The Murdered Football Player Ch. 03

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Big Tits

The chronological order of my stories to read is:

Todd I often liked to doze out here on the deck at night during the warm summer months.

“That would be because I haven’t been able to get him back into his house yet without the SBI seeing him.” I said as I woke up and stretched. “What time is it?”

“Almost five.” Laura said. “Wanna wake Carole up before I feed her?”

“Sure.” I said. Going upstairs to the bedroom, I picked Carole up out of her crib. She woke up as I talked to her, telling her what a pretty baby she was. She cooed for a couple of minutes, moving her arms and legs like the little fussbudget she was upon being awakened. Then she realized it was breakfast-time, and the “hungry cry” started.

“I’ll feed her up here.” Laura said. “You get ready and get the Coach back home.”

“I’ll tell you more about this later.” I said, answering her silent wondering as I handed the baby to her.

I did not bother to shower or change clothes; I would do that at the Station. I woke Marshall up and snuck him into the SUV. It was still dark and the gloaming dawn was not quite yet threatening us.

I picked up Cindy at her apartment and we headed north to the subdivision where Coach Marshall lived. Driving up Pine Street, upon which the coach lived, I told him what to do when I distracted the SBI… whose car I could see parked across the street from his house. I pulled up right alongside, seeing Agent Ferrell in the car, and someone else lying asleep in the backseat that I could not identify.

*Woop WOOP!! Woop WOOP!!*

The noise of my police SUV siren blasted through the air for a second as I shined my searchlight into the face of Agent Ferrell.

“Rise and shine, Ferrell! Let’s go, up and at ’em!” I shouted. “It’s a whole new day!”

“Turn that god-damned light out of my eyes, you son of a bitch.” Ferrell gasped as the noises and light hit him all at once.

“C’mon Ferrell, let’s go!” I said joyfully. “We’re burning daylight, time to make hay as the sun starts shinin’!!”

“Go fuck yourself, dickhead.” Ferrell said. “Get the fuck out of here before I shoot your ass.”

“I wish you’d try, Ferrell.” I said, my voice low and cold as I turned off the searchlight. “I’d love the chance to blow your ass away.” I drove on off, leaving the stunned asshole agent blinking.

Steven Ikea sat up in the backseat. “Jesus what a fucking prick he is. God’s judgment upon him will surely be severe.”

“Yeah…” Ferrell said. He looked up and saw Coach Marshall getting into his car and cranking it. “Shit, Marshall’s on the move. He got out the door to his car.” Cranking his car, the Agent moved into the street to follow the coach as he drove back to the practice fields.


“That was a nice trick.” Cindy said as we drove to Headquarters. “While you were shining that light in Ferrell’s face, the coach slipped out the door on my side and ran to the backyard of his house, came out the other side and got in his car. Won’t those guys realize what happened?”

“Not immediately.” I said. “Ferrell is an idiot. Did you see who was in the backseat?”

“Couldn’t tell… kept his face down.” Cindy replied.

?”Hmmm….” I said.


The Chief came into the MCD room at 6:30, and the reception for him was rather cool, as the Detectives present only murmured a “good morning” in reply to his. I could tell that this affected him as he silently signaled for me to follow him into his office.

“First, Captain Malone has gone to the funeral of Jefferson Jackson and is helping out the poor kid’s parents with arrangements and such. So you’re in charge of all Detectives rus escort while he’s gone.” the Chief said. “Don’t let all that power go to your head.”

“Darn, you never let me have any fun, Chief.” I said, smiling.

“Yeah right. In fact, I heard you had some fun last night.” the Chief said. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, but lighting up the SBI car that was watching the gym is not exactly what I’d call professional behavior.”

“Yes sir.” I said, and then was unable to stop myself: I added, “Chief, is it professional behavior for the SBI to be watching us, the local police, instead of working on the Jackson case like they’re supposed to be doing?” Now THAT question was unprofessional, and I expected the Chief to let me have it in no uncertain terms.

Chief Griswold did glare at me, but answered “No, it is not, and I’m already sorry I turned the case over to them. You’d think the media would be happy I did that, but I’m hearing that they’re going to run a hit piece… on me. On ME, Lieutenant.”

“May I speak freely, sir?” I asked. The chief blinked. To ask to speak freely meant that I wanted to say something improper for the protocol of our respective ranks, and that if he allowed me to say it there would be no repercussions. This was something I did only on the most rare of occasions.

“By all means.” the Chief said, sitting back in his chair.

“You’re going to be even more upset in a few minutes, sir.” I said. “I’m expecting the news report to tell the world that the SBI lab found no drugs or alcohol in Jackson’s system, which of course is not what our lab…” I placed the file folder on the chief’s desk …” nor the University’s lab found. They’re whitewashing it, Chief, and yes, the Press is eagerly going to try to slam you as being responsible for letting the SBI whitewash it.”

The chief looked at the University report until I said, “Let’s go watch the news, sir.” We headed to MCD, which was full of detectives as well as Tanya and Pete.

Of course, 7:00am brought the morning newscast, and I could not wait to see Bettina!

“This is Bettina Wurtzburg, KXTC Channel Two News!” said the lovely redhead reporterette. She was looking especially pretty today, practically glowing. I wondered if she’d lightened her hair color just a bit.

“Channel Two News has learned that the preliminary toxicology report and preliminary autopsy performed by the SBI Crime Lab shows that there were no drugs and no alcohol in Jeff Jackson’s system at the time of his unfortunate death. The SBI’s medical examiner has issued a statement that he is prepared to rule Jackson’s death as being due to natural causes, that Jackson suffered a heart attack sometime late Friday night.”

Eyes turned to the Chief, who was red-faced as he gaped at the TV set. Bettina continued: “When asked by Channel Two News reporters how Mr. Jackson ended up in a culvert at the southern County Line, SBI Public Relations Director Michael Horner said the SBI was continuing to look into the case, but that they believe Jackson was partying with friends when he had a heart attack, and that his friends panicked and left him in that ditch. The SBI says that after interviewing the football players and coaches, they do not believe any players were involved in the placement of the body in the culvert. We now go to Tim Dawdle, Channel Two Sports. What have you got, Tim?”

Tim Dawdle came onto the screen, his curly black hair looking oily above his thick black-rimmed glasses, looking like the worthless young “millennial” punk that he was. “This is Tim Dawdle, KXTC Channel Two Sports. As the SBI successfully closes the case of the unfortunate death of Jeff Jackson, many questions remain. Did Jeff Jackson have a heart condition that led to his heart failure? If so, did Head Coach Brian Harlan know about this condition, but concealed it in order to have the star player on the field? Did the coach put this boy’s life in danger just to win a few football games?”

“That son of a–” Detective Angela Harlan said, her face as red as the chief’s. I patted her shoulder to quieten her down.

“In addition, we have to wonder here at KXTC Channel Two Sports why Town it was his administrative assistant.

“Coach, there is a Campus Police Officer here to see you.” the secretary said. “A Lieutenant–“

“Shit.” breathed the coach. “Karen, go out that back door.”

“Bye, baby.” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the mouth as she hopped off the desk and exited out the side door.


I walked into Coach Harlan’s office and my nose immediately told me that sex with a woman had been going on moments before. My eyes saw a clear spot in the middle of the coach’s desk, many plaques, medals and citations on the walls of the office and in the glass-windowed cabinet on the far side. Behind the desk was a large photo of Coach Harlan’s team when he played college football, a team that had won a National Championship.

“Have a seat, Lieutenant.” the coach said, sitting down in his chair behind his desk. I observed him. He was wearing athletic clothing (duh) and his face looked a bit flushed. As his rump hit the chair I caught the merest grimace on his face.

“Lieutenant,” he started, “I thought that you local police were taken off the case.”

“Coach, I’m not here about the Jackson case.” I said. “I’m here about another very urgent matter. Do you know who this person is?” I held up my iPhone, the picture of Ned filling the screen.

“Uhh…” the coach said, “I really think I should not be talking to you without a lawyer present.”

“Coach, look.” I said, trying to sound persuasive. “I’m not here to get you in any trouble. Let me further say that I have no desire at all to bring any problems to this University or to your football program. My wife is a professor at this School and I know the importance of the School and the athletic programs to my Town.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” the coach said, though his face looked unmoved.

“This guy here,” I said, speaking of Ned, “has murdered several people, kidnapped little children, and has made and sold some extremely harmful drugs… and I’m not talking about puny stuff like cocaine or weed, either. I know that he was making and selling PEDs to some of your players last year– now you might not have known about that, and I am not the least bit interested if you knew or not. But he is a very dangerous person, and if my information is correct that he was here and talking to you, you yourself might be in danger. No matter what, I need to get this killer off the streets, and I want your help to do it.”

“Ah shit…” the Coach said, his face a reflection of the dilemma he was in. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to help you find that bag of shit,” he meant Ned when he said that, “but I really cannot say anything to any cop with this Jackson case over our heads right now. So I have to reiterate that I want a lawy–“

The front door to the coach’s office had opened and I felt as much as saw someone come in. It was Karen Warner. She was not wearing the cheerleader outfit, but a very tight, clingy dress and high heel sandals that shaped and showed off her lovely feet, legs and ass.

“Go ahead, Coach…” she said as she shut the door and leaned against it. “Tell the Lieutenant what he needs to know. I’m sure he’ll understand if you only discuss ‘hypothetical’ situations that never actually happened.”

I looked at the coach as he considered, then said “Speaking purely hypothetically?”

“Absolutely.” I said.

“Okay,” said Coach Harlan, “if hypothetically that young punk came into this office a few weeks ago and demanded blackmail money or he’d expose the use of PEDs on my football team, I would’ve thrown his ass out immediately and told him never to come back. Hypothetically, of course.”

I nodded as Coach Harlan continued “And hypothetically, if that punk were to into this office last Sunday afternoon and say I needed to wise up and give him cash or other players like Jeff Jackson would end up dead, then hypothetically I would have punched the punk bastard in the mouth as hard as I could, knocking him across the floor and halfway unconscious, and then I would hypothetically have told him to get out of my office, and that if he ever was seen on campus again I would have my players beat the shit out of him until he was dead.”

“And hypothetically,” I said, “he would run out the door with his bloody nose.”

“He might hypothetically say ‘You’ll be sorry for this.’ as he left.” Harlan said.

“I don’t suppose you’ve discussed this hypothetical situation with the SBI?” I asked.

“Hell no.” Harlan said. “You think I’m that stupid?”

“No, Coach.” I said. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all, but I do need to tell you this: this guy Ned has committed murder before and would have no compunction about doing so again. I will discreetly get a photo of him to you so that you can show all of your coaches and members of the sports teams, and if any of them see this guy, you need to call me immediately. Don’t fuck around with him; he is a fucking rattlesnake, except you won’t hear a rattle before he strikes.”

“Coach Harlan can take care of himself.” said Karen Warner, her voice cutting through the air. “I think it’s time for you to get out of here and start searching for that punk.” I marveled at how this nineteen-year-old girl was taking command and ordering both me and the coach around.

As I got up, I said, “Oh, I apologize for breaking up your sexual tryst a few minutes ago.” The coach blinked and Karen looked daggers at me as she opened the door for me.

“By the way, Coach,” I said as I got to the door, “this girl really is out of your league.” I grinned as I exited, noticing out of the corner of my eyes that Karen was rolling her eyes as she threw the door shut behind me.


“Jesus Christ.” Harlan said. “What the fuck are we going to do now?”

“Take it easy, baby.” Karen said, coming over to Harlan as he sat in his chair. She climbed onto him, straddling him, her feet resting on the inside of his muscular thighs. “It’s all good. Now why don’t you fuck me again…” she said as their lips met in a deep, hungry kiss.

“Before we do, I have to make a phone call.” Harlan said. “That bastard Lieutenant is going to wish he never came in here and insulting us with his insinuations…”


As I got back to my car, I silently reproached myself for going alone to talk to Harlan. If Karen Warner had had a gun, she would have had the drop on me and easily could have shot me dead before I knew she was there. I resolved to have ‘protection’ at all times, in the form of a fellow Detective…

Part 15 – Stepping Out of Bounds

It was just after 11:00am when I returned to Headquarters. I stopped at the duty desk and had the Desk Sergeant put out an APB on my nephew Ned, which stated that he had been sighted on the University Campus within the last 48 hours. Taking a printed copy of that, I walked down the hall, and was met by Angela Harlan.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir