Every cop on the force was on the alert to find Nigel Mann. He attended classes at Foothill college. Maybe the detectives would get lucky and find him on campus. While Cecil and Moore looked around at the country club atmosphere of the college, they met with Nigel Mann’s coach.
Coach Roberts, a balding middle aged man, was out by the pool, where his players eagerly splashed around in the water. They motioned for Roberts to meet them by the fence and the detectives flashed their badges.
The coach went over to greet them and asked how he could be of help.
“Was Nigel Mann one of your players.”
“Yes,” he said, “I read about what happened to him in the paper.”
“Would you say he was well liked?” Cecil asked. “Did he get along with everybody ...on the team?”
An uncomfortable silence followed. Roberts wanted to know, “Can we discuss this later, after practice?”
“No, we’ll discuss it now.” Moore insisted.
The coach sighed and told his assistant coach to take over practice and said to the cops, “Let’s go inside.”
Inside the doors to the locker room, to the right was Coach Roberts office. They stood just outside it, and the occupants inside.
“What do you want to know, was Nigel well liked? Something tells me you already know the answer to that question.” The coach declared.
“We’re just checking on a few facts is all.” Cecil’s smile was disarming. “We understand one of your players may have dunked Nigel. Is that true?”
Coach Roberts nodded.
“Who dunked him?” Cecil asked.
Reluctantly, Roberts gave up a name and added, “He held him under water for over a minute, maybe two. By and large, my players are very well behaved, however, water polo is a rough sport.”
“Did a few of your guys get into a fight after practice, in the locker room?”
He blanched, then answered, “This guy with tattoos, looks like an x-con, never seen him before, got into a fight with one of my players.”
Moore produced a picture of Dan Murdock. “Was this the guy who started the fight?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
After a thoughtful moment, Cecil asked, “What happened to him?”
“He got away before the police came. I don’t know where he went and I never saw him again.”
“What about Nigel Mann?” Moore asked, “Anyone see where he went?”
Coach Roberts had no idea.
Practice was over and the swimmers filed past the men standing by the doorway. The players were slick with water, some shivering, some wrapped in towels, wearing bikini bathing suits.
Cecil noticed a couple players had marks on their faces and body, possibly from a fight.
After they filed past the cops, Cecil asked Roberts, “Those the guys?” indicating the ones with cuts and bruises.
The coach nodded reluctantly.
Ten minutes later the detectives were sitting in their unmarked car in the jr. college parking lot, where they had a good view of the gym and the double doors to the locker rooms, through which they knew their suspects would be emerging soon.
“So Dan was telling us the truth.” Moore said, looking over at his partner, staring out the window. “You think these guys murdered Nigel? Why would they kill Mary?” Cecil didn’t appear to hear him, as if he was lost deep in thought. “Cecil!”
He turned abruptly. “What?”
Moore could see his partner was distracted. He was here and he wasn’t here at the same time.
Two nights ago, there was an incident in his home.
Hs wife, Debra, a family councilor, working with parents to find better ways to handle their anger, was suspicious her second born child, Jake, was up to no good. Home late and Cecil and Debra were getting concerned about his failing grades and spending too much time hanging out with his friends, they suspected of using drugs.
They decided to search his room while he was out past eight this evening and when he came home, they were waiting for him. “Look what we found in your room,” Cecil said, presenting Jake with the evidence: an illegal plant: marijuana, he was growing on his window sill in a little pot, filled with dirt.
In a state of arrested shock, Jake’s eyes were wide orbits of fear.
His mother, Debra was very upset, her child was using drugs. “Jake, can you tell me why this is wrong? Do you even know why this is wrong?” She indicated the pot plant she was holding.
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Jake shouted defiantly.
“Hey, keep your voice down.” Cecil demanded, concerned he might disturb his sister’s sleep.
A torrent of anger came bursting forth from Jake’s mouth, “What are you going to do, arrest me?”
“I could arrest you and pro- probably should.” Cecil sputtered out his words, he was so angry. “You want to go to jail? Because I could arrange it.”
“You would. You probably would.” Jake was trying to think of what he would do if Cecil did put him inside the system. He would…
“Stop this. Stop this right now.” Debra said to both of them, now the voice of reason. As far as she was concerned. She practically got between them, but she stood beside Cecil and spoke directly to her son. “No one is going to put you in jail. We’ll have to destroy the plant-”
In the kid’s mind, this was unreasonable, having seen his plant spring forth from a seed, Jake was looking forward to seeing it become a full sized plant and harvesting the potent bud, he shouted at her, “You would, you fucking Nazi bitch!”
“That was it.” Now Cecil had enough, stepping up to Jake and screaming at him, “You really crossed a line here mister!” Cecil took the youngster by one arm and a shoulder and swung him around, then pinned him up against the wall, and holding him tight, his right forearm against his chest, his knee pushing in his gut, 170 pound man, pressing his weight against 120 pound teenager. “What did I tell you about using profanity in my house? No profanity!”
Jake squirmed to free himself and squeezed his eyes shut in pain.
“No profanity!” The words echoed in his mind and the act of violent restraint he used on his step son, played over and over in his mind.
Last night, Cecil came home from work, his wife was distraught and real worried, ringing her weathered hands.
She just got a call from her “X” the son of a — she divorced and he said he got a call from his son, Jake, our son Jake… She was chocking up, trying to say, “we’re abusing him, physically and mentally.” She was in tears.
Cecil took her in his arms to comfort her, patting her back.
Debra pulled away, with weepy eyes, weak wrists, vibrato breathing, wailing out the words, “He says if we don’t let Jake live with him and that woman, [the home wrecker], he’s going to take us to court and try and gain custody, claiming child abuse!” Now she was wailing and Cecil tried to comfort her once again, hugging her and pursing his lips in anger.
“Well,” he thought, “the little bugger got one over on me.”
While on stake out, Cecil told Moore all about his family situation since he was a trusted friend. “You think I stepped over the line with Jake, don’t you?”
It wasn’t for Moore to judge, but he personally thought his partner made the wrong move, using physical force to subdue a kid, especially when he wasn’t a threat. Moore never struck his own kids. However, he had compassion for his partner’s point of view. Cecil’s father beat him and he believed he was a better man for it. Perhaps he was; perhaps that’s what he needed. However, Moore thought there was a better way.
“There they are!” He called out, saved by the bell.
The students on the water polo team, were coming out of the gym, including Jack, the leader of the pack and his gang, who looked like they were in a fight. The cops got out of the car and walked quickly up to them.
“You mind if we ask you a few questions?” Cecil said, revealing his badge.
Jack and his posse, stopped for a word and the team leader said sure and Cecil asked him about the fight he had with Nigel,
“The fight… it wasn’t with Nigel. It was with his friend, whatever his name was.”
“Oh, you didn’t dunk Nigel?” Cecil asked, moving in, to get a close look at Jack.
“I swear the fight wasn’t with him; this other guy comes out of the blue and gets in my face, yelling, ‘If you’re going to do that to Nigel, then you’re going to deal with me,’ then he starts throwing punches at me. And Nigel didn’t even stick around and thank him.”
Cecil poked his chest. “You dunk Nigel. You don’t like him very much, do you?”
“No, all right? He’s a lousy player. Is that what you want to hear? So what? You going to arrest me for dunking him?”
“He’s missing. He may be dead for all we know, or he may be a murderer on the loose. Either way, we need to find him. You wouldn’t be any help in that regard, would you?”
He wained briefly, then said, “I don’t know anything.”
Moore showed him a picture of Dan Murdock. “Is this the guy you got into a fight with?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Where were you last Friday night?”
Jack had his answer prepared, they could tell.
On the way back to their red Crown Vic, Cecil said about Jack, “He also verifies Dan’s story. What do you want to bet his alibi checks out?”
Copyright 2016 William Leslie
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