"I’d put it between 8 and 10:00 PM last night," Brenda said as she hovered over the remains.
"What time do the courts close?" I asked.
"Lights out at 10:00 PM," the club manager said. He was standing close enough to overhear my question.
Bill Warren was in his late 40s with thinning hair and a mustache.
"Nobody found him until this morning?" I asked, surprised.
"It can get pretty thin on the courts at that time of night.”
Brenda pulled out Liam’s wallet and keys from his pocket. She also removed a baggie of a white, powdery substance. It didn't take a rocket scientist or a field test to know exactly what it was.
The manager frowned and looked at the ground sheepishly. "We obviously don't condone that kind of behavior here.”
I wasn't sure if the cocaine was just a party favor—a little bump here and there for his clients—or, perhaps, he was dealing to the glitterati. Liam would be a safe way for rich socialite women to acquire a little nose candy without going to the wrong part of town.
By the presence of a ball launcher across the court and dozens of furry yellow balls, Liam had been out here getting in some late-night practice.
“Check Liam’s schedule,” I said to Mr. Warren. “I want to know who his last client was.”
I pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, then grabbed Liam’s phone from the side of the court. It was a long shot, but I held it in front of his face to see if facial recognition would open the security screen.
Liam’s face was too badly damaged.
"Any witnesses or security footage?" I asked.
The manager said, "We don't have cameras on the courts. But we do in the common areas and the parking lot. There’s a camera on the first hole tee box."
"I want to see all the feeds around the time of death.”
The manager nodded. "Sure thing.”
He relayed the message to an assistant who scurried off to make it happen.
In a hushed voice, I said, “I need the names of all his female clients. Particularly the ones he may have been giving extra attention to.”
Mr. Warren knew exactly what I was getting at. “Fraternization with clients is strictly against policy. I would never condone or allow such a thing had I known.”
I gave him a flat look.
“But a few potential candidates come to mind.” He leaned in and whispered, “Do you really think this was a jealous husband?”
I glanced at Liam’s bludgeoned face.
JD said, “What would you do to the man who was sticking it to your wife?”
Mr. Warren nodded. “I would, uh, be very upset.” Then he added with concern, “The details of this will be kept private, yes?”
“As much as possible,” I said.
“This is not a good look for the club.”
That was about the time Paris Delaney and her news crew arrived.
Warren cringed as her cameraman lensed up the scene.
“Excuse me,” Warren said before marching toward them. “This is private property.”
