Match Play (18 page)

D
avid checks out of his room early in the morning. He spent a restless night obsessed with the torn piece of glove.
Where was it? When did it tear? Why wasn’t he more careful?
The oversight is haunting him and he fears the consequences of his mistake.

The hole has been played, but not as perfect as he expected. Anxiety and panic can’t help him now.

He returned the rental car last night. It feels good to be back in the Navigator and on his way to Mobile. He has two weeks before the fifth hole; the LPGA is in Virginia this week.

He is enjoying the drive though it is cloudy and humid. He is listening to the Goldberg Variations for the clarity it provides while he plans the next hole
.
The Kingsmill Championship will finish on May 5, then the LPGA is off for the next week.

His mind drifts back to the process of delivering the envelope. He has the address of the FBI building in Dallas. He must be cautious if he is to deliver the envelope himself. He can’t let go of the compelling idea that Lou Schein will know David has been in his domain, and no one will have been aware of his presence.

Texas is not exactly beautiful. Oil wells are everywhere and the smells are revolting; the sooner he gets out of this state the better. He wants to be back on the road by evening, and that means whatever he does with the envelope will have to be done quickly.

He wants to play golf in Mobile for pleasure and he has time to kill so it’s possible he can take a side trip to New Orleans. His plan is to find the fifth hole early, spend some time on his course management and play the match when he knows the FBI has followed him to Mobile. Some agents might be there already, but probably not. He believes they will be concentrating their efforts in Irving, at least until they receive the envelope.

The par 4 that he has chosen is rather long, but the green is located in a canyon so wayward shots bounce to the green, if the player is lucky. He can see it in his head as clearly as if he is standing on the tee. The player needs a long drive fading to the right side of the fairway, then a medium iron to the green. There are bunkers in the front of the hole; if one is unfortunate enough to land there, bogey is almost a certainty. He will be happy with par on this one.

He drives into Dallas with his GPS activated and finds the FBI building quite easily. Opting not to park in the parking garage, he finds a parking space four blocks from the building on the street opposite.

David checks the contents of the envelope for what seems the hundredth time. He makes a mental check mark after seeing each item: the pictures and the Las Colinas scorecard. He pulls the strip to seal the envelope, opens the car door and walks across the street.

He is casually dressed in denim shirt and jacket, jeans and boots; his hair is carefully tucked under his wide brim hat, and of course, sunglasses. While in Irving, he disposed of the sunglasses in the famous FBI sketch and purchased a variety of different brands and styles.

The main entrance is equipped with security cameras manned by security guards. He walks up to the metal detector, places his keys and change in one of the plastic trays and steps through the rectangle into the main lobby. The guard hands him the plastic tray with his belongings and says, “Good morning, sir.”

Looking at the building directory, he sees the office for Criminal Justice Information Services is on the eleventh floor. He finds the elevator, three more men join him, and they press “10.” David presses “11.” When they reach the tenth floor, the occupants exit and David quickly looks as they are getting off the elevator. There is no reception desk, but right there in the hall is a uniformed guard.

Everyone is wearing an identification badge; the three from the elevator produce theirs as they approach the guard. He sees surveillance cameras above the hallway and knows he won’t be able to get past the guard.

The doors close and when the elevator stops at eleven he quickly surveys the space. He isn’t the least bit nervous as he steps out of the elevator. He keeps his head down and stops at the reception desk.

He has decided to ask a lot of dumb questions about anything that comes to mind. It will give him an opportunity to see what is going on and to make a decision as to whether there is a place to drop the envelope, concealed under his jacket.

The guard looks up as he approaches.

David asks, “Is this the main FBI office of Dallas?” He tries to appear confused and does not remove his sunglasses.

“Yes, sir, it is. How may I help you?”

David is looking around the room as casually as he can, still keeping his head lowered and away from the camera. To his left is a wall covered with information about opportunities for college graduates. It is full of pamphlets and brochures. David points to it.

“I want to get some information for my nephew. He’s graduating college in June and I think this may be a great opportunity for him.”

The guard nods his head and tells David to help himself to the pamphlets. “If you have any questions, I’ll try to get someone to help you.”

He sees two men sitting in the waiting area. No one seems to be interested in what he is doing. He studies the information on display, looking carefully through each, even marking in some with his pen.

The guard periodically gets up and leaves the desk for short periods. Eventually, both of the men in the waiting area are called and go out with agents into the processing area behind the reception desk.

He is aware the moment the desk is vacant. He keeps his head down, appearing to be reading one of the pamphlets and slides the envelope from his jacket and drops it right in the center of the desk, address face down.

Just then the elevator bell chimes. He moves quickly toward it, steps in when the doors open and lets out a long sigh of relief. He leans against the wall of the elevator, perspiring and wanting to get back outside.

The elevator stops a few floors later and when some women step on, he steps off and looks for the exit sign for the stairway. He walks the rest of the way down, knowing that he won’t be able to exit the stairwell until he reaches the parking garage.

When he is on the first level of the garage, he finds an outside stairway and returns to the street.

With long-legged strides he reaches his car, looking from side to side, relieved that no one is in pursuit.

FBI Violent Crimes Section, Dallas–Irving, Texas, Monday, April 29

T
he guard returns to his desk to find the envelope turned address down. Not thinking, he flips it over and leaps into action, his rubber-soled shoes squeaking as he hurries to alert his supervisor.

Without touching the envelope, the men see the addressee is SA Lou Schein of the Violent Crimes Section. Cross referencing names of agents in the building, they find that Agent Schein is visiting with his team from the Los Angeles branch.

The supervisor punches the number for the conference room where the LA agents have been assigned. “The guard on desk duty on the 11th floor returned to his desk after a brief absence and found the envelope. It’s a large 9 by 12. No, there is no postage. Yes, someone must have delivered it, but there’s no one in the lobby now. No, we won’t be handling it, we’ll wait for you.”

In a matter of minutes, Agents Phillips and Gibson exit the elevator on the eleventh floor. They question the guard. No one saw anyone put the envelope on the desk. The guard mentions the last person to leave—a man in his late thirties or early forties who was picking up information pamphlets on FBI careers. He had not been carrying anything when he came onto the floor.

Gibson asks for a more detailed description and is told the man was wearing a hat and sunglasses, denim jacket, shirt, jeans…pretty normal for this area. The guard is sure he was away from the desk no more than two minutes. Both when he left and when he returned, no one else was in the area.

Phillips calls the forensics team to retrieve the envelope. Gibson believes the man in question delivered the envelope; she goes directly to the surveillance center to get a copy of the security tape.

Gibson returns to the tenth floor with the surveillance video. The envelope is still with the forensics team. Roger Payne takes the tape from Gibson when she enters and begins to set it up.

“What have we found out?” Lou looks to Gibson.

“Sorry, sir, but no one really has any specifics. I’m hoping he shows up on the tape. He couldn’t have moved around in the area without being caught by the camera.”

“I’m ready,” Payne says as he presses the play button. The last few minutes of the tape are all that is relevant so he fast forwards the playback until the suspect steps out of the elevator on the eleventh floor. Then he backs it up to where two men come off the elevator and the team watches as the two men are directed to sit.

The two men are sitting when the man in question comes into view in the camera. He is looking at the floor; most of his face is not in view but the camera allows a full body shot.

Suddenly Payne pauses the tape and with wide eyes and lifted eyebrows, he looks in shock at Lou, who in turn shouts, “Christ! We were in the elevator with this s.o.b. when we were coming back from coffee!” He slaps his palm on the table, shaking his head in disbelief.

The room goes silent and Payne continues playback of the tape.

When the suspect reaches the guard desk, he is at his closest point to the camera, still with only a part of his face seen. When he moves to the guard’s right, the suspect’s back is to the camera.

The two men who are waiting disappear behind the camera, clearly called by someone behind the guard desk. The guard leaves his desk and when the suspect comes back into view, he appears to be reading one of the brochures. His head is lowered and his face is not visible.

The suspect becomes very animated, pulls the envelope from inside his jacket with a cloth and drops it on the desk. Still, he does not raise his head. He walks toward the elevator, presses the button with the cloth still in his hand and steps in. The guard returns to see the envelope.

Lou lets out a heavy sigh and Roger Payne stops the tape. “Do you want to see it again?”

“No!” Schein does not solicit anyone else’s opinion. “Gibson, take the tape to the lab and see if they can get anything useful from it. I want all the surveillance tapes from when this narcissistic showman parked his car, walked into the building, left and got back in his car. I want to know what kind of car he drives; the color, make, model, license plate. Send those tapes to the lab as well.

“Payne, go to forensics and get that envelope. Until we know what’s in it, we can only hypothesize that our killer is in the area. The tournament ended yesterday so there may already be a victim in Irving that hasn’t been found.”

Lou stares at the crime board. He throws his pencil down on the table and then turns to Agent Phillips. “Give me an update, please.”

Agent Phillips stands and addresses his boss. “The flyer with the sketch of Steven Johnson a.k.a. The Match Play Killer has been sent to all law enforcement agencies including the transportation people. Every possible contact point has been notified. We’ve had several days to alert the agencies. We also have Virginia agents working the case as that’s the next stop on the tour.”

Schein’s phone rings. It’s Roger Payne who tells him forensics is still working on the envelope.

“Tell them when they open the damn thing and they’ve gone over the contents, I want to be told immediately, I don’t care what time it is. I’ll see you all in the morning if not sooner. I want everyone here by seven.”

L
ou Schein sits in his temporary office at the Dallas branch of the FBI. It is four in the morning. His head is spinning with different scenarios of what yesterday’s developments might mean.

He’s determined to catch this serial killer but he’s having trouble sustaining his energy. It’s been a long time since he’s been in the field. He’s not sleeping well or eating right and he misses home. The travelling has become foreign to him.

He and Sophie have been married twenty-six years and he’s become accustomed to being home every night and having dinner with her and occasionally with one or both of his children. Children…if that’s what twenty-one and twenty-three-year-old kids are still called. His daughter is premed, planning to be an obstetrician. His son is fourth year architecture. They both attend UCLA.

Lou decides to call Sophie at six, before his team arrives. Luckily she’s an early riser; it’s two hours earlier in LA. It’ll be good to hear her voice; she has a way of encouraging him, and hearing her laugh will boost his morale.



The team is gathered in the conference room when Nancy Cochran returns from the lab. She sets the lab report and a large evidence bag containing the yellow envelope and other evidence bags in front of Lou.

“As you’ll see in the lab report, there were no traces of fiber, hair; no fingerprints and no poisonous substance. I’ve examined the contents, and I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear we have another murder.”

As all eyes in the room shift to the evidence, Lou cautiously opens the large bag and takes out the first item. He immediately recognizes the Las Colinas scorecard. The card is carefully marked for the 14th hole, a par 5. A circled four is written in the box and above is written 2 up. He passes the scorecard to Payne who is sitting to his right.

He reaches his hand into the bag and pulls out several evidence bags that contain Polaroid pictures. He looks at Dr. Cochran and says, “What do we have here? Is this the crime scene?”

“It would seem so, but until we find the actual scene it will be difficult to determine the facts. We have the usual appearance and characteristics of the other three murder scenes, but this one seems to deviate from cause of death. The close-up pictures are very clear. When I examined the head shot I noticed numerous petechial hemorrhages on the eyelids and face. She may have been smothered with a plastic bag; her head and face are pale and her tongue is protruded.”

Schein passes the materials around to the others. “Remember what I said about the killer’s perfectionism. Take note of the risk he took to deliver this material. He can’t live with the incompleteness of the murder in Rancho Mirage. He has to perfect it in his mind.”

He picks up the lab report. “The newsprint on the envelope comes from an Irving paper sold anywhere in the city. He’s played his fourth hole already and we’re looking at it. Now we have to find the victim.”

Phillips, looking through the pictures, fixates on the close-up of the scramble. “Lou, this picture is clear enough that the letters are legible. I can start working on the scramble now.”

“Great, try your best. Maybe we can get one step ahead and know where he’s going. Maybe he doesn’t go to Virginia. What if he wants to take his time and he’ll be in Mobile. Gibson, you keep current with the local law enforcement and give them what we have. If a homicide is reported and the victim is a mutilated female, we get first notice. The crime scene does not get touched!”