Match Play (23 page)

W
hen he gets in the Navigator, David sets his GPS for the quickest route to Sebonack Golf Club. Parking won’t be a problem thanks to his clubhouse pass. It’s the first day of the Open, and he must walk the course.

Stopping at the clubhouse on his way to the course, he picks up a few scorecards and buys a cap with the LPGA Open logo. He switches caps in the clubhouse restroom, throwing his in a trash container. He looks in the mirror to make sure his hair is hidden; he washes his hands. The cap allows him to blend in with the crowd.

He works his way to the 16th hole, a par 4. If his match plays as he hopes, this hole will be the setup for his seventh hole. The par 4 is treacherous, with fairway bunkers and a green contoured to outwit even the finest of putts.

He stands adjacent to the green. Since it is the first day of the tournament, the pin placement is relatively easy. Birdie is an attainable score today, but by Saturday reading the putts will be more difficult. The 16th hole is one that can make or break a golfer. A tee shot in the fairway bunker, and the player is down a stroke. The green is unreachable from the bunker.

He embraces the character of the hole. He can feel the breeze, the texture of the green, the motion of the balls as they are putted across the surface.

From now until the completion of the seventh hole
,
David Steadman is the match.



On Friday, he returns to Sebonack Club, so obsessed with the 16th hole that little else interests him. Eventually, he ends up in the trees adjacent to the green, watching group after group putt out.

The hole placement is closer to the back bunker than it was yesterday, and there is a tricky headwind knocking balls down. It is a day when a golfer really needs a longer iron. If she hits a 7 iron for the second shot, today she would need a 6.

He watches attentively as players make bogey after bogey. He would hit a 9 iron to the back of the green and try to draw it. If he could get the ball there it is a much easier putt. But from the top, it is impossible to read and impossible to stop.

He is mindful of the pairs of law enforcement personnel everywhere, although he hasn’t seen any of the flyers at the course. The breeze is just cool enough in the shade that the nylon windbreaker he’s wearing is appropriate; no one will see his arm.

When he isn’t watching the game, his mind is full of the match tomorrow afternoon. He is pleased to have found a birdie hole to play for the Open. He plans to do something sensational, something that will set them all back on their heels. But he must be on his way by Monday. He has less than a month to prepare for the Marathon Classic in Sylvania, Ohio.

The day becomes a blur by late afternoon. He works his way back to the clubhouse and takes a shuttle to his car. David is hungry and will have an early dinner
.

He calls Kate Stanley at seven and confirms their plans for the following day. He is to pick her up at eight to have breakfast before they head to the Open. She is her usual talkative self, and he has difficulty getting her to hang up. He finally has to end the conversation himself. It turns out to be rather abrupt but he has things to do.

He spreads out the necessary items for the
Seventh Hole
. The knives receive his attention first. He works each with the stone until the edge is perfect. The large knife, the butcher knife, has a spot of rust on one side. He is more upset than he should be, but he can’t understand how he was so careless. Even when finished with the knife, he continues to chastise himself. He isn’t concentrating on what he’s doing, and while sharpening the boning knife he nicks his thumb on his left hand.

He has to quit work until the bleeding stops. He watches his own blood swirl down the drain in the bathroom. While he waits for the blood on his finger to clot, he thinks of the packing plant nightmare, and again sees all the blood from the dream. The images are still vivid in his mind.

He reaches into the darkness of the blood in the drain, trying to see the figure, the one who couldn’t hear his screams. Straining to see, he thinks it is his father but suddenly has an impression it is a woman. The image sends a shiver down his spine…a woman? No, surely, it was his father.

He finishes with his knives, places each carefully into the sheath and returns it to the briefcase. He unravels the pennant for the seventh hole. He checks for his two packages of plastic coveralls and two plastic caps. He has several pairs of latex gloves and a box of new golf balls. He makes up a fresh vile of sedatives and puts them aside to carry in his light jacket on Saturday. He finds the Sebonack scorecards in his jacket pocket and adds them to the pile. He fills a baby food jar with alcohol and sets it aside for the trophies. He clips today’s Open standings from the newspaper and begins marking out the scramble.

Then he reorganizes everything in the briefcase to be used most efficiently.

He showers late in the evening and shaves his body hair. Finally he lies down to sleep, hoping to sleep without nightmares.

B
riefcase in car, he is on his way to pick up Kate Stanley. It is another perfect day, partly cloudy with a slight breeze.

He turns down her street into a neighborhood called Memory Park. He is intrigued by the houses in the neighborhood. Some look to have been built in the sixties, but there are also some very traditional homes. Based on the style and craftsmanship they probably date back to the nineteenth century. Some are pristinely restored and others in a state of disrepair; it is apparently an area being revived.

He stops in front of 1620 Broad Street. Kate Stanley is sitting on the front steps of a sixties, ranch-style home. The house is well-maintained, and the yard has the look of belonging to someone who enjoys gardening.

He steps from the vehicle and walks toward Kate who is waving to him, motioning for him to come to the house. As he approaches, an older woman and young girl emerge from the house. Kate meets him about halfway.

“Come meet my daughter and my mom.” She reaches for her daughter’s arm and coaxes her out from behind the girl’s grandmother.

“Oh, Samantha, don’t be so silly. This is Mr. Stellman; remember I told you about him? I’d like you to say hello.”

David takes the first step. “Hello, Samantha. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you enjoy golf like your mother?”

Samantha, apprehensive, only says, “Hi.”

“And this is my mother, Mrs. Bokeman.”

“Hello, I’m Mary,” she says. “It’s Daniel, isn’t it? Kate is always so formal. You must really like golf to come all the way from Illinois to see this.”

Mary looks like an older version of Kate. Her hair is slightly gray and she is sturdily built, slightly overweight.

Samantha is startlingly pretty. She is wearing shorts and a blouse and a pair of sandals. Her dark brown hair is like her mother’s, and there is a smudge of red jelly on her upper lip.

“Come on, Sam,” Mary turns Samantha toward the open door. “We need to finish our breakfast and get going, too.” She says to David, “Please excuse us,” then asks Kate, “When will you be back? I’m not sure when we’ll be back from the City. I want to return the summer dress I bought for Sam, the one that doesn’t fit, and we’ll probably do some other shopping. Are you two going to have dinner? I doubt we’ll be back before then and you know Sam is going to want a Mc-something and I just can’t say no.”

“I don’t know, Mom, but I’ll take care of myself. If we don’t have dinner, I’ll find something here. We’re planning to go to the Open again tomorrow, so I won’t be late.”

“Okay then!” Mary moves toward the door and looks over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Daniel…I hope it all right if I call you Daniel?” She pauses. “Well, be careful and enjoy the tournament. We’ll see you later.” She pulls the door shut behind her.

Kate Stanley looks at David and he motions to the car.

“You look very nice,” he says. She is neatly put together, wearing shorts, white blouse, white sneakers, blue scarf tied around her neck and a gray sweater tied around her waist.

Kate is as talkative as ever on the way to the shuttle lot for the Open. She talks a lot about Samantha and her mother, who is also a nurse. They work different shifts so that someone is always available to watch Sam. Mary loves to garden but Kate isn’t interested. She spends most of her free time with Sam, and whenever she can, she golfs.

They reach the shuttle and minutes later are at Sebonack Golf Club.

“Where would you like to start?” asks David. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Sure. A diet Coke would be nice.”

They walk to the nearest concession stand. Kate continues to chat as they wait to be served. She likes her job and likes the hours. Her life is mostly consumed by Sam, who is brilliant, in Kate’s opinion, and she wants to give her every opportunity to be happy and succeed in life.

David is finding her incessant prattle increasingly annoying and is additionally put off by the fact that he doesn’t have an opportunity to spike her drink. He hands her the soda and suggests they watch some players tee off.

The day gets quite warm, with further stops at concession stands, giving David several opportunities to add the sedative concoction to her sodas. He has to be extremely careful; Kate is a nurse, and there is a chance she might taste the drugs.

Although she asks for bottled water, he returns with soda and tells her they are out of water. Finally, she complains, wondering why everyone else is drinking water. He shushes her when the “quiet” signs go up in the air so the players can putt.

By mid-afternoon, Kate is crabby, the drugs having completely suppressed her sparkle. She is complaining of not feeling well, and he suggests that they leave.

“Let’s go to the clubhouse, we’ll catch the shuttle back to the car and I’ll take you home. I hope you’re not getting ill. It would be a shame to miss the final round tomorrow.”

“No, I don’t think I’m ill. I shouldn’t have come out today. I worked a long shift last night, and I guess I’m just tired. I’m kind of groggy and woozy. Who knows? The combination of sun and being tired has taken its toll. I’ll be fine tomorrow; I’m looking forward to spending the day with you.”

“I’ll get you a cold drink for the drive home; you’re probably dehydrated. You’ll feel better when you get some air moving around you.” David helps her to her feet. They are at the 17th hole, a short walk to the clubhouse. She is steady on her feet and he’s glad for that; he doesn’t want to attract any attention.

David picks up another soda when they reach the clubhouse and doctors it while she is in the restroom. She drinks most of it on the way to the car, but the final effects aren’t visible until they get to her house.

She acts suspicious. “You know, I feel just like I’ve been drugged. I feel just like…I can’t understand…”

He pulls up in front of 1620. “Let’s get you inside. You can lie down and rest. I’m sure you’ll be fine with a little sleep.”

He can’t afford for her to resist or fall asleep in the car.

David jumps out and jogs around the front of the car. He opens the door and helps her out. A small girl comes running up to them.

“Can Sam come out and play?” she asks.

“Sam isn’t home, Cindy. She won’t be home until this evening.” Her manner is getting clumsy.

“Okay, Kate.” The little girl runs down the street to where other children are playing.

Kate removes the keys from her pocket when they reach the front door. “I’m sorry I sort of fell apart, I can’t believe I’m so tired. Honest! I’ll be more fun tomorrow!” She kisses him on the cheek and waits, as though expecting him to turn and leave.

“Wait.” He reaches for her keys. “Let me get the door open for you.” Before she can react, he has her keys and is opening the door.

Kate starts to say something, but he nudges her through the door and continues pushing until she falls on the couch. She is startled and tries to resist but loses her balance, and he is on top of her, pressing a pillow against her face.

She fights back, trying to claw at him for what seems a long time. Luckily he has his nylon windbreaker on so she can’t scratch him. The struggle turns into a few muscle spasms, then nothing, and he slowly removes the pillow from her face. She is staring up at him as he watches the color leave her skin.

He stands over her, trying to think of everything he touched on the way into the house. Then he goes to the car to get his briefcase.

Outside, he hears a motor and sees a man mowing his lawn a few houses down on the other side of the street. The children are still playing a few houses from Kate’s. He opens the tailgate and takes his briefcase from the car.

When he is inside the house again, he locks the front door and pulls the blinds.



An hour and a half later David’s seventh hole torso is lying in the bathroom, her expressionless face staring at it from the counter above. She has been transformed into the 16th hole at Sebonack Golf Club.

He is busy picking up; everything is done, the scorecard, the newspaper scramble. The appendages are on the kitchen counter. There is no second bathroom in the house. The breasts are set in the living room marking the 8th tee, and the ball marked number 8 in blood is sitting on a small throw rug evenly spaced between the breasts. A 5 iron lies beside it.

He is returning the sugar sack to the kitchen cupboard when he hears a noise from the garage. It is the automatic garage door opener. He doesn’t panic. He stands and listens, realizing it is too late to escape. He waits by the door to the garage.

He can hear noises from the garage, and he knows at any moment Samantha Stanley will come charging through the door looking for her mother.

FBI Violent Crimes Unit, Sylvania, Ohio

L
ou Schein has been in Sylvania, Ohio for several days. He is staring through the glass wall of his office at the crime board on the far end of the conference room.

He is glad to have a private office, if for no other reason than being able to be alone with his thoughts. This time, their temporary office is in a single story building in the city, and he and his agents have it all to themselves.

It’s been a little over two weeks since the murders in Queens, and he is still unsettled by the discovery of the horrific and shocking crime scene. Members of his team made an appearance at the LPGA Classic in Ontario, but Schein is certain the scramble from the New York newspaper standings is clear.

THIS MATCH IS A MARATHON can only be interpreted to mean the Marathon Classic at Highland Meadows Golf Club in Sylvania.

The case is beginning to wear on him. There have been eight murders but the actual match is only three fourths over, if he can rely on the killer to play by the rules.

Only one piece of important information had come from the Queen’s murders. A neighbor had noticed a dark green SUV with blackened windows parked in front of the house. He felt sure it was a Suburban or maybe an Expedition. The vehicle left around seven p.m., a man carrying a briefcase had gotten into it. It didn’t have New York plates, the neighbor was sure of that.

Sometime after the green SUV left, another neighbor looking for her daughter discovered the murders. She had simply walked in the back door of the house when no one answered; after all, the door was always unlocked and it wasn’t the first time she’d done that. She found Mary Bokeman with a broken neck on the kitchen floor. She ran from the house, down the street, screaming for help. Another neighbor called 911.

The police found Kate Stanley’s remaining body parts in the kitchen, and because of the circumstances of the crimes, they notified the FBI.

By the time Lou and his team arrived on the scene, everyone in the neighborhood was mobbing the outside of the house. Neighbors wanted to know what had happened and where was everyone? Especially where was the little girl, Samantha.

Kate Stanley’s torso was tucked against the back wall of the bathroom duplicating as closely as possible the 16th hole at Sebonack. The scene was similar to Peggy Foster’s murder, at Herron Bay.

The little girl was found locked in a closet in one of the bedrooms. Her mouth, hands and feet were duct-taped; not that she would have needed it. She was in shock and couldn’t speak. In fact, she hasn’t spoken since. She is being cared for at a children’s psychiatric hospital, and it is hoped that with intensive therapy, in time, she will recover and be able to give information to the FBI.

The forensic teams thoroughly worked the house with minimal results. One break had been a paper cup in the trash. The inside had residue of a sedative and on the outside, a man’s partial thumbprint which could have been either from the concessionaire or the killer. It had been simple enough to cross-check the employees, and none matched the print.

Lou rises from his desk and walks out into the conference room. He tries not to think about the little girl. He has a daughter of his own, and he knows how fragile little girls can be. He forces himself to concentrate on the other elements of the case.

He sees a pile of papers where Bruce Phillips has been working. A pack of cigarettes marks Mary Gibson’s place at the table, and there is a can of Pepsi and a wadded up hamburger wrapper where Roger Payne usually parks himself. Nancy Cochran hasn’t arrived in Ohio yet.

In the last few weeks, Phillips has acquired lists from the USGA in many states. Personnel at the state branches of the FBI have been trying to condense the lists into a workable number of names and are still doing investigative work. Phillips expects the final list to be hundreds of names when it is finally reduced to possible suspects. He has given up trying to predict when that will happen.

Gibson and Payne are working together in the field now, currently distributing flyers and doing follow-up investigative work. Other staff is involved as well, spreading the flyers throughout Sylvania, Ohio and the surrounding areas.

Sylvania is a suburb of Toledo with millions of people, really too large to hope any real suspects can be found using the flyer. In fact, Lou is concerned that investigating a barrage of false leads will only dilute his manpower.

Lou Schein spends most of his time studying the crimes and making copious notes. He had been hopeful that the discussion with his old friend in New York would produce a motive, but nothing tangible has come of it.

Reviewing the murders in Queens, Schein surmises that the killer was startled by the interruption of Mary Bokeman and the little girl. He is perplexed why the killer didn’t mutilate the older woman, as he had with the intruder in San Diego. He must have been frightened off. Still, alarmed or not, he made no mistakes; the crime scene was clean.

How many more murders will it take before the killer makes a mistake?

Agent Phillips enters the conference room carrying his laptop. “Good morning, sir. I just picked up the list from Illinois. They’ve started the phone interviews, 870 possible suspects there, so it will take a while. Delaware, Rhode Island, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Vermont and Maine are done. The staff of researchers has eliminated anyone that matches the profile. California, New York, Texas and Illinois will take the longest.”

Phillips hands the list to Lou and continues, “Most of the medium-size states will be finished next week. There have been some serious leads, but none have proven to be our guy.”

Schein turns to the crime board, determined this killer will not get the best of him. He wants to go home, hug his wife and daughter, breathe in their innocence…but more than anything else, he wants to catch the match play killer.

Ever since the academy, agents are taught not to get personal with the criminal. But what Lou is looking at right now, made it personal.

The killer left a post-it note on Kate Stanley’s refrigerator:
Hello again, Lou. It was nice meeting you Wednesday; you play a nice round of golf! Hope to see you again soon! Are you ready for the Eighth Hole?

Lou has a copy of the note in his wallet. He takes it out and reads it several times a day. He is angry, he is insulted and furious. He has made a promise to himself that he will catch this homicidal psychopath, no matter what it takes.