Of Morality and Sin: Massacre of the Football Team (Virgil McLendon Thrillers Book 7)

by catt dahman

  Of Morality and Sin

  Massacre of the Football Team

  A Virgil McLendon Thriller

  catt dahman

  Copyright .

  © 2014 catt dahman

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book, including the cover, and photos, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. All rights reserved.

  Chapter One: Young, Good-Looking, and Dead

  “Let me give you the basics, but it’s a convoluted case that will leave you with more questions than answers. This will be excellent field experience for each of you. Please tell me or Fin if you feel overwhelmed, and we’ll do what we can to help this go smoothly,” urged Virgil McLendon as he began with his team. He was second in command for the newly developing BA section for the FBI since it had changed, adding new ways of dealing with criminal activities, finding ways to catch fugitives from justice, allowing females to join, changing ways of training, and facing new types of crimes.

  “If the case were simple, we wouldn’t be here,” Vivian said. She was Virgil’s wife and still unsure of her invitation to join the FBI, but still excited to be working with Virgil and her friends. She liked the team that had come along for this one. She was a new recruit as was her brother Nick, who had worked with Virgil before and who was enthusiastic and determined to be a great agent.

  The other new agent was Marcus Jones, a former deputy who had worked the same case with Virgil and Nick, a case in California that included a man who killed and then kept lists of his victims. Marcus moved his family in order to accept the position, coming along with his boss, the former sheriff. He was thrilled to be one of the first few black men to be invited to join. As the 1980s began, the new decade promised new opportunities, and maybe, just maybe, a country that would find some peace.

  Vivian had told Marcus that Virgil never suggested him for the BAU based on skin color. It was because Marcus was smart, intuitive, and a good person. Virgil was that kind of man. He respected ethics and capability. Virgil was easy to talk to, and open, but it seemed at times, to Vivian, that people asked her questions. Everyone wanted to please Virgil.

  She hoped she could live up to the same requirements, and Virgil said she was great at figuring out cases, but she wasn’t fully sure. She was, like the rest, always unsure if she were close to being as good an investigator as he was. “What’s the case about?”

  “Four young men have been killed. As we talk about the crimes scenes and the way they were killed, you’ll really wonder what’s going on there because they were all well-liked, top athletes at a high school, seemingly great boys, yet weren’t random targets or those who would fit a casual victim profile.”

  “Killed all at once?” Vivian asked.

  Virgil shook his head, “Killed in separate incidences and all in varied ways.”

  “Interesting. Sounds like someone has a definite issue with that school, or team, or something they have in common,” Marcus said. “Hate to hear it’s about such young people….”

  Vivian nodded and said, “That’s going to be difficult because the parents will be edgy and wanting answers quickly, and the community will be very sympathetic. That can be a problem because then we don’t get as honest of answers and pictures of the boys. With young people especially, people hesitate to speak of the bad things.”

  Virgil nodded. “A+, Vivian. So keep that in mind as you start to work and watch for the ones who hesitate and/or who may be more forthcoming.”

  Marcus shrugged, “Maybe there isn’t anything bad to be said about the kids. They may be truly good kids, right?”

  “It’s possible, but I have noticed this...those who are really good and in no way walking outside of trouble, seldom are murdered. Now, take some cases I’ve had recently, that’s changed...kids, families...innocents. It’s always more difficult when it is very random.”

  “But this is both random and not random, right?” Vivian asked.

  “Exactly. It feels more like a grudge or something. That may still mean the boys were perfectly innocent and were great kids, but...is it me or do high school kids seem different and more worldly than when we were kids?”

  Nick nodded, “ They do to me. Any suspects?”

  “No, the local sheriff said he has some people of interest and some we might need to look at, but no one concrete. Honestly, there are no real suspects, no idea of how to read a crime scene, no idea of motive, and nothing at all to latch onto. It’s a small town, and they are afraid and very insular in the way they are behaving now.”

  “Insular,” Vivian repeated with a groan. It was as she had thought.

  “Sometimes that’s best to have no suspects or theories, right? In California, we had nothing to go on, and you showed us how to find what we needed. If we had been weighed down by other theories, we’d still been ruining your investigation,” added Marcus Jones as he chuckled.

  “I doubt that. You only needed a fresh take on the case. You’d have figured it out,” Nick replied as he smiled. He was surprised Marcus could joke about a case that almost caused his brutal death. “I was lost half the time on that one, to be honest.”

  Virgil opened a file. “We have had four deaths in two weeks. No set days for those deaths. We can look more at that. All the boys played varsity football, were seniors with passing grades or better, and were from good homes, at least it seems, and there is nothing to indicate anything negative about any one of them. They were barely missing or not missing at all when each was found. There seems to be theories all over the department, but none fit, and no one knows anything for sure. The strangest part is that people are holding back because there is almost no information about the time before they were killed, and the witnesses only repeat one another.”

  “That is strange. No one is offering real information?”

  “No. The sheriff said he had to drag out the most simple information. No one wants to talk at all. It isn’t that they are only saying good things about the boys and saying they have no idea what happened, but they are saying it in as few words as possible. Usually a few people will talk, and some will ramble for hours, but these folks are tight-lipped.”

  “Hmmm,” Marcus said, “Could be small town effect, or they may be covering something, or maybe no one knows anything.”

  “It’s possible,” Virgil agreed. “First crime scene.” He handed out photographs that they looked at and then passed around.

  In the pictures was a boy, almost a man, tall and strong-looking in a whirling bathtub for soaking. “This is Michael Lordes; after the Friday night game, he stayed to soak in a whirlpool. He did that often and claimed it helped him recover. Played offensive tackle. He was found the next morning by the coach.”

  “Alibi on the coach?”

  “A solid one. Yes, he and the wife were at the local movie theatre and were seen by plenty of reliable people. The couple usually took in a late movie after the games…midnight showing of Night of the Living Dead. COD was electrocution when a hair dryer was tossed into the bath.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “Yep, Marcus, that’s your objective. Who do you wanna interview?”

  “The coach, the players, family, and friends of victim. Princ
ipal and teachers. And the coroner, of course. I want to see the crime scene, the school, the playing field, and the boy’s bedroom. Who won the game that night?”

  Virgil suppressed a smile. It was something he would have asked as well and showed that Marcus was thinking outside the ordinary. “Not in the file. It’s a good question under the circumstances.”

  “I might want to talk to the coach of the other team.”

  “Good plan.”

  “Show off, “ Nick Swanson said, “ and that’s a good question. It’s the little things that always help. That’s like in California when Virgil had the case figured out and Fairalee and I were trying so hard to catch a clue. He just asked the right questions.”

  “He always does,” Marcus sighed.

  Virgil chuckled, “I ask the stupid questions and they end up being helpful.”

  “Where is his towel?” Vivian asked.

  “Huh?” Marcus took the pictures back to look them over more carefully and make notes.

  “I see his clothing all folded and ready to put on, a bar of soap, all kinds of things scattered all over, but no dry towel?” Vivian shrugged. “That’s odd.”

  “Yeah, it is. Thanks,” Marcus said, frowning over the picture again. He wondered if he would have noticed the lack of a towel and hoped so. It was odd how people could find different things in the same photo.

  “Good,” Virgil said, “Vivian, you have this one. He handed out photos again. “Tommy Neal. Linebacker. This one is messier. After practice on Tuesday, he and the team got bottled sports drinks. He gulped his and then he went to the ground with convulsions. He was dead before help arrived. Antifreeze poisoning.”

  “Good Lord, Virgil, that’s bad.” Nick shook his head. “These are bad ways to kill kids.”

  Vivian looked over her photos. “This is a slow, agonizing death. Someone hated him for some reason. I mean electrocution and poisoning scream that these weren’t accidents, but they aren’t common ways to kill people, either. There’s hatred, convenience, and maybe a message here? I mean, why kill in such odd ways when...well, you know...don’t people use knives and guns these days?”

  “Message...that ‘I can get you, too’ message to the others? Or a message that someone is furious with them?” Nick asked. “And seriously, they’re so different that it’s also a notice that whoever is angry, can and will find a way. Maybe the idea of not using a common weapon is a message as well.”

  “No way around death if someone is chosen,” Fin added.

  “Good points,” Vivian said.

  “There were no warnings? False attempts?” Marcus asked.

  “None. And we’d have expected them, wouldn’t we?” Virgil mused. “I’m telling you this is a strange case and is bound to be a difficult solve. Everyone seems to adore these guys.”

  “No way. So far, they were popular, talented, and good looking. You said their grades were good. Now, you can’t tell me there were no kids who envied them and had some malicious thoughts,” Marcus added. “There are always kids who hate kids like that.”

  Virgil nodded, “Exactly. So why haven’t we heard anything like that? Makes you wonder.”

  “I want the same interviews,” Vivian said.

  “Okay.” Virgil stretched his arms. “Nick. You have Jasper Creek. He was killed with a rifle shot.”

  “What? Now we have an ordinary weapon? And that’s a little hands-off compared to the first one, and it’s impersonal. Time-wise, it’s the one time the killer was right there, except the first one, that we know of.” Vivian shook her head.

  “If it was a player or the coach,” Marcus said, “then the killer could have been there.”

  Virgil nodded. “That’s something to consider.”

  Nick looked at the pictures and thought out loud, “Why three ways? The killer could have used a rifle all three times.” He thought but no ideas came to him.

  “The players started to seriously worry this time. This was a Wednesday. He was a running back. At his house, he was outside playing basketball, alone, and he was shot once in the head.”

  “Got it,” Nick said.

  Fin, driving the van, asked, “Am I on the fourth?”

  “Yep. On each, take another agent with you, and I’ll help as well. The more eyes and ears, the better. It will also give you a witness and will allow for some good cop-bad cop, if needed. Let your other agent be the hard ass.” Virgil opened another folder. “Fin’s case is the same in most ways. Wayne Thomas. He’s black, so we have a cross racial crime going. Wide receiver.”

  “Tell them about this one,” Fin encouraged.

  “This is really weird. The high school students were practicing for a play, a western, and one of the props was a noose. It never was used except as a prop that the actors referred to. Somehow, it ended up around the neck of our victim on the next Monday, and some weights were attached to the end. He was yanked up by the rope, and he died there. He was strangled, so it was a slow, painful death.”

  “That’s insane. Add drama group to the interviews,” Fin said, “ideas anyone?”

  “Was he in the play?”

  “No, he wasn’t, and neither were the other boys.”

  “Fin, you’ve got a real mystery,” Vivian said. “It’s as far from the other deaths as you can get in type of murder, but still another player.”

  “I know. I’m blank on theories, too.” Fin said. “I hope Virgil is busy thinking.”

  Virgil chuckled and said, “I may be thinking, but you guys have to figure this out. To be honest, I have zero ideas going into this. It’s a peculiar case. I can say it’s most likely someone in town with a strange motive, but the changes in method are unusual. Killers tend to stick to proven methods. Before this, there had been little crime in town and nothing comparable to this.”

  “So we have a blank slate?”

  Virgil shrugged, “Same as always, Fin. It may be best to begin with nothing.”

  Chapter Two: Death Arrives

  Michael Lourdes at almost midnight, was alone in the room, soaking in a whirlpool, and relaxing. His back was knotted up and his knees throbbed. Another player, weighing three hundred pounds, rolled up over his knee and ankle, stretching his ACL something fierce. Over the next week, he would rest his legs, ice his joints, and enjoy the whirlpool.

  He wasn't the biggest guy on the team at six foot three, and two hundred and fifty pounds, but he was large enough. The other team had called him a bulldozer, but he wasn't the star of the team, he wasn't the main attraction, but he did his job well. He loved playing football and didn't know where it would lead, after he graduated, but several colleges were interested in his abilities; that might get him four years free tuition so he might have a career.

  The room was dimly lit, very warm, and cozy, and Michael half dreamed as he sat in the tub. He heard the door open and saw a familiar figure. His eyes lit up at once as he said, “Hey...how the hell did you get free?”

  “Shhh. I sneaked out to see you.”

  “I know. I like it. I don't want you to get caught...dunno how we'd be able to explain this.”

  “No one will know. It's our secret.”

  The figure moved across the room, only partially looking towards him. He sighed. Life was so good.

  Michael tilted his head. What was this? He had but a second, even as time slowed to to syrup slowness, to cry out softly, fear turning him ice cold. The hair dryer barely reached as far as the tub, but it flew up and into the tub with a plink. Electric current traveled quickly through the water, rushing to the the point of exit, which was, in this case, the metal drain in the tub that was just beneath Michael's left calf.

  He went ridged and might have survived with nothing more than a few burns and some nasty after-affects, but the current hit his heart and stopped in suddenly. He gasped once and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  The man, his football coach, who found him over six hours later, found that the breaker was thrown on the outlet where the dryer was plugged.
He saw the boy's head had fallen sideways, and that the eyes rolled so that only the whites showed and they were dried out. Michael's tongue stuck out and he looked as if he had suffered a great deal.

  Fortunately the death was fairly fast.

  The Medical examiner would find that there was a pale line, seemingly drawn or painted all around Michael's body and this was where the water level was on the body. The greyish line ran all around his body right above his nipple line, to his back, and included his arms. Right below the line, tiny blisters showed in places. His left calf the one touching the metal drain, was blistered heavily and in a few spots, the flesh had burst outwards. The pruny skin remained and the lower parts of Michael's body were dark with pooled blood.

  The whirlpool was removed and taken to the junkyard after being examined

  Some of that was in the report that the agents had.

  Tommy Neal suffered a different death. He drank his juice after practicing, cooling off with the cold drinks, sitting in the shade, and letting the faint breeze wick away sweat.

  He was a linebacker, one of the smallest that played at five foot nine, but he was dogged and quick. He selected targets and brought them down, sometimes with sheer tenacity. Ore than anything, Tommy lived for the sheers of the crowd and was a favorite. Sometimes, in a game, he felt like a hero several times over.

  As he sat with his team mates, he felt tired, more so than usual and his heart was beating rapidly. Maybe he had over-done practice. His mind was on Michael, wondering how and why his friend was killed, and he thought maybe that was why he felt so drained.

  “Don't ya think?”

  Tommy clenched his eyes shut and tried to focus. What had Wayne said? Something about the cheerleaders who were also practicing. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah? I said their skirts aren't short enough. Hello? Tommy?” Wayne laughed.

  Tommy grinned, “Right. Should be skorter.”

  “Skorter?”

  “Shorter. Damn. I feel kind of sick.”