Mark Gimenez - Accused

"I heard that, too."

"And that that putt cost his creditors many millions of dollars, which did not make them happy?"

"Yeah."

"Mr. Petrocelli, did you hear who killed Trey Rawlins?"

"Uh, no, I didn't hear that."

"Thank you."

The D.A. had no questions for Gabe.

"Defense calls Clyde Dalton."

The courtroom doors opened and Goose walked in. He was wearing slacks, a wrinkled shirt, and a clip-on tie. Scott had never before seen him without a golf cap on. His gray goatee needed trimming, and his gray hair was thin on top and pulled back in a ponytail. It wasn't a good look on a middle-aged man whose name wasn't Willie Nelson. Goose took the oath then sat.

"Mr. Dalton," Scott said, "what is your nickname on the pro golf tour?"

"Goose."

"Would it be more convenient for me to call you Goose?"

"Uh, yeah, that would be more convenient."

Scott first took Goose through the facts of his employment with Trey as a caddie and the events surrounding the termination of that employment on a Mexican golf course during a tournament that Trey eventually won.

"And did Mr. Rawlins owe you a caddie fee of one hundred thousand dollars?"

"Yeah, he did."

"And did he pay you that fee?"

"No, he didn't."

"Were you unhappy about that?"

"Uh, yeah, I was unhappy about that."

"What was your opinion of Trey Rawlins?"

"My opinion was that he was a prick." Goose caught himself and looked up at the judge. "Can I say that?"

"You just did."

"Maybe you should strike that remark from the record."

"You've been watching too much TV. The jurors are over twelve, they've heard it before."

"Goose, did you kill Trey?"

"No, I did not."

"Were you aware of his cocaine habit?"

"I suspected. He'd be jumpy sometimes."

"Were you aware of his gambling habit?"

"Yeah, I knew about that."

"What about his gambling debt?"

"Nope."

"Did you think he threw those two tournaments, when he missed the short putts?"

"Seemed a little strange 'cause he never missed short putts."

"Did you ask him why?"

"Why what?"

"Why he missed those short putts."

Goose chuckled. "Uh, no, I didn't do that. You ask a golf pro why he missed a short putt to win a million bucks and you're liable to get a putter rammed up your… he wouldn't appreciate that question."

"Do you now caddie for Pete Puckett?"

"Yep."

"Where do you live?"

"Austin."

"Where does Pete live?"

"On a ranch outside Austin."

"Have you ever been to his ranch?"

"Yeah. He asked me out to go deer hunting."

"So Pete knows how to use a gun?"

Goose nodded. "Oh, yeah. Real good."

"Did he shoot a deer the day you were out with him?"

"Yep. Big one."

"What'd he do after he killed it?"

"Cut it up. He carries this big ol' Bowie knife looks like a god-" He grimaced and glanced up at the judge. "Looks like a sword. He slit that deer from head to hoof, gutted it, hung it up-"

"He field-dressed the deer?"

"Uh, yeah. That's what he called it."

"Bloody, isn't it?"

"Oh, it's awful."

"So Pete's handy with a knife?"

"You could say that."

"Would you say that?"

"Uh… he's handy with a knife?"

"Does Pete have a daughter?"

Goose nodded. "Billie Jean."

"How old is she?"

"Seventeen."

"Did Pete know she was having a carnal relationship with Trey?"

"Nope. But he knew they were screwing."

"How'd he feel about that?"

"He didn't feel so good about that."

"Did he say anything to you about that?"

"Said Trey was a no-good mother-" Another sheepish glance at the judge. "Said he was a pervert."

"Pete wasn't happy about the affair?"

"Nope."

"Where were you on Thursday, June fourth?"

"Orlando. Caddying for Pete at the Atlantic Open."

"Did you and Pete travel together to the tournament?"

Goose nodded. "We flew from Austin that Monday."

"Did Billie Jean go with you?"

"No, she stayed back in Austin."

"Why?"

"Pete said she didn't feel so good."

"So you arrived in Orlando on Monday, then what?"

"Played a practice round on Tuesday, pro-am on Wednesday."

"And what was Pete's mood?"

"Foul. Something was bothering him, but he didn't want to talk about it."

"What time did you and Pete tee off on Thursday?"

"Eight A.M. "

"What time did you finish the round?"

"About noon."

"How'd Pete play?"

"Godawful. Shot an eighty-five. Couldn't focus."

"Was that unusual for Pete?"

"Oh, yeah. Now, he don't shoot sixty-five, but he don't shoot eighty-five. He's a one-under, one-over kind of player. But he could always focus. Not that day."

"Then what did you do?"

"Flew home to Austin."

"After the first round of the tournament? Why?"

"Pete wrote down the wrong scores on two holes, signed his card. Automatic DQ. Disqualification."

"Why'd he do that?"

"Like I said, he wasn't himself that day. He was real distracted."

"By what?"

"Didn't say. But I think it was 'cause Billie Jean wasn't there. He was worried about her."

"Did Pete fly with you back to Austin?"

"Nope. He took another flight."

"So the last time you saw Pete in Orlando was when you left the tournament site for the airport?"

"Yep."

"And when did you next see Pete?"

"Following Sunday. He picked me up at my house in his RV to drive down to Houston for the tournament there."

"Goose, is Pete known on tour for his temper?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Bad?"

"Terrible. If he could've controlled it, he could've won a dozen tournaments. But it'd get the best of him and he'd fling his club farther than most guys could hit an eight-iron. I'm telling you, you didn't want to be around Pete when he lost his…"

"What?"

"Uh, I think I said enough."

"Goose, did Pete kill Trey Rawlins?"

"He didn't say nothing about that to me."

"No further questions."

The D.A. stood. "Goose, in the two years you caddied for Trey Rawlins, did he ever tell you that he was going to marry Rebecca Fenney?"

"Nope."

Hank Kowalski came over to the defense table during a short recess.

"Scott, you know anything about a guy diving out of the men's restroom here in the courthouse?"

"Uh… no. Sure don't. Is he okay?"

"EMTs took him to UTMB. Palm tree broke his fall, but he's still busted up pretty good."

"Four-story fall, that'd do it."

Hank smiled. "I didn't say the restroom was on the fourth floor."

Billie Jean Puckett wore jeans and sneakers and a golf shirt. Her hair was blonde and pulled back in a ponytail. Unlike Goose's ponytail, hers looked very good on a beautiful seventeen-year-old girl. Her eyes were crystal blue and wet with tears.

"Miss Puckett," Scott said, "is it all right if I call you Billie Jean?"

"That's my name."

"Billie Jean, how long had you been involved with Trey Rawlins before his death?"

"About three weeks."

"Did you love him?"

"Yes."

"Did Trey say he loved you?"

"Yes."

"Did your father kill Trey?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Did you drive from Austin to Galveston on Thursday, June fourth?"

"No."

"Billie Jean, we know you were there. We have witnesses who can identify you and place you at Trey's residence that afternoon. We've also recovered your father's fingerprints off the kitchen counter at Trey's house, which proves he was in the house. You can tell the truth now, or I can prove you're lying and you can be charged with perjury. Which would you like to do?"

The tears were flowing now. Her narrow shoulders slumped. He felt sorry for this girl. But he had to question her.