The Club at Ravenswood

[xEB50x]

Det. Quenneville returns home from a long day at work. He was still upset that he was called away from the Harlan interview. It turned out the emergency shooting was nothing more then a few kids having a paintball fight. It's a small town and he's used to citizens blowing things out of proportion. Quenneville had no time for child's play. He believed he was on to something in the Remy Edwards case.

He cracks open a cold one. His go to beer was Miller light, he went through a micro beer stage a few years back, but quickly realized if you want to mix in a couple hits of whiskey, Miller light was the perfect chaser. Quenneville throws his feet on the coffee table and gazes out his patio window. "What in the hell was that all about?" he thinks to himself. He replayed the interview and couldn't get one thing out of his mind...well, make that two. First, the smell of Dr. Eldred's perfume! Secondly, Ben Timmons! "Did I miss something" he thought.

Quenneville interviewed Timmons right after the Remy Edwards murder, and this was the first he's heard of an affair. He could understand why Timmons wouldn't mention it, not only his pride, but that would have put him first on the suspect list. Quenneville opens the Timmons file. He reads through it. Timmons had a rock solid alibi. He was at The Ravenswood Convalescent home with his mother. Not only were there staff members vouching for him, but he was also on video tape sitting at his mother's bedside at the time of Remy Edwards death! Quenneville cracks open another Miller light and drifts back to the pleasing scent of Dr. Eldreds perfume.....

[TreeWood]

It had only been a week or so since the rusty dagger had been found in the murky sludge below the rotting old footbridge traversing the pond that fronted the 16th hole at Ravenswood. But, in many ways, to detective Quenneville it seemed like an eternity.

He'd risen that morning, with Dr. Eldred's Nina Ricci still on his mind, and struggled to focus throughout his commute. It was Thursday, and the lab results would be coming in later in the day. Quenneville enjoyed his TV just as much as anybody, but those CSI and other police shows made him want to puke sometimes. In the real world, getting a sample to the lab and back usually involved at least a week -- often longer if they were backed up. It was a source of both amusement and aggravation that his television counterparts could whip a bagged sample to their in-house lab, and have it back within an hour. "Yeah, right...in our dreams," he scoffed.

He knew he could break Norm Harlan, and made a mental note that he still wanted to sit down with Kessler to get some more background on his former caddie. Tying the dagger to Harlan and Remy Edwards was going to be vital to the case, and if the lab needed to take their time with it, he didn't have any other choice but to wait.

He'd been busy that morning making calls, writing and filing case notes, and making arrangements to take care of completing his annual shooting range assessment. He'd just taken the first bite of his lunchtime burrito when the phone rang. "Homicide, Quenneville."

"Hello Andre, it's Kurt." Kurt Webber was Ravenswood PD's lead forensic investigator. He'd been with the department for almost 14 years, and living in the States for almost double that time, but he still had a hint of a German accent. "I'm calling about the dagger. It's not good news, I'm afraid. We weren't able to lift any prints, and the DNA's too degraded to be any use. There's just too much corrosion."

"Goddammit... yeah, ok...thanks Kurt."

Well, now he was pretty much screwed....back almost to square one. The only way he'd be able to make the case now would be to force a confession out of Harlan. He'd scarcely formed that thought when the phone rang again. It was Scott Doyley calling, and the club president's voice was grim...

     

[Crazycanuck1985]

[jivesinator]

Nov 2, 2017 20:16:55 GMT -5 Crazycanuck1985 said:

Don’t just sit there and watch! Get back in your office and figure out this damn Edwards case once and for all!

[Deleted]

"Detective... it's Scott Doyley, I'm calling from, uh, the clubhouse at Ravenswood, and, eh..." his voice was trembling and the words were labored to make it from his mouth to the phone.

"Calm down, Scott, what is it?" Detective Quenneville replied, "is something wrong?"

"I, uh, think you should come down to the club... David and I were... well, we were starting to... WE FOUND SOMETHING!" Doyley finally let out, seemingly relieved by the admission.

"What do you mean? What did you find?" barked the detective, a bit too excitedly as if to almost give away the desperation he was feeling now that his other leads were struggling to pan out.

"You're the expert, I can't be certain if this means anything or not, but it's definitely been lost under the soil for a long time... it needs a good cleaning, but I didn't want to compromise it in case, uh... well, let's just say I recognize it." Doyley explained, "I think you need to come down and collect it!"

"10-4!" Detective Quenneville said as he slammed the phone down. He was glad Doyley couldn't see his frustration. After all, it wasn't Scott's fault that his other leads were failing to hold up, but it's very frustrating as a detective to feel like you've got your guy and you just can't prove it. All he could do now is head down there and hope that this, whatever it was, that Doyley dug up was meaningful to the case, or even better, that it could put one of the Harlans, whichever one he was trying to catch at this point, Quenneville wasn't even sure anymore, at the scene of the crime.

It was hard for Quenneville not to speed through the town of Ravenswood with all of the excitement and anxiety he was feeling, not to mention the roaring hemi nestled under the hood of his Charger, but it was even harder not to be distracted while driving. "What could it be? And why is Doyley acting so weird about it? Perhaps it's a set of keys, or a ring, or something that he knows I'll be able to use to place Harlan at the scene?" The ideas were going through his mind at an equal pace to the Charger racing through the hills of town. He was nearly at the gate, which still remained closed for the general public so people wouldn't be snooping around the club while Nesbit, Andrews, and the crew continued their renovations, and furthermore, so nobody could disturb the ongoing detective work that was focused on the 16th hole.

Quenneville made his way through the iron gate, closing it behind him before getting back into his car, then continued on down Hickory Drive toward the clubhouse. The gate sits out at the edge of the property, and as people drive down Hickory they are treated to a picturesque light-show made by the sun poking through the shadows dropped on the ground by a canopy of trees. The driving range sits on the left side as the golfers approach the club, and as the vehicle emerges from the trees the driver is treated with a view of the lake that rests behind the clubhouse. All of this scenery was lost on Quenneville at the moment, because his eyes were trained right on the front door, as he wasn't even positive the car would come to a complete stop before he would be flying out of it and busting into the lobby. But he didn't have to, because as he crested the hill and approached the parking lot, he saw Doyley sitting on the bench by the fountain, waiting for him. The detective abruptly pulled into one of the parking spaces in the first row near the landscaping, and as he was doing that Doyley stood up and extended his hand, from which an item dropped to a hanging position, held securely around Doyley's fingers by a necklace chain.

"Dammit, I was hoping for a set of keys" Quenneville thought to himself as he flung open his car door. "What is it, Scott?" the detective quipped as he came closer to where Doyley stood.

"Not only can I tell you what it is, but I can tell you who's it is!" Doyley exclaimed. Just after Doyley had finished his sentence, a lightning bolt cracked off in the distance, seeming to hit somewhere near the back nine, but other than the dense fog over the course, there didn't seem to be a cloud in the sky.

"C'mon, let's get inside!" ordered Quenneville.

[xEB50x]

Harlan arrives early for his scheduled appointment with Dr. Eldred. He remembers being detained at the Ravenswood PD two days ago, but wondered why he was taken to a holding room only to be released to Dr Eldred? Why didn’t Det. Quenneville interrogate me?

Dr. Eldred knew she was working outside the lines when hypnotizing Harlan while in custody. She felt best not to reveal this information to him. She did however, have questions of her own.

“Norm, during our last session we covered a lot. Some of the things you told me left me a bit uneasy.” Harlan, sits up straight and shows signs of stress. “What are you talking about?” Responds Harlan. “ I would like to test your sincerity today, it’s very important to your treatment plan.”...”ok”. Harlan’s not sure what he told her last session, so he knew he would have to be honest.

“Tell me about Det. Quenneville?” She thinks to herself, other then the fact he needed to invest in some deodorant.
“He’s a cop. From what I call tell a good one. He seems to know a lot about the Remy Edwards case.” “What do you mean?”....”well, when he came to my house the other day he made a comment about my size 12 shoes, and mentioned a couple of other things that I know to be true.... “ I have something I want to give him. I want to tell the truth!”
Dr. Eldred asks, “How does Bam feel about this?”...”He’s mad! He scares me. I think he would hurt Quenneville if he could. I’m doing my best to keep him down, but it’s hard.....Bam doesn’t like Det. Quenneville, and really didn’t like Remy!” “Can you tell me why” asks Eldred.
“I want to....but.....I will tell you and Quenneville together.” He says, with nervous urgency.

Dr. Eldred gets the impression Norm does know the truth, but she can’t help but feel sorry for Him, knowing if Bam did something....Norm would pay the price as well.

Dr. Eldred tells Harlan she will be out of town for the weekend, but will set up an appointment between Det. Quenneville, Harlan and Herself early next week. “Thank you...thank you...”

[Deleted]

Director of Golf David Andrews was getting pretty annoyed with all of the delays being handed to him by the Ravenswood P.D. over this whole murder case. He felt a little guilty that he wasn't more sensitive to it, but the tragedy occurred 17 years ago at a time when he was an assistant golf professional just breaking into the business at a phenomenal course in the foothills called The Reservation at Tomahawque Valley. The reopening of this cold case had nothing to do with him, and it was interfering with the work he had to do to meet Nesbit Golf Management's deadline of November 15th. At this point, the crew only had about ten days remaining before the grand opening, so Andrews was just fine with Doyley, Quenneville, and others running around doing whatever they felt necessary to solve this murder, if that was even possible, but he no longer had any patience for it.

After dropping Doyley off at the clubhouse to wait for Quenneville with the dirty old chain piece that they had found, Andrews jumped right back on the gator and sped off to review some of the other projects on the course. One situation of particular importance was the halfway house between the ninth green and tenth tee. The reconstruction of this old building HAD to be completed before opening day, especially with the new out-and-back routing plan and the elimination of golf carts. Golfers and caddies would need a place to get a drink or a sandwich at the turn, and they'd even be allowed to take a breather and let other groups play through, with the assistance of a halfway house starter, of course. The club had recently hired former PGA professional J.T. Current to fill the role, as he wanted to stay around the game of golf after his playing days, but didn't want anything high-stress, and quite frankly, didn't need the money. Andrews was relieved to see that the landscaping was finished and the building looked presentable, and that the finishings on the inside were nearly done. Just a few things left to purchase for the cafe and that project could be checked off his list.

Halfway House


The other big project on his mind that required completion in order to add to that "wow" factor that marketing director Chris Saunders always talked about was the signature par 5, 8th hole. It had taken a lot of time to dredge the stream and clean the fallen natural debris away from the waterfalls, and a few extra rocks needed to be brought in to secure the erosion happening around some of the edges, but workers had requested that Andrews come take a look and give his seal of approval if he thought the hole was finished. He identified a few minor things that needed to be polished up, but overall he was thrilled with the direction the hole was going. The golfer would be afforded several options off the tee depending on the wind speed and direction, and where his tee ball came to rest would determine if he would challenge the green in two or not. Andrews' vision for this pivotal hole was anything from an eagle to a double bogey, and he liked what he saw!

From the tee


The approach


The final agenda item on his list for this ride around the course was to ensure that the grounds crew had marked the nature preserve behind the 11th green. Andrews didn't want a full-out fence there, because he felt it would inhibit the natural view, but he tasked the team with coming up with some kind of delineation that discouraged golfers from roaming around in the protected area. Hole 11 is a long par three with the green sitting a bit below the elevation of the tee, so golfers would be hitting a mid to long iron in, but he felt like he had left enough area around the green that missed shots shouldn't infringe on the nature preserve.

11th Green


Upon seeing what the crew had decided, he felt that he could mark this hole as completed and head back to the clubhouse to see what was going on. He secretly hoped that Detective Quenneville had left the property, and that Doyley had either gone with him to the station, or had retreated into his new office by himself. He had had enough of this crap for the week, and he needed to keep stocking the proshop in peace and quiet.

[xEB50x]

Dr. Eldred returns from her weekend get away. It had been months since she travelled home to visit with family. She needed the well earned break from the stresses of her job, and more importantly Harlan! She runs through her messages and deletes most of them as she goes. Then! "Dr. Eldred, We need to talk.... now! I know Norm is a push over, but I'm not! Do not bring that Detective over here again. It won't end well for him!"

Dr. Eldred seemed to "freeze" in place. She had received plenty of frantic phone calls from patients, but this case involving Harlan was by far her most complex. She was concerned, Maybe even scared, by the tone and threats made by Bam, Norms alter personality. This was highly irregular. Norm has always been much more in control of the spitting of personalities, but she fears Bam has made his way to a contending role in Harlan's everyday life. She takes a deep breath and hangs up the phone.

Eldred sits down, and in her mind reviews the plan proposed by Norm last week. He was very eager to set up an appointment with Det. Quenneville and herself. She knew that the stress of his need to confess the truth, and his internal battle with Bam, to conceal the truth, was near a boiling point. Dr. Eldred grabs her appointment book and crosses out all scheduled appointments for the next two days. She realizes "time is of the essence" as Harlan may break! If Bam is able to slowly garner more control, it is only a matter of time before Harlan will stop taking his medications, and will lose the ability to maintain structured thoughts.

Dr. Eldred grabs the phone and leaves a message for Det. Quenneville. "We need to talk ASAP!"

[Deleted]

The town of Ravenswood was really starting to buzz, as the residents knew that the course was less than a week from it's Grand Opening, not to mention that there were rumors whispering through the rural community about the Edwards case being re-opened. Obviously nobody in town knew how Remy Edwards died, or this case would've been solved long ago, back when Simon Morris was the lead detective, but they knew that their once lavish club was quickly abandoned after that week, which never sat well with the locals.

Director of Golf David Andrews had made a few phone calls to privately invite some of the past members out to the club for a preview of the course, now that it was completed, to give a final thumbs up to the new layout and proposed pin locations. Most of the guys were very happy to be included in the opportunity to "ranger" the course before the Grand Opening, so Andrews set the guys up to arrive on Wednesday for 18 holes of golf. They'd be the first to tour the new Club at Ravenswood.

When Wednesday rolled around, it was a particularly sunny day in the region, which tried very, very hard to strike rays of light through the clouds and fog that still hung over the club. Andrews looked out the proshop window and got an overwhelming sense of excitement to see vehicles in the parking lot, guys reaching down to tie their golf shoes, and the newly hired caddie staff rushing out to take bags and make connections. It wasn't a large group, but it didn't need to be, these guys knew the course from days gone by and they'd be the perfect crew to make any last minute adjustments to the setup. In attendance on the first tee were past club champions John Raepple, Brian Murphy, Rob Scott, John Ives, Jacob Kessler, Robert Stogner, and Scott Doyley, which represented a fantastic mixture of champions in different eras of the club, which Andrews thought was an appropriate mixture of opinions for the final product.

"Hey, who invited hot-shot to this group?" barked Brian Murphy. Murphy had won his championships prior to Kessler joining the club, but he never did like his young gun attitude upon becoming a member. "And where's his private ball-licker, eh, I mean caddie, Bam?"

"Let it go," Andrews remarked, "I invited him because like it or not, he has a fascination with the history of this club and he's been kicking around here ever since Nesbit bought this property and started the renovations." Andrews leaned in toward Murphy and whispered, "truthfully, it's a little annoying though."

"Well, if he's here, why the hell isn't Wagenheim here?" Raepple asked, "I'd enjoy beating him one last time around this place."

"Seriously Boffo?!" Doyley quipped. "Look, Andrews did invite him, but he emailed me privately and said that he wasn't coming if you were, and he's still a little broken up about his caddie's death... Jerry meant a lot to him. He claims he's done with this game for good."

"As if we haven't heard that before," Raepple laughed.

"Alright men, I know the past is rich with rivalry, but we're not here to rehash that stuff today. I hope you all become members once again and renew that banter in the lounge over a glass of scotch. Let's play some golf" Andrews said.

And with that, the 8 men broke into two groups of four and began play. The first group was Murphy, Ives, Stogner, and Scott, while the second group was Raepple, Kessler, Doyley, and Andrews. It made sense for that second group to be in the same foursome because Raepple used to be in charge of the rangering program at the club when he was a member, Kessler still had an A-game that Andrews could use to assess how the ball moved around the course, and Doyley was past (and current grandfathered) Club President, so any opinions he wanted to share needed to be delivered directly to Andrews.

As far as Andrews could tell by looking ahead, the group in front was having a good time, and it appeared that Murphy and Ives were moving the ball quite well around the golf course, while Stogner and Scott were taking a bit more time with a critical eye on the details of the layout. "Nothing wrong with that," Andrews thought. Things in his group were going pretty well, too. Raepple and Doyley were part of the "old guard" of the club, and certainly didn't move the ball around the course the way they used to, but their knowledge of the desires of the membership and what would make the course play the best was certainly appreciated. Oddly, Kessler was of very little help during this round, and Andrews halfway through the back nine he was really starting to regret bringing him. Kessler seemed to be off in his own world, rarely talking to the group or providing any useful feedback. Andrews even thought he heard him mumbling some kind of score updates to himself throughout the round. "1up, all square, 1up, 2up" kept falling from Kessler's lips the whole way around the course, until the 16th...

After the group had hit their tee shots to the island green they began the trek across the newly built wooden bridge, with Kessler now mumbling "3&2" the whole way, and approached the memorial that Doyley and Andrews had approved for the site. "What the hell is that?" Kessler asked with an angry tone.

"Relax, Kess, I think it's kinda nice," Raepple said.

"That's the Edwards Memorial Plaque," Andrews added.

"sh%$ Kess, the man died out here on one of the happiest days of his life, show a little respect," said Doyley in a fatherly tone. "Act like a past champion, would ya?"

"I'm sorry he's dead, Scott, it's certainly not the way that weekend was supposed to go, for any of us" Kessler exclaimed.

"You lost hot-shot, deal with it. Everybody has heard the rumors about a lost ball, yada, yada, but you need to take your loss like a man and pay some damn respects," Doyley said. "You keep acting like that and I won't approve your membership application."

"Membership?!" Kessler said, raising his voice a little. "You think I want to be a member here? I care about the history of the club, everything that it was, and everything it could have been. I don't want to be a member here now, I'm only here to see that Andrews is honoring the past... the Glory days! My interest in membership died the day he stole the championship from me, no pun intended," Kessler added.

"You're such an a-hole, Jacob. Let's finish this round in peace and when we return to the clubhouse, you can get back in your car and drive out Hickory Lane for the last time, you aren't welcome here anymore" Doyley commanded.

There wasn't much said in the final two holes, despite the majestic view through the tunnel of trees on the 17th or the stressful shots along the lake on the par 5 18th. Kessler let a few "3&2" remarks slip out while walking along, but for the most part kept quiet and indeed retreated to his car right after holing out on the 18th, firing up the engine and speeding off.

"David, I'm sorry if I ruined the round by getting on him there," Doyley said to Andrews on the patio behind the clubhouse after the round. "I'm just so tired of his attitude, and it's been that way since the day he arrived here in the 90's. I understand he had some tough matches around this place, many of them against his rival Edwards, but quite honestly, up until Nesbit came around and started renovating this place I never thought I'd hear the names Jacob Kessler, Remy Edwards, and Bam Harlan again. Now we've got Detective Quenneville crawling around here several times a week, and we've got to relive that part of the history of this club that people would just as soon forget. When will it all end?" Doyley asked.

"I'm not sure Scott, but I have heard that Quenneville has a lot of interest in that necklace we found, for whatever that's worth, and lot's of people have seen him trailing Harlan around town. Hopefully it all ends soon, because for me, I just want this Grand Opening to be amazing for this town!" claimed Andrews.

And with that, not another word about Kessler or the Edwards case was spoken by the two men, as they sat quietly on the patio overlooking the 18th green and the lake, admiring the course carved out of nature's organic beauty in the hills of Northwestern, PA. The Club at Ravenswood was nearing its day, once again!

[TreeWood]

For detective Andre Quenneville, it had been simply a matter of covering all his bases - no matter how unlikely they might have been. He'd spent the better part of three hours that morning delving deep into the background of one Dr. Linda Eldred, M.D., Psy.D. He'd been taken by her from the start, and he now rebuked himself for not having probed into her much earlier.

After all, she wouldn't be the first shrink to have taken a dip off the deep end, so to speak. Was it Harlan who sought her out, or the other way around? Quenneville couldn't help but notice how dependent Norm Harlan was upon her. On the one hand, that would be expected in a doctor-patient relationship, but was this natural circumstance, or had he been groomed? Was her sweet charm merely a facade, concealing an acquired taste for main courses served "with fava beans and a nice Chianti"?

He'd gotten nowhere so far, save that she'd changed her name some 20 years ago from Lisa Redmond. She'd had to take out a restraining order after a messy divorce, so the name change more or less checked out. Still, he wasn't completely satisfied.

The white 8.5 x 11 envelope plopped down on his tray while he was still perusing the County Registry website, and he might not have noticed it at all, save for the vague whiff of Tigress that the falling piece of mail had wafted in his direction. The civilian staff at Ravenswood P.D. seemingly knew his weaknesses, and 21-year-old Heather Green, who had mail duty that week, was chief among them.

"Probably more bad news from the lab," he figured, as they'd run the dagger a second time.

Kurt Webber, the P.D.'s lead forensics guy, had been working overtime lately with support from FBI handwriting analysts from the Allentown bureau, not too far away. After the dagger had been found on the Ravenswood grounds, there had been sufficient grounds for a search warrant -- which Ravenswood P.D. had duly executed several weeks previously. Quenneville had the cryptic handwritten sequence of numbers that had been found in Remy Edwards' pocket checked against the entirety of Ravenswood's collection of tournament scorecards. And they'd found a match!

Against the reference sample, they'd found "five high-probability matches", all coming back to the same suspect -- Norm Harlan! Quenneville had no clue behind the math required for such things, but the report stated that "the degree of certainty in this case is approximately 99.4%." The detective's satisfaction in determining Harlan's connection was greatly diminished by the fact that he had no idea what the numeric sequence actually referred to. Were they dates? Astronomical notations? For all he knew, they were Sudoku solutions - but the handiwork was definitely Harlan's.

Later that afternoon, Quenneville returned his attention to the evidence locker, and the box that contained everything relating to the Edwards case. He turned his attention to the box's most recent inhabitant, the 18k gold medallion that he'd taken into custody from Doyley, making sure to snap on the latex gloves before doing so. It was an exquisite piece of artisanal craftsmanship -- a golden raven in fine detail, perched on a twig. It was, in fact, a stunning recreation of the Ravenswood club's logo. As Doyley had explained, such medallions were awarded to Dagger of the Decade winners, as the dagger, itself, was ceremonial, and always remained mounted proudly on the wall in the Ravenswood club's players lounge. The initials on the back of the medallion had been a shock to Doyley, it seemed, but Quenneville didn't let that sway him from zeroing in on his prime suspect. He'd check into its owner, but that was simply a loose end at the moment.

Before returning the box to its rightful place on the evidence storage shelf, the detective wanted to review Morris' original case notes yet again. As he flipped through the tired old multi-ringed binder, he noticed the last two pages were stuck together -- adhered to, as it turned out, by the remnants of the glue from a post-it, that had now gone missing. Parting the pages, he found a notation indicating that several weeks after the Edwards murder, the Ravenswood greenskeeper, Timmons, had been hand-mowing near the base of the old hickory tree on the 16th hole when he found a golf ball nestled in the nearby deep rough -- not altogether an odd occurrence for a golf maintenance professional, other than the fact that the Titleist in question had been marked with a distinctive "purple diamond" -- indicating, without doubt, that the ball had been played by Remy Edwards.

Quenneville had always wondered about the provenance of the baggied golf ball sitting in the corner of the box. But now he was confronted with an additional "loose end" that, in his estimation, would probably lead nowhere.

[xEB50x]

As Quenneville is placing the lid on the evidence box the Phone rings. It’s Dr. Eldred. Quenneville had returned her message earlier, and she wasted no time getting back to him! After a quick conversation he hangs up the phone. He quickly starts to rummage through his desk. Tucked in the back under a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels, he finds his hygiene bag. Working homicide, it’s a common practice for Detectives to keep some hygiene products at work. Once on the case, there are times you won’t be able get home, or shower, for 36-48 hours.

Quenneville slides on some deodorant and for good measure splashes on a little…well…a lot of cologne. He knew Dr. Eldred was very concerned when she called, but he wanted to make a good impression when he arrived at her house. He had ideas of “making a move” on her when the case came to a conclusion. She had given him no reason to believe he was in her class, but Quenneville had no compass when it came to the female persuasion.

The plan was to pick up Dr. Eldred, discuss her recent phone call and make their way to Harlan’s house. The only thing he was concerned with was the idle threat on his life. He knew he could “wipe the floor” with that wimp of a man Harlan, but he also witnessed “Bam” in the interrogation room, and that guy kind of creeped out Quenneville.

Before leaving the station, Quenneville, stops by dispatch. He informs the officer that he will be calling in a “Welfare check” in about an hour. A welfare check is used by officers when they will be in a dangerous situation for a specific amount of time. They will let dispatch know how long, and then at the specified time dispatch will radio the officer to see if he/she is “ok”. Quenneville does not usually call for welfare checks, but seeing as though he will have Dr. Eldred with him, he wants to take every precaution to protect her.

Dr. Eldred was waiting on her front porch. Quenneville could see she was uneasy. She enters the Dodge charger, and is instantly engulfed by cologne. Qunneville notices she is sniffing and scrunching her nose as if to be trying to identify the scent. “Brut” she says. Referring to the cheap cologne from the 60’s and 70’s made popular by the famous quarterback, Joe Namath. Before he could respond, in a seductive and inviting voice she says, “Nice choice.” Quenneville, feeling over confident replies, “Thanks, it was either Brut or Old Spice, but I thought you might appreciate the Brut.”

During the drive they discuss the phone call, game plan, and engage in a little small talk. However, all Quenneville could think about was “Bagging this beauty” but he had no intetions of becoming the next episode of “Silence of the lambs!” They arrive at Harlan’s house and Quenneville makes the call to dispatch. “This is Detective Quenneville, requesting a 30 min welfare check.” He provides the time and address to the officer. He looks at Dr. Eldred and says, “Let’s do this!”

[xEB50x]

Dr. Eldred had called Harlan in advance, so he was expecting them. They decided it would be better to let Harlan lead the conversation initially, as he was the one requesting the visit. Det. Quenneville had an open mind going into the house, but he couldn’t help but think Harlan was his man!

“Thank you for coming.” Says Harlan, as he greets them at the door. “I have been so confused lately. I’m not sure if I’m in control at all times.” He makes this statement and appears to know that Quenneville is aware of his split personality. Quenneville seizes the opening. “Are we talking to Norm or Bam?” “Norm” was his answer. Based on his quick response, Quenneville knew Harlan would be cooperative. Dr. Eldred interjects, “Norm what can we do for you?”

“I want to tell Det. Quenneville everything I know, but some things just do not add up.” Go on… “Well, I did see Remy Edwards get murdered, but this is where things get confusing.” Quenneville thinks, here we go, more mumbo jumbo. “Explain” says Eldred. “On the day of the murder I felt disconnected. I only remember fragments of the day. It was if I was asleep, and watching myself in a dream. This happens a lot. I was having conversations with myself and Bam. I’m pretty sure Bam was in control on that day.” Dr. Eldred asks him if he remembers some of the day’s events. “Yes, it was the biggest tournament of the year at Ravenswood. I believe Bam called it the club championship for the Dagger of the Decade.” Norm continues, “You have to understand. I know nothing about golf. That was Bam’s thing. Bam spent hours every week at the Ravenswood Country Club. He could tell you more about that day. It was after he came home that evening that I feel I was somewhat back in control.” We’re listening… “I had this feeling of worry. I’m pretty sure the feelings were Bam’s. It was as if his friend was in trouble. That is when I got my Telescope and began to focus in on the Ravenswood Country club.” “What were you looking for” asks Quenneville. “I’m not sure, I felt as if Bam was kind of leading the search. Anyway, this is when I saw Remy Edwards sneaking behind trees, and creeping in the darkness. I found this very odd, so I tracked him. He ended up at the 16th hole.” Quenneville interrupts, “Was there anyone else out there?” “No not yet” “Not yet, what do you mean?” “What I saw was Remy searching for something. He was looking up at the old Hickory tree, and kicking grass. He even got on his hands and knees a few times and was crawling about, moving shrubs and grass” Quenneville asks, “Did he find anything?” “Not that I could tell.”

Quenneville starts to get excited. He feels anticipation like the first time a girl continued to go south on him. A quote his old friend Ray Morgan used to use. If he can finally put this case to rest, he may finally be able to put Dr. Eldred to bed!

“This is when I saw him.” “Who?” “Bam’s friend. He came from out of nowhere. They started to argue and that’s when it happened. He stabbed him over and over! I knew he was dead. He didn’t even move when he hit the ground. Bam’s friend turned and ran. That’s when he threw the weapon in the pond.” Quenneville, very pointed says “Who is Bam’s friend…I need to know!!” “I can’t say, Bam Won’t let me…he won’t…he won’t…..That’s right, I won’t let him!”

It was obvious to Dr. Eldred and Quenneville that Norm was gone. Bam had appeared. He looked and sounded strong. It was very interesting to Quenneville to see the person of Norm look so fragile and weak, and to then be looking at the same person and see confidence and strength.

“I told you not to bring him here!” Dr. Eldred immediately takes over. “We are here to help You and Norm. We will leave as soon as we get a couple of answers. I know you are the strong one, and you want to protect Norm and yourself. Tell us the truth and we will leave.” To Quenneville’s surprise Bam says ok. “Yes, everything Norm has told you is true. I was the caddy that day for Kessler. We were the best tandem this club has ever seen! I asked Norm to use his telescope to see if Kessler was still at the clubhouse. He was very upset after the loss, and he had every right to be pissed off! He went to the club house to drink it off. That’s when Norm saw Remy creeping in the woods, and later witnessed the murder. I had to calm him down. He wanted to call the police. But I didn’t let him. Don’t ask…. I had my reasons. That’s when Norm decided he had to do something so he planned to write down the murder’s name on a piece of paper and put it in Remy Edward’s pocket. Again, I tried to stop him, but he was committed. He has good morals, and he was able to hold me off….for a while….Then we were able to compromise. I agreed to leave the name, but it had to be in code. So we left the piece of paper naming the murderer in code, in Remy’s pocket.”

Quenneville finally knew what the numbers meant, but what did they spell? Quenneville made one last effort to get the killer’s name, but Bam refused and started to get angry. Dr. Eldred again intervened and was able to calm Bam. Then she even surprised herself…She asked if she could talk to Norm, and Bam complied, but not before making it clear that, “Remy was a cheat! I saw the ball hit the tree and bounce towards the pound behind the tree. He had no shot! There’s no way his ball had a clear look at that green. It was for Dagger of the Decade!!! I know he cheated, and I don’t miss him or his cheating ways!” Quenneville, now has a suspicion that the ball in evidence must be the ball Bam was talking about.

Norm reappears before their faces. Quenneville thinks to himself, “WTF am I in the the Twilight Zone!” Norm says, “Did he tell you? Do you now know I had nothing to do with this? Dr. Eldred replies, “Yes, thank you! You said you had something for Det. Quenneville?” “Oh, yes.” He goes to his room and returns with a picture. He hands it to Quenneville and says, “I hope this helps.” Quenneville thanks him and says, “I have one last question. What size are those shoes?” pointing to a pair on the floor. He responds “12.”

[TreeWood]

They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but detective first class Andre Quenneville only needed two: "Holy sh%$!" That had been his initial reaction upon seeing the photo of a much younger Bam Harlan, standing next to former Ravenswood pro and two-time Dagger of the Decade winner Jacob Kessler. Quenneville recognized Kessler immediately, having seen his picture before in the walk of fame along the Ravenswood club's main foyer.

It was obviously a summertime photo, as both were wearing their climacools fully unbuttoned. And there it was -- the Ravenswood golden amulet -- in all its 18k brilliance, shining as it hung around Kessler's neck. It was a close-up, and the detailed raven and twig were clear to make out. Quenneville flipped the picture over, noting that it was labelled "2000 Club Championship".

Doyley had already identified the owner of the medallion that had been found in the earth near the sixteenth green complex, and Quenneville considered it little more than circumstantial at the time. The photo, along with Harlan's revelations, changed everything. Thankfully, the detective had sent the golden raven off to Kurt Webber for processing anyways.

Quenneville and Dr. Eldred eased themselves back into the black Moroccan leather upholstery of his 2017 Charger. For a fleeting moment, Eldred let her eyes follow the supple curves of the midnight blue hoodline as it sloped frontward, and she allowed her bare shoulders to luxuriate in the haptic stimulation of smooth animal leather.

"Jesus, I've got to call Doyley!" Quenneville exclaimed, just as Eldred was nearing a gentle shudder. "What? Oh,..I... uh..," came her reply. "I need to track Kessler down!" He reached into his jacket pocket and extracted his wallet. He knew he had the Club President's card somewhere. As he withdrew it, out came the well-worn Durex packet that he always carried for extra protection -- the lime green pouch coming to rest on the console between them. Eldred smiled, lowered her eyes, and said in a half whisper while eyeing the shifter, "You know, detective, I've always liked men who can drive stick."

It took longer than he'd wanted, but Quenneville got Eldred back to her office within 15 minutes. As he was punching Doyley's numbers into his cell, it struck him. The club president's number was 418-GOLF. "Could it really have been that easy?," he thought to himself. He slammed the Charger over to the curb, and with a few swipes of his smartphone he retrieved the numerical code that Harlan had so often repeated: "5-2, 3-2, 7-4, 7-4, 5-3, 3-2, 7-3." Looking at the "5" on the keypad, he noted the second alphabetical letter that appeared on that button: "K". Running the same process for the second numerical pairing (3-2), yielded an "E", and then a double "S", and the rest of the name. Kessler! He'd broken the code!

Quenneville peeled away from the curb, smoking the low A/R Pirellis and rippling their sidewalls in the process.

[bassman70]

Being a real life detective, this is really good

[TreeWood]

"...OK, Scott...thanks for your help.......yeah, I'll text you when I arrive, and maybe you can meet me in the foyer...OK, good..bye." Detective Quenneville liked Scott Doyley. They'd first met in the early stages of the Edwards investigation, and had gotten to know each other socially over the past several weeks. They'd gone for beers together, and quickly found they had a common weakness for playing PUBG well into the early hours of the morning.

"It's gonna need another fine example of teamwork if I'm going to nail Kessler," he mused. Quenneville, of course, had the initial advantage in that Kessler had no idea that Quenneville was onto him. On the other hand, the detective wasn't exactly waist deep in tangible evidence pointing to the former club pro's guilt. He had the dagger, but it was useless forensically, as the lab had been unable to lift anything from its heavily corroded surface. Seventeen years in the muck has a nasty way of doing that. "I've got the coded note, but it doesn't connect Kessler directly to the murder. Hell, Harlan could have written it out and given it to Remy Edwards weeks before the murder. But he had the photo, the initialed medallion, and best of all a witness -- even if Harlan was certifiable. If he'd been lucky, he might have been able to have Edward's body exhumed for a DNA sweep -- after all, the science, and its techniques and procedures, had improved vastly in the last 20 years. But the body had been cremated, so that particular avenue was no longer available. The case definitely wasn't a slam dunk at this point, and Detective Quenneville knew that if he was going to take down Kessler, there was only one way to do it.

As Quenneville rumbled his Charger toward the highway turnoff, he grabbed for the Motorola "Four Delta one-eight." "Go ahead, One-eight." "Yeah, I'm 10-23 at Ravenswood Golf Club, and I'll be 10-7 for a while." The detective was notifying dispatch that he was on site at Ravenswood and wouldn't be available until further notice. "10-4," the radio crackled. Quenneville pointed the Dodge through the heavy iron gates, and down along Hickory Lane, the muscle car's throaty dual exhaust whisking the falling maple leaves further behind the vehicle. He backed into an open spot in the parking lot and texted Doyley, as planned. A minute or two later, he exited the car and proceeded to meet Doyley in the foyer.

"Hey Scott. You got it?" "Yeah, here," Doyley said handing the object to Quenneville, who immediately slipped it into his jacket pocket. "Is he in the lounge?" "Yeah, you got lucky that he happened to be on-site today," was Doyley's reply. Quenneville smiled wryly, thinking to himself "I hope I can get lucky with Eldred too." The two men turned, and headed to the Raven's Nest lounge.