Morning came slowly over the hills, first as a gray awareness, then a brightening in the east. As the light spread, it cast deep shadows on the undulating fairways of Footes Creek Golf Course, then glimmered on the ripples of water near the 17th green.
When the sun finally rounded the last hill above the course, its bright rays worked down past the old stone clubhouse, eased across the sloping 14th fairway, then fell on a body.
What was left of Carlos Rodriguez lay sprawled and obscene in the thick grass.A horsefly with a shiny blue-green body and silver fanning wings flew across Carlos’ face and landed lightly on his mangled chest.A cricket scurried away from a stream of congealed blood that had flowed down the steep hillside.
A small utility cart approached from the far side of the hill with two men in it.The cart stopped and the shorter man pointed up the hill, then buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.
The tall lean man jumped out, ran thirty paces up the hill and stopped.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered, then turned away with his hand over his mouth.