Chapter 61
Iheaded back to the Avventura and crawled into bed, trying to get a power nap in before the sun came up. The sky lightened as I closed my eyes. Too much occupied my mind to actually get back to sleep. I lay there for an hour, then gave up.
I pulled myself out of bed again and made my way down to the galley. I grilled breakfast and put on a pot of coffee. The fresh aroma swirled. I didn't bother to wake up Jack. I figured I'd let him sleep in.
The morning news played a rebroadcast of Paris’s segment from Stingray Bay. She had shown up at the Wentworth estate about the time I had left.
After I ate, I pulled myself together, jogged to the parking lot, and hopped on the bike.
I pulled on my helmet, cranked up the engine, and sped over to the Coconut Key Country Club.
I was just in time for the morning madness as golfers began their day.
The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air.
Golf cleats crunched across concrete. Electric carts hummed.
I stepped into the pro shop and talked to the pro behind the counter. "Preston Stewart was in here the other day. Do you remember seeing him?”
Dirk thought about it and frowned. "Can't say that I do. I heard what happened. Shame. He was such a nice guy.”
"Do you have access to the video cameras in the parking lot?”
"No. They just put those in after the bombing. I can call the general manager. He can give you access to the security feeds.”
"Please," I said.
Dirk picked up the phone and dialed an extension.
A few minutes later, Barclay Lamont waddled into the pro shop. He was a friendly guy with a round face, short brown hair, and a bushy mustache. He wore a navy suit with a red tie and a gold nameplate above the breast pocket. “So you need to see the security footage?”
“Yes, please.”
His brow wrinkled with concern. “Was there some kind of theft?”
“No, nothing like that. I just want to see if there’s any footage of Preston Stewart the day he died.”
Barclay made a grim face. “I was sad to hear of his passing.” After a pause, he said. “Well, follow me, and we’ll see what we can find.”
I said goodbye to Dirk and followed Barclay through the pro shop and out the back door. He led me down a path to the main building, and I followed him to his office.
“You know, you’re the second guy to come around asking to see security footage.”
That piqued my curiosity. “Who was here before?”
Barclay shrugged. “Said he was with the FBI. I didn’t think much of it. After the bombing, we’ve had a lot of law enforcement types around, asking questions.”
“You remember his name?”
Barclay thought about it, then shook his head.
“What did he look like?”
“Big guy. Not as big as you. Dark hair, brown eyes. Good-looking fellow.”
Barclay sat at his desk and tapped a few keys to wake up his all-in-one computer. After he entered his password, he pulled up the feeds from the parking lot.
Barclay invited me to take a look, and we huddled around the screen. “What time frame are we looking at?”
I told him, and he scrubbed through the footage. We watched multiple feeds.
“There!” I said, spotting Preston.
Barclay zoomed in, and we watched the events unfold.
A wide-angle lens above the pro shop captured a view of the cart staging area, bag pickup and drop off, and the parking lot beyond.
Preston hurried out of the pro shop, looking over his shoulder with a nervous glance.
From the way he acted, it looked like someone was following him.
He glanced around the area, then dropped something into a golf bag hitched to the back of cart #7, which was waiting on the path.
Preston continued a brisk walk through the parking lot to his car.
A moment later, two gentlemen emerged from the pro shop, wearing dark suits. They glanced around, spotted Preston as he got into his car, and followed him into the parking lot.
An instant later, Lance Wentworth stepped out of the pro shop, hopped into cart #7 with his golfing buddy, and zipped down the path for his last round.
I asked Barclay to export the clip and send it to me.
He did. “This is the same footage the FBI guy wanted. What’s this all about?”
“I’m not sure, but I have ideas. Do you know if Lance kept his bag here after the round?”
“Usually, but I’m pretty sure he took it this time. We checked when the FBI guy was here. He seemed interested in the same thing you are.”
I had my doubts he was FBI. “Are you sure he was a fed?”
Barclay shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess. He flashed some credentials, but I didn’t pay much attention. Like I said, we’ve had so many law enforcement types around since the senator’s death. I just give them what they want. It’s easier. I don’t need a bunch of pissed off cops after me.”
I thanked him for the info, gave him a card, and hurried back toward the parking lot. I called Vanessa along the way. “Hey, sorry to bother you so early. I think I know what those people were after. You wouldn’t happen to have your dad’s golf clubs, would you?”