2
Stone was up early and found a housekeeper cleaning up their dishes and the grill from the night before. She introduced herself as Anna, then went back to work.
When she was done with the kitchen, Stone scrambled himself some eggs, microwaved some bacon, and toasted a Wolferman’s English muffin, the sourdough flavor he liked. Joan, his secretary, had briefed somebody well.
He left Dino and Viv to sleep as late as they liked, then he recorded the Sunday political shows on the DVR, got the golf invitation from his briefcase, and followed the directions to the golf club. Somebody took his clubs from the trunk and carried them to the practice tee, and Arthur Steele greeted him there, his nose already sunburned.
“You’ll be in my foursome with Arthur Junior and Meg Harmon, both new board members,” Arthur said.
“I’d better hit a few to find out if I still can,” Stone said.
He teed up a ball and made a big swing with his driver, then watched it slice fifty yards into a swamp. “Nothing’s changed,” he muttered, and he hit a bucket of balls, working on his swing until it began to straighten out a little.
Arthur Jr. was a clone of his old man, and Meg Harmon was a thirty-five-ish blonde, slim and fit-looking. She, Stone knew, had started a Silicon Valley software company in her early twenties and had recently sold it to a syndicate, with the Steele Group as a partner, for $1.5 billion. She teed up, and her drive went straight for better than two hundred yards. Arthur Jr. was next, and he drove about the same distance, but hooked it into the rough, muttering under his breath. Big Arthur hit one straight for two hundred and fifty yards.
“You’ve been practicing, Arthur,” Stone said. “That’s cheating.” He teed up and sliced into the rough, but he was long and he still had a shot to the green, if his lie was good.
They were walking back to their carts when Stone heard a single crack, and he immediately thought: rifle! A man in the next foursome, waiting to tee off, made a loud noise and was knocked down.
“Everybody on the ground!” Stone shouted as he ran to the man, who had a bleeding shoulder wound. Stone looked around him and from the way the man had fallen, thought the shot had come from a swampy area to his right. He heard a vehicle door slam and gravel spraying beyond the trees. “From over there,” he said, getting to his feet.
A club employee came running up. “Call nine-one-one,” Stone said, “and tell them a man’s down with a gunshot wound. Ask for an ambulance and the police.”
Arthur walked over, dusting himself off. “That’s Al Harris,” he said, nodding at the man on the ground. He knelt. “How are you feeling, Al?” He got a grunt for an answer. “Hang on, help is on the way.”
Stone looked around him at everyone’s position. From where people had been standing when he heard the shot, he calculated that the shooter could have been aiming at Meg or Arthur, and with a miss, Al Harris had caught the stray bullet. It could, Stone thought, also have been aimed at himself.
THE AMBULANCE arrived first, the hospital being nearby, and two detectives were next by a couple of minutes. Stone greeted them and introduced himself, then he told them his theory of where the shot had come from and where it had been aimed.
“Are you a police officer?” the older of the two men asked.
“Retired detective,” Stone replied. “I worked homicide.”
“I’m Harry Kaufelt,” the man replied. “This is my partner, Moe Cramer. We work anything that comes up. Did you see the shooter or his vehicle?”
“No, but from the sound of the door slamming and the engine, I think it could have been a pickup truck.”
Harry got on his radio and reported. “Look for a pickup with a rifle rack. Yeah, yeah, I know, lots of those around. He could be headed north on U.S. 1. Let the sheriff know.”
The EMTs were loading Al Harris into their vehicle, and one of them came over to Harry. “He’s in shock,” the man said.
“Get him taken care of,” Harry said. “We’ll talk to him later.” Then he spoke to Stone again. “And you figure either you or the lady or the gentleman there could have been the target?”
“He only needed a gust of breeze or a jiggle of something to miss one of us and hit Mr. Harris.”
“Well, Mr. Barrington . . .”
“Stone, please.”
“Well, Stone, we’re going to follow your lead on this, because we don’t have one ourselves. Moe, you go talk to the other two, and I’ll grill Stone, here.”
“What would you like to know?” Stone asked.
“You all look as though you’re out-of-towners,” Harry said. “Where you from?”
“Mr. Steele and I are New Yorkers. The lady is from the West Coast, south of San Francisco somewhere.”
“And what brought you all down here?”
“All the people playing are directors of the Steele Group, an insurance company. Mr. Steele is the chairman and CEO. The fellow next to the cart is Arthur Steele Junior.”
“You have any reason to think that somebody down here might hold a grudge against any of you?”
“I’ve visited Key West a few times, but I don’t know a lot of people. I’ve done some business with an attorney named Jack Spottswood.”
“Him, we know, and his family. You haven’t screwed any of them on some business deal, have you, Stone?”
“No, and if I had, I don’t think the Spottswoods would react this way. They’re nice people to do business with. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think this is local.”
“Oh? You think a professional is involved?”
“Are you aware of any contract killers living on your turf?”
“Nope. Our killers are usually drunk or mad at an ex-wife or girlfriend.”
“Then that leaves a pro, doesn’t it?”
“You may have a point.”
“And a pro is going to be a lot harder to catch,” Stone said. “He’ll have an escape route all planned. You’ve already covered U.S. 1—that leaves the airport, doesn’t it?”
“First call I made, when we got here,” Harry said.
“Look for a couple,” Stone suggested.
“Why’s that?”
“Because the shooter would want to blend in, and he knows you’ll be looking for a man traveling alone.”
“’Scuse me.” Harry got on the radio. “Thanks, Stone, that’s a nice insight. Not that I wouldn’t have thought of it myself, a couple of hours after they flew out of here. Any other thoughts?”
“I’d check the car rental agencies at the airport, too. I doubt if he took a cab out here.”
“I doubt if he rented a pickup truck, too,” Harry said, “since nobody rents pickups. A van, maybe.”
“He’s not getting on a plane with a rifle,” Stone said. “Maybe he left it in whatever he rented.”
“I think he would think it would take us longer to find it in that swamp,” Harry said.
“You have a good point, Harry.”
Moe rejoined them. “I got exactly nothing from those folks,” he said to Harry.
“Stone, how well do you know those two?”
“I’ve known Arthur for at least ten years. I met the lady about half an hour ago. I can tell you that she recently sold her software company for one and a half billion dollars.”
“Well, that opens up a whole new field of suspects for us, doesn’t it?” Harry said. “Ex-partners who feel cheated, ex-lovers or husbands, or anybody who might profit from her death. What town is she from?”
“You’ll have to ask her,” Stone said. “I don’t know that territory.”
They both shook Stone’s hand and wandered off in the direction of Meg Harmon.
Arthur walked over. “I’ve canceled play for today,” he said. “We’ll play tomorrow, if Al isn’t too badly hurt. I’ll call you.”
“Arthur,” Stone said, “do you know anybody who might want you dead?”
“Everybody who wasn’t happy with his insurance settlement, I guess. That’s why we try to err on the side of generosity.” He walked off toward the parking lot.
Meg Harmon was walking that way, too.
“Can I give you a lift to the hotel?” Stone asked. “Or even better, join us for lunch at my house.”