I woke up the next morning to the sound of my phone humming loudly to Guns N' Roses intro to Sweet Child of Mine. I tried to wipe the exhaustion off of my face as I reached over to answer Deforge's call. As I fumbled with the phone I tried to come up with a plausible reason why the Inspector would call me at such an unreasonable hour. It was still dark out and the screen screamed 5:25. The only explanation I could think of was that Deforge found something important concerning his bet with Martin.
"Yes?" I answered, my voice hoarse as I struggled to sit up in bed.
"James. I need you to get down here and help me. Oakland. Claremont Country club. There's a golf course. You'll see us. Be here in fifteen minutes."
"Jesus," I exclaimed, rolling out of bed. "What is it?"
"Homicide! What do you think?" the Inspector answered, his voice suddenly turning grave. "I expect you in no less than twenty minutes. The race with Martin can wait." He hung up, which left me staring at my phone in a daze of confusion.
I got to the scene of the crime ten minutes later than Deforge had asked which only added to his irritability. He met me at the front of the club where other police vehicles were parked. The sun was below the horizon as he walked me across the manicured lawns of the country club, a faint light blue stripe crossing the dark sky.
"This guy was found a couple of hours ago by the caretaker who was mowing a rough section down by the fifth hole in preparation for a big golfing event. He noticed some upturned dirt near the bushes and trees and found the rotting thing. The body belonged to a certain Adam Chayne."
"And?" I asked. "Why was I brought here at this god forsaken hour?" Just ahead I saw points of lights swaying from where the police worked, flashlights bobbing everywhere.
"Chayne was no average Joe," Deforge explained. "Or so I've been told. Apparently he owns plenty of estates. I've been appointed to solve the case. I need your help on this one because press will get here any minute. Claremont is desperate to continue their golfing event and so they'll want some answers."
I walked over to where the body lay and where policemen hovered with uncertainty. The corpse was dressed in khakis and tennis shoes, a plain t-shirt clinging to his chest where a pool of blood had spread. The glossy eyes still stared up in frozen shock. I stood up, wiped my tired eyes, and turned only to find Officer Theilson standing just before me, staring at the body.
"When did it happen?" he asked, voice strained, constantly looking back where the body lay. I realized then just how young the officer was. I had never considered myself old, but I was at least fife years his senior. "How did this happen?"
I gave him a questioning look, remembering that Oakland was outside his department. "Why are you here?" I asked, ignoring his questions.
Theilson stepped closer then and looked around. "I knew this man," he muttered, voice grave. "And I may know of a few suspects who killed him."