The Feathery (11 page)

She led him down the hall to an office furnished with a large mahogany desk, a brown leather couch and two matching chairs. Chief Inspector Bradshaw sat in one of the chairs, and when they entered, Bradshaw’s attention was on the floor-to-ceiling display cabinets covering the four walls. Three were filled with plaques and trophies with the name Sarah Covington embossed on each. The other cabinet featured old photos of St. Andrews and golf antiques and memorabilia that originated from there.

The chief inspector rose when they entered the room. "I’ve been admiring your many trophies," he said, "and I’m most interested in the Saint Andrews collection, Ms. Covington."

"Oh, thank you. It’s only a small part of my private collection. I’ve a room full of many other golf collectibles. And most are from nineteenth century Saint Andrews."

She introduced Bradshaw to Scott. The distinguished gentleman was wearing a brown tweed sport coat with leather elbow patches. He came toward Scott. His thinning hair was cut short and had the same whiteness as his closely cropped beard. Scott thought Bradshaw fit Sherlock Holmes’ description, even without the double-billed cap and curved clay pipe. They shook hands.

"Well, Mr. Beckman, your loss must be a dastardly blow."

"It is. But the killing in New York and shooting here are the worst part. How’s the guy that got shot at Heathrow doing?"
"Mr. Brooks is in the hospital recovering. He’s a tough army veteran, and his being an expert in hand-to-hand combat saved his life." Bradshaw continued, "I’m eager to interview him tomorrow since he should give me a fair description of the shooter and his accomplice."
"Who was killed at the Covington Gallery in New York?" Scott asked anxiously, "I know some of the people there."
"The guard, Lem Shattuck," Sarah answered.
Scott’s hand went over his eyes. "Oh no, not him! I met the guy there. He was a retired cop trying to earn enough dough to retire in Florida and play golf. He wanted my autograph…Shit!"
"I knew him also," Sarah said. "I’m deeply saddened."
Scott took time to recover from learning about Lem Shattuck’s death. "Any idea who did it?"
Bradshaw told Scott what he knew so far. "A Detective Riley from the New York City Police Department Homicide Division is investigating the murder and attempted robbery there. He’s been told of the shooting at Heathrow. Mr. Gamby of Covington, New York informed him that a person by the name of Mario Carrabba was keenly interested in purchasing the feathery. Is that correct, Mr. Beckman?"
"Yes, I met with Carrabba before I contacted Covington Gallery."
"Would you please tell me about your meeting with Carrabba?"
Scott told Bradshaw about the low-ball offer for the golf antiques from Carrabba, the pressure from his so-called chauffeur, Rocco, and the disappointment Carrabba expressed during the phone call to tell him of his decision to auction the feathery with Covington.
"Detective Riley has interviewed Mr. Carrabba, and he’ll brief me on that meeting when he gets here this evening, Mr. Beckman."
Scott got up from his chair to look at a painting of St. Andrews. It was a diversion to collect his thoughts. He sat back down and said, "I’m having trouble understanding the frenzy over the feathery ball. Two people being shot over it and the robbery. It just seems like a stretch."
"Mr. Beckman, I’ve seen this type of collector obsession create undue furor over a rare antique or work of art," Bradshaw said.
Scott accepted that statement coming from the chief inspector’s experience, but something else about the robbery bothered him, and he voiced it. "Once they stole the feathery, wouldn’t it be hot? I mean, they couldn’t show it to anyone or put it on public display without getting caught and going to jail. I don’t get it. Why would…?"
Bradshaw interrupted him. "It’s not the nature of this type of beast to display their illicit booty. Our profiling of those who’ve stolen rare and valuable art or antiques shows they do it for self-gratification. They seldom flaunt their precious possession in front of others."
"So I wouldn’t expect to see my feathery on TV’s
Antique Road Show
?" Scott jibed.
Bradshaw chuckled. "No way. The culprit would just gloat over the fact he or she alone has possession of it."
Scott’s arms went out, and the palms of his hands opened. This gesture toward Bradshaw asked for more of an explanation. "It just seems hard to believe murder would be involved."
"Not really, Mr. Beckman. It boils down to greed and possessiveness by a collector. They don’t want anyone else to obtain what they’ve set their sights on."
Sarah reinforced Bradshaw’s reasoning by saying, "Yes, I’ve experienced bitter competition during auctions, but murder does seem like an extremely exaggerated reaction."
The chief inspector tried to strengthen his point. "Consider the millions of pounds sterling or dollars some of the famous paintings by an artist like van Gogh have sold for at auction. If one of those paintings were eliminated from the auction at the last minute…well, you can imagine the frustration on the part of those with the original intent of obtaining it at any cost." The chief inspector paused for a moment before asking, "Why did you decide not to auction your feathery, Mr. Beckman?"
"Please call me Scott, sir. A teaching pro who was my mentor, Sandy McNair, left the feathery to me. He had no relatives when he died. Sandy helped me get through some tough times when I was a kid and taught me golf. His ancestors from Saint Andrews passed down the feathery to him, and I thought he’d want me to hold on to it. At first, I was reluctant to auction the feathery, but I needed money to stay on tour. After I started making cuts and earning prize money I decided to keep the ball."
The chief inspector wanted more detail. He asked Scott pointed questions about his trouble as a teen, the origin of the feathery in St. Andrews, Sandy McNair’s ownership and the record round by Hugh McNair on the Old Course. His queries might have come from his interest in golf antiques and memorabilia more than to seek more background relating to the case at hand. A barrage of questions kept coming from Bradshaw.
After she checked the time on her wrist watch, Sarah Covington interrupted Bradshaw’s request for more detail. "The McNair Journal, as part of Scott’s collection, has an article written by a English newspaper reporter that tells of the record round, and more about the feathery." She looked at Scott. "If it’s all right with you I can give the journal to the chief inspector for his review."
"Sure, if it helps his case, I’m all for it," Scott said.
Sarah left her office for a couple of minutes and returned with the McNair Journal. She handed it to Bradshaw. "I must caution you, Chief Inspector, this is a very valuable document."
"Why wasn’t it sent with the feathery and the bronze?" Scott asked.
"Fortunately, Gamby, failed to send the journal with that same courier. When he informed me, I instructed him to send it with another courier straight away, and it arrived here a couple of hours ago."
Bradshaw put the journal in his briefcase. "Not to worry, Ms. Covington, I’m quite adept at taking good care of evidence, so this journal will be safe with me. "A collector who’s determined to bid whatever it takes to obtain the feathery might still be driven by his or her obsession to possess it regardless of it being removed from the auction. That could be the motive for murder and robbery."
"How many collectors responded to the auction notice?" Scott asked.
Bradshaw looked toward Sarah Covington, who picked up a file folder from her desk.

After counting the names, she said. "There would’ve been twenty attending here in London and another ten tuned in to the closed-circuit presentation elsewhere ready to bid by phone. Many of those are just the curious. But according to past experience, only four of the collectors most interested in Saint Andrews golf antiques would be in the bidding competition at the end."
She handed the list of thirty names and addresses to Bradshaw. The four names she’d selected as the most interested collectors were underlined. In that group, there was a line drawn under the name Mario Carrabba.
Bradshaw scanned it quickly and cast his gaze toward a cabinet filled with Sarah’s St. Andrews antiques. He grinned while saying, "Should I include you on this list, Ms. Covington?"
"In point of fact, Chief Inspector, I am keenly interested in the feathery, as well, but certainly not toward committing robbery and murder…really, sir!"
His smile faded as he changed the subject. "Ms. Covington, do you have any photographs of the feathery and the bronze statuette of the lady golfer?"
She opened the file folder again and handed him two color photos showing both antiques. "These were taken by our manager, Mr. Gamby, in New York before the shipment left."

 Chief Inspector Bradshaw put the photos and the list of the collectors who planned to attend the auction in his briefcase. He got up to leave and made a slight bow to Sarah. "I’m off to a meeting in an hour with Detective Riley of the New York City Police Department." He shook Scott’s hand. "Ms. Covington tells me you’re scheduled to play in the Open. My very best wishes for your success there. Scotland Yard will do its best to recover your feathery and bronze lady golfer, and I look forward to apprehending those who acted so violently to possess them. I’ll keep you informed of our progress. Are you staying at the Turnberry Hotel during the Open?"

"Yes, I am, sir. But I’m bummed out over the murder and robbery. Hope I can get it out of my mind so I can stay focused on my golf play at Turnberry."

"Good, I’ll be in touch with you there. And Scott, if I’m to cease addressing you as Mr., please drop the
sir
on my behalf. One other suggestion…it’s best for you to carry on with stiff upper lip and not dwell on what’s happened. Scotland Yard will find the culprits and they’ll be prosecuted. You’re to go on with life…especially your pursuit of success at The Open.

Sarah returned to the office after escorting the chief inspector to the foyer. "Well, Scott, it’s been a trying day for us both," she said.
Scott had turned away from inspecting her golf trophies when she entered. "You’ve won a lot of tournaments. Why did you quit?"
"After my mother died it was more of a leave of absence from the tour to straighten out the affairs of the gallery," Sarah explained. "At first I planned to take a year off to get it ready to sell, and I’d return to the tour after the sale was complete."
"And you ended up choosing a gallery full of antiques over playing golf?"
"Right. I became seduced by the antiques and decided to stay and manage it."
"I’d have to love something a lot before I’d quit the tour," Scott said, hesitating to gather his thoughts back to business concerns, but acting on Chief Inspector Bradshaw’s suggestion to carry on despite the tragedies connected to his feathery, he asked. "What about the penalties involved in removing the feathery from the auction? And when will you auction the other things in the collection?"
Sarah looked at her watch. "I do want to talk to you about those issues, but I’ve an appointment right now. Could you wait for an hour until I finish meeting with some clients?"
Scott wanted to discuss the penalty issue with her instead of having it hanging over him in Scotland, so he agreed to wait. His sadness over Lem Shattuck’s death and Brooks being injured was hard to shake off. He needed a diversion to keep from dwelling on those issues and thought viewing her antique golf collection might help. "You mentioned another room filled with your private collection of Saint Andrews golf antiques. Could I take a look? After reading McNair’s journal I’ve become intrigued by St. Andrews golf in the old days."
"You certainly may, but if you don’t mind, you’ll have to look around there on your own."

S
cott followed Sarah up a spiral stairway to a room on the third floor of the gallery, and she handed him a pair of white silk gloves. He recalled that Carrabba put gloves on before handling the feathery in Claudio’s kitchen.
"It’s okay to touch some of the items as long as you wear these, Scott."

She hurried away, saying over her shoulder, "come down to my office when you finish."

He began to roam the room, impressed by the depth of Sarah’s collection. The sheer volume of golf antiques squeezed into every nook and cranny suggested she’d seldom parted with many. There were antique golf clubs of every description, walking sticks and canes with old golf balls and club heads for handles, golf bags, clothing, books, postcards, paintings, scorecards, stamps, letters, photos, sculpture, silver, metalwork, trophies, glass, tableware, posters, beer steins, plates, pitchers, games and gutta-percha and feathery golf balls. Most of the items were connected to golf as it was played in the nineteenth century at St. Andrews.

Scott was interested in the feathery ball collection. Sarah had collected thirty of these superbly crafted balls made by Scots of the nineteenth century, such as Robertson of St. Andrews, Gourley and Alexander of Musselburgh and Marshall of Leith.Six of the feathery balls were marked with the name Hugh McNair of St. Andrews, but there wasn’t a record score inked on them…only the pennyweight and the name Hugh on each ball. Sarah also owned a large collection of gutta-percha golf balls. McNair’s journal had enlightened Scott about these early golf balls made by Willie Dunn of Musselburgh and others. He’d read that the first gutta-percha golf balls were produced in 1848 and were not accepted until years later when improvements were made. The feathery ballmakers of Scotland were not privy to today’s knowledge of ball flight and aerodynamics. They didn’t know it was the stitching to close the bull hide leather cover that made the feathery fly better than the smooth surfaced gutties. Later, it was the pattern of dimples on the gutta-percha ball that improved its flight, and the dimples came just in time for the first British Open in 1860.
The room contained a club made and probably used by Willie Park of St. Andrew’s fame. As Scott gripped the driver he imagined Park might have used this very club when he’d won that first British Open at Prestwick, Scotland. His thoughts went to this year’s British Open at Turnberry, Scotland, where he would soon compete.