“No poker at night?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“Okay, let’s talk about the others.”
“Other than their skill on the golf course or maybe their eating and drinking habits, I know very little. I’m not sure I could even tell you who’s married or not,” I said.
“Eric Gamble?”
“Might be the best golfer in the group. Lives in Florida.”
“Jim McClennen?”
“Also from Florida, real nice guy, average golfer,” I said.
“Skip the golf rankings and tell me about their relationship with Nelson.”
“Okay, I don’t know anything about their background with Doug.”
“Let’s see,” he referred to his list of names. “How about this guy LG Johnson?
“I can’t see it. Another nice guy. I don’t know of any issues he may have had with Doug.”
“So, you can’t help me with this?”
“Wish I could, but I can’t come up with a motive,” I said.
“Vince Flores, James Streelman, Larry Brown, Dick Leyes, Bob Bishop, Bill Sanchez, and Edward White.”
“That’s all of them. I doubt if I could’ve remembered all the names. You’ll get a lot more information out of the others. They’ve known each other for years, and this is like the eighth or ninth year they’ve been doing this.”
When Detective Nichols left my room, I felt relieved that he hadn’t tried pushing me into being more of a help in the investigation. I guessed he hadn’t checked into my background yet, or he might’ve. I didn’t want to get involved in a case that had no bearing on me, and in which, I couldn’t see how I could help. It wasn’t only my ego that had me worrying about the police wanting my help. It was my past. I’d been drawn into more investigations than I ever wanted and still had the scars to prove it.