“It’s also why you skipped Pebble Beach, isn’t it? Too close to Stanford.”

Harley nodded. “I had everything planned so carefully. And then-“ He stopped short.

“And then, Monday afternoon, I introduced you to John.”

“That’s right.” His face twisted. “Didn’t recognize him at all. But he recognized me. I could tell it the second he laid eyes on me.”

“John was like that,” Conner said quietly. “Never forgot a face.”

“No, he didn’t, damn him. And I knew he’d feel honor-bound to report me, too. That’s what the PGA requires, isn’t it?”

Conner nodded solemnly. “So you killed him. Before he had a chance.”

“What choice did I have?” Harley spread his arms wide. “My career was on the line. I’d put too much work into this to let it slip away-again!”

“But why the golf club switch? Why frame me?”

“Why not? It was your damn fault I was in this mess. And it was convenient, since you were using the same brand clubs as Freddy. I thought the best way to keep the cops from looking around too much was to give them an obvious suspect. So you were elected. I did the dirty deed with your club, knowing full well it would be traced back to you.”

“But how did you get it?”

“Ah, that’s why I needed Freddy. I didn’t want to do anything that would attract attention to me. I needed help.”

“Why Freddy?”

“I knew he needed cash, bad. He hadn’t placed in a tournament in two years, and he was throwing it away hand over fist on his daughter’s wedding. He was such a weasel-it didn’t take much to get him in my back pocket. I slipped him some bucks and he agreed to separate you from your clubs.”

“The peephole.”

“Yup. That was the dodge he used. And you fell for it. Left your clubs on the driving range. I removed your nine-iron and replaced it with Freddy’s-after scraping off the serial number. And then I lured John out to the eighteenth green-”

“And killed him in cold blood. Buried him in the sand trap.”

Harley didn’t deny it.

“And Jodie?”

Harley took a deep breath. “I didn’t plan to kill Jodie,” he said quietly. “But I passed her at the wedding reception Friday night and she was muttering Fiji over and over under her breath. It was only a matter of time until she figured it out, or told someone else who figured it out. I couldn’t take the risk. I tried to get Freddy to help, but of course he was too much of a weakling. So I took care of her myself.”

“One sin begets another. And Freddy?”

“That greedy bastard couldn’t be satiated. Once he realized what I had done with your club, he thought he had me under his control. He demanded money, more than I could provide. That’s why I concocted that extortion scheme-I needed the cash to pay him off. And even after I made away with the million-he wanted more! Can you believe it? I tried, but even as I sent the second fax, I knew Tenniel would never go for it. So there was only one course left to me. Freddy had to die.”

“Which you happily arranged. Framing me in the process.”

Harley shrugged. “Best to be consistent, don’t you think? It was the logical thing to do.”

“I suppose it was you who took the potshots at me last night.”

“You mentioned Fiji on the cellular phone. I realized Jodie must’ve talked to you before I killed her. I didn’t intend to kill you just to shut you up. If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead. I needed you alive to be my scapegoat.”

Conner stared at him, his cold demeanor, his guiltless expression. “You’ve killed three human beings-three-and for what? So you could be a pro golfer? For the bragging rights of being on the PGA tour?”

“Yes, damn it! Not to mention the money. I’ve made almost a quarter of a million bucks in three months. Think of that! Three months! Imagine what I stand to make in the years to come. I’ve worked all my life for this. I’ve spent my spare time practicing, day in, day out. While other kids were out screwing around, I was knocking a ball into a tin cup, mastering my stroke, perfecting my swing. I had a right to be on this tour. I deserved it. I earned it! And I wasn’t going to let them take it away from me. Not again!”

Crackers, Conner thought to himself. Absolutely altogether crackers. And golf drove him there. “Come on, Harley. We’re going to the police.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“I’m not going to the police.”

“Then I will.”

“And tell them what? That you have some screwy theory designed to get you off the hook? You don’t have any proof.”

“I have the knife.”

“Of course you do. You’re the killer.” Harley laughed. “But no one saw me with it. And no one ever will.”

“I’ll tell them what I know.”

“And who’s going to believe you? You’re just a screw-loose, shaved-head gonzo golfer. You can’t prove anything.”

“I think I can. See, we found your voice disguiser in the tunnels, where you dropped it. It has fingerprints all over it. And I’m betting they’ll match the ones we take from you at the police station a few minutes from now.”

“I can explain that away.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Conner reached into his pants pocket and removed a small tape recorder. “This has been recording ever word you’ve said since I turned on the lights.”

Harley’s face hardened like steel. “Give me that.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I said, give me that.”

“Or what? You’ll brain me with one of my golf clubs?”

Harley reached inside his jacket and slowly removed a small revolver. He pointed it at Conner’s head. “You won’t leave here alive.”

37

Conner stared at him. “You’re a veritable arsenal, aren’t you?”

“Like my daddy used to say, A smart man comes prepared.”

“Yeah? Well, here’s something my daddy used to say: You’re about to be in a hell of a lot of trouble, son.”

“Give me the tape recorder, Conner.”

“What else have you got? A flame thrower in your socks? Maybe a bazooka in your boxers?”

“Give me the tape recorder, Conner. Now!”

“I really don’t want to do that, Harley.”

“And I really don’t want to blow your brains out, Conner!” His voice was thin and strained. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face. “But I’ve already killed three people. One more won’t make much difference!”

“Harley, let’s talk about-”

“Give it to me! Now!”

“Be reasonable-”

“Now!” Harley’s arm wavered up and down. His trigger finger twitched. “I said, now!”

Conner crouched down and laid the tape recorder on the tile floor. He gave it a gentle kick. The tiny recorder slid between them, stopping about two feet in front of Harley, who picked it up and dropped it into his coat pocket.

“Thank you,” Harley said, wiping his brow. “I don’t like to leave loose ends.”

Conner pursed his lips. “And what about me, Harley?”

“I don’t suppose you’d just give me your word not to tell anyone what you know?”

Conner didn’t answer.

“No. I didn’t think so.” He raised the gun eye level. “I suppose I should make this look like a suicide. ‘The golf club killer, racked with guilt, ends his killing spree by taking his own life.’ ”

He held the gun out at arms’ length and squinted, aiming carefully, zeroing in on Conner’s right temple…

“Freeze, asshole.”

Harley’s head whipped around. “Wha-?”

Lieutenant O’Brien was perched in one of the windows, behind and above him. “Drop the gun. Pronto.”

Harley pivoted slightly.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Harley. I’ve got you dead to rights. Now drop it!”

Harley opened his fist. The revolver dropped to the floor with a clatter.

“Now give it a kick. A good one.”

Harley complied. The gun went flying across the locker room, well out of sight.

“Now put the tape recorder on the bench.”

Harley did it.

O’Brien jumped down from the window ledge, careful to keep her gun trained on Harley. “Mr. Tuttle, you are officially under arrest.”