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“That’s why you’re wearing those pretty silver bracelets.”
“There must be some mistake.”
O’Brien’s lip curled. “My only mistake was not locking you up the second I laid eyes on you.”
“But-“ Co
O’Brien looked at him levelly. “A golf club.”
If Co
“What are you, a parrot? Yes, a golf club. A golf club with traces of blood and hair embedded in the indentations on the metal base. Your golf club.”
“How can you be sure?”
“You play with Excalibur clubs, don’t you?”
How did she know that? “I’m not the only player in the PGA to use Excaliburs.”
“Damn near. But at any rate, we traced the serial number on the base of the club. You made the mistake of buying direct from the dealer. They have your name in their files.” She leaned close to his ear. “Word of advice. Next time you’re buying a murder weapon, go retail.”
As O’Brien continued dragging him toward her car, Co
“Lieutenant O’Brien…” He stopped just outside the red Tercel that appeared to be her unmarked vehicle. “What club did you find buried in the rough?”
“The boys in the office tell me it’s a nine-iron. Why?”
“Of course…” he murmured. Why hadn’t he figured it out himself? He hadn’t hit a decent shot with his nine-iron since Tuesday. Why?
Because it wasn’t his nine-iron.
“O’Brien,” he said slowly, “there’s been a horrible mistake.”
“Yeah. Yours.”
“No, I mean it. I think someone switched the clubs.”
“Do I look like I’ve got grits for brains?”
“I’m serious. I’ve been framed.”
“Cross, we’ve already confirmed that it’s your club.”
“The killer must’ve taken my club and planted a look-alike in my bag so I wouldn’t notice it was gone.”
O’Brien placed one hand on her hip. “And I suppose you can prove this cockamamie story?”
“Well…”
“Tell me this, Fantasy Man. How could this purported killer get to your clubs?”
“I don’t know,” Co
On their way back to the clubhouse, Co
They found Fitz in the coffee shop enjoying a light breakfast of toast and a poached egg. At least, until they showed up.
“Hiya, Fitz,” Co
“A bit ru
“A new homicide detective. Lieutenant O’Brien. I’m under arrest.”
“What a novel idea. I wish I’d thought of that.” He smiled at O’Brien. “Would there be any possibility of a gag?”
Co
“Is the lieutenant thinking of taking up the game?”
“Hardly,” she snarled.
Co
Fitz nodded thoughtfully. “A distinct possibility. It would explain a great deal.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose to his feet. “Let’s go find out.”
Fitz led them to the locker room, and the special row of lockers designed to hold the players’ golf bags. “As you can see, there’s room for an entire set of clubs.”
“And you’ve been using these lockers?” O’Brien asked.
“Absolutely. Without exception. If his clubs weren’t in play or in my possession, they were in locker 42. During the day, there’s a security guard posted outside, and at night the door is locked and bolted.”
“Then it wouldn’t be possible for someone to make a switch.”
“Unless,” Co
“Very astute of you,” Fitz said through thin lips.
“Fitz has been rather cranky lately. Perhaps the combination of bad temper and advanced years caused some sort of breakdown…”
“Very droll. But seriously-”
“Seriously,” O’Brien said. “I don’t see how any switch could have been made if the security on these clubs is so tight.” She grabbed Co
“Wait,” Fitz said. “We’re forgetting something.”
“And what would that be?” O’Brien asked.
“Tuesday night.”
Co
“You’re forgetting the driving range.”
Co
“The driving range?” O’Brien said.
“Tuesday night Co
“John never showed up,” Co
“And I guess now we know why,” Fitz added.
“So I started hitting the balls myself. Then Freddy lured me to the locker room so I could peep through his-“ He shot a quick glance at O’Brien.
“You were saying?” she inquired.
“-his… stock portfolio.”
She looked at him levelly. “He wanted you to peep through his stock portfolio?”
“Right. Had some new company he was promoting that’s invented a better… um… better battery.”
“A better battery?”
“For video cameras and stuff. A battery that doesn’t have a memory so you don’t have to worry about draining it completely before recharging.”
“But why-”
“Anyway,” Co
O’Brien took out her notebook. “Who did you meet?”
Co
“And your friend’s name?”
Co
“You don’t remember your old friend’s name?”
Fitz cut in. “It’s the brain seizures, ma’am. They strike without warning. Some mornings he can’t even remember where he is.”
“Brain seizures?”
“It’s a tragedy. Especially with a man so young.”
“Brain seizures?”
“Well, of course.” Fitz leaned close to her ear and whispered. “How else could you explain the way he dresses?”
“Good point.”
“Anyway,” Fitz said, forging ahead, “the gist of it is, this maroon left his clubs on the driving range. I found them, maybe an hour or so after he left, and I locked them up for the night. But before that anyone could’ve gotten to his clubs.” Fitz put the key in the lock, opened the door, and pulled out Co
O’Brien peered over his shoulder. “Which one of these is the nine-iron?”
“This one,” Fitz said, pulling the club out of the bag. “And if I’m not mistaken…” He pulled one of the other irons out and held the two next to one another. “See for yourself. The nine-iron is shorter than the other.”
“What does that mean?”