Match Play (15 page)

D
avid Steadman
enters the bank and takes the stairs to the preferred customer section on the mezzanine. As he walks in, everyone that isn’t busy jumps to their feet to assist him.

“Good morning, Mr. Steadman!”

David smiles, thinking they sound like a chorus. He nods to each of the desk tellers and arrives at Jenny Wright’s desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Steadman. How may I assist you?” Jenny is poised to rise. Her blue suit emphasizes her eyes and gray hair.

“Hello, Jenny, how are you? I’d like to get into my safe deposit boxes this morning. Will you please get someone to help me?”

“I’ll be happy to help you, just let me get my keys.” She opens her middle desk drawer and withdraws a ring of keys on a red coiled cord and slips it over her wrist. David follows her in the direction of the vault. They have made the trip many times together over the years. David nods to the guard as he passes.

“Good morning, Mr. Steadman.” The guard assumes a military stance.

“Hello, Harry, good to see you.”

David follows Jenny into the vault.

“Which boxes would you like, Mr. Steadman?” She begins sorting through her keys.

“I want 1367 and 4598.” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves his safe deposit keys, five in all. Each box contains a specific kind of treasure. The other three boxes contain bearer bonds, stocks, jewelry and cash. Box 1367 is his own cache; it holds about $100,000.

Box 4598 is a box he opened when he decided to bring his trophies to the bank. No one is aware of its existence except the bank and himself, and only he knows the contents.

They stop at 1367, insert their separate keys and withdraw the rather large box from its slot. Jenny carries it as they walk around several aisles of deposit boxes and finally reach 4598. She inserts her key, then David his. He pulls out the extra-large box, lays his briefcase on top of it and turns to go back to the private rooms. Jenny walks quickly until she is ahead of him and they are nearing the rooms.

“Will this one be all right?” She opens the door and turns on the light.

“It’s fine, thank you.” She places the box she’s holding on the table and he follows, placing his briefcase and the larger box next to it.

“Just push the blue button when you are finished, Mr. Steadman, and I’ll come back to help you.” She steps out, pulling the door closed behind her. The occupied light is lit outside when David locks the door.

He removes his coat and lays it across a chair. He sits down, unwraps the labels and markers he has bought at the stationery store. He opens his briefcase. He has packed the jars in washcloths he took from the bathroom. He smiles when he thinks of Sarah grumbling around looking for the missing cloths.

It takes several minutes to fill in the labels. He prints in block style, trying to keep the lettering even and straight. He should have brought a ruler.

First Hole: Wildfire Golf Club, Phoenix March Par 4 Birdie, 1 up

Second Hole:
Aviara Golf Club, Carlsbad March Par 3 Ace, 2 up

Third Hole: Mission Hills CC, Rancho Mirage April Par 5 Double Bogey, 1 up

He hesitates as he picks up another label and looks at the fourth set of nipples.
What should I call these? They’re not part of the match.
Why did she have to interfere?
He twirls them in the jar a couple of times and sets the jar back on the table and picks up his marker.

Practice Tees: San Diego March

He arranges the jars in a row and hovers over them as if they are his babies.

He stands and puts his key into the lock of box 4598. His hand is slightly trembling. He hasn’t been in this box for two years. He turns the key and raises the lid. Everything is just as he had left it.

The foam he installed when he first put the items in the bank box still holds each jar in its place. He notices right away that one is more clouded than it should be; he will need to make sure the seal isn’t broken.

Selecting the containers is as important as the contents. What each jar contains is his and only his. David inhales a deep breath and blows it out slowly and touches each jar, not casually, but with reverence.

The largest, quart size, are toward the back of the box. He reaches for one and pulls it straight up from the foam. It is full to the top with eyeballs staring in every direction. Written on the side in wax marker is the number 47. He places the jar on the table and picks up another of the fancy labels as he sits down.

Dog eyes, Collected in Oak Park and surrounding area, Chicago 1975-76-77 Total 47

He wipes the glass until it is clean, then attaches the label.

Next he removes two long, cylindrical olive jars, one marked 53, the other 42. He places them on the table.
What year did I collect these? Was it 1973 or 1974? Oh yes, I turned 13 that year, it was 1973.

He picks up two more labels.

Cat toes, Collected from Oak Park and surrounding areas, Chicago 1973 Total 53

Then he fills in a second label.

Cat toes, Collected from Oak Park and surrounding areas, Chicago 1974 Total 42

He sets them with the others. They weren’t really a big deal; he’d only taken one toe from each cat, usually from the left hind foot. He hadn’t killed the cats, except for the occasional one that tried to scratch him. He had carried a declawed cat’s foot for many years for good luck.

The next is rather small, a mustard jar. It is the oldest, the clouded one. He examines the edges of the lid where it meets the glass and sees no evidence of leakage. Perhaps it is just the age of the preservative. He shakes it gently, the little beaks bang against the inside of the jar and swirl around. He sets the jar on the table.

He started collecting these the year his father killed Buster, so he knows it was 1972. He can’t remember a total and it isn’t on the jar, but there are certainly over a hundred of them. He had developed his own technique for removing only the top beak. He doesn’t remember how many birds he’d killed experimenting or how many he found on the ground, thrown from the nest after he had handled them.

He wonders what he did with that piece of wood with the two nails in it. The nails were placed just far enough apart so he could hook the bird’s head and hold it tightly while pulling on the bird’s feet. It is probably still lying under the lilacs.

The process had been awkward at first. He had tried to remove the whole beak, but the birds just bled to death. Finally, by using a single-edged razor blade, he discovered he could remove the upper beak just in front of the nostrils. This was especially easy if the beak hadn’t hardened yet. It was a simple procedure as long as he didn’t lacerate the tongue.

That summer he had done nest after nest and was certain, later that year, he’d seen several grown birds without a top beak.

David picked up the marker.

Blackbird beaks, Collected from the lilacs, Oak Park, Chicago 1972 Total 100+

He quickly examines the other jars. He had labeled them more carefully when he was collecting their contents so he doesn’t bother removing them. They contain trophies from his teenage years, some from when he worked at the packing plant.

He removes the jar of cow eyes from his briefcase, labels it, and puts it with the rest. After he returns each of them back to their respective spots, he makes new places for the recent trophies. When he is satisfied everything is in order and secure, he places the rest of the labels inside the box and stands to close it.

David straightens his tie. His lips grow into a slow and sexy smile as his trousers brush against the front of the table. He is aroused.

He slides box 4598 to his left and brings box 1367 squarely in front of him. He unlocks and opens the box and takes out a bundle of one hundred dollar bills. He pops the strip of paper binding the bundled money together and counts the currency. The bundle should hold $10,000, and he must count it to be sure. There are one hundred bills just as there should be.

He puts several one hundred dollar bills in his wallet and the rest of the bundle goes in the briefcase. Then, he dumps the entire contents of the box into his briefcase, another nine bundles of hundred dollar bills. He closes the empty box and locks it, leans back for a moment, and pushes the blue button. He sits quietly, waiting for Jenny to return.

When she knocks, he stands and opens the door.

“All finished, Mr. Steadman?”

“Yes I am, Jenny.” Carrying the larger box, he passes the smaller one to Jenny and they retrace their earlier steps.

Once the boxes are secure, David uses his cell phone to call the Ford service center to request a ride. He waits in the space between the exterior and interior doors of the bank, and when the limo pulls up he climbs in, finished with his most important task.

He retrieves his Navigator and eats a leisurely lunch at one of his favorite restaurants. He is enjoying his last sip of wine when his phone rings. Nate Einsinger is on the line.

“Hello, Mr. Steadman, I have those figures for you within a few thousand dollars.”

David reaches for his pen and the leather bound notebook from his inside jacket pocket. “Go ahead.”

“First, stocks and bonds based on today’s price, $24,380,000. Second, the net worth of the Steadman’s Markets is approximately $90–$100 million. Your shares in A-Prime Packing, I kept those separate, approximately $15 million. And finally, your personal property, the best estimate, amounts to about $8 million. I don’t think I can be more precise without an audit.”

“This is satisfactory, Nate, I just wanted a general idea.”

“Will you require anything else, sir?”

“No thank you, Nate, that’s all I need. You won’t be able to reach me again before September or October; I think I’ll spend some time in the Caribbean and I want to be left alone. I’m giving you a limited power of attorney today when I see Jamison. Run things as you see fit. You know what I want and how I like things.”

Einsinger will be fine as long as he doesn’t panic, but it really doesn’t matter. The match is more important than a few million dollars.



David Steadman arrives at Jamison, Bracket and, while waiting for Jamison, picks up a copy of the
Wall Street Journal,
pretending to read it while mentally going over his agenda. He wants those codicils written while he is here so they can be witnessed and signed.

David looks up when Jamison’s office door opens.

“Hello, David. Please come in. I hear you’ve been on vacation.” Bryce Jamison shakes his hand firmly.

“Yes, and I intend to continue my travels. I want to make sure certain matters are in order before I leave again.”

In his office, the attorney motions to a large leather chair for David. Jamison sits behind his desk. He picks up a large envelope and removes David’s will. “I believe you said you want to add some codicils?” He flips through the papers to the amendments.

“Yes, I want to review the provisions I’ve made for Sarah in the event that something should happen to me.”

“Well, it’s really quite simple. She gets $250,000 and you pay the taxes.”

“I want to give Sarah the house and enough to provide for her the remainder of her life. That is in addition to the quarter million. Sarah has spent most of her life in our service at that house, and I want her to be able to live there comfortably.”

Jamison calls an associate to come to his office. When the young woman enters he gives her some simple instructions, the copy of the will, and says he wants the codicil as soon as possible. When she leaves the office, Jamison says, “Can we do anything else for you, David?”

“I need a limited power of attorney for Nate Einsinger allowing him control over my holdings. I expect your firm to provide checks and balances so he doesn’t do anything radical, but I’d like him to handle all my corporate affairs.”

“David, that is highly irregular. I don’t…”

David interrupts, “I’m leaving, Bryce, and I want this done. I go to the Caribbean for an indefinite period and I don’t want to be troubled about anything.”

“As your attorney, you can imagine my concern…”

“This is what I want, Bryce. Now, how soon can you do it?”

Bryce Jamison, shaking his head, calls the associate and asks her to come back to his office. He gives her the new instructions and she leaves once again.

“We’ll have everything ready within two days.” Jamison forces a smile. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“I’d like to leave $10 million each to the Chicago Symphony and the Chicago Art Institute. The balance can go to Junior Golf.”

“I’ll see that the changes are made. Anything else?” Jamison looks perplexed.

“No, Bryce. Thank you.” David sits back in the leather chair.

FBI, Los Angeles, California, Monday, April 8

L
ou Schein goes straight home after he and his team process the scene in Rancho Mirage. He arrives in LA in the early morning hours of Sunday, a day reserved for his family. He tries not to think about the killer; but like all serial killers he has chased in the past, this one too invades his being.

Unable to sleep and tired of pacing, Lou showers and dresses and arrives at the office at four in the morning on Monday.

As he enters his office, his phone is vibrating with an email from Agent Phillips. Phillips has been ill since they arrived back in LA and will take a sick day. Schein is disappointed; he was hoping to get the results of the scramble today.

From his bag, Lou unpacks crime scene photos, interviews, and autopsy reports.

He takes a pad of paper to outline the crimes from the first to the last. He cross-references all comparable aspects of the crime scenes, keeping in mind that the similarity of the victims is that they are not similar. There is no correlation between their body types, age, race, and hair color. He pays particular attention to the distinguishing attributes of the rules of match play.

The first and most important fact is the killer believes he lost the 3rd hole. Why? He accomplished the murder. Yet he marked his score as only 1 up and a double bogey.

He was 2 up and would have been 3 up if he had won, but now he is only 1 up because he has won two holes and lost one hole and, now, apparently we’ve won one hole.

Unfortunately if he is playing eighteen holes, he will have to commit eight more murders to win. Every time we win a hole, he is compelled to play another. And playing another means someone has to die.

Why did he score the third hold as a double bogey? Why not bogey? What made it a loss?

Double bogey has to be significant. It’s a bad score for someone who is a professional or considers himself equal to a professional.

Does he have to make par or better to win the hole? How does he determine the score?

Why was Deborah Beatty a birdie, Emily Cho an ace and Shirley Scott a double bogey? What went wrong?

Count the shots. He made seven shots on a par 5, but what is a shot? Relate to the victim, she’s the hole, and how he manages the murder has to be the clue. Is it the number of days he stalks the victim? Is it the victim’s age?

Agent Schein needs to stretch his legs and get some coffee. When he gets back to his desk he sees the picture of the word scramble. He reproduces the scramble on a clean sheet of paper and decides to take a chance on deciphering the letters. He’s pretty good at word jumbles with his children, how hard can this be?

The letters are two A’s, one C, two E’s, one G, two H’s, one I, two M’s, one N, one S, one T, one W, one Y; and W, M, G and S are circled. He knows from the information that Phillips shared on the last scramble that the circled letters are the first letter of a word.

It’s six-thirty. Coworkers will start drifting in any time now, so he gets up and closes his door. He’s determined to solve this scramble before the morning meeting.

He starts at the beginning, with the circled letters. Then he looks for common pairs: th, sh, ch. Then vowels, knowing consonants will be at the beginning and end of the word.

Lou works patiently and systematically, hovering over his desk, rarely noticing the time. At some point, someone knocks on his door, but he waves him off and gets back to the scramble.

He’s leaning forward in his chair, pressing his lips together, and then he gets the first word: WATCH. The second word is easier, MY. He has one A and one M left, the third word: GAME and finally, with his hands clenched and held above his head while grimacing, the fourth word pops out at him: SHINE.

WATCH MY GAME SHINE

Lou Schein freezes, staring with wide eyes. He sits back in his chair; the muscles in his face are tightened.
Is this some kind of riddle? Does he mean shine like the sun? Or does he mean Schein, me?

Lou looks through all the media reports to see if his name has been mentioned, and there it is, in San Diego: “Special Agent Lou Schein assigned to the FBI Violent Crimes Unit.”
I’ll be damned!

He looks at the time and gathers his notes; he copies the list he made up earlier to distribute at the meeting. He grabs the scramble and, opening his office door, he runs into Tom Bachman. “Hi, Tom, I’m on my way to the meeting. Why don’t you join us?”

The team, minus Phillips, is already gathered; upon seeing Bachman enter, they stand in respect to his position. Tom motions them to sit.

“Dr. Cochran, what do you have for us?” Lou says as he sits at the head of the table. Payne has prepared the crime board to include the recent crime scene, and the screen monitor is set up.

Nancy begins with the autopsy report. “There are some differences from the other two crime scenes. The victim was choked but not strangled, cause of death is exsanguination. There are apparent signs of a struggle; we found two broken fingernails on the bed, both identified as belonging to the victim.

“The victim’s head was placed in an ice bucket. Previous victims’ cavities were filled with sugar and/or flour; the killer either forgot or neglected to bring the cavity filler and used what was available, in this case, coffee creamer from packets. The drugs found in the victim’s blood are the same type as the other victims. Other than that, there are no glaring differences and you each have a copy of the autopsy report.”

Lou stands and all attention is on him. “Does anyone have anything to add, any questions?” The four people in attendance say no, almost in unison. “Well, I do. I deciphered the scramble!”

The team expresses surprise and Lou blurts out, “Watch My Game Shine. Our killer is either very confident about the next hole or he’s taunting me personally. Please study the list of questions and observations I’ve given you. I’d like to hear your opinions before we go to Texas. Speaking of Texas, this team and the CSU techs will be leaving on Monday, April 22. The advance team will be there a few days ahead of us and will be distributing the artist sketch throughout the area, but especially at Las Colinas Country Club where the North Texas Shootout will be held from April 25–28 in Irving, outside of Dallas.”

“Let’s hope he makes a mistake,” Gibson says.

Lou rubs his hands together and looks knowingly at Tom. They’ve both been at this point in an investigation and understand the limitations they face when dealing with a smart killer.

Tom breaks the mood with, “Bishop to F5.”