Death in the End Zone

Detective Caitlin O'Connor Novels #2

by Lynn Slaughter

Homicide detective Caitlin O’Connor is once again faced with a puzzling case: the murder of two star football players whose bodies are discovered in a compromising position in the end zone of their high school’s football field. While Caitlin identifies several suspects who might have had reasons to want to harm the boys, no clearcut evidence points to the culprit. She’s worried that she may get pulled off the case if she can’t figure out who killed the boys.

Meantime, her personal life is on the upswing. Her new romance is going almost too well—it triggers Caitlin’s long-standing fear of commitment.

Excerpt

Prologue

It’s never a good sign when your cell goes off at 2:30 in the morning, especially when you’re a homicide detective. I carefully removed Hank’s arm flung across my chest and reached for the phone.

“O’Connor.”

“Lieutenant, we’ve got two DOAs in the end zone at Franklin High’s football field. Looks like homicide.”

“On my way.” I sighed and pushed myself out of Hank’s toasty warm bed. If only these calls would come during the weeks when he had his son Jack with him, and we didn’t do overnights. I hated checking out on Hank in the middle of the night.

I dressed quickly, holstered my Glock, and leaned over the bed to plant a kiss on Hank’s stubbled cheek.

“What’s going on?” he mumbled.

“Homicide. Gotta go.”

“Stay safe.”

“Always.”

By the time I reached Franklin High’s football field, the crime scene circus was well underway. The responding patrol officers were busily taping off the area where the bodies were found. The evidence technicians were taking photographs and scouring the grass in search of any footprints, and Chet, the medical examiner, was bent over the victims. I congratulated myself on seeing him and not feeling a thing. Other than professional curiosity about his preliminary findings.

A short man with a deeply wrinkled face stood outside the crime tape, watching and apparently waiting. He wore a Red Sox baseball cap and a gray security guard uniform. I approached him and said, “I’m Lieutenant O’Connor. Are you the one who found these two?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Gary.” He stuck his gnarly hand out, and I shook it.

I pulled out my notebook. “Your last name?”

“Mobley, ma’am. Gary Mobley.”

“Mind taking me through what you witnessed?”

“I was doin’ my usual night rounds. It was around 2:00 a.m. when I spotted what looked like a lump of something in the end zone. I turned on the stadium lights and went over to check. Like to scared me to death when I seen all that blood and those poor boys, the life sucked right out of them. I know those two. The whole school knows them. Big stars on the football team. The black one’s Elijah Williams and the white boy is Joey Mateo.”

He squinted at me. “Anyone ever tell you that you look just like that detective on TV?  You know who I’m talking about? On Law and Order: SVU? Mariska what’s her name?”

I struggled not to roll my eyes and ignored the comment. “Did you see anyone else in the vicinity?”

“Nope. Field was deserted when I made my rounds.”

“Anything else you noticed?”

Color flooded his face. “It’s like they was posed. Both of them with their pants down to their ankles and holding hands, like they was…you know, doin’ stuff with each other.”

“I see. Please don’t mention the position you found them in to anyone else. No point in embarrassing their families, and the boys aren’t around to clarify their relationship.”

“I understand, ma’am. I’ll just tell folks they was on the ground when I found them.”

“Good.” I paused, then asked, “So, did you call the police immediately?”

He looked faintly embarrassed. “Called my boss first. He said he’d call the principal and I should call the police. So, I did.” He took off his baseball cap and wiped his forehead. “You never expect to see anything like this, ya know?”

“I do. I’m very sorry.”

“Am I okay to go?”

“You are. Give me your contact information.”

He obliged, and I handed him my card. “If you think of anything else, please call or text me.” 

He nodded and shambled off the field in the direction of the staff parking lot.

My partner Stan arrived just as Mobley was leaving. Stan looked like he’d been pulled out of bed with his hair sticking out in various directions. I was pretty sure there were pajama pants beneath his raincoat, and his naturally droopy eyes were even droopier than usual. “Sorry I’m late to the party,” he said. “What did I miss?”

I went through everything Mobley had told me about discovering the victims and the way they were positioned. “Strikes me that this was personal. Whoever did this didn’t only want to harm these boys—they wanted to mess with their reputations, even in death.”

Stan bit his lip. “Huh. If these guys were football players in a relationship with each other, my guess is they weren’t broadcasting it.”

“I asked Mobley not to say anything about how they were posed, but who knows if he’ll manage to resist telling folks the juicy details of his discovery.”

Stan sighed. “These things have a way of coming out. No pun intended.”

“Ha ha.” I glanced over at Chet. He stood up and I waved him over. We had a history. I used to have a bad habit of getting involved with married men. Like Chet. Thankfully, no more. Hank was a divorced dad, and I loved being in a relationship with him.

Chet loped over to us. He did his usual raking his gaze up and down my body with his baby blues and then lifting his eyebrows flirtatiously as his gaze landed on mine.

But I wasn’t buying and asked coolly, “What have you got?”

He pursed his lips and said, “Looks like the assailant shot each of them in the heart. My guess is at close range. No sign of trying to defend themselves. Possibly knew their attacker and weren’t expecting any trouble. Or maybe drugged beforehand. I’ll know more once I get them on the table.”

“Any idea about time of death?” I asked.

“I’d estimate four to six hours.”

“Did you get an ID?” Stan asked.

“Yeah. No sign of their phones or backpacks, but I plucked out their wallets from their jean back pockets.” He looked down at his notes. “Students at Franklin. One’s Elijah Williams, and the other is Joseph Mateo.”

I shook my head. “So young—Does it look like they were killed here?”

“Judging from the amount of blood, I’d say ‘probably.’”

“Do you think they were deliberately placed holding hands with their pants down?”

“Oh yeah. Obviously, I’ll check for any signs of sexual activity, but my guess is their pants were pulled down and their hands clasped together after they were shot, not before.”

Great way to humiliate and embarrass these poor kids, even in death. Sure makes me wonder who they pissed off.

I pulled my focus back. “One more thing. Were their home addresses listed on their IDs?”

“Yup. Joseph’s got a driver’s license, and Elijah has a learner’s permit. I photographed them for you. Let me send these to your phone, okay?”

“Thanks. You saved me some time.”

Chet leaned a little closer to me. “Anything for you, Caitlin.”

I took a step back. No way was I getting sucked back into anything other than police business with this guy.

Just then, a van from the local TV station pulled up. Apparently, their police scanner was working well.

“Stan, keep the reporters away from the victims and gather up everybody here and ask them not to talk about the position of the bodies. Don’t release the names until I’ve had a chance to notify the parents. I’ll text you.”

Stan touched my arm. “I know how much you hate doing this.”

I nodded. “The worst part of the job.”

* * *

I headed over to Elijah Williams’ house on Hudson Street in the Dixwell neighborhood. Politics might trend liberal in New Haven, but neighborhoods remained segregated, and Dixwell was a good example with mostly African American residents.

I pulled up to a well-kept ranch style home. I shivered as I made my way up the walkway to their house, both from the chill of the October evening and my anxiety about waking up Elijah’s folks to tell them such devastating news.

I rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing. Then I knocked. Loudly. Finally, the front door opened a crack, and a tall, heavy-set man peered at me. “Yes?” he said in a deep bass voice.

I held up my badge. “Lieutenant Caitlin O’Connor. May I come in?”

He opened the door and in that moment, I think he knew I was about to tell him something horrendous. His entire face sagged.

“Is your wife here?”

“She’s sleeping. What is this about, Lieutenant?”

“Can you ask her to join us, please? I need to speak with both of you.”

“I’m here,” came the soft-spoken voice of a petite woman standing in the hallway. She moved close to her husband who was easily twice her size. He flung his arm around her.

“Maybe we should sit down,” I said.

They sat on the couch, and I sat across from them. “I’m afraid I have terrible news for you. We discovered that Elijah and another young man were shot to death earlier this evening. We found them in the end zone of the football field at Franklin High.”

Mrs. Williams screamed and then buried her face in her hands. “My baby, my baby,” she moaned over and over. Mr. Williams gathered her in his arms and held her. Tears streamed down his face.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Elijah’s a good boy. He’s never given us a lick of trouble. You’re sure it was our son?”

“I’m afraid so. The security guard who found the boys recognized them, and we recovered their wallets with their IDs. We’ll still need one of you to come down to the morgue tomorrow to make a positive identification.”

Mrs. Williams shook her head and closed her eyes. “We went to bed early. I had no idea he hadn’t come home. He knows he’s got a 10:30 curfew. He was working on a class project with a friend from his team, Joseph Mateo.”

I nodded. “That’s the name of the other boy he was found with.”

“Oh God, oh Lord, help us,” she cried.

“Do you have any idea who could have done this?” Mr. Williams asked.

“Not yet. Our investigation is just beginning. Do either of you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Elijah?”

They stared at me blankly. “No, no idea,” Mrs. Williams said. “My husband’s the minister at All People’s Baptist Church. Elijah’s grown up in the church. People love him there. He’s got close friends in the youth group and a sweet girlfriend, Ava Bronson.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh Lord, Ava’s going to be crushed.” A fresh torrent of tears wove their way down her face.

Just then, a young boy wearing pajamas with a football print raced into the room and threw himself into his mom’s arms. “What’s wrong, Mama? Why are you crying?”

Mr. Williams reached for him. “Javan, come here, son.”

Javan moved into his dad’s arms.

“Elijah has passed away. God has chosen to take your big brother to his kingdom in heaven. But you know your brother.” His voice cracked. “He’ll...he’ll be watching over you, just like he always has.”

Javan’s mouth gaped open. “You mean Elijah’s dead? I’ll never see him again?” Tears sprang to his eyes and dripped down his face.

“You will see him again, son, when you get to heaven. And meantime, he’ll be your guardian angel, always looking out for you,” his dad said.

“Why…why did he die?” Javan asked.

“We’ll talk about that later,” his mom said. “How about if I tuck you in and we pray together, and I stay with you until you fall asleep?”

“Can Daddy stay with me, too?”

“Of course, I will,” his father said.

He turned to me. “Will there be anything else, Lieutenant?”

I stood up. “Does Elijah have a computer our technicians could take a look at?”

“He’s got a laptop,” Mrs. Williams said, “but he always takes it with him.”

“Okay. His backpack hasn’t been recovered yet, but hopefully, we’ll find it. I’ll want to talk with you both some more in the next few days, and with your permission, search his room.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly find in there, Lieutenant,” Elijah’s dad said. “Our son had no secrets from us.”

A teenager with no secrets from his parents? Unlikely. But I didn’t say that. “We just want to be as thorough as we can to bring whoever did this to justice.”

Mr. Williams shrugged and looked unsure about allowing us to search his son’s room.

“I really would appreciate your cooperation. I pulled my business card out and handed it to him. “My cell’s on the back. You can call me day or night. And again, I’m so, so sorry.”

They nodded and Mr. Williams picked up his little boy, as I slipped out the door.

I got into my Buick and leaned my head against the steering wheel and forced myself to do some deep breathing. The night was not over yet. Next came my house call to Joseph Mateo’s family.

I headed over to Greene Street in the Wooster-Square neighborhood. Joseph Mateo lived in an ultra-modern apartment complex. I pushed the button for their apartment. Nothing. I held the button down for several seconds. Finally, a tired-sounding female voice came through the speaker: “Who is it?”

“Lieutenant Caitlin O’Connor. I need to speak with you. Can you buzz me in?”

Moments later, I was allowed in and took the elevator to the third floor. Their apartment was at the end of the hall. A tall middle-aged woman wearing a rose-colored bathrobe stood in the doorway and beckoned me inside.

“Are you Mrs. Mateo?” I asked.

“Ms. Mateo. I’m divorced. Is this about my son Joey? I just checked his bedroom, and he’s not home.” She clutched my arm. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“Let’s sit down.” 

“Oh God, Oh God.” She dropped into a peach-colored armchair. I sat across from her on a loveseat.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, wishing I could be doing anything other than telling another parent their child was dead.

Nothing to do but plunge in. “I’m so sorry to tell you that your son Joey was shot to death tonight with another boy. A security guard at Franklin High found the boys on the football field.”

She didn’t scream or cry out. She stared at me, her brow furrowed, as though I had just said something so incomprehensible, I might have been speaking in a foreign language.

“I really am so sorry to bring this news to you. Is there anyone else here with you, or is there someone I could call?”

Her whole body trembled. “I can call my priest. He’s close by at St. Mary’s. Oh God in heaven…” She crossed herself. “Father Martinez baptized Joey. He was very fond of him.”

“And is Joey’s father in the area? I need to notify him as well.”

“I’ll call him. He lives in California. Has a whole new family. Joey hardly hears from him...” She paused and blinked back tears. “I don’t understand. My son told me he was going to work on a class project with Elijah, a friend from school, after practice. They play football together.” Her eyes widened. “Oh no. Is that the other boy who was shot?”

I nodded.

“What were they even doing on the football field?”

“We don’t know yet. We’re just beginning our investigation. Do you know of anyone your son was having problems with?”

She threw her hands up. “No, no one. He and Elijah were tearing it up on the field. Getting a lot of attention for their playing. You know how it is in high school. The athletes are big stuff.”

“So, they were popular with other students?”

“Oh yeah. For the first time in years, Franklin High’s winning games. That coach from Hillmont High tried hard to recruit Joey. Elijah too, as I recall. He acted real offended when they decided to go to Franklin High. Hillmont’s used to being the big football school in the city, and now Franklin High’s in the mix.”

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