Ep. 8
Rollie Stevens had been with The Department for a few years. He grew up in the city nearby, and worked for eight years in their police department, with five as detective. Unannounced, he received a letter to come interview here. He had never even heard of The Town, nor did he know it was only 45 minutes’ drive into the hills.
Once he was hired, he worked patrol for a few years, until he was comfortable with most of the roads and regular response locations. He was promoted to Detective and soon after, transferred to Major Crimes. It was such a small town, it is hard to believe that there could be that many crimes considered major enough to warrant their own department. But, as with most of life, looks can be deceiving. In the first year alone, fourteen people went missing, thirteen were found dead from various causes. Not all were homicides, but all needed to be investigated to make sure.
The common denominator in all those deaths was that all but two were tourists. The tourism industry in The Town consisted of the underground golf course, reportedly one of only ten in the world. It was a very elite sport. Stevens had looked into buying a set of clubs but realized his entire year’s salary wouldn’t cover the set. The owner was very nice to offer a used set at an insane Public Servant discount. Stevens was afraid that he would get in trouble for taking a gift, but his partner said, “You can’t talk to the tourists if you can’t get to them.” The department had a set of passes for the staff to “investigate” if needed. There seemed to be a lot of investigation going on during the weekend. He practiced enough to not embarrass himself while he was on the course.
The other, more notorious, attraction to The Town was The Gilded Unicorn. He had heard stories about the place, but it was strictly off limits to the staff unless for investigation and with direct permission of their Captain. The Unicorn, as the residents of The Town called it, was an entertainment club. The rumor was that it was a high-end brothel. But Stevens knew it was a little more than that, through the stories told by his coworkers, and through some of the reports he scanned when getting a feel for the place.
Today was his day off, and he decided that he was going to “investigate” the players at the golf course. He loaded up his clubs and headed down to the clubhouse. It was situated along the highway, a red brick building with several ventilation fans along one side of the building, each nearly half the size of the clubhouse. An above ground driving range to the side. The shuttle buses in parking lot were the only giveaway that there was more to the property than what you see above ground. With the way the course was built, the last hole was several miles away and exited from the back of the Piggly Wiggly. To this day, no one can say how a chain business from out of Town was able to get a permit to open here.
Stevens pulled into the lot and parked around the side of the building. It was a request by the board of directors. Many of the members made their wealth through investments in the gray areas of business. They get more nervous around an obvious police presence. He got out of his car, a late 1980’s Pontiac Firebird. He bought it as a project when he was just out of college and continued until he finished it a few years ago. He often had to respond to crime scenes in The City in this car, so he spent the money to upgrade the glass in the t-top windows. Both were fashioned from specially treated 2-inch-thick Lexan. It was enough to stop most common ammunition. Combined with the reinforcement of the rest of the paneling, it was a little safer. It won’t stop everything, but it kept him safe in a few situations that he would rather not happen again. The engine was a large block v-8, with twin turbos resulting in enough power to move the car quickly when needed. He was able to dodge having to use the department standard Explorer by having the department add run-flat tires to the list. At the added weight, it won’t win any drag races, but it could easily get out of its own way.
He opened the tiny trunk, made smaller by all the personal equipment he carried, and pulled out his clubs. As he headed to the entrance, he saw a few familiar faces. Many of the business owners had a membership here, along with some members from all over the world. It was not uncommon to see a few international travelers and high-ranking politicians from other countries. The club house had a list of what countries can’t have tee times close to each other, or even on the same day. By the lack of armed guards in the lot, none of those clients were playing. That was fine with him. They were too stuck up for his liking.
As the name implied, the course sponsored by the Professional underground Golf Society was located underground. Over one hundred feet underground, to be more specific. The people that thought up this crazy idea hated having tee times washed out by rain, or snow and cold. They started with one course buried in the Alps. It was rumored that the original space was a World War 2 German bunker that was never finished. The founders used the natural rock and location to expand into massive caverns that held the course. As the sport gained popularity amongst the elite, other courses were quietly built across the world. Construction was difficult with the need for underground rooms large enough to support each hole with as few structures as possible. The Town had such a geological layout, and the ready clientele to keep it in business.
As Stevens opened the door, he heard an argument drifting up from the stairwell that led up from the course. There were elevators, but the building codes required a non-mechanical method of exit in case of emergency.
“I don’t know what happened to him, but I know I didn’t call him!”
“I never asked you if you called him. I merely asked how he got into that party. But your defensiveness is making me suspect that you were the one that made the call.” The second voice was more calm and even. Stevens couldn’t recognize the voices from the distance, but it was obvious that the two were partnered on the first hole. His suspicion piqued, he stood by the opening, checking out the latest style in head protection. It was still a cave they played in, so safety must be ensured.
“How should I know? I don’t like dealing with his kind. Now that he is dead, I don’t want to be the one to clean up after this. He was your friend. I think you should be-”
“My friend?” the man hissed. Stevens didn’t know how he heard that, but obviously the acoustics of the stairwell carried the words clearly.
“That man is no one’s friend, and especially not mine,” the voice continued, “He has caused drama in an establishment that does not want drama, and now I must explain why someone blundered into a very restricted party. He was hired for a job, and, instead of doing what he does best, he went where he should not have been allowed. Now he is dead, the job still has not been done, and questions are going to be asked that we have no answer.”
“Listen, this time, I will work on finding another to take the job, but it is going to cost more.”
“I have to clean up this mess somehow,” said the other, “that will make us even. You wanted this to happen just as much!”
The second voice seemed to be the leader of the two, Stevens guessed from their attitudes. He was afraid to go to the elevator, as he would not hear anything, and possibly never find out who the voices were. His best play was to stay where he was and learn what he could.
“Fine,” the first voice sounded resigned to the new agreement. “I will reach out to my partners and see what I can do. But I won’t get much response if we can’t say why he died.”
The second voice gave a derisive snort, “I will look into it. Let your contact know that I will add that name when we know. Double their fee.”
“Mr. Stevens?”
He jumped at his name, so deep in concentration to hear the mystery voices. He tried to tell if the two were still talking, but it seemed they had wandered off from their location.
“Yes?”
“Your tee time is here. Would you like me to call for a caddy?” The attendant was standing by the desk, hand on the intercom that connects to the caddy pool in the caverns.
“No thanks, I’ll just walk this time,” Stevens was not looking forward to walking the several miles of the course while carrying the clubs, but it might give him a chance to catch up to the voices without being noticed.
The attendant raised an eyebrow a millimeter. He knew better than to ask why any member of the police would decide to play solo. “As you wish, sir,” was his only reply as they walked to the elevator and turned the key to call the car.
“If I start to catch up to the group ahead of me, would they mind if I joined in? Are they anyone I know?” Stevens tried to say the last sentence as innocently as he could. Even a name would be a break in this investigation.
The attendant smiled as the elevator door opened, “You know I can’t give out that information. It would not be proper. Play well, be safe, and enjoy your game, Mr. Stevens.”
The elevator closed. Rollie Stevens willed the car to move faster. He needed to find out the identities of those two players.
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