Match Play by D. Michael Poppe Page A

second green has been flawless. He has taken the risk, now it is time for the reward. This has been an effortless hole. He leans over, picks her up, and walks down the hall.

Chapter 16
    D avid Steadman lays Emily Cho on her bed. He returns to the living room and cleans up the spilled drink, thoroughly washes the glass and sets it to dry on the kitchen counter. He hears Emily’s cellphone ring, finds it and turns it off.
    He returns to the bedroom with the briefcase and removes the sheath of knives and places them near the tub in the bathroom. He removes her sandals, unbuttons her shorts and hooks his fingers under the waistband of her panties, slides both gently down her legs. He pulls her top up over her head and frees her arms of the material. He reaches behind her and unhooks her bra, releasing her breasts. Her eyes flutter a couple of times but she does not wake.
    David arranges Emily across the bed. She really is quite pretty; her body is supple and her skin is soft. The contours of the green will be spectacular. He leans close to her, breathing in her scent. He feels his arousal and suppresses the sensation by keeping himself busy.
    He enters the bathroom and runs the water in the tub until it’s warm. Back in the bedroom, he places the sandals in the closet, finds the clothes hamper and deposits the clothing he removed from her.
    His face is showing only concentrated intent. David picks her up, carries her to the bathroom, and gently places her in the tub with her head by the drain. He kneels beside the tub, softly slapping her cheeks until her eyes open. Just as they focus on his face, he cuts her throat. Seconds later, Emily Cho ceases to exist.
    David sets up the green exactly as he imagines it should be, the head sitting upright in the clear glass vase on an adjacent table and blood weeping over the top. The neck fits perfectly, the head is balanced perfectly. The face has turned gray and the eyes are staring blankly at the green of the par 3 second hole.
    He is sitting on the couch in front of the coffee table. He has removed the standings for the Kia Classic from the Times. He blocks out the letters of the names until there are four A’s, two D’s, six E’s, one G, one H, two I’s, one L, two N’s, two P’s, 2 R’s, three S’s, and two T’s. He has circled one A, one E, two D’s, one I, and one T.
    When he finishes, he lets the article flutter to the floor.
    He hasn’t had time to get a Carlsbad scorecard so he uses a lipstick to write on the chest: par 3; 3;1; 2 up.
    The house is too old to have a patio door and they didn’t bring in the golf clubs, so he finds a crack in the floor that will hold a tee. It will have to do as the tee box for the third hole. Using Emily’s blood, he marks a golf ball with a 3. When the blood dries he rolls the ball on the floor; it settles in a corner behind a chair. The breasts flank the tee a few feet on each side.
    He stands, surveying the room. Everything is meticulously arranged: the green, the witness, the next tee, and the word scramble. He bends over and flips the pennant with his finger; it flutters as if touched by a breeze. The appendages are in the tub and the jar is in a pouch in his briefcase, where he has returned the killing accessories. He has brought a plastic bag and collects the gloves and plastic coveralls and includes them with the other items in the briefcase.
    It is dark. He decides to leave the two lights on that he needed for the display. He looks over his shoulder once more, satisfied that it is a splendid second hole and a hole in one.
    He picks up Emily’s car keys and walks toward the door. He reaches for the doorknob and steps over the threshold, moving with the door as it opens.
    “Who are you?”
    He looks up. A brunette about Emily’s size is walking toward the door. His mind goes blank for a moment.
    “I’m…I’m Steve Slocum, a friend of Emily’s. Who are you?” He sounds overly authoritative.
    “We were supposed to meet