Date: Mon, 31 Aug 2015 22:50:45 -0400
From: bldhrymn@aol.com
Subject: Who Killed Koch Robin 4

Who Killed Koch Robin 4
By Bald Hairy Man

This is a story about gay men and gay sex. If you don't like that, DON'T
read it! You have been warned. It is intended for adults to read, and is
not for minors. It is a fantasy, not a sex manual.  I have made no effort
to portray safe sex practices. If you have any comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com

We were beginning to have too many suspects. Money and sex are at the root
of most murders and we had Donna's desire for money and Junior's love
affair to cover those bases. Anyone who promises a perfect family life to
his followers is a fool. The massive marketing operation of King Cole's
organization was a house of cards.

Donna's taste for low life characters was a problem for her and her
family. I did not know if this was just an effort of a spoiled rich girl to
get attention, or of it was a genuine love of slumming.  Perhaps
associating with marginal people made he feel smarter or more desirable.

At the country club, she was one of many spoiled princesses.  At a grubby
bar and grill, she sparkled. It was also possible that one of her
"boyfriends" saw her as the road to easy street. She was openly negative
about her brother and someone may have thought killing him would please
her.

In the same way, his death made her the sole heir. I had had a lot of
experience with greedy people. Greed is usually insatiable. Many crooks and
con men would escape detection if they stopped when they had
enough. Unfortunately, they never had enough.

Junior and Koch were lovers and in love. That was a problem for Junior's
father, but also for his minions. Daddy's talk show was a large,
profit-making corporation. They specialized in selling self-help books that
promised salvation. The books, the tapes and the weekend retreats were
vastly profitable.

Of course, the claims he made were covered by the freedom of speech
amendment in the constitution. The public is fickle. On little crack in the
facade can easily bring the entire edifice down. Jimmy Swagger and the
Bakers were typical of the catastrophic collapse of media based empires.

I decided to send Lance into the bars and clubs Donna frequented. His gold
ol' boy attitude and his accent would work there. I went after the King
Cole connection. I talked with my connection in the fraud division, and
asked if they would talk about King Cole.  They gave me a name to call,
Dr. Owen McMaster.

He was a professor and a specialist in cults. I called him and we met at
his house.  He said meeting at his college was problematic.

McMaster live in a small, century old townhouse in an older part of
town. It had an ordinary exterior, but paintings, drawings and sculptures
cluttered its interior.  I know little about art, but I was pretty sure
this stuff was good. Owen had coffee ready. It was very good coffee. My
first impression was that he was a movie producer's idea of what an
absent-minded professor should look like. He was bald, bearded, slim and
dressed in tweeds.

That was true, except for the absent-minded part. Owen was sharp as a
tack. "I assume you know that King Cole is a fraud and without any real
political or religious beliefs at all," he said. "He is right wing
ultra-political and supposedly Christian man. He is a naturally cunning
man, but once he moved to the second tier of talk show hosts he used a
sophisticated polling group that could guide his talk."

"How does that work?" I asked.

"They poll the public to find out the hot button issues. Once they find the
issues, they work on ways to address those issues and then find a way to
profit from them. Of course the approaches are simplistic and superficial,
but they are easy to understand," Owen explained. "A simple solution to a
complex issue is rare, but is attractive to the gullible and can be
profitable."

I explained the situation between Junior and Koch, and asked if that would
be a problem.

"Right now it is a big problem. Gay conversion therapy is a cash cow. Cole
may have made a mistake. Traditionally, they had diversified fund
raising. They focused on anti-immigrant issues, gun rights and protecting
the country against gays as well as supporting old time
Christianity. Apparently a good chunk of redneck America is worried their
sons may be gay," Owen continued. "The prices for seminars, tapes and
retreats are high. It represents perhaps 40% of the organization's income."

"There had been another error. The promotional literature comes close to
promising results. That can be a problem," Owen said. "I have met Joel
Master, the director of King Cole's gay conversion program. Actually my
cock met his prostate and did its own converting."

"He was a virgin?" I asked.

"He said he was a virgin. I had the suspicion may have been a virgin many
times before," he said.

"It was an easy entry?"

Owen laughed. "Joel was open and already lubricated.  If I were a
detective, like you, I would bet I was not the first. On the plus side, I
do not think his anus was callused. When he made the pass at me, I briefly
toyed with the idea of rejecting the pass since he is such a hypocrite. My
cock over ruled me on that one!" he said. "I am openly gay but I don't
flaunt it.  It is general knowledge."

"I have heard that sort of thing happens sometimes," I observed.

"I assumed you are gay.  If you aren't, please forgive me for my
frankness," he said.

"Why do you think I'm gay?"

"There is nothing direct, but several friends have mentioned that you are
reasonable and open minded. Several friends of mine have said you are a
good man and that you can be trusted. There are some closet cases on the
police force who have problems with gay men," Owen said. "You aren't one of
them. I made the assumption that you are gay."

"I don't advertise it," I said.

"You certainly aren't the standard issue gay man," Owen said. "Some men
would find that attractive. I tend to attract young men who want to be
mentored."

"Does King Cole have an enforcer?" I asked, changing the conversation back
to the crime.

"The Grand Inquisitor is Clinton. He is about as smarmy as a man can be. He
maintains ideological purity. They do not like former employees going
public. He has several enforcers. Carlton Stark is a preacher with a
sadistic streak. He is superficially mild-mannered, but he is mean.  Elroy
Bean is technically a bodyguard, but I think he is a sadist. He likes to
give the impression he is a war tested Marine," Owen said. "He lasted three
months in the Marines. They let him go due to mental problems. The word his
he almost killed a man for what he thought was a homosexual pass."

"That is what we call a lead in the police world," I said.

"Elroy is a gay sadist. If he makes the pass, it is fine," Owen
continued. "If you happen to be a masochist, it can be a match made in
heaven. If not, it can be a bumpy road. He is not a play acting sadist; he
is a genuine, clinical sadist."

"And a good Christian too?" I asked.

He is 100% saved, as is Carlton. Carton likes threats and intimidation. He
is the sort of man who tells you he knows where your elderly mother lives
and that accidents happen to the elderly all the time," Owen explained. "He
also leaks slanderous items to the press. He leaks suspicions, so it can
poison the water without being openly slanderous. He has a knack for
destroying lives."

"Thank god they are such good, right thinking Americans," I remarked.

"That is a problem with true believers everywhere. Their total commitment
to the faith can justify grotesque acts of violence. They are doing it for
America, Christ, or for whom ever," he said. "That is how you get
"pro-life" people killing doctors, and why they like to humiliate pregnant
girls. True believers are a curse."

We talked a little longer and he showed me his garden. There was a life
sized, nude sculpture in a corner. It was a classical type, lifelike and
not abstract at all.

"You like the sculpture?" Owen asked.

"It is handsome." I said. "Is it old?"

"It is about twenty-five-years old. A sculptor friend did it of me.  I had
the summer off and he needed a model. He couldn't sell it to a museum for
the obvious reason so he gave it to me," Owen said. The obvious reason was
the oversized genitals. They were not grotesquely big, or cartoonish, but
they were clearly of a well-endowed man. It was also clearly a portrait of
a particular man, not a classical hero or a rendition of a generalized man.

We went back into the house. "I could show you my bedroom, if you are
interested," he said. Owen adjusted his balls slightly. It was subtle, but
I noticed. I did the same. That was almost an automatic reaction; I did it
without thinking, but it was entirely involuntary either.

We went to the bedroom and we naked thirty seconds later. Well-hung men
like Owen often lie back and let their playmates do all the work.  When he
said that some men liked my type, he apparently was referring to himself.
He tried to swallow my cock first, but we were soon on the bed in the
sixty-nine position. All was well.

Owen liked beefy men. He liked thick cocks and he really liked precum.
Owen was impossible to deep throat, but from the 69 position, I could get
some of it. He was a skilled cocksucker, both delicate and effectual.

I thought my sucking efforts were ineffectual, but I suddenly had a
mouthful of sperm, so I must have been doing well enough. His sperm as
almost steamy.  That turned me on and I shot off in Owen's beard.  He seem
to like that too. Both of us had four alarm orgasms, so I was spent for the
morning, so I went back to work. Owen asked if he could call me. I said
that was fine and gave him my home number.

"I have an old friend who I think would really like you. If I arranged a
meeting with the three of us would you be offended?" he asked.

I laughed. "I'm a fucking homicide cop. Let me assure you that a slightly
odd sexual situation is not a problem," I said. I paused. "It is nice that
you asked. I don't like to be blindsided." We shook hands and I left.

Back at the office, I did some research on Clinton, Carlton and Elroy. The
Charlottesville police arrested Carlton in blackmail case, but he not
charged. That case also involved the main witness's suicide. Carlton had
moved many times, never staying in one place more than two years. He
settled down only when he began to work for King Cole.

Elroy had several assault and battery charges. He too moved regularly. His
juvenile records were not erased when he came of age, because he was
involved in a case of felony maiming when he turned 18. King Cole provided
top-notch lawyers for him, and he had been comparatively good recently.

The official record is not the same as officer memories. I checked with
some of the investigating officers associated with Elroy and Carlton. They
said the comparatively clean recent records were due to expensive
lawyers. Apparently, the DA thought that the cost of fighting the case was
not justified by the nature of the crimes.

"Elroy is a sick puppy," one man said. "It was only a matter of time before
he hits the big time."

Lance came back from his day investigating Donna's beaus. That was good
news and bad news. He had a lot of good information, but one of the
boyfriends was borderline psychotic and sadistic. In the best-case
scenario, they would meet his match and kill each other, and thus make the
world a better place.

That night I got call from the hospital. Lance had been ambushed and was
badly beaten. I raced to the hospital. He was in the operating room. There
were several broken bones and they were now looking for internal injuries.

Attacking a cop is a big deal. Lance was new to Richmond and did not have a
list of enemies looking for revenge. Someone he had interviewed was very
unhappy about that. It also had to be someone who had little sense and less
self-control[BW1]. Only an idiot would attack a policeman on the same day
he was interviewed. Of course, it could have been someone who reported back
to a person higher up the food chain. This was another major lead.

Shelia Brooks, the family liaison office came to the hospital. She had
notified Lance's folks and they were on the way. Sheila would deal with
them. I was to go to the crime scene and take charge. I left.

Patrol Officer Tamara Washington had run into the attack and scared off the
perps. Tamara took no shit from anyone.  There had been four men, but that
did not slow Tamara one bit. She was six-feet-four inches tall and was
always aggressive and in command. There was blood everywhere. None of it
was Tamara's blood. She thought he had broken one man's shoulder and given
another a least a concussion. Her Billy club probably had blood evidence
from the perps.

"I went to help the officer who was down. I had a feeling he was in bad
shape. I would have chased them otherwise," she said. "How is he?"

"He's in critical condition," I said. "You made the right decision."

She said there had been a staged accident and Lance must have stopped to
help. Tamara had been a traffic cop for a while and she had the make of the
car, as well as good description and a partial plate number. The men were
wearing masks, but she had a good physical description of them and their
clothes. One of the men had heavy tattoos. She had a good memory for
details.

I could almost feel the computers at the Police Headquarters doing
searches.  Ten minutes later a patrol officer found the abandoned car, a
mile away. The perps had been doused it with gasoline, but the officer put
it out with an extinguisher. There might be fingerprints there. Tamara had
things under control. I called in and asked what they wanted me to do
next. The Chief came to the phone.

"Go home and get some sleep. Be here at 8:00 tomorrow. The computer guys
are at work. They should have something in the morning."

The previous Chief wanted all the credit to go to the detectives and never
mentioned the cops who patrolled the streets. The new chief was more
evenhanded.  Street cops were now looking for the perps and they would get
the credit if they found them. I went home and went to bed. I thought I was
not tired, but I fell asleep immediately. I woke at five-thirty ready to
go. I went to the hospital. Lance was still in critical condition, but the
situation was not as dire as it had been the night before.

Sheila had worked her magic with Lance's parents. They were anxious but
calm. I told them that Lance had been working on a major crime, but they
should not mention that to anyone. "We will portray this as a random
mugging in the press. We don't want to alert the muggers," I explained. "We
have some major leads, but that will not be made public either. Don't say
anything to anyone, don't speculate. You can help us a lot that way.
Sheila will keep you up to date." They understood.

We had the morning meeting. The report from the hospital was not good, but
it was not hopeless either. The car had been stolen earlier that night. The
lab now had the fingerprints for evaluation.  There were two blood sources
on the Billy club.  Tamara had hit one man on a forward swing and she got
the other using a backhand swing.  The blood splatters were distinct and
were on the way to a lab for analysis.

Dianna Fox, the chief computer guy gave us a rundown. One of the men was
Rooster, one of Donna's friends. Tamara recognized the tattoos. Rooster's
real name was Robert Morris, but had several other aliases.

Rooster was very easy to identify, and I realized they were planning to
kill Lance, not just teach him a lesson. He had a direct link to
Donna. There was light at the end of the tunnel.

Dianna then dropped a bombshell. She had found an article in the newspaper
that featured Rooster as a success story for King Cole's anti-drug
campaign. Kin Cole's campaign to save your children from becoming gay was
preceded by a save your children from drug addiction campaign. There was a
photograph of King Cole handing Rooster a certificate of achievement for
overcoming the scourge of drug addiction.  To the side of the picture was
Rooster's mentor, Elroy.

I had a clear focus for the investigation, but now it was a blurred
focus. Donna and King Cole could both have been involved. Tamara brought me
Lance's notebook along with her own observations of the attack. I opened it
and found that Lance kept detailed notes. There was no need to guess what
he had been observing; it was all there. Tamara's notes were similarly
detailed.

I started reading.  An hour later, the Chief came over to me. "You need a
new partner for this case. I was going to reassign Tim Cassidy to it. Is
that acceptable?"

I said it was. "Officer Washington showed considerable aptitude in the
attack. She both beat off the attackers and had the presence of mind to
observe and remember details," I said.

"Your observations agree with mine," the Chief said. "This case may require
some undercover work. Officer Washington is too physically imposing for
that. I have her on my list of good officers."

You would never use the word imposing to describe Tim Cassidy. Forgettable
was a more likely adjective. It was hard to remember what he looked like.
That was his strong suit. He was also smart and tricky.

He came to my desk an hour later. He was unshaven and his hair was
rumpled. It looked as if he was already to go undercover at some of the
local dives. He was actually returning from a two week fishing trip. I went
over the case with Tim and discussing it with him helped me too. He was a
clear thinker.

He was ready to hit the bars. "I think I need to visits some bars and get
drunk." Tim said. "I will bet there is a lot of speculation floating
around.  With four men involved there are a lot of possible connections."
That made sense to me. He went off and I went to meet Donna.

I went to the Robin house. I did not call in advance, because I assumed she
either would leave or be taken ill if she had a chance. Officially, I was
informing the family that the Medical Examiner had released Koch's body for
burial.

We still had a police guard at the gate.  I went to the door and
knocked. The maid said Mr. and Mrs. Robin were out. I asked if any member
of the family was available and said it was important. A few minutes later
Donna appeared.

"I'm detective McTavish.  You brother's body has been released by the
medical examiner." I said. "You might warn your parents, that you might not
be able to have an open casket. The killer did a job on his head."

Donna turned white and staggered a little. I was after shock effect, and it
worked. You cannot fake the white face. She may have been involved but
perhaps the full extent of the crime was hitting her.

"One of our investigating officers on this case was attacked and almost
killed last night. We think it is related. Do you have your own security
people?" I asked. "We think you may be in danger; we can increase the guard
if you wish."

Donna collapsed. This wasn't a stage collapse; she hit the ground hard. The
maid and the cook ran in to help her. I radioed in for medical help. It was
still possible she was involved, but she now knew it had taken on a life of
its own. I would send in a skilled interrogator later.

I returned to the office. I had a call from Mac he wanted to talk
privately. We met at my place. "I was back at the Mailman yesterday," he
said. "Rooster told is pals he wouldn't be back the next day. He had hit
pay dirt and from now on, he could drink at a better place than the
Mailman. He would be loaded and Donna would be sorry she treated him like
dirt."

"Did he explain my more?" I asked.

"No. the only other thing was he as saying that he provide service that you
had to go out of town to get normally," Mac said. "I heard a cop was
attacked last night."

"Do you think the attack was related to Rooster?" I asked

"Not really, but he had been ranting about snoops checking up on him," Mac
added. My doorbell rang. It was Junior.

"I need help," he said. "I'm afraid." I let him in.  His father wanted him
out of town. Clinton had come to him and told him someone was after
him. That someone and wanted to do to him what he had done to Koch. He also
said that his sisters were endangered if he stayed.

That immediately clarified the situation. There was no possible way Clinton
could have known that without being involved. Officially, we did not know
of Koch's relationship with Junior.

"I think it would be good if you disappeared for a few days," I said. "I
think we will have things sorted out by then."  Junior agreed.

He knew Mac, and I felt a little vibe between them. Mac said he was going
to his summer cottage for the weekend. That was 200 miles away and off the
beaten track." That made sense to me. Junior would stay with me for the
night. We talked for a while and then went to bed.  Junior slept on the
couch. The bath was off my bedroom. I fell asleep quickly.

I woke at six, went to the bath and took a shower. When I opened the shower
curtain, Junior was standing there, naked and erect.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine. I always have a morning hard on," he said.

"Did Koch usually help you with that?" I asked.

Junior nodded. "He usually sucked me off," he said. "It was best when he
fucked me and made me shoo off hands free. He was big. It took a while to
get used to it. It was always good, but it wasn't easy at first."

"Did he take his time?"

"Oh yes, he was careful. It was just that his tool was so big. It hurt
until I felt him shooting in me. I did know anything could be that
exciting," Junior said. "He stayed had afterwards and he like to churn it
up.  Your cock is not as long as his is, but I bet it is thicker. Would you
like to do me?"

"After I find Koch's killer you can come by and we can see what we can do,"
I said. "Your hole is stretched to take Koch's cock. Mine might stretch it
more."

"I think that would be okay," Junior said. "I feel empty."

"We can work on that after we catch the killer," I repeated. I told him to
bed over. I worked two fingers into his ass and massaged his prostate. A
little later, he popped hands free.

[BW1]