Murder on the Links : part seven

Written on February 19th, 2010 by Adam in Murder on the Links

“Bah!” I said, my body making a strange involuntary noise just to make the room go quiet and stare at me. “How long was I out for?”

Mitch bent down to help me up. I reached up and touched my left elbow. I must have fallen on it as I went down.

“Erm, just a couple of minutes. Not long. Clint,” Mitch said quietly in my ear as I began to stand. “You’re on to something. He just tried to make a break for it so don’t screw this up, tell them how he did it.”

I cleared my throat. Everyone was staring.

I breathed deeply and tried not to think about sleep.

“Craig Smith,” I began slowly. “Why don’t you tell everyone here what you had against Mr Zelnick?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’d never met him before today.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“No we don’t.”

Dammit, for a moment there I thought it was actually going to be that easy.

“Why then, if you two had never met, did you have such a dislike for him?”

“What?”

“The other members of your party commented on it.”

“I’m not putting up with this a moment longer,” Smith stood up, picked up his coat and began striding towards the door but Mitch was ready for him and stepped forward knocking into Smith’s damaged arm.

Smith screamed and dropped his coat on the wooden floor. Out of one of the pockets slid a small homemade electronic device with two distinct buttons. I lunged forward and grabbed it and held it out for the assembled masses. If this was the switch that opened his garage door I was screwed.

“Let me spell it out for you,” I said, trying hard to fight back the tiredness.

And that’s exactly what I did. Told everyone how it all fitted together, how Smith had found out via Facebook that the dead man would be playing today. I told them about how he had arrived early and got rid of the fourth player, how he had rigged up not just the sprinkler system but also the electrical charge in the golf bag. I told everyone how he had activated both with his remote and how he had watched as Zelnick had died.

“That’s just the remote that opens my garage,” said Smith.

I was furious and pressed the buttons hard. There was a loud bang in the corner of the room and smoke started rising out of the golf bag which sat next to the other police officer.

And that was it, the room exploded with voices and movement and Smith hurled himself at me, knocking me down and