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

by catt dahman

  “Interesting.”

  “I hope you can figure this out because I’m getting nowhere and I know it. I’ve known all the people in town their whole lives, and I’ve seen them have children and grandchildren. They can be stubbornly hush-mouthed at times. I don’t wanna see any more kids die. My problem, like the rest of my department is that we are town-blind. We can’t see anything but what we’ve seen for the last few decades and that isn’t a fair, honest view. Hell, I know that.”

  “I think that’s honest of you to say. It’s normal to be..as you say, town-blind. A few years ago...let’s say I was as well,” Virgil admitted, “and it caused me a lot of trouble on a case. It’s something I have forced myself to stop doing...to stop having a mental image and to really look. It’s not easy, Sir.”

  “Yep. I see people like back when I was young...walking around...town-blind for sure.”

  “We’ll do our best, Sheriff. I’ve divided up my team, but they’ll be interviewing the same people, so I expect they will work together. Have you set up some interviews for us?”

  “Sure have, Agent McLendon. I have Coach Cervantes right outside. Are you ready to begin or would you rather settle in?”

  “We want to begin.”

  “Good. I do too.”

  When the coach came in, he went from open and friendly as he met the agents, to serious and defensive immediately as he was asked simple questions. The agents wondered what he thought being questioned meant. Folding his arms across his chest, he nodded as he was introduced. “I’ve told the sheriff everything I know.”

  “We might ask different or more difficult questions. Coach, every little bit could help find the murderer, and I’m sure you want that as well.”

  “Damned right I do. My team is practically gone, and we’ve had to cancel games. I want the son of a bitch caught and strung up.”

  “We want the same. We want to stop the murders and bring in the guilty person. You may not realize you saw or heard something vital. It may be a case of being school-blind,” Vivian gave the sheriff a slight smile.

  After a few minutes, they found out that the coach had been with the school a long time, always had a winning football team, and was in excellent standing with the administration and school board. He had only positive things to say about the school’s authority figures.

  “Michael Lordes,” Marcus said, “how would you describe him?” he jumped in, knowing that the coach was defensive and unlikely to be forthcoming on his own.

  “Good kid. Good-looking and popular. He wasn’t the best offensive tackle, but he would have been good enough to play some in college. He struggled some with his lessons, but he was intelligent enough. I liked the kid and so did all the other players. He was a good one....easy to get a long with.”

  “And you found his body?”

  Coach Cervantes wiped his forehead and nodded, stared at the floor, and said, “Worst thing I have ever seen. I mean to tell you I screamed like a little girl when I saw him there. I thought it had to be some crazy accident, or that it wasn’t real...that it had to be a nightmare. I screamed. Isn’t that crazy?”

  Marcus shook his head, “I think it’s natural. I’m sure it was not just a horrible thing to see, but to know him...and for it to be a kid...no, I can see screaming as perfectly normal.”

  The coach nodded and sighed. The empathy settled his nerves a little, “Well, I didn’t really think on it much because I was too heart sick at seeing that and then having to call his folks. I saw it and just did my job...but I was thinking the whole time about calling his parents. Later...I’ll never forget that...seeing him that way.”

  “Why was he there?” Marcus turned the questions.

  “Every game he did that…soaked in the tub. He always complained about the muscles in his back aching, and the soaking gave him relief. After every game, he soaked a while and then went home. He always got home close to midnight, like clockwork, so his folks went to sleep. That night, he didn’t come home and his parents were upset. They called me the next morning, concerned.”

  “Worried?”

  “No, just concerned. At first. Kind of. It was more of a concern and a little worry, but not panic. Confusion maybe. They thought maybe he went out early or something, and he forgot to leave a note, so they were just checking. I had to go over and check some things, so I decided to look around a bit. I sure as hell didn’t expect to see him…like that.”

  “Did you touch the body, Sir?”

  “No. I didn't touch anything as all. I figured I could may maybe electrocuted too. I don't know how that all woks..like maybe it stay sin the body a while?

  “How long have you coached here?”

  “Twenty years.”

  Marcus nodded, “Have you have problems with Michael? As in personally? About a game or practice, school wise?”

  “I yelled at him a few times about grades and about his staying out too late, or about something I heard. I stayed on my boys’ asses about things ‘cause I care, and I am the second eyes, after their parents. That’s kind of how this town is. We all watch the kids and we all do what we can to make them walk the right path. I got onto him for swearing in front of girls before, and that night, I warned him about staying focused, but I didn’t yell. He understood.”

  “He swore and you got onto him?”

  “Yes, Sir, I did.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Agent Jones, is it? He wasn’t the type I had to chew on often. He could be dumber than dirt at times, and sometimes I had to remind him how to act or to study in class. He was a smart ass at times, and I chewed him out for that a few times, but Lordy, he was a good boy. He respected his elders and wasn’t like one of those wild kids like on television. He was salt of the earth good.”

  “Did he drink?” asked Marcus since he knew coaches always heard the gossip.

  “Once in a while, but he didn’t regularly. He didn’t mess with drugs. Had he done that...any of them and I had heard, I’d have run them ‘til they dropped and benched them as well. He was stupid at times, but he always figured it out, and he made things right.”

  “Did he have a connection to the drama group?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are his parents good parents? Any issues?”

  Coach Cervantes thought and said, “They’re good people. They are a little lax in discipline and dote too much on him…only child…never heard a bad word about the family. I think I was more his disciplinarian than they were, but if they’d heard of him doing anything wrong, they would have had him before me, the pastor, and maybe the sheriff as well. They’re torn up over this. Mrs. Lordes is in the hospital.”

  “So people like the family?”

  “Sure. Never any problems...very stable people. The folks went to every game and all school events. People like them fine. No one hated Michael or the family that I knew about.”

  “Someone did. The killer must have. Did Michael ever bully anyone?”

  “Naw. He got along with everybody. I never knew anyone to dislike that boy. He wasn’t the bully type. He was goofy and all, but he was like a puppy...friendly.”

  “What about a girlfriend?”

  Coach Cervantes laughed. “Mindy. She’s the sweetest thing: a cheerleader, ditzy little thing, and she always thought the moon rose and set on that boy. I bet they’d have married up after graduation. It’s a real shame.”

  Marcus made a note that the coach knew about his player’s personal lives, wasn’t afraid to chastise them, and knew the families.“Coach, the night the team played and Michael was killed, who won the game?” Marcus knew that this answer would tell him the tone and feelings of the team after the game; they might be excited and high after a win or down and bummed by a loss and it might matter a great deal.

  “They did.” The coach looked puzzled by that. “But it wasn’t for us not trying. I can’t blame our boys. The other side was just better.”

  Marcus thanked him, and Vivian took over.

  “
Thank you, Coach, for speaking to us. We’re from a small town as well, and sometimes, it’s very hard to imagine people we know doing bad things. I want you to know that we truly understand how you feel. I am looking over the death of Tommy Neal. Can you tell me about that?”

  He paled and replied, “Horrible. I cried like a baby after that. You got me screaming and then crying, but oh my...those were my boys. Good Lord, we were torn up about Mikey, but, hey, we thought it was an accident, yanno, and we tried to move on…for him. We decided we would win the next game and dedicate it to him.” He paused, unable to talk around the lump in his throat.

  “I know it’s painful, Coach. Take your time, please.”

  “We come outta practice, and we were thirsty as hell, so like every time, we grabbed the sports drinks in the tub of ice and drank ‘em. Then we planned to hit the showers and have a second drink…normal for us.”

  “That was usual then?”

  “Always did it the same. But this time….”

  “It was in his drink?”

  “Yeah. He started acting drunk, slurring his speech and walking crooked. I first thought he was acting up, and I told him to knock it off. Then I wondered if the heat got to him. I told him to sit down and cool off. I got his drink and sniffed it, yanno, to be sure he hadn’t added some alcohol, but I didn’t smell anything. I told him to go shower, but he couldn’t get up. He said he felt sick: head dizzy, and stomach cramping. He gagged a few times, and then he fell over, breathing real heavy.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I sent one of the boys to get the school nurse, and I went to him, thinking it was heat exhaustion, but he started foaming at his mouth like a mad dog. I sent another boy to call for an ambulance. I knew it was serious the way he was acting: his eyes rolled up, and he convulsed.” The coach stopped speaking and stared at the ceiling, his face contorted as he said, “I was truly afraid right then. I’ve never seen that in all my years, and I kept thinking we were practicing too hard and asking what had I done to that boy. I felt like...pardon me, but like dog shit. I felt like I caused something.”

  “I have it that an ambulance came, and he was transported to the hospital in the next town, but he died in route?”

  Sheriff Briggs nodded, “Yes, he did. His parents were called, and they met the ambulance, but he was already gone. The coroner said it was ethylene glycol, antifreeze poisoning, and it is was a particularly large dose. I’ve seen pets lick that stuff and die...bad thing.”

  “Ethylene glycol is sweet tasting, odorless, and undetected in something like juice. If anything, his drink tasted sweeter and better than normal, but the poison is very serious and mostly fatal,” Nick added.

  “Tommy had a habit of drinking two bottles at a time even if he was a fairly small kid. He’d never have made college ball; he wasn’t big enough. But he had some fury and spirit on the field,” Coach Cervantes said. “He always gave it his all.”

  “Two bottles? I don’t see that here,” Vivian replied. “Did anyone else have any symptoms?”

  “No.”

  “How would someone know which two bottles he would drink? They weren’t marked with names? They were in the tub. Can you explain?” Nick asked. He leaned forward glancing at Vivian. She frowned as she tried to figure that out for herself. How would anyone know which he would drink?

  “Oh. Sure. See, Tommy hated the kind we liked. We like the green kind. His liked the red color…berry something. That was his one big quirk, about how he always wanted red juices and red soda, red everything, I suppose.”

  “Who bought the drinks, Coach?”

  “I did. I bought tons of the stuff, and I always iced them down before practice, and I always got that flavor he liked. Hey, now I didn’t poison his drinks!” The coach suddenly became worried he was being blamed.

  Vivian nodded. “I never said you did, sir. When did you buy them?”

  “I buy a lot at once so maybe a few weeks back. I keep a lot stocked. Then we use the oldest ones first, and we restock every two weeks. I set them in the tub, and then later, the boys got the tub, toted it out, and filled it with ice. Then we held practice.”

  “Was the tub of drinks in your sight?”

  “Yeah. It was right under a tree where anyone could see it. It was right in the open.”

  “And if anyone went over to add anything to his drinks, that person would be seen? Would you have been too busy to see?”

  “I stood in the shade most of the time. The cheerleaders were practicing, too. Sheriff here asked everyone about anyone over by the tub, but no one saw anything. I guess it’s possible though, but it isn’t probable. I think anyone who bothered those drinks would be seen. I’m positive no one spiked his drinks out there.”

  Vivian thought and asked, “If he drank only that kind, then someone could have gone in and added poison at any time, right? Before practice. They would know which ones he would take if they knew he liked only the berry ones.”

  “I guess so.”

  “What was Tommy like as a person?”

  The coach said Tommy Neal was a good kid who got Bs and was a likable student. He dated a nice girl, on and off, and was a quiet type, thoughtful, and serious. He tended to be the sober driver from parties, went to church regularly, and watched out for his younger siblings. His parents were wonderful and active in the community. There was never a negative word about the family. He was the kid that everyone knew was responsible.

  “I never had to get on his case except to remind him to cut his hair. And by the next day, that hair would be cut proper again, and he’d smile and say thanks for reminding him. He was a great kid.”

  Vivian thanked him and made some notes.

  “Look, Sheriff, we’ve done this….” The coach was getting tired of the questioning. He thought some of the questions were very strange and didn’t see how they mattered.

  “Come on, Coach, some of this is new to me, so keep helping us, okay? I didn’t know about Tommy liking red drinks or that you reminded him to cut his hair. You never know when that matters....and it does. The murderer knew how to pin point Tommy. Please?” The sheriff asked kindly, tilting his head. “You’re the expert here on the boys, so since they can’t speak for themselves. Only you can speak for them. Right?”

  The coach grudgingly nodded.

  Nick felt a huge respect for the sheriff and his kindly, but strong methods. He was a cracker jack lawman. He began by asking about Jasper Creek.

  He was a new student, meaning he had been there three years and had made friends and fit in perfectly. He hung out with several groups and dated an athletic girl who was more country than the rest. He seemed very happy with sitting on a porch in the evenings with her, playing basketball in his driveway with her or other friends, or playing board games with his mother and her boyfriend and his sister.

  He walked his own path.

  He was easy-going, made excellent grades, and had never been in trouble. “I never had to fuss with him. He was a hundred percent in every damned thing he did. He didn’t chatter or cut up, like most of the boys, but he was quieter, and he listened more than he talked. Jasper was different. He was still water and he ran deep for sure.”

  His parents and sister came home from getting food at the diner and found him in the driveway. Amid his mother’s screaming and sister’s vomiting, his father called for medical help and tried to revive Jasper, but he was already dead. He had been dead for close to an hour, the coroner estimated later. He had been killed by one shot to his head.

  The sheriff said, “Imagine that scene. His folks found him and his mother lost her mind right then. She was screaming and crying and the sister got violently ill and went into shock. Jasper’s father was left to deal with that boy, dead and cold...it was a nightmare for the Creek family. Little Amy Creek is fourteen and I was told she was so sick that she actually dehydrated herself within minutes between up-chucking and crying.”

  “Sheriff, are there any firearms in the Creek house?”r />
  “Yes. A rifle that Jasper sometimes fiddled around with, but it wasn’t that gun. We checked. That one was clean and hadn’t been fired. We had it in out hands within seconds of arrival at the Creek house and it was in a closet at the top. No where near Jasper’s body. We calculated that he was shot from the woods close to his house, and we checked the area over carefully, but there was nothing at all.”

  “No foot prints or….”

  “None. We may be a little bitty town with an old sheriff, but one thing I know is tracks and markings in the woods, and there wasn’t a thing.” He grinned. That was what he excelled: in looking for clues in the woods. He had grown up tracking deer and practically living in the thickets. “I won’t brag. I’m an old man and I can’t sing, draw, or dance. I can’t do a lot of things. Three things I can do.”

  Everyone listened.

  “I can shoot. I can hit a wing off a fly, I bet...naw...but I can shoot. I can show you awards and commendations I got but in 1957, President Dwight D Eisenhower awarded me a tab for my uniform. That is the Presidents 100 Tab and it signifies the one hundred best marksmen over all, with the enlisted and civilians taken into consideration.”

  Virgil sat up, “That’s amazing, Sheriff. Congratulations.”

  The Sheriff waved it off. “I can talk, too. I am good at getting people to hear me, and Mamma said I could have been a preacher. But I’m saying that because while I’m great with those two thing..and only those two others, I am the best at one thing. I am far better with one more little talent, and that’s tracking. I can track anyone, anything, after a day, a rain, a month...it’s what I am best at. Weird thing was...there was nothing to track. Not a single print ot turned leaf, broken twig, hair, displacement, scent, feeling, energy...nothing. I had chills like a ghost did it.”

  “Then we are truly dealing with something strange. That’s helpful to know and I am willing to rule the woods out as an escape route,” Virgil said, his voice full of admiration.

  “if we have any time, I’d love to learn some basics if you’d teach me,” Vivian said.