Hopkins pressed his hand against his forehead. “This is ridiculous. I refuse to be distracted by this ploy. I want to-”

O’Brien cut him off with a wave of his hand. “No. Let’s hear him out.”

“It’s so simple,” Conner said, still lost in his own thoughts. “Why didn’t I see it before?”

“Conner…” O’Brien took a step toward him.

“This is a load of crap,” Hopkins groused.

Conner was lost in thought. “Maybe there’s a way…”

“Can’t you see what he’s doing?” Hopkins bellowed. “He’s just buying time.”

O’Brien bit her lip. “I’m not so sure…”

“It’s obvious. He’s a con man, through and through. He has no sense of right or wrong. He’s a golfer, for God’s sake!”

“Oh, well then!” she exclaimed. “Snap on the shackles.”

“I’m telling you, O’Brien, he’s playing you for a fool. Again!”

O’Brien gave him a stony stare that shut him down in a heartbeat. “I said we’re going to hear him out. And you-Sergeant-will follow my lead. Got it?”

Hopkins buttoned his lip, a sullen expression on his face.

“Good.” She turned back to Conner. “Look, if you’re serious about this, we’re going to need proof. Otherwise-”

“Maybe we could create some proof,” Conner said. His brain was racing, tying to put all the disparate pieces together. “Maybe-if I could call Fitz.”

“Fitz? Why?”

“I’m allowed one phone call, aren’t I?”

“And you want to use it to call your caddie?”

“Man’s best friend.” Conner sat up and leaned across the tiny table. “Look, everybody-I know this seems crazy. But-just go along with me, one more time. Let me play out one last round-under O’Brien’s close supervision, of course.”

O’Brien raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t be certain,” Conner continued. “But it’s just possible we may be able to bag a killer.”

35

About half an hour later, Fitz wandered into the clubhouse bar-but it wasn’t the Fitz to whom everyone on the tour had grown accustomed over the years. His normally dapper, immaculate appearance had disappeared; he was dirty, disheveled, smudged. His cap was on crooked and his face was stubbled. He looked exhausted. For once, all his years showed in the deep lines etched in his face.

He leaned against the bar, looking as if he could barely hold himself upright. “Club soda,” he ordered. “Quick.”

The bartender, Vic, popped open a bottle and poured the drink posthaste.

Most of the pros were still hanging around the bar, swapping sto-ries or commiserating over the tournament results. Tomorrow morning their planes would take them home, but for the moment, they were free to amuse themselves. Ace sat at one table, surrounded by well-wishers and hangers-on. Harley sat at another, his fifth place trophy resting on the table just before him. Barry was back at the bar, swilling to his heart’s content. And on the other side of the room, one table was occupied by the three top men in the tournament officialdom: Tenniel, Spenser, and Peregino. A heated conversation was taking place at that table, with lots of angry, exasperated sputtering and arguing. Trying to determine what was going on at that table was the second-most popular topic of conversation in the room.

The first, of course, was Conner Cross being hauled off by the cops for triple homicide.

Ace saw Fitz at the bar, saw his condition, and made his way toward him. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“No,” Fitz said breathlessly. “Everything is definitely not okay.”

“Conner?”

Fitz nodded. “The police have him in custody. They’re about ready to lock him up and throw away the key.”

Ace shook his head sympathetically. “I can’t believe it. Sure, Conner was kind of a wild man-but killing three people? Incredible.”

“He didn’t do it,” Fitz said.

Ace smiled. “You’re a good-hearted, loyal man, Fitz.”

“I’m not speaking out of loyalty. I’m speaking out of fact. He didn’t do it.”

“Is there anyway I can help?” Harley Tuttle had come to the bar. “I’m sorry-I couldn’t help but overhear. But, if there’s anything I can do, I’m ready.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Fitz said.

“Conner has been very kind to me. More than once. Taking me under his wing. Introducing me to the boys on the tour. Like my daddy used to say, A friend in need is a friend indeed. I owe Conner.”

“I owe him, too,” Barry said with a hiccup, on the other side of the bar. “I owe him a bloody lip.”

Fitz scowled. “Shut up, you miserable drunk.”

Barry was nonplussed. “I don’t know why you’ve stayed with that creep. I’m sure you could get other offers, even at your-your-“ He hiccupped again, then declined to finish his sentence.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said a gentle voice from somewhere behind him. It was Artemus Tenniel. Spenser and Peregino were trailing in his wake. “We’ve heard the most awful rumors about Conner. If you could possibly enlighten us-”

“The police have charged him with murder,” Fitz said, giving him the quick and dirty version. “But they’re wrong. And Conner says he can prove it.”

“Prove it?” Tenniel seemed dubious. “How?”

“By finding the murder weapon. The knife that was used on Jodie and Freddy.”

“Indeed. And how exactly would Conner know where that weapon is-if he’s not the murderer?”

“He knows where the weapon is because he knows who the murderer is.” Fitz’s voice dropped to a hush. “He’s figured it out.”

“How?” Ace asked.

“I don’t know, but he did. He’s certain. And he says he knows where the killer would’ve hidden the knife. Says the scum would use it to try to divert suspicion to Conner, like he’s been doing all along. So Conner figures there’s only about a half a dozen or so places it could be. And he’s had me running all over the grounds, checking them before it’s too late.”

Peregino cleared his throat. “And have you found it?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

Peregino pulled back quickly. “Oh, I don’t-I-“ He paused. “Just curious. You know. Could affect the image of the PGA.”

“I haven’t checked all the places yet,” Fitz said. “After I wet my whistle, I’ll get back at it. I’m not letting this killer railroad Conner.”

“You’re a good man, Fitz,” Spenser said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Don’t work too hard,” Ace added. “You have to take care of yourself, too.”

Fitz nodded, then took another swallow of his drink. “I made a promise to Conner, and I intend to keep it.”

Everyone nodded sympathetically. Gradually, the group dissipated. A few of them left the clubhouse. A few minutes later, Fitz was alone with the bartender.

He polished off the last of his drink.

“How about another?” Vic asked.

“Nah,” Fitz said, casting his eyes about the now much emptier room. “I think that’ll do it.” He paused. “Yes, I think that did just fine.”

36

The door opened, and a thin stream of light spilled into the locker room. One shadowy figure quickly entered, then closed the door behind him, returning the room to darkness. He moved quietly, careful not to make a sound, and deliberately, advancing toward his goal. He had a job to perform, and the sooner he got it done and got out of there, the better off he would be. He placed a key in a small lock. Then he opened the locker door, careful not to let it squeak. He reached inside and a moment later…

He removed a long, blood-stained serrated knife.

“That’s a nasty looking thing. Couldn’t you at least have cleaned it before you stuck it in my locker?”

The man with the knife spun around, his eyes squinting in the darkness. He didn’t have to squint for long. He heard a click, and barely a moment later, the locker room was illuminated by three overhead fluorescent bulbs.

Conner Cross stood at one end of the locker room staring at the man at the other end-who was holding a knife.