T
he five-thirty meeting lasted an hour. The longest I could remember. In the first fifteen minutes, we took care of discussing the day’s golf. Doug’s murder dominated the next forty-five minutes. A few of the guys had already been drinking hard. I knew most of them drank, but this was the first time I could remember that anyone had come to the meeting nearly drunk.
“It had to be one of us,” Larry Brown said. He hadn’t said anything at the meeting up to that point.
“That’s BS,” Bill Sanchez said.
“It had to be,” Larry said. The booze had his eyes looking out of focus.
“Well, who then?” LG asked.
“I don’t know. You should know,” Larry pointed at me with an unsteady finger.
“How could I know?”
Tom came to my defense. “He’s not clairvoyant.”
“I think everyone here ought to be put on a lie detector,” Larry said.
“Sober up, man. We’re as shook over this as you are,” James Streelman said.
“Are you going to look into it?” Bill asked me.
“I’m not sure what I can do. The police have asked me questions like they have asked you all. They called me in today wanting me to help, but I don’t see what I can do. As far as I know, there are no witnesses, no motive, and a whole city full of suspects.”
“But you’re going to help,” Larry said. He wanted confirmation. It wasn’t a question, yet I couldn’t tell from his voice if he was for or against my involvement.
“Of course, don’t we all want this murder to be solved?”
Larry nodded, and I noticed most everyone nodding or saying yes. It wasn’t until later that I wondered who hadn’t nodded or said yes.
After the meeting, Tom, Frank, Pete, Mike, and I went to a nearby Italian restaurant for dinner. The meal was okay, but I have a bad habit of eating too much pasta. A habit that should be easily avoided, but I never could say give me a half portion of lasagna or no to a basket of bread sticks to accompany it.
Our conversation initially centered around our server, a young man with six earrings in his right ear and an eyebrow stud. We were too old to appreciate such things. Our comments about the female server at a nearby table were much more favorable. In the middle of the meal, the conversation turned south, as far as I was concerned.
“Do you want to interview everyone in the group?” Pete asked.
I didn’t and told him so, but that only brought up more recommendations from the others. Frank suggested I search all the rooms. Mike went so far as to suggest I bug a couple of rooms. Luckily the conversation spiraled into the ridiculous and everyone started trying to outdo the others with dumb suggestions.
By the time I arrived back to my room, I figured it was too late to call Nichols. I hadn’t wanted to anyway. So, when my phone rang it surprised me, and I thought it might have been him.
“Mr. West?” a somewhat muffled male voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Detective Nichols, can you come down to your car right away. I need to talk to you for a second. You’ll understand, we’ve developed something new.”
“My car?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t tell me on the phone?”
“It’s something I need to show you. I’ll see you in a minute.” The line went dead.
“Crap,” I said.
“What’s up?” Tom asked.
“Nichols wants to show me something.”
“At the station?”
“No, he’s in the parking garage.”
I left the room thinking how strange it was that he hadn’t simply parked in the street or come up to my room. I was parked on the second floor, so I took the stairs and walked directly to my car. In the poor garage lighting, I couldn’t see anyone around my car.
“Detective Nichols! Barry!”
No one answered, and I began to wonder if this was a prank. My car looked fine. I stood in the empty parking spot next to my car, wondering what to do when I heard something behind me. I started to turn around when I saw the golf club. More as a reflex than anything else, I tilted my head and tried to duck as the club slammed into my forehead. I fell backwards onto the concrete floor. My vision became blurry, but I could tell my attacker wore all black and had on a dark ski mask. The club came down again as I rolled away, striking me on my shoulder. I rolled under the large pickup truck parked next to me just as the lights of a vehicle appeared at the end of the row. It drove toward me and slowed.
Looking around I couldn’t see the feet of my attacker. I crawled out from under the pickup, causing the driver, of what I could now see was an SUV starting to enter the vacant spot, to hit his brakes.
“What the hell, man?” the driver shouted out his window. He stepped out of his vehicle, and any anger he might have had vanished when he saw my face. “What happened to you? Are you ok?”
I touched my face, confirming what I felt. Blood flowed out of a gash above my left eye. “I’ve been attacked. Can you call 911?”
“Already on it,” his passenger, whom I hadn’t noticed, shouted out his window.
“You better sit down,” the driver said.
I did. “You shouldn’t park here now anyways. Crime scene.”
“An ambulance is coming, Jack. There’s another spot over there,” the passenger pointed across the row and down a little further. Jack jumped into the car.
I felt a little dizzy, and my head hurt, but I knew I’d survive.
After they parked the SUV. Jack and his passenger approached me. “We’re supposed to wait here until the ambulance gets here.”
“Sorry about that. Did you see anyone leaving as you drove up?”
“No,” Jack said.
“I saw someone who was going that way,” he pointed at a spot in the direction where they went to park. “Didn’t pay any attention to him. Sorry. You don’t know who it was?”
Both men were in their early twenties. They stared at me. I couldn’t tell if they were fixated with my injury, or if they thought I might die at any minute. Taking my key fob from my pocket I unlocked the Mustang.
“There is a clean towel on the back seat. Can one of you get it for me?”
The passenger retrieved it and handed it to me.
“Thanks. I’m Jim West, what’s your name?” I pressed the towel against my injured forehead, hoping to stop or at least slow the flow of blood.
“I’m Cory and this is Jack,” he said.
An ambulance siren switched on nearby, causing me to think we were close to a substation.
“Sounds like it will be here in a second,” Cory said.
“Are you here for the golf?” Jack said.
“Yes,” I said, thinking Jack was trying to lighten the mood.
“We are, too. We’re trying to qualify for the state amateur tournament,” Jack said.
“You must be good.”
“He is. I’m playing, because he wouldn’t come without me,” Cory said.
“Don’t believe him. He plays to a two handicap.”
“He’s scratch and has a good chance to make it to the state tournament. I hope to caddy for him there.”
“Cory, don’t give up before the qualifier even starts.”
“You both are a lot better than me,” I said. Even in my best day, I never made it to a single digit handicap.
The ambulance siren went silent as it entered the parking garage. I saw the reflections of the flashing lights and was somewhat surprised when the first vehicle that pulled up was a MBPD sedan. The ambulance arrived seconds later.
Officer Louise Strong climbed out of the police car. “Is that you Mr. West? What happened?”
I pulled the towel away. “Some guy attacked me with a seven iron, or some other golf club.”
“Jeez,” she said, leaning in close to look at the wound.
“Let us have a look,” said a young man, who had emerged from the ambulance.
Strong stepped away and walked over to Jack and Cory.
“I’m Caleb. Besides the head injury, do you have any other injuries?”
“No, oh yeah, he hit me in the shoulder, too, but that’s just sore.”
Caleb looked at my shoulder for a second and then back at my forehead. A second man from the ambulance joined him; however, after a few seconds, he wondered back to the ambulance, leaving Caleb to take care of me.
“What did he hit you with?” Caleb said as his fingers pressed around the wound.
“A golf club, an iron of some sort. I didn’t get a good look at him or the golf club. How bad is it?”
“My guess is not too bad, but we need to get you to a doctor and run some x-rays. Do you feel like you can stand?”
“Yes. I was a little dizzy for a few minutes, but I feel better now.”
He took a hold under my left arm and helped me stand.
“I’m okay.”
“Well, let’s get you into the ambulance where we can stop that bleeding and take some vitals,” Caleb said.
“Hang in there,” Jack said as the two young men walked away.
Officer Strong walked with us to the ambulance, but stayed outside it while I got situated inside.
“Mr. West,” she said.
“Please call me Jim.”
“Jim, what can you tell me about the attack?”
“Very little. It came out of the blue. Oh, one thing, I received a call from someone saying he was Detective Nichols and wanted to meet me by my car. That’s why I came over here.”
“Nichols?”
“Yeah, I know, and the implications aren’t good either.”
For a second, I don’t think she understood what I meant, but then her eyes indicated she did. The list of suspects had narrowed from the whole city of Myrtle Beach to our little group of golfers. Who else would’ve known my phone number and knew that Nichols had been talking to us? I guess I knew it all along, but still I found it disappointing.
“Can you describe your attacker? Better yet did you recognize him?”
“No. He came at me from behind. As you can see, it’s rather dark in here at night. I heard, or maybe I sensed someone was there and started to turn when he hit me. I only got a glance at the golf club. I think it was a seven iron, but I’m not sure why I think that.”
“You didn’t see his face?”
“He was wearing a dark ski mask, dark clothes, dark gloves, too. My attention was on avoiding the golf club. I didn’t have enough time to avoid the first blow. I fell, and he swung the club again. I rolled toward the pickup, but the club hit my shoulder. I’m sure he was going for my head again. I kept rolling and got under the pickup. Just then, Jack and Cory drove up onto this level, and their headlights scared off the guy.”
“Why would he attack you?”
“Good question?” I said, although I knew the answer.
“Louise, you want to follow us or wait ‘til someone else gets here?” Caleb asked.
“I need to wait here. It shouldn’t be long, Jim, then I’ll join back up with you at the hospital. I have a few more questions.”