Side Story #1 - Colt - Page 53

That earned a faint smile from Fred as he stepped up to the tee. His form, comparatively, seemed immaculate, and the ball went sailing cleanly through the air. "What was all that about being interested in golfing, then?"

Colt supposed he could come up with some bullshit about still being interested in the sport despite being so bad at it, but eh. He scratched his nose absently and shrugged. "I needed an excuse to talk to you for the investigation."

Fred's nearly hairless brow tilted. "That's very honest of you. How exactly were you planning to get any information out of me through golf?"

"Well, it was supposed to be a gradual thing," said Colt. "Maybe I would've learned something here or there over the course of several conversations. Didn't expect you and your friends to be so like-minded."

"I see..."

A suddenly awkward silence arrived.

Colt had one more question that he very much wanted to ask, but it was perhaps the bluntest thing he could possibly imagine, right now. He probably shouldn't gamble on it, he figured. Probably.

Eh, fuck it. Fred had earned a morsel of trust from him. It'd be fine.

"...So do you think any of your golf buddies here had Rex killed?" said Colt.

Fred's eyes bulged, and the shock on his face seemed genuine.

Colt just watched and waited, though.

"No, I--" Fred shook his head. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Just a feeling I got. Kinda seemed like you were all suspicious of one another."

"Don't be ridiculous. Those men love this town. And Rex was as much a part of it as anyone. I have more reason to suspect you than them."

Colt wanted to say that Fred would think differently if he knew him better, but that would be a fucking lie. "Fair enough. Just wanted to get your opinion."

Fred's irate gaze lingered on him, though.

Hmm. If the man was acting, then he was doing a damn good job of it. Maybe that was deserving of another morsel of trust, Colt thought.

After a tense silence, they got in the cart in order to go track down where their balls landed.

"...Do you have any more questions for me?" said Fred as they rode down the fairway.

Colt had to mull that over. He felt like he'd learned more than enough from Fred already, and given how upset his last question had made the guy, he was hesitant to push his luck again. He tried to be more diplomatic this time. "Well, if you don't think your friends could have killed him, then does anyone else come to mind?"

Fred sighed. "Oh, I... I don't know. Matters like this are so... unbelievably horrible. I find it hard to imagine anyone in Orden could have done it. This place has always been so peaceful. Sure, we have our squabbles, but this? Murder? It's too awful to even fathom."

Colt had to wonder if this guy was bullshitting him or just incredibly naive.

But whatever. He hadn't expected Fred to be able to provide him with a list of suspects or anything like that. He would be surprised if any of these wealthy fucks could. If any of them already had some clue as to who did it, they probably wouldn't have offered him ten thousand marcks for this job.

And perhaps Fred had been thinking something along those lines, too, because as the cart eased to a stop, the man pulled out a checkbook and scribbled on it before tearing a check out and handing it to Colt.

Slightly wide-eyed, Colt took it. The check was for five hundred marcks, and Colt couldn't help blinking. "Generous of you," he said.

"Necessary of me," said Fred in a corrective tone. "The others may not do this for you, but the last thing I want is for you to get the impression that we won't hold up our end of the bargain. I believe a small upfront sum should clarify the importance of this case to us."

If he was a cynical man, Colt might've felt like Fred was trying to buy his loyalty.

And he was a cynical man, so that was exactly what he felt--a feeling which clashed against his overall impression of Fred Millerman from only moments ago.

But hey, he also wasn't about to turn down five hundred marcks, either.

After that, Colt felt more or less satisfied with his questioning of Fred, so he tried to concentrate on getting the damn ball in the hole so that they could move on and catch up with the others.

It didn't go great. After the fifth stroke over par, Fred told him to just forfeit the hole and accept a handicap. Colt wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but it sounded like a good idea to him.

Even after progressing to the second hole, however, they did not find the others there waiting for them. At this point, there was no telling how far behind they'd gotten. Colt was prepared to just start skipping holes entirely, but apparently Fred still wanted to play, and he even forced Colt to keep going until he at least went over par.

It was pretty obnoxious, but given all the generosity he was being shown today, Colt didn't feel like he was in any position to complain.

He was beginning to think that he would simply have to talk to the others another day, until they reached the fifth hole and found John Davinworth. He was just sitting there in his cart, scrolling through his phone with one hand while he tapped his club against his leg absently. He must've been engrossed in whatever he was reading, because he didn't notice them approaching until they were practically on top of him.