Slice

A novel

By

John Culjak

Chapter 1

       The brackish water of the pond was deep and dark.  It was home for frogs, water boatmen, treaders, and water mites.  The insects scattered as Geoff’s telescopic ball retriever, extended twelve feet, scraped the bottom in search of his golf ball.  The edge of the pond was steep and lined with large boulders causing Geoff to balance himself precariously with his left arm so as to not end up in the water with his ball.  His feet were planted between the rocks, scuffing the toes of his brown and white golf shoes.  He muttered to himself how bad his tee shot was.  He did not like to play golf alone, but the usual partners were not available today.  If they were, he thought, he would not have hit the ball so poorly – so he thought – nor would he be scraping the bottom of the pond in search of his ball.  The black flies were torturous on this hot humid morning, intensifying his anger.  Although it was hot and going to be even hotter, fog hovered over the fairway.  Geoff felt some gratification in that no one was with him to observe his humiliation.  On his belly, stretching his long scrawny body, reaching as far as his extended retriever would go, “Ah, I think I have it”.  He slowly drew his arm back, feeling the weight of a ball, perhaps his own.  Geoff hoped it was his ball, it felt heavier.  He dreaded the thought of losing a ball and being penalized two shots.  He wanted to shoot fewer than 90 strokes today to prepare for the coming tournament.  His arm shook as he brought the retriever out of the water.  “Damn!”  It was a yellow ball, not his own.  “Oh well”.  Geoff reached for the ball and bumping the quivering metal knocked it off the end of the retriever and back into the pond.  He let out a sharp sigh of frustration.  Geoff could hear the birds chirping brightly as they normally did at this time of the morning, but he did not hear the approaching figure that ended up looming over him. “Did you really expect to find your own ball in that black pool?”  The deep voice, not unfamiliar, came from directly above him.  Geoff cackled a nervous laugh at being caught in such a ludicrous position.  Remaining stretched out; he turned his head only to see who was witnessing his folly.  With a silly grin on his face, Geoff first saw a pair of highly polished black shoes, which were definitely not of the golfing variety. The last thing he saw was the bottom of uncuffed gray wool pants before the titanium driver struck his temple with the full force of a swing and a sweet follow through.  The crack was dull, unlike the sound of hitting a ball.  “Fore,” the voice said softly as he watched Geoff’s body collapse on the edge of the pond.  Blood seeping out of his right eye, his head and right arm found the water. With his foot strategically placed under Geoff’s ribs, he pushed and lifted at the same time with his powerful leg and Geoff’s body rolled into the pond.  The man reached out with his driver and pushed Geoff’s head fully under the water, holding it there for half a minute.  There were no bubbles.

. . . . .

       Lisa, breathing heavily, was reluctantly relieved to feel Philip’s weight lift off her body.  She brushed the wet strands of her auburn hair from her eye and cheek, smiling contented.  “Mmm.  You were so hot today, Phil.  I am so glad you came to see me, baby.”  She rolled over, on top of Philip and kissed him warmly, feeling the beginning of the new growth of his beard scratching her chin.  She liked the feel of his soft stomach and chest, which felt cool and wet on her skin.  She was glad he was not muscular and tight.  Lisa was never impressed with a muscular body.  Philip looked into her dark brown eyes.  “I am glad I came too,” he said laughing.  “Pun intended.  I was going to play a round of golf today with Geoff, but as soon as I found out that he booked a tee time, I bowed out and called you – to book a time with you.”  He laughed.  

Lisa put her hand over his mouth.  “Let’s not talk about Geoff.  He’ll be back soon enough, Philly.”  She said teasing him.

Philip moved her hand away from his mouth, “Do you think he knows about us?” He wondered.  

Lisa responded with a smile, exposing her very white teeth, which were too large for her mouth, and said, “He doesn’t have a clue.”

. . . . .

       Philip picked up his number one titanium driver that he left in the hall at the bottom of the stairs when he arrived, treating the club like a delicate treasured possession and said, “I’d better not leave this here,” referring to the club.  “I should go, Lisa, before Geoff gets back.  I don’t think it would be very good if he caught me here with you.  It would be hard to explain why I was here, and not playing golf with him.”  

She took the club out of his hand and pulled him toward her, putting her hand under his chin, with her fingers wrapped around the left side of his cheek, in almost a chokehold.  “You know, Phil, I don’t ever want to hear you say anything like that again.  I don’t want Geoff to know about us, understand?  If it came to that, I would deny everything.  He’d believe me too.  He knows I’d never lie to him, or be unfaithful to him for that matter.  You know that don’t you.”  She smiled looking intently into his eyes and held on as Phil tried to pull away.  “There is no future for us, Phil, except for a little fun, when I’m horny.  You understand?”  

Lisa’s hand on his neck and face made him feel uncomfortable. He pulled away, in a nervous gesture ran his fingers through his thinning hair, and patted it down.  “Don’t worry about Geoff.  He won‘t find out about us.  I promise you that.”  He said as though it were the definitive answer.  Lisa laughed and looked into his light blue eyes that always seemed to be teary and vulnerable.  At moments like this, she felt like mothering him. “You are such a little boy, Philip.  Now go home before you get into trouble.”  Philip lowered his head and left without saying goodbye.  Once outside Philip looked across the street, both ways to see if anyone noticed him.  He felt awkward; he felt sheepish, like a teenager who did something naughty.  He felt powerless with Lisa, even though he did all that he could to be more aggressive with her.  She always ended up taking control.  He didn’t like the feeling, the position in which she placed him.  I am 40 years old and shouldn’t feel like a little kid, he thought.  He walked to his car, a late model BMW, which was parked a few houses down from Lisa’s house, turned to see if anyone was on the street, then got in, satisfied that he was not observed leaving her house.  I’ll get even with her, he thought, frustrated.  I always do.  Lisa stood in the doorway, waved and watched Philip as he drove away.  She did not want to conceal the fact that a man visited her, in case he was seen leaving her house.  Being overly cautious often made it more obvious that she was trying to hide something.  At least, that’s what she thought.

. . . . .

       Driver put his golf bag down, unlocked, and opened the solid wood front door of the Victorian three-story house.  The house was painted a traditional white, with silver grey trim.  The tree-lined street was quiet, as always.  The tall trees arched over the street, creating a covered bridge.  Driver liked his privacy and did not want to know who his neighbors were and, as far as he knew, they didn’t know him even though he had lived in the house for a year and a half.  He cherished his old house in the south end of Halifax and, other than a cosmetic paint job, made no renovations when he bought it.  He closed the door, put the clubs down in the hall, taking the titanium driver from the bag.  He looked at the club head, saw what he expected to find, went into the kitchen, and turned on the hot water.  He picked up a fingernail brush that was on the back of the counter near the white porcelain sink and put the head of the club under the hot stream coming out of the faucet.  He squeezed dish detergent on the brush and scrubbed the face of the club.  He rinsed and dried the club thoroughly, examined it, and put it back in the bag, slipping a cover over the head.  In the cabinet, under the sink, he found a clean unused shoe brush.  He brushed the strands of grass off his shoes, and swiped the bottoms of his trousers to make sure that there was no residue from the links.  He went to the pantry for a dustpan and brush, swept up the grass and other bits that came from his shoes and pants and deposited it into the green plastic composter.  Driver took a plastic bottle of bleach from the cabinet under the sink and poured some of it into the sink hoping to clear away any of the material that came off the golf club head.  However, he was not overly concerned about the club, considering where it came from.

He ran the hot water and then paused for a moment, thinking what should be done next. “Ah, yes” he said aloud, and went to his small office, which once might have been used as a front room or a parlor, and was located just off the front entrance hallway.  Driver sat down at his computer, which was perched on a small, solid oak postwar desk.  Reference books and papers cluttered the top of the desk.  He turned the Macintosh power center on and waited briefly for the desktop to appear on the screen.  He opened Word and selected a file simply called List.  There were six names on the page.  Number one was Geoff Jenkins.  He moved the cursor over Geoff’s name and double clicked to highlight it.

Then he pressed the delete key on the keyboard.  “Deleted,” he said aloud.  “Geoff, you are so deleted.  And thank you”.  Driver sighed in relief and smiled as he watched the name disappear; five remained.

Chapter 2

Detective Richard “Rick” Redmond, fully aware of the early morning heat and humidity, which he found to be overbearing, labored up the stairs of the recently built police station.

The two-story building, which was built about ten years ago, but still considered the new station, looked like a brick fortress, with smoked gray windows, protected by a six-foot overhang.  The dark architectural concept made a statement, which was to forewarn people with its gloomy appearance, so everyone thought.  Redmond nodded to the officer, who monitored the front door entrance from an enclosed booth. Rick detested using the back entrance, which was the on-duty entry, also used for bookings and was monitored by video cameras. It frustrated him waiting to be identified before going inside.  It was a rigid routine, one in which he refused to participate. So, instead, he always used the front entrance.  He was buzzed in and walked through the second set of doors where the older and mostly overweight, former street cops somberly held vigil behind their desks.  The desk sergeant looked up from his work as Redmond walked by.  He nodded and gave Redmond an abbreviated wave, which was returned. Redmond liked expensive clothes and wore them well.  However, he was a most pugnacious man.  His dark brown hair was cut short, and his face looked like he went fifteen rounds with Jake LaMota.  Still he possessed a rugged handsomeness to which both men and women were attracted. Once, years ago, he entered a “tough guy” competition at the urging of his colleagues.  The bouts were held at the Halifax Metro Centre and Redmond lasted through a series of three fights, winning two and losing badly in the third and final match, mainly because of his size; he was 5’10” and he weighed 175 pounds.  His opponent weighed more than 235 pounds and took only two rounds to destroy him. Redmond often worked out after he made detective, and, as tough as he was, could not compete with the heavyweights, who outweighed him by as much as 60 pounds.  He smoked and drank too much, too often, so almost everyone who knew him thought.  The shape of his nose was attributed to the competition. Besides a few fighting scars from his youth, his cheeks were lightly pocked from pubescent acne.  Underneath the scars and twisted nose, gentleness and vulnerability attempted to emerge.  Redmond was not aware that such emotions dwelled within him.  If such a thought occurred to him, that he had those emotions, he would deny it vehemently; favorable emotions were not acceptable to him.  He saw himself as a stubborn, macho tough guy who took what he wanted, and would not give an inch.  He felt he had to maintain that persona if he were to deal the scumbags on the street.  As he climbed the stairs to the Special Investigation Section (SIS), which he headed up and was part of the RCMP/Halifax Regional police integrated major crime unit, he hoped that this day would not require a great deal of energy.  He drank far too much last night and his head was as murky as his tongue was fuzzy. Today he felt older than 38.  He sat down at his desk, slouched in the chair, and shuffled some papers that were left from the day before without looking at them.  Detective Donna Copp approached him with more paper. “This just came in.,” she said, handing him the call sheet with some urgency.  Rick quickly scanned the sheet.

“Shit!  Did Dave see this?”

“No.  It just came in.  I thought you’d want to see it first.”  Donna explained.

“Why did they call homicide?”  Redmond wanted to know.  “How did he die?  Was it a heart attack or what?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.  I guess they weren’t sure what happened.  That’s why we were called.  The body was found at a water hazard at Indian Lake Golf Course.  Shall we go take a look?”

Redmond exhaled a long slow breath.  “I sure as hell don’t want to go there for nothing.”  Donna looked at him, rolled her eyes, and shrugged.

“Okay, Copp, let’s get our ass to the golf course and get it done with.”

“Shall I bring my clubs just in case we want to play a round of golf?” she said smiling.  She had an easy, relaxed, unforced smile.  The implication was that she had not yet faced typical police hardship, the kind that would sour one’s love of life and perspective on other human beings.  Copp was not a typical cop.  She was a psych major at Dalhousie University, with a minor in criminology, before she enrolled in the Police Service training program in Toronto, which turned out to be a great disappointment to her parents.  They thought of her as scholarly and expected her to pursue a career in academia.  She had other plans, a life of excitement that would deliver a constant adrenalin rush.

It was her degree in psychology and minor in criminology that helped move her up the ranks quickly.  After only a few years on the street, she applied for, and made detective, much to the chagrin of other officers who were on the street longer and still remained there.  However, she gained the respect of her fellow detectives with her fearless attitude and her excellent investigative abilities and arrest record.  Even though Copp was quite attractive and single at 33, she was not subjected to any sexual harassment for the most part, oddly enough. 

“Just tell Dave that I want him to come with us, Donna.”

. . . . .

Dave Martin and Donna went in Dave’s car; a ten-year old black American-made sedan that spewed black fumes out of the exhaust pipe and burned about a quart of oil a month.  Rick took an unmarked police issue.  It was still early, almost 8:00 a.m., so rush hour traffic was not too heavy, especially since they were going in the opposite direction of the traffic entering the city.  The sun was bright and strong over Halifax, and poured in the drivers’ side window.  It took Rick less than 25 minutes to get to the Indian Lake Golf Course, even though there was a slight delay at the Armdale rotary, a rush hour driver’s nightmare.  The redesigning construction of the rotary did, however, help the flow somewhat.  The Indian Lake Golf Course sign was posted at the intersection of the highway and the unpaved turn-off road.  Rick took a right, saw the dust rooster tail behind Dave’s car, and followed him about 300 meters to the clubhouse parking lot.  Rick slowed his car past the parking lot, through the personnel only gate, and stopped in front of the clubhouse between Dave’s car and a standard blue and white police car with its lights flashing.

Several golfers who were waiting to play a round of golf approached him, obviously having gotten nowhere with the uniforms.  They were evidently angry to find the course closed.

“What the hell is going on here?”  One golfer asked. 

“Did someone get hurt?”  Another wanted to know.

 Ignoring their inquiries, Redmond walked by them and went directly into the clubhouse to find detectives Martin and Copp. Officer Jim Slater, who cordoned off the area with yellow crime tape, blocking access to the first two holes, had been the first to arrive with his partner.  The first hole was about fifty yards to the left of the small clubhouse, and the second hole, just to the right, could be seen from the canteen deck.  The tee box of the second hole was about 50 feet higher than and 130 yards from the green.

“Hey, Jim.  How are ya doing?”  Redmond asked Slater.

“Fine as can be.”

“So what have we got here?”

“One dead golfer, male in his mid-40s.”   

“Who found the body?”  

Slater, a junior officer, took charge.  He was young, fresh, clean-shaven, and anxious to be involved in the work.  His uniform was impeccable; clean, pressed, boots highly shined, and he performed by the book.  He could easily have been mistaken for a lifer in the military. Slater was black, one of a handful of blacks on the force.  He was resourceful, a leader and he was strong, both physically and mentally.  Besides being intelligent, he possessed the kind of street smarts that were a positive asset to doing a good job.  Slater knew that because he was black he had to be that much better than everyone else, if he was to move up the ladder.  He was proud that he was willing and capable of going the extra mile.  He did his best to ignore the occasional racial remarks from his fellow policemen.  He dismissed the remarks as ignorant comments made to rouse him and also as an attempt to treat him as inferior. 

“He was found on the pond at the third hole by two guys playing behind him.  Apparently, the two started their round about fifteen minutes after he did, and were the only players on the course.”

“Did you get their statement?”

“Yes, I did, but…” Martin interrupted him, exercising his rank and authority.  

“Just a sketchy statement, Rick.  I thought you might want to talk to them yourself.  I checked the body and it looks like it was no accident.”

“Thanks, Dave”.  Rick said, looking for the witnesses.  “Where are the two who found him?”

“They’re in the dining room having a coffee.  They’re quite upset.  Ms Kelder, who manages the place, is with them.”

“Dave, you and Donna get their full statement.  I’m gong to check the body.  Did anyone contact forensics?”

Slater, almost at attention, “I took the liberty of contacting RCMP FIS, the Forensic Inspection Services, Detective.”  He said adding the formal unit name.  “I hope you don’t mind.  They said they’d have someone here within the hour.”

“Good work, Slater.  What about the K-9 unit, were they contacted?”  The only response was shrugs.  “Donna, get them out here.  I want to see if the dogs can track the perp’s direction in and out.  Dave, get a team on the houses on the road coming in.  I want them canvassed to know if anyone saw a car, a person, anything out of the ordinary.  I want the entire area scoured, at least 500 yards in every direction from the body.  I want to know where the perp came from and where he went.”

“I’ll get right on it, Rick.”  Copp went directly to Constable Slater’s police car to make the calls and Dave made his calls from Rick’s car.

“Slater, show me where the body is,” Redmond said.

Slater led Rick around the deck and down the steep hill along a gravel path that led to the second hole green.  Once at the bottom, they took another gravel path to the left that led to the third hole.  About forty yards from the tee box, on the left of the fairway, was the body laying face down along side the boulders that bordered the pond.  “Did you ID him, Slater?”

“Ms Kelder said his name is Jenkins, Geoff Jenkins.  His wallet is intact and his driver license confirmed that.  About $90 and plastic all seem to be there.  His watch, a Rolex, is still on his wrist and gold wedding band on his finger, so I think we can rule out robbery.  Apparently he golfed here a couple of times a week.”

“Was a weapon found?”

“Nothing yet, Rick.  The only thing we found next to the body was a white wooden tee.  It may belong to the Vic.  I bagged it. I’ll give it to forensics when they get here.”

Rick looked at the swollen bloody head without touching it.  “Did anyone move or touch anything?”  Slater shrugged, “As far as I know no one touched anything…except when I checked his wallet, but I used gloves.”  Redmond noticed that Jenkins’ hair and his golf shirt was wet almost to the waist.  His hair was matted with water and blood.

“Looks to me like he was in the water.  Someone must have moved him.  Shit!  With that nasty wound, I don’t think he moved himself,” Redmond muttered almost to himself.  “Did anyone get a fix on the guy?  Where he lives, works, relatives?” Rick asked without looking up at Slater.

“Detective Copp called in for a check on him, as soon as she got here.

As far as I know, we didn’t get a fix yet.”

Redmond stood up and looked around.  “That kinda wound wouldn’t happen from a fall.  It looks like he got clubbed real good with something.”

“Bludgeoned,” Slater said.

“Yeah, bludgeoned.” Redmond said, smiling at the use of the word.  Sorta looks like an execution.”

“If it was an execution, why didn’t they just shoot him?  It’s quicker and more efficient.”  Slater wondered.

“Too noisy, Jim.  The perp probably didn’t want to draw attention to him.  That would be my guess.  Stay here until the forensic boys arrive, and don’t touch anything.  I’d like to see a photo of that wound, and find out if maybe the perp left anything behind...besides the tee.  At least we got a reasonably good fix on the time of death.”

. . . . .

          Redmond backtracked from the murder site and went into the clubhouse to talk to the pair that found the body. Karen Kelder, the manager, was sitting with them at a table in the dining room.

“I’m Detective Richard Redmond.  Are you the two that found the body on the third hole?”  Both men stood up.

“Yes sir, we found him laying face down in the water, just to the left of the fairway, about sixty yards from the tee.”  One of the men said.  Redmond motioned them to sit down.  He sat down across from them, and took out his note pad.

“Ms Kelder, you’re the manager of the clubhouse?”

“Yes, I am.  What a terrible thing to happen to Mr. Jenkins.  He was such a nice man.”  

“Did detectives Copp and Martin talk to you at all, Ms Kelder?” She shook her head indicating that they had not questioned her.  Rick did not want to duplicate the inquiry unnecessarily.

“How did you know it was Mr. Jenkins, Ms. Kelder?”

“Well, first of all he was the only one on the course before these gentlemen teed off.”

Redmond waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, “and secondly?”

“When Mr. Miller ran back into the clubhouse, almost hysterical, and told me that they found a body in the water at the third hole, I ran down to see who it was.  I recognized him immediately.  I brought my cell phone with me so I could call 911, which I did.”  She clutched the top of her blouse, just below her neck, as she spoke, and held it tightly in her grip.

“I wasn’t hysterical, Karen, but I was excited”, Miller said defensively.  “I never saw anyone dead before.”

“Did you touch the body, Ms Kelder?”

“I didn’t touch anything.  I wouldn’t do that”.  Kelder was slender and spry for her 54 years.  She had been an amateur golfer who continued to play a round of golf most days.  Wrinkles formed in the dry tanned skin around her eyes and mouth and her brown hair was cropped short and naturally highlighted by the time she spent in the sun.  When she smiled, her straight white teeth exemplified her youthfulness and a beauty that still lingered.

“Someone must have.  Didn’t you say that the body was in the water?”  He asked the two men.

Miller jumped in.  “Only his head and shoulders were in the water, not his entire body.”

“Then why was his head out of the water when I saw it?”  Rick asked.

Miller’s head dropped involuntarily, “I thought he had fallen in the water and maybe was drowning, so I pulled him out.  Then I saw his head swollen and bloody, and his eye socket crushed. That’s when I ran back up to the clubhouse.”

“Shit!  So the scene had been compromised.” He said resigned. “Okay, okay.  Did either of you see anyone else on the course or near the body?”

They shook their heads.  “How’d you pull him out?”

“We grabbed him by the belt and kind of dragged him out of the water.  When we saw his face, we just left him there and came back to the clubhouse.”  

“Mrs. Keller, did you see anyone else besides Mr. Jenkins and these two gentlemen?” 

“No, not a soul.”  As an afterthought, she said, “at least not until the others outside came to sign in and pay for the round they booked.”

“Do you know if Mr. Jenkins had any altercations with anyone here?  Any problems with anyone?”  Redmond directed his question to Karen.

“Not that I know of.  He was always smiling, very polite and pleasant.  If he did have any problems here, I wasn’t aware of it.  I always looked forward to seeing him here.  He was quite a charming man.”

 Redmond asked Martin and Copp, who returned from making the calls, if they had finished with the witnesses.  They had.

“If you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant, please call us.”  He gave each of them his card, and drew Dave and Donna aside.  “I would like you to wait for the forensic team and give me a report on their findings, and have the area checked to see if the perp left anything for us.  Oh yes, we had better get the witnesses’ prints, just in case they show up on the body, and have forensics check their shoes, as well.  I don’t want to go on a wild goose chase in the event that they left a shoe print.  Did I mention I want dogs out here?”

“Yes, you did, Rick.”

“Good.  Donna, did you get a fix on the victim yet, family, anything?”

“What I have so far is an address, he was 45, and he’s married.  His wife’s name is Lisa.  Apparently, they’ve been married for about 14 years. He was a regular here at the golf club.  He also has a sister living in the city.  Do you want me to follow up with his wife and sister?”

“No, I’ll take that dirty detail.  I assume they weren’t notified.”

“No one has told them yet, as far as I know.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to his wife first and then get to his sister.  Did the Vic have any other relatives?”

“Not that I know of, Rick.”

“Okay.  We’ll meet at my office as soon as you finish up here.  Then we’ll see what we have.  Oh, yes, double check with the golfers who are waiting to play to make sure they arrived after Jenkins was killed, and not before.  Also get everyone’s name, address, and phone number.” Redmond turned to Kelder, “Ms Kelder?  Do you know if Mr. Jenkins car is here?” 

“One second,” she replied and walked through the clubhouse reception area and outside, looking for his car.  When she returned she told Redmond that his car was the black Volvo parked in the first spot on the left.

“Donna, Dave, would you check out his car and then have it hauled in for a tight inspection?”

“Sure thing,” Dave said.

“Ms Kelder, we are going to have to close down the course for the day, at least.”  Rick told her.

“What about the back nine?  Can we use them?”  She pleaded.

“Definitely not today you can’t.  We don’t know if the perp is still on the grounds.  We can’t take any chances.  The course is closed until tomorrow morning.”  He said, annoyed by her questions. 

Redmond walked to his car, angry at having to deal with a murder and struggling with a hangover.  He did not like the smell of it.  It didn’t seem to him to be the run of the mill drug-related or crime of passion murder.  And obviously, it wasn’t robbery.  He wondered if he missed anything.

. . . . .

Driving back into Halifax, he could not clear the cobwebs from his brain; he could not think straight.  He was ever hopeful that he covered everything at the site.  His fear was that he did not look at all the details, consider all the possibilities.  Redmond was concerned that he may have overlooked the obvious and his team would call him on it.  This shortcoming so irritated him that he wished he could beat someone with his fists.  Seemingly without cause, he was so mad that he wanted to spit.