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The Atlanta Co-Ed Murder

By Glen C. Carrington

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Glen C. Carrington
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-4062-2

Chapter One

Detective William Monroe Lincoln, tall, tanned, and dapper landed at the Atlanta International Airport three days after the Franklin Dilliard call. He picked up his bags, rented a car, and drove toward Richard and Carla Valencia's house, the dead girl's parents. Carlita Valencia's parents resided in a sprawling suburb twenty-five minutes from downtown Atlanta. The home was five-thousand-square-feet with ample accommodations for the detective. Normally, the investigator would have declined the offer to stay there, but in this case, he welcomed the opportunity to obtain as much information about the victim as possible.

Before driving to the Valencia home, he detoured to police headquarters. Chief Bernhart was off site, but Detective John Michael O'Brien, who was assigned to the case, was available. O'Brien was a third-generation Atlantan and the fifth family member in law enforcement. The Officer, medium height and muscular build, was rambunctious in nature. He led Detective Lincoln to his office where numerous sports trophies and old newspaper articles were nicely framed on the walls. O'Brien, a former athlete, had achieved some measure of local fame.

"What do you have so far, Officer? Are the boys guilty?"

O'Brien turned around and walked back to his chair. His eyes remained focused firmly on the investigator. He was naturally leery of outsiders broaching his domain to solve his cases. This is not a good thing from the average detective's perspective.

"It would seem so. A security guard caught them red-handed trying to dispose of the body. The young men had wrapped the corpse in a rug. They were stopped in the parking lot of one suspect's dormitory. They ran. The guard caught one immediately and the other two were apprehended the next day."

"What do they say happened?" Bill inquired.

O'Brien surveyed Lincoln. How did this famed detective operate? Was he going to pull a rabbit out of a hat and proclaim case solved? He'd wait and see.

"Two of the boys claimed they discovered the body in their friend's closet. They had played a home basketball game that night. All three are team starters. After the game, they went to Roger Brown's place to talk and do 'other things'. Brown resides in the dorm and his two teammates live in an off-campus apartment. Brown was dating the young lady, or whatever they call it these days. The three students were smoking pot in the dorm room and had worked up an appetite. Brown lost the bet on deciding who would go get food."

"While Brown was gone, his two buddies looked for a particular game while they waited. They claim when Jesus Gonzalez opened the closet door, looking for the board game, he discovered the girl's body."

A long silence filled the room. Detective O'Brien wanted his words to weigh heavily in the listener's ear. Detective Lincoln, however, sat patiently and waited for Officer O'Brien to resume.

"According to them, they 'freaked-out'. They figured people would think they had killed her. They're saying they made a bad decision and got caught."

"Why haven't you arrested them yet?" Lincoln asked.

It was obvious, by O'Brien's body language, that this was an irritating issue. The Police could arrest a man who they themselves watched commit a crime, but the judicial bureaucrats of lawyers, judges, and prosecutors would intervene and the wheels of justice would then move at a crippled snail's pace. This issue drives most Officers to the abyss.

"Because of the damn politics being played! That's the reason! That loudmouth self-righteous Rev. Deek Johnson is involved, telling everyone to 'go slow'. He not only has the university president's ear, but even the damn President of the United States too! He's making sure those boys get extra-special treatment. And as if that wasn't enough, he's got two Harvard law school professors giving them legal advice."

"I heard that the good Reverend also went to school at Douglas."

"Yeah, you heard right."

"So, how is the media playing it?"

"It was an open and shut case before Deek Johnson got involved. Now, the papers are sniffing around looking into the young lady's affairs. She was a nice girl from a decent family, but that's history. Every disgusting piece of dirt imaginable is being manufactured. For instance, they interviewed a student just last night. This guy says he heard she was a lesbian. When the reporter asked if he thought it was true, the student didn't know. Even though he's never met the young lady, he was still only too willing to repeat this ugly rumor. What's going on is sickening. It makes me want to puke!"

Lincoln could feel O'Brien's disgust. He had seen the ugly side of politics for himself and had spent several painful weeks in jail because he found himself on the wrong side of the political equation.

"So, it appears that Rev. Johnson is running the show?"

"Well, almost, until Dr. Elizabeth Bay Crockett, the president of the women's college, got involved. Now she's leading the charge, fighting Deek and his cronies. Her recent comments have hit the mark."

"Will you arrest the three young men?"

"Oh yes. It's only a matter of time. The political waters have shifted slightly now that Dr. Crockett has spoken out."

"So, the lines have been drawn?"

"Definitely."

Lincoln could imagine the intense battle of wills. Both Rev. Johnson and Dr. Crockett were very determined individuals who would normally be found working on the same side; however, they were now worthy opponents.

"So, tell me, what are these three students like?"

It was time for Detective Lincoln to start getting background information. The outcome of a case is usually determined by the characters involved. The detective sought character profile types. The more he knew the better his data analysis.

"Roger Brown was dating the girl. He's the starting point guard on the basketball team. Brown is from New York and is a junior."

"Is he pro material?"

The Officer tilted his head back, reflecting on Lincoln's question. He already knew his answer, but wanted to show Detective Lincoln that he was not one to rush to judgment, that he was reflective.

"Well, he's good, but there're lots of guys who are good. In my opinion, he's playing for the wrong school to make it to the pros."

"Okay, who are the other two?"

"Jesus Gonzalez is from Los Angeles. You don't find many Hispanics who can play ball like he can. He's a class act. He grew up in inner city neighborhoods and he's athletic. He learned by playing against the neighborhood's best. He figured out that basketball could get him a ticket out of the barrio. The third boy is Jamal 'Tiny' Muhammad. Jamal is six foot-seven and they've always called him Tiny. He's from Washington, DC."

"Are they clean?"

"Are you kidding? You know the blueprint. They're all top athletes and have been treated royally. Each has had scrapes with the law. They're not Boy Scouts, far from it."

"I'd like to read the file. Is that possible?"

"Sure. Chief Bernhart has already agreed. I've got it right there," O'Brien remarked, pointing his finger at a set of gray six-foot filing cabinets. O'Brien pulled a set of keys from his pocket and took out two very full sets of manila folders.

"You can read them here at my desk. I've got to take care of a few things upstairs anyway. Be my guest."

"I appreciate it. Thanks."

After an hour of reading, Lincoln figured he was about halfway through. He decided to call the Valencia family to tell them he would arrive in about two hours. He finished his reading fifty minutes later. Lincoln took copious notes, folded them, and placed the papers in his inside jacket pocket. As he sat there, a knock on the door got his attention. He soon stared into the warm brown eyes of an attractive female wearing a detective's shield on her leather jacket lapel.

"Hello, I'm Detective Nakita Cruz, O'Brien's partner. I was just informed that you were here. It's nice to finally meet you, Detective Lincoln. I've heard a lot about you." And with that she held out her hand.

"Please, call me Bill." He raised his hand and shook hers.

"And I'm Nakita."

"That's an interesting name, Detective."

"Which one?" she smiled.

"Nakita. It sounds Russian."

"My father is a Hungarian Jew and my mother is Hispanic. He took her name because his was too much to handle. Since my father is very liberal and didn't have a problem shedding his last name, and my mother is a fireball who thinks all men should change their last names to that of their wife, it worked out perfectly."

"And so did you do the same thing with your husband?"

She paused for a few seconds and looked at him curiously.

"How do you know I'm married, Detective?"

"No ring," he said as he turned and sat back down in his chair, "but the ring mark is evident on your finger. You recently removed your ring, to conceal it. I assume you did it before you introduced yourself to me. Engaged women usually don't conceal that information, but broadcast it. Therefore, by simple deduction, I assume you're married."

"Very good, Detective, I mean, Bill. You have a sharp eye. I get a better measure of a man when he thinks I'm single."

"I understand. Tell me about the case, Nikita. I've got about twenty minutes before I have to go. What's your gut feeling about these young men?"

"I think they're guilty. Their story is too bizarre, in my opinion, for them to be anything else. How often do you go home and 'discover' a body in your closet, which just happens to be your recently murdered girlfriend?"

"Rumor has it there're politics afoot."

"I suggest you wear your boots, Detective."

"When are you going to arrest the young men?"

"With the way things are going, we may have to wait for the President of the United States to give us the nod first."

"It's that bad?"

"Where have you been living, Detective?"

"Hawaii."

"Oh, I was beginning to wonder if you read the papers."

"Could the young men be not guilty?"

She studied Bill closely, wondering where he was going with this. She remembered Lincoln had solved the infamous Oakland Hills voodoo murders. In that case, the real murderers had gone unsuspected until the man standing before her had rooted them out. She took another hard look at Detective Lincoln and chose her words most carefully.

"In my opinion, it is highly unlikely that anyone other than those three students is guilty."

"Thank you for your observations, Detective. I must be going. O'Brien gave me his telephone number. I'd like yours as well."

Both detectives exchanged information. Bill shook hands with the lady cop and a few minutes later was in his car driving toward the Valencia family home.

Chapter Two

Detective Lincoln pulled into the Valencia's gated driveway at 5:35 P.M. As he opened the car door and stepped out, the main entrance door opened and a middle-aged couple walked toward him. The man, approximately six feet tall, was dressed in an open collared, short-sleeved designer shirt and casual slacks. The woman, much shorter than the man, wore black slacks with a light sweater.

"Detective Lincoln?" the man asked while approaching him.

"Yes, but please call me Bill."

"I'm Richard and this is my wife, Carla."

"It's nice to meet you both. I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances."

"We understand. Please come in. My son will bring your bags in."

"Thanks."

The three of them walked inside. The detective was introduced to the son, Richard Jr. At twenty-five, Richard Jr. was their eldest child. He greeted the lawman and then retrieved the bags. Another woman was sitting in the living room. She stood as they came closer. Carla introduced her to the detective.

"This is my youngest sister, Offie."

"I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Bill Lincoln."

"It's my pleasure. Thank you for coming, Detective."

The resemblance was uncanny. The deceased looked more like her aunt than her own mother! Lincoln had received a package regarding the case from Franklin Dilliard Sr.; it was waiting for him when he arrived at the airport. The deceased daughter's picture was in that package.

"I apologize for staring, but you and your niece looked so very much alike."

"Why, thank you Mr. Lincoln. My niece was a lovely young lady."

"It's true. As Carlita aged, she started looking more like my sister than me," Carla reflected. "It was amazing. Everyone noticed."

"I never cared much for her friend Roger," the father remarked.

"Why is that?" Bill asked.

"Because, he has a low-class mentality, he's a hooligan. I didn't mind that he was poor, that means nothing to me. I was more concerned about his lifestyle than his wallet. He simply didn't share the same value system that we instilled our daughter with."

"We raised our little girl to respect everyone. But, he was trash, Mr. Lincoln," the mother stated. "I never said those words to her, but that's exactly how I felt!"

"So, tell me, why did she go out with him?" the detective inquired.

"He was a basketball star who took an interest in a pretty girl, our pretty girl. Surely you know how it is for young girls. She was receiving attention from someone everyone knew and admired. During the basketball season, these young men were like demi-gods."

"Did she like the young man as a person?"

"Well, I think she liked the attention more so than the boy. So many of the girls wanted to date Roger and there she was, his choice. They had little in common. He didn't care anything about school beyond playing basketball."

Lincoln knew the story. He felt sorry for this beleaguered couple. They were obviously hardworking and middle-class. Now, suddenly, their simple family life had been sucked down into a nightmarish vortex.

"Can you tell me when you last heard from Carlita?"

"I spoke with her around 2:00 P.M. She had just called to say 'hello'," the mother answered.

"Did she say what she planned that evening?" the detective asked.

"No, nothing specific; she mentioned a basketball game, but she wasn't sure if she was going due to homework. There was an after game party she said she'd probably attend."

"Did she say whether she would go with Roger or planned to meet him there?"

Mrs. Valencia thought for a few seconds and responded.

"For the life of me, I can't remember if she said anything about how she was going to get there."

"Did any of you talk to her that day?" the detective inquired. The others shook their heads.

"Now think about this before answering, is there anything I should know about your daughter that would be considered, well, negative?"

Once again, the family collectively shook their heads.

"Had she ever become pregnant?"

"Heavens, no!" exclaimed her mother.

"Definitely not!" the father echoed.

"How could you be sure?" the detective asked. The parent's response had been too quick and too intense. Their daughter was dating out of her social class so what else might she be doing? Too many parents put on blinders regarding their offspring.

"Well, because she would've told me," Carla responded. "After all, we were very, very close."

"Was she sexually active with Roger?"

There was silence. The father and mother exchanged glances. They had both been asked this question before. Carla's sister also had nothing to contribute to this issue.

"Who would know if she had been sexually active with Roger?" the detective inquired.

Again, silence.

"Well then, who were her closest girlfriends?"

This was a better way to get an answer. The family seemed most uncomfortable discussing the potential sex life of their dead daughter. A few moments later, the mother offered the names of three young ladies.

"Now, how do you feel about the politics being played out here?"

"It's absolutely disgusting," Richard asserted boldly. "You'd think everyone would want to solve this heinous crime, but that's not the case. We've got political grandstanding that would make your stomach turn. Thank God Dr. Crockett has stepped forward with a different point of view."

"Then it's safe to assume that you're not a fan of Rev. Deek Johnson."

"No, I hate him," Carla interjected. "I used to respect him, but not anymore."

"And what about you, Offie, how do you feel about Rev. Johnson?" Offie hadn't said much during the conversation. There weren't many questions she could answer better than her sister and brother-in-law. This was the first question the detective had asked her directly.

"I have mixed feelings. I don't think I can give a truly unbiased opinion. I loved my niece and anyone hindering finding her murderer does not sit well with me. I don't think that's a fair question, Detective Lincoln."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Atlanta Co-Ed Murderby Glen C. Carrington Copyright © 2010 by Glen C. Carrington. Excerpted by permission.
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