sound of her voice crushed him. “What are you doing, baby girl?”
“Watching a cooking show on PBS.”
“How is it?”
“Awesometastic,” she replied, echoing her mother’s sassy spunk. “You almost done? Kalyn’s channels suck even worse than ours.”
“Not yet.”
She paused, said, “Did you see him?”
“I can’t talk right now, honey. I’ll tell you about it later. Just wanted to check in.”
He closed the cell.
• • •
North of Scottsdale, they passed through the gates of the Boulders, thirty-six holes of legendary golf links, sculpted into desert foothills.
“You play?” Kalyn asked as they approached the clubhouse.
“Used to.”
“So how do we find this guy if he’s somewhere out there?”
“This is a very nice course. I’m sure he needed reservations, so the pro shop would be the place to start.”
Kalyn pulled into a parking spot and they walked together into the pro shop. The man behind the counter was forty-something and tanned to golden perfection, his brown hair gilded by sunlight. Will could also see that he was brimming with attitude, that rare, sophisticated superiority effused by those with just enough talent to be the local pro but who lack some crucial ingredient to win their PGA card. His name tag read Dan.
“Help you with something?” he said. Kalyn reached into her purse, took out her expired FBI ID, let it flip open, carefully watching Dan’s eyes. They weren’t really reading it, just registering the shock of seeing FBI in bold blue letters.
Kalyn snapped it closed. “I wonder if you could help us, Dan. We’re trying to locate a gentleman named Javier Estrada. I believe he may be playing here right now.”
The club pro stepped behind a computer, began typing.
“You don’t need a warrant or anything for this?” he asked.
Busted
, Will thought. You better handle this with grace, Kalyn.
“No, sir,” she said. “Now if I wanted to know how many times he’d played in the last month, or access to his locker, that would require a warrant.”
“What’s this all about?” He was still typing.
“I’m sorry, I can’t go into that. Do you know Mr. Estrada?”
“I’ve given him several lessons in the last month. He tips very well.”
“Look at me, sir.” Dan looked up. “I’m not going to tell Mr. Estrada whatever information you give me, and you’d be wise not to discuss this with him. He’s a dangerous man.” Dan’s eyes cut back to the computer screen.
“He had a one-thirty tee time on the north course,” he said.
“Can you tell exactly which hole he’s on right now?”
The door to the pro shop swung open.
“No, but he should be getting—” Dan glanced up, his tan paling. He caught himself, smiled broadly, now looking past Kalyn and Will. “Javier!” he said. “How’d we do today?”
“Seventy-seven.”
Will heard pride and a faint accent in the man’s even voice. Javier Estrada walked up and stood beside Kalyn, decked out in knickers, Payne Stewart-style, the sides of his white-collared shirt darkened with sweat stains. He was fanning himself with a golf cap.
Will wandered away from the counter and Kalyn discreetly followed, hanging on to his arm as if they were just perusing the clubs and golf bags.
“Seventy-seven?” Dan said. “No. I don’t think I believe that.”
“That thing you showed me? The wrist turn thing? You are a beautiful genius.”
“Well, I’m happy for you, Jav. That’s good stuff. Good stuff.”
“I’d have shot seventy-five except for that par five on the back.”
“Fifteen?”
“I four-putted. That green was much slower than the others.”
“You know,” Dan said, leaning forward confidentially, “yours isn’t the first complaint I’ve heard about that green today. Between you and me, one of the groundskeepers overwatered it.”
“Who? Which groundskeeper?”
“Brian.”
“Brian cost me my personal best.”
“We still on for a lesson Monday
“Watching a cooking show on PBS.”
“How is it?”
“Awesometastic,” she replied, echoing her mother’s sassy spunk. “You almost done? Kalyn’s channels suck even worse than ours.”
“Not yet.”
She paused, said, “Did you see him?”
“I can’t talk right now, honey. I’ll tell you about it later. Just wanted to check in.”
He closed the cell.
• • •
North of Scottsdale, they passed through the gates of the Boulders, thirty-six holes of legendary golf links, sculpted into desert foothills.
“You play?” Kalyn asked as they approached the clubhouse.
“Used to.”
“So how do we find this guy if he’s somewhere out there?”
“This is a very nice course. I’m sure he needed reservations, so the pro shop would be the place to start.”
Kalyn pulled into a parking spot and they walked together into the pro shop. The man behind the counter was forty-something and tanned to golden perfection, his brown hair gilded by sunlight. Will could also see that he was brimming with attitude, that rare, sophisticated superiority effused by those with just enough talent to be the local pro but who lack some crucial ingredient to win their PGA card. His name tag read Dan.
“Help you with something?” he said. Kalyn reached into her purse, took out her expired FBI ID, let it flip open, carefully watching Dan’s eyes. They weren’t really reading it, just registering the shock of seeing FBI in bold blue letters.
Kalyn snapped it closed. “I wonder if you could help us, Dan. We’re trying to locate a gentleman named Javier Estrada. I believe he may be playing here right now.”
The club pro stepped behind a computer, began typing.
“You don’t need a warrant or anything for this?” he asked.
Busted
, Will thought. You better handle this with grace, Kalyn.
“No, sir,” she said. “Now if I wanted to know how many times he’d played in the last month, or access to his locker, that would require a warrant.”
“What’s this all about?” He was still typing.
“I’m sorry, I can’t go into that. Do you know Mr. Estrada?”
“I’ve given him several lessons in the last month. He tips very well.”
“Look at me, sir.” Dan looked up. “I’m not going to tell Mr. Estrada whatever information you give me, and you’d be wise not to discuss this with him. He’s a dangerous man.” Dan’s eyes cut back to the computer screen.
“He had a one-thirty tee time on the north course,” he said.
“Can you tell exactly which hole he’s on right now?”
The door to the pro shop swung open.
“No, but he should be getting—” Dan glanced up, his tan paling. He caught himself, smiled broadly, now looking past Kalyn and Will. “Javier!” he said. “How’d we do today?”
“Seventy-seven.”
Will heard pride and a faint accent in the man’s even voice. Javier Estrada walked up and stood beside Kalyn, decked out in knickers, Payne Stewart-style, the sides of his white-collared shirt darkened with sweat stains. He was fanning himself with a golf cap.
Will wandered away from the counter and Kalyn discreetly followed, hanging on to his arm as if they were just perusing the clubs and golf bags.
“Seventy-seven?” Dan said. “No. I don’t think I believe that.”
“That thing you showed me? The wrist turn thing? You are a beautiful genius.”
“Well, I’m happy for you, Jav. That’s good stuff. Good stuff.”
“I’d have shot seventy-five except for that par five on the back.”
“Fifteen?”
“I four-putted. That green was much slower than the others.”
“You know,” Dan said, leaning forward confidentially, “yours isn’t the first complaint I’ve heard about that green today. Between you and me, one of the groundskeepers overwatered it.”
“Who? Which groundskeeper?”
“Brian.”
“Brian cost me my personal best.”
“We still on for a lesson Monday
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