Match Play (17 page)

When Dorothy reaches the next block, he pulls out and moves up the street, ready at any moment to pull to the curb. She is oblivious to him, and he keeps about a block back. When he reaches the corner, she is almost to the end of the next block. He hesitates at the stop sign. She turns left and crosses the street right in front of him, but a block away.

She disappears behind the houses and he speeds to the next corner and stops at the stop sign just in time to see her turn left…this is it! He waits a moment, then turns left and drives down the street. As he passes the third house on the left side of the street, she is reaching over a gate and pulling it open.

Now he knows where she lives. He continues on to the next corner; the street name is Ferngarden. He makes a U-turn and drives back past the house. The house address is 15302 Ferngarden; the mailbox shows the name “Duncan.” It is a pleasant-looking house, well maintained, nicely landscaped. He wonders if there is a patio in back.

When he is several blocks away, he stops the car and changes out of his golf shoes. He is ready to return to his room and assemble the envelope to mail to Los Angeles. That task will make a good ending for a perfect day.

The fourth hole is set. He will play it before he leaves for Mobile.

T
he next morning, David is at the hardware store at the same time he arrived the previous day. During the night he decided it was best to continue with his pursuit of cashier number 4, since as there was always the possibility Dorothy Duncan would be gone or have a guest when he returned.

He walks nonchalantly around the store examining various items and eventually works his way toward the checkout area, hoping the woman he has considered as an alternate is working. He is in luck…she is here.

He drifts down the aisles, trying to formulate the way he can play her if needed. He remembers their conversation vividly: she hasn’t lived here long, she hasn’t done much exploring and she isn’t wearing a wedding ring.

He reaches the utility knives and looks them over, reading the labels, discovering the functions for which each is designed. He is particularly curious about the carpet knives. The most expensive one has a nice wooden handle. The blade is curved over like a parrot’s beak. It is sharpened on the inside edge, and he can’t help wondering how it works and how it evolved to have that shape.

After meditating over buying it, he decides finally that he has to have one. He walks straight to the register where the alternate fourth hole is working and steps into line. He spots some small brass-bristled brushes hanging beside him. They look perfect for cleaning clubs so he picks up a package. As he gets closer to the register, he wonders if the woman will remember him. When he sets the knife and brushes on the counter, she looks up as she slides them over the scanner. Her glazed eyes turn to thoughtful recognition.

“Did you find something interesting to do?” She smiles and hits the total button. “That’ll be $21.45 with tax.”

David opens his wallet. “Not yet. I had some business to take care of. I thought I might go play golf this afternoon.”

“Well, there are only three golf courses here unless you go to Dallas.” She takes his money and counts out his change.

“Oh, do you play?” he asks casually.

“I have no interest in sports of any kind, let alone golf.” She pulls his receipt from the register and hands him the bag. “Enjoy your golf game.”

His mind is racing. His plan for the alternate hole is decimated. He can only play the match with golfers; that is his game rule.

He reaches his car and deposits his purchase in the back seat. Once settled behind the wheel, he drives through the mall lot looking for a place to purchase a large envelope. He parks in front of a drug store, finds the stationery aisle and chooses a package of large, nine by twelve, heavy yellow envelopes. In the liquor aisle, he picks up two bottles of wine and checks out in the liquor department.

Back at the hotel, he opens one of the bottles of wine and pours a glass. He undresses as he drinks the wine.

He removes the tape from Joan’s breasts and massages them, caressing the nipples to relieve the sting of the tape.

Sitting at the desk in his bathrobe, he turns his attention to the newspaper and the large yellow envelope. Putting on a pair of surgical gloves, he wipes the paper and envelope carefully and begins cutting letters from the paper. Each letter is the same height and uniform in style.

The whole idea of doing it this way is rather melodramatic. After all, he could just use a laser printer and no one would be able to trace it. But there is something tantalizing about the FBI receiving this type of mail. He can imagine the envelope going through all sorts of departments before Agent Lou Schein receives it. After all, it might contain poison…or worse.

He finishes addressing the envelope, takes one of the Las Colinas scorecards from his briefcase, marks it appropriately for the 14th hole at TPC, par 5, 2 up and inserts it into the envelope. He will need postage, unless he decides to be really bold and deliver it to the FBI offices in Dallas himself. The idea intrigues him.

He works on his knives with the emery cloth and files; they shine up quickly. He expects to use two of them when he plays at Las Colinas. It is a par 5 and the green is in a canyon.

He will drive to Dallas Monday morning, April 29.

D
avid drives past the house on Ferngarden on his way to the course. No one appears to be there. It occurs to him she might be gone for the weekend, or maybe even the week. Then what?

He drives on to the small golf course and parks his car. He changes his shoes, takes his clubs and goes to the clubhouse. The place is terribly crowded; the driving range looks full. He takes his putter to one of the putting greens. It isn’t much of a putting surface, probably about six on the stimpmeter, with bare spots that have no grass at all.

As far as he can tell, Dorothy Duncan isn’t here. He continues putting, wondering why he is bothering since no one’s game can be improved under these kinds of conditions. After a while, he takes advantage of an opening on the driving range where he can hit a few balls.

In the small pro shop, he asks for a large bucket of balls. The attendant sets one on the counter and takes his ten dollars. As David heads out, he is confronted by an FBI poster hanging beside the door. “The FBI needs your help in locating this man. He is wanted for questioning as a possible witness in a homicide investigation.”

The artist’s rendering isn’t helpful, considering the man in the sketch is wearing sunglasses and a hat. The poster goes on to indicate the man is average height and build and might have vertical scratch scars on his right arm.

David resists the temptation to look at his own arm. The scratches have healed, although two of them were deep enough to leave blemishes near his elbow. The poster contains no other useful information except a phone number to call “should you have information.”

David ambles out of the pro shop carrying the ball bucket, retrieves his clubs and walks casually toward the driving range. The range is beyond the putting green and one must go between the putting green and the parking lot to get there.

He keeps his eyes forward, having an impulse to set the balls down and return to his car, but his confidence doesn’t waver; no one is the least bit interested in him. He continues on to the driving range, finds an empty tee and begins to stretch.

He works on his wedges until the balls are gone. He cleans his clubs, walks back to the car, changes his shoes and sits on the rear bumper for a moment contemplating his next move. He must return to the house on Ferngarden tonight. If there are lights on in the house, it certainly won’t be a guarantee of someone’s presence, but he might see someone moving about. Then he will know she is there.

He drives back toward his hotel, picks up a newspaper from the front desk and carries his clubs and shoes inside. After setting the clubs in their spot, he scrubs his shoes clean and leaves them to dry on the bathroom floor.

He opens a bottle of wine, lays the newspaper on the desk and flips to the sports page, where he finds a smaller version of the FBI poster. He looks for the Thursday scores for the LPGA Shootout, and it reminds him that he has only two days to play the fourth hole.

David stares out the patio door, not really noticing the view. He is feeling uneasy. He can’t quite get a fix on it, but he assumes the feeling is coming from seeing the poster.

In the bathroom, he examines his face and hair in the mirror. The logical thing to do is to change his appearance, to grow a beard or a mustache; but what about Joan? He hates the idea. Plus, because of the estrogen injections, he may not be able to grow sufficient facial hair. Not to mention, facial hair will create the potential for DNA to be left at the crime scene. He dismisses the idea.

He retrieves his glass and wine bottle and starts the water running in the tub, adding bubble bath provided by the hotel. He undresses and takes the binding off Joan’s breasts and steps into the tub. He needs to relax and think.

By the time the bath water turns cold, the wine bottle is empty and David is ready for bed. He lies down and immediately falls into a deep sleep.



It is raining and his clothes are soaked through and there is a terrible wind blowing into the back of his neck. He keeps feeling the loss of his balance; he can’t understand the terror he feels until he slips. He reaches for the rock wall beside him and then looks down and immediately knows he shouldn’t have done that.

He is on a narrow path, and he feels like no matter what he does, he can’t get a secure grip. The rock ledge is getting narrower with each step. He is certain if he continues he will fall, but his feet continue, even while his mind is screaming to go back. His hands are slippery, each step is more precarious, and soon he is clawing for a place in the rocks where he can hang on.

The rain is suddenly gone and he is standing on a small ledge outside the windows at the packing plant. He can’t bear to look down. The surfaces are all damp and slippery but they are gritty as well. His clothing is dirty, covered with silt and blood; he is too frightened to move.

He sees a window only a few feet away. He tries to reach for it, but it is too far and he is only able to regain his balance when he pulls back. He is trembling. He is cold, his clothes feel like ice; there is blood all over his hands, he can taste blood in his mouth. He begins to shiver uncontrollably; his hands are growing increasingly weak. He knows he is going to fall…he sees his father’s face staring out the window as he slips from the ledge.



He screams as he falls and, at the moment he hits the floor, is awakened. He has fallen out of bed. It is dusk and as he sits shivering on the floor, he glances around; the place is unfamiliar for a moment, until he realizes it is his hotel room. He is damp from sweat, and the breeze coming through the open patio door is the reason he is cold.

His body is saturated with the anxiety of the nightmare as he stands shakily. He is cold and needs to shower. He must purge the memories.

When it is dark, he drives to Ferngarden Street. The house where Dorothy Duncan lives is well-lit. He is certain he can see her inside. He will play the fourth hole here.

D
avid wakes to a cloudy Sunday morning in Irving, Texas. He plans to play today. His course management is complete. He will approach from the right side of the fairway and will return to the clubhouse shortly after dark.

The risks are the small white dog or the possibility Dorothy will not be home. These are unknowns, hazards in the golf world; any miscalculation can prove to be disastrous. The reward will be an under par score.

Today is the last day of the North Texas Shootout. David spent all day and most of last night driving by the house on Ferngarden numerous times. Dorothy Duncan had actually been entering the house when he made one of the passes. She didn’t see him, but she had the small white dog with her. If it is a barker, it could be a real problem.

As it turns out, there is an alley behind the house which is an advantage; there is not a house directly behind her property. If needed, he has an alternate escape route.

He has concluded that he will have to disable Dorothy at the door, then immediately capture the dog. He isn’t too concerned about the dog; he will have Dorothy’s 3 iron in his hand.

He showers and shaves all of his body hair. As he stands drying himself in front of the mirror, he begins to feel profound warmth in his groin. This stage incites an intoxicating sensation throughout his body. David binds Joan’s breasts and by the time he is dressed, he is ravenously hungry. He orders room service and the Dallas morning newspaper.

He eats a large breakfast and reads the paper, working his way through the main sections. There is no mention of the murder in Rancho Mirage. He is disappointed. Why haven’t the murders been mentioned? He wants the national press involved by the time he gets to the Walmart Championship in Arkansas. It is apparent that the FBI is trying to keep his match a secret. Is the play becoming dull? He’ll increase the pressure, up the ante on the competition.

David decides to stop on his way to the course and buy an instant camera. He ties his hair tight and tucks it in under a cap which he purchased from the Las Colinas pro shop.

Clouds are moving in from the south as he begins to pack the car. He hopes it will be raining by the time he begins. A thunderstorm will be perfect cover for a barking dog, and it might compel Dorothy Duncan to invite him in.

About two in the afternoon, the sky turns dark and he hears thunder and sees lightning in the distance. He checks the weather forecast; the area is due for continued storms throughout the evening.

He drives past the address on Ferngarden two more times. On one pass the front door is open, so he is satisfied that she is home.

At three in the afternoon, the atmosphere darkens and the somber mood of the day is spread over the entire area. It begins to rain.

He parks in a shopping center parking lot not far from Ferngarden and is examining yesterday’s newspaper. The standings for the Las Colinas tournament are along the edge of the sports page; he is marking out the letters of the names of the players that are unnecessary for his next message: ABIRDIENESTSINTHESWAMP

When he is finished he tears out that section of the page and carefully trims it with scissors before putting it in his briefcase. He removes his latex gloves and starts the car.

It is raining quite hard when he reaches the west corner of the block where Dorothy Duncan lives. He doesn’t have an umbrella or any rain gear so he will be sympathetically drenched when he reaches her front door.

He pulls past her house about a hundred yards down on the opposite side of the street and parks. The car windows begin to fog. He pulls on a pair of latex gloves, then a pair of leather driving gloves. He reaches for his briefcase and the 3 iron and steps out of the car into the rain.

The crackling of the lightning and the rolling sound of the thunder is as unrelenting as the downpour of the rain.

He walks directly across the street, hesitating in the rain long enough to allow his jacket to get soaked. He takes the walkway leading to her front door and stops in the small porch on the front of the house. He is dripping wet as he casually brushes himself off, steps toward the doorbell and rings.

He hears the dog barking. She is trying to quiet the dog as she approaches the door. David feels his hand tighten around the grip of the 3 iron.

“Yes?” she says as she opens the door. He assumes the screen door that separates them is locked. “David?” she gasps. “You’re soaking wet!”

“Hello, Dorothy. I didn’t expect it to be raining like this. I want to return your 3 iron, had you noticed it was missing? I must have dropped it into my bag by mistake the day we were practicing.” He holds it up so she can see it.

He watches her reach for the latch on the screen door.

“Actually, I haven’t noticed!” she says as she pushes the door open. “I haven’t been back to the course since the day we met.” She is motioning him into the foyer. “Aren’t you freezing? Get back, Daisy!” Dorothy again pushes the dog with her foot.

David brushes water from his jacket and steps inside.

“How did you ever find me?” she asks, smiling. “Let me get you a towel. Just a second.” She scurries down the hall with Daisy at her heels.

“That isn’t necessary, Dorothy. I just wanted to return your club.”

Dorothy Duncan, hands him a towel and a moment later she is lying on the floor moaning in pain.

David fractured her right leg at the knee with the 3 iron. He pushes the door shut behind him. Daisy is furiously barking now. He takes a swing at the dog with the club but the little fur ball is too quick and runs toward the end of the hall.

He takes the duct tape from his briefcase, turns Dorothy over and wraps her wrists behind her back. She is in too much pain to resist. He pulls a plastic bag from his coat pocket, turns her back over to face him and is about to pull it over her head.

Dorothy looks directly at him and smiles with a calm awareness. David smiles back at her as he pulls the bag over her head, tying it securely. He watches it fog over just as the car windows had done earlier.

He removes the leather gloves, leaving the latex gloves on his hands.

Daisy is back and barking bigger than the dog she is. He rises from the floor and moves toward the little dog, carrying the roll of duct tape with him as he follows her down the hall.

He has made an error; he didn’t anticipate a doggy door, and he watches helplessly as the little beast disappears through the door. She is now outside barking. He has to stop the barking! His desperation turns to anxiety and panic. He hesitates, turns back toward the victim, then the dog door, then back to the victim.

He goes back to the foyer and picks up the 3 iron. The dog has come back through the door, but it is still barking. Little Daisy isn’t stupid. She doesn’t get close enough for him to hit or get behind her. He hesitates long enough to look at Dorothy; she isn’t struggling anymore. He kneels beside her; the little dog gets closer and closer, barking hysterically. David changes his position, so does the dog. Finally the dog is near the front door and David is nearer to the hallway. He backs toward the hall, the 3 iron in hand, Daisy still barking and pursuing him.

David reaches the back door of the house and uses an ironing board to block the pet door. He raises the 3 iron again and begins to chase the dog. Daisy runs back up the hallway, stopping momentarily near her mistress to let out a half howl-half bark sound and then dashes around David again.

He chases Daisy back down the hall and into the laundry room. He closes the door behind him and pulls the little dog by the scruff of her neck from behind the clothes dryer.

Daisy knows she is defeated and stops struggling. The dog stares at him, she seems to know her fate. In that instant, David feels like the little dog knows everything about him: his pain, his suffering, his agony and his plans. He can’t look away from the dog. He feels a kind of shared consciousness with it and releases the scruff and holds her until her breathing is relaxed.

David closes the door as he leaves the laundry room. The barking dog problem is solved.

Anticipating the rain, David has purchased a roll of plastic sheeting and spreads a section on the floor, steps onto it and places his briefcase, wet coat, shoes and hat on the sheeting to avoid leaving his trace.

He removes his plastic overalls and cap and slips them on. David undresses Dorothy, then picks her up and carries her to the nearest bath and carefully sets her in the tub.

He returns to the foyer, removes the sheath of knives from his briefcase and chooses the carving knife.

He has decided to play the 12th hole at Las Colinas, another par 5. Hole number 12 at his father’s country club was also a par 5. It was at that point his father transformed, because by then he had drank several beers and had a few shots from his gold whiskey flask…and the meanness would emerge.

The malignant memories give David the momentum to create a perfect fourth hole.



When he returns to the foyer for the final time, he is carrying the jar with Dorothy’s trophies. He turns to make a visual inspection of the crime scene. Satisfied that he has performed flawlessly, he takes the camera from his briefcase and he photographs the entire scene. The pictures will insure that Agent Lou Schein will see the fourth hole through David’s own eyes.

To mark the scorecard, he must know her age. He rummages through the house to locate Dorothy Duncan’s purse. He finds it on the desk in the office and dumps the contents and opens her wallet. Her driver’s license is in the picture compartment.
Fifty-four! Excellent! He made birdie on this par
5!

He pulls the Las Colinas scorecard from his briefcase, marks the card appropriately: five; four, two up; and drops it on the floor.

He takes a tee from his briefcase, from the plastic sheeting he picks up the golf ball marked 5 in blood, making sure it’s dry. He returns to the office. He can’t get the tee into the floor so he just drops it and the ball on a small throw rug. Dorothy’s golf bag is standing near the office door and David pulls out an 8 iron. He opens the French doors, addresses the ball, and sends it flying out the door with a draw swing.

The rain has stopped, and it is dark. He listens but can’t hear it hit anything.

He drops the 8 iron on the floor, retrieves the 3 iron from the foyer and drops it, without cleaning it, into the golf bag. He sheds his plastic overalls and cap onto the plastic sheet, takes one glove off then notices the other glove has a tear with a piece missing. It is too late to look for it. His shoes, coat and hat are dry; after dressing, he folds the items including the bag used on Dorothy’s head into the plastic sheeting and places it in his briefcase.

It is completely dark when he steps onto the front porch. He casually closes the door, wipes the knob, pulls his jacket up around his neck and walks to his car. The neighborhood is deserted.