Who Killed Koch Robin 2 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. No effort to portray safe sex practices has been made. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
Mr. Robin called me the next morning and gave me the number of Koch's lawyer. Satterwhite Cunningham IV was an old Richmond name. The law firm of Cunningham and Lee served blue bloods only. I called him and the secretary said he was busy. Five minutes later, he returned the call. The firm had done the will, but it had been mostly done by an associate who was out of the office. He would call me as soon as the associate returned to the office.
Fifteen minutes later Satterwhite called back. Koch's estate was divided equally between his sister and the ballet company. "How much is the estate now?" I asked.
"The last quarterly report on the estate had it at forty million or so, depending on the stock market," he said.
"Oh baby, that is a more than adequate reason for murder," I said.
Lance came by as I finished the conversation with the lawyer. He had been going through all the CCTV cameras in the apartment house area. He had a list of car licenses and he was running them down. One of the cars belonged to an Elizabeth Alman. She could have been the Liz in the note at the apartment. She was a PR person for the company that handled the Ballet's publicity. I called her and then went to meet with her. Lance came with me.
Liz was and Earth Mother type, outgoing and enthusiastic. She knew everyone and everything. I had a feeling she was the caring substitute mother for many of the younger members of the troop. The students had a fair share of stage moms who were trying to achieve their fantasies through their daughters. Liz was not driven or obsessive.
"Koch was one of the normal ones, and his parents were supportive, but not pushy or over bearing," she said. "He had no attitude, and by the standards of the troop he was a he-man. He was not affected or mannered at all. The straight males tend to be sexually driven to prove they are real men and the gay boys often have strained relationships with their folks. He was just a nice guy."
"Any problems with individual people?" I asked.
"There was nothing major as far as I know," Liz replied. "Some were jealous of all the time he had on stage. He was good looking, but not drop good beautiful. He was talented but several men had more talent."
"Why all the stage time?" Lance asked.
"He did what he was told and had no attitude. Being a moody Prima Ballerina or principal lead is one thing. Some of the dancers had the moods and attitudes of a great star, but not the talent or the drive," Liz replied. "Dancing was just a joyful experience for him. He loved it."
"I felt that way about gymnastics," Lance said.
Liz looked at him. "And then you had your adolescent growth spurt?" she asked. Lance nodded.
"There are thousands of boys who want to be football players, but are 5 feet-four and 140 pounds. Most arts, like painting or music have no size requirements. Being a short painter or a tall tuba player is not a problem. There are no big ballet dancers. That is not an option. You cannot have a male lead who is five feet four and the prima ballerina is six feet ten and 180 pounds. You also must be incredibly muscular, with not an ounce of fat. Ballet costumes are not forgiving," she explained. "I love dance, but I knew it wasn't going to be a dancer by the time I was thirteen.
I asked her about her dealings with the Robin family. She said it was good, with only one bump in the general good relations. "Koch's sister is a handful," she added. "She is the exact opposite of Koch. She was all attitude and no talent." She paused. "That is an over statement. She may have had some talent, but she thought she was a prodigy, and there was no need to improve on perfection."
"You didn't like her?"
"Liking her was not an option," Liz responded. "She tried to get one of our instructors fired for not paying enough attention to her. That went over badly. She has standards for friends. They either have to be top-drawer, upper crust socialites, or pond scum,"
"That seems like an odd combination."
"I think she likes to drive her parents crazy," Liz explained. "She likes bring home punks, with tattoos, body odor and a nasty approach to life. Her upper crust friends are okay, if you like superficial types. They do like periods of intense drama to break up their lives of continual leisure. They like to manufacture problems."
"Not your type?" Brick asked.
"Say what you will about ballet dancers, none are lazy!" she replied. "The pond scum was worse. Some of them were nasty. They liked making comments about the male dancers, and were prone to make sexual comments about the young girls. I called security on them and they didn't get into the building."
"Did that case a stir?" I asked.
"I would have if my mother hadn't gone to school with Donna's mother," Liz explained. "Mrs. Robin is no fool. Her husband loves his little princess."
She gave us a list of the troop members and photos of each. I asked her who else I should talk to about the inner workings of the group. She suggested I talk with a stagehand, Stan Milland. He was a long-term member of the crew and tended to be familiar with the less savory side of the ballet. "Some of them come to me with their problems; others go to Stan, especially if the problem was embarrassing.
"I would that that could be a problem," I observed.
"He has common sense. If there is a big problem, he brings it to the right people, a doctor or a therapist. He is not a loose cannon," Liz explained.
Stan was there in the prop room. He was repairing a broken prop. I introduced myself and asked if he could speak to us.
"I assume of I said no, I would visit the station for a formal chit chat?" he asked in a thick, Southwest Virginia accent.
"That just happens to be the way it works," I said.
"Come to my office," he said. We went the basement of the building. His office was a storage room filled with junk.
"What do you want to know?" he asked.
"Do you have any information that might be useful to us with respect to the death of Koch Robin?" Lance asked. "Did you notice anything unusual?"
"No, we run a tight ship here. We have a number of young dancers here; many are underage. All are pretty. We don't like guys hanging around," he said.
"Did you know Koch?" I asked.
"Sure, he was sort of a fixture here. He was a polite kid. I am not very high up the food chain, but he was always pleasant. A number of the people here do not have any real connection to the peasant class. They don't fraternize with the help. He wasn't one of those," he explained. "We had a piece of scenery fall over once and a girl was trapped under it. Koch raced in to help and try to move the set. He was not big enough to do it, but he tried. Most of the group stood back and watched."
"You were big enough to move it?" Lance asked.
"I sure was, but Koch did all he could do. He was worried I would get hurt," Stan said. "He was gay as a goose, but as straight as an arrow in many ways."
"Do you have a problem with gay men?" Lance asked.
"I am a charter member of the fraternity," Stan replied. "My tastes run to older, beefy men who have a little mileage on them. I like bears, not twinks. The ballet school would never say it but they prefer to employ gay men. The place is over flowing with nubile young girls. The boys are not a problem. A fifty-five year old hairball isn't their idea of a good time."
He said he would keep his ear to the ground and call us if he heard anything. We went back to the office. Johnny, the patrolman at the Robin house, had brought in a list of Donna Robin's friends produced by Catherine Dunlop. Catherine was a smart woman and she had suspicions. The list was a mixed bag of socialites and low life types.
Lance did a quick check and almost everyone on the list had some sort of a record. DWI, drunk and disorderly and minor drug problems were on the top of the list. Vandalism, assault and battery and shoplifting were also well represented. I told Lance to check out all of them.
I received a call from Satterwhite's associate, a man named John Williams. He had actually written the will. Koch had divided the estate evenly between the Ballet Company and his sister Donna. He also left his art collection to Donna.
"What is the art collection?" I asked. "He was a young guy; I wouldn't assume he had collected much."
"His Grandfather left it to him. Most is in storage," John said. "It is mostly American Impressionists and Philadelphia painters. He has three paintings by Thomas Eakins, some paintings from the Peale family and a few paintings from the Wyeth family, mostly Ned and some by Andrew."
"That doesn't mean much to me, I'm afraid. What is the value?" I asked.
"My wife is and art history major works at the museum. American paintings are sky high now. I think there are around forty paintings," he said. "There was a small exhibit of the collection at the museum ten years ago. I would think ten to fifteen million would be good guess."
"Donna would be a very wealthy woman," I said. "What would she get from her family?"
"I think much of her parent's estate is going to charities," John said. "Donna would be well off regardless."
"Would Donna be happy being just well off?" I asked.
"I can't answer that question," he replied.
I was going to interview the people at the ballet company so I left Lance with his list of Donna's friends. My first interview was with Thompson Miller, the principal male dancer. He was unexpectedly down to earth. He knew Koch well and had known him for years. Thompson said that he was the token straight person in the troop, but he did not know of any problems with Koch.
"Koch was sort of a father figure for the troop. He was helpful and kind," Thompson explained. "I was a gymnast but I did a dance routine that someone saw and they recruited me for the ballet. I am definitely from the wrong side of the tracks and Koch helped me with that. He wasn't at all condescending and he admired my dancing."
"Did you have any sexual contact with him?" I asked.
"Nope, none at all. Men made passes at him. He rarely took the lead," Thompson explained. "He warned me that I was becoming overly intimate with some of the girls. He told me I could be less intimate with most of the girls and intimate with one. He said it would turn into a nightmare otherwise."
"Did that insult you?"
"For a little while, but then I had an interlude with a hysterical girl. I had not slept with her, but she had fantasies and was nearly suicidal," he explained. "Her parents thought I had led her on. Koch came to my defense, but I understood what he had warned me about. I have been careful ever since."
"Did he have any really close lovers or friends?" I asked.
"He had many friends, but no grand passions," Thompson explained. "He had a few friends outside of the ballet. I think he was close to King Cole."
"The state senator and talk show host?" I asked. I was shocked at the prospect. King Cole was a Rush Limbaugh want-to-be. He was ultra-conservative, rude, crude and vulgar.
"Not the King Cole, he was close to King Cole Jr., the son," he explained. "You remember King Cole's first wife committed suicide? Well his son raised his younger sisters. King Cole is a family values man only when he on in air of giving a speech. He was too busy hunting and bedding bimbos to worry about his daughters."
"They met when Cole Junior brought his sisters to ballet lessons. Junior kept on coming by even after the lessons stopped," Thompson said. "A couple of times I saw Junior looked at Koch with real affection."
"Do you think they were that close?" I asked. "A look is just a look."
"I spend a lot of time with gay men," he said. "I know the look!" We talked a little while longer. I wondered what the media would make of King Cole having a gay son. It was getting late ns I went home after checking with Lance. All was well there.
When I entered the door of my apartment the phone was ringing. It was Judson. He had a friend who wanted to talk to me privately. "He's a nice guy, but real shy. I know for a fact he wasn't connected to the murder, but he knows some stuff," Judson explained. I told him to come over.
A half-hour later, the doorbell rang. It was Judson's friend Mac. He was forty years old or so; he was a big man with red hair and a matching beard. He told me he had been at a restaurant the week before with Donna and several of her friends in the next booth. He was eating alone, and he overheard the conversation.
"Donna was complaining about how poor she was and that her father's allowance was in adequate for her financial needs. "I can't help it if I like nice things," was the phrase she used," Mac recounted. "She also complained that Koch was rich as god, and he didn't spend it. She mentioned that she was in his will, and that when he died, she could make do with the inheritance. "Forty or fifty years is a long time to wait for some real cash and I might be old and ugly then," she observed.
"Shit honey, if you had twenty million, I'd wait for you," a man with her said. "The guys she was talking to was named Rooster. I was thinking that if they married they could hyphenate the name and be the Roster-Robin family. The guy named Rooster then said that people die young all the time. It might not be such a long wait."
"I know it was just idle talk, but looking back it an odd coincidence," Mac added. "I didn't know Rooster, but he was short, thin and massively tattooed. He smelled of cheap cologne. It was supposed to cover the body odor, but it was only half successful."
"Where there other people with her?" I asked.
"There were two other men," he added. "I think they were Rooster's friends. On they called the Hulkster. He was a big guy. It could have been all BS."
"It deserves to be checked out anyway," I said. We talked a little longer. I asked him why he wanted the conversation to be private.
"It was at the Maleman Restaurant," he said. "No one knows that I go to that sort of place. I assume Donna was there because no one in her social set goes there. They were in a dark corner in the rear. Judson told me that he thought you wouldn't tell anyone." The Maleman was an old-fashioned dive that served poor, but inexpensive sandwiches during the day. It became a wild, gay pick up place after 10:00 at night.
"Did Judson tell you we hit it off when we men the other day?" I asked.
"No, but I kind of guessed that. It was obvious he liked you. Judson thought you and I looked alike." Mac said. "You are a big guy, but I must be 50 pounds lighter. It must be the red hair. He said you were big everywhere."
I smiled. "You like that?" I asked.
"I haven't done much, but I am interested," he said in almost a whisper. "I told Judson I sometimes thought about a guy, maybe a cop, being in me squirting."
"Have you done that?"
"No, I am kind of timid. There are lots of things I would like to do, that I don't have enough nerve to do," Mac said. Ten minutes later, we were naked in my bedroom. He was hairy, like me, but he tended toward being blond and I tend toward auburn. He was muscular, but not as heavy as I am. He was uncut and had average size but perfectly shaped genitals.
Mac talked as he stripped. He had some blowjobs in college, but he had not moved beyond that. His wife had left him for another man, and taken a good portion of his net worth. His wife had been a good catch and was socially appropriate. Mac had a conventional life and had discovered that conventional and happy are not the same. He did what his family wanted and that too had been failure.
Once his lips enveloped my cock head, he lost his shyness. He had told me that he had sucked Judson, but he encountered precum for the first time with me. My percum does not ooze or drip; it flows. Mac encountered it and asked me what it was. I explained and a few minutes later, he was obviously milking me. I warned him when I was about to change the precum into sperm, and he kept on sucking.
Most men who are new to the scene are spooked by their first encounter with sperm. They pull away and spit it out. Mac not only took it; he kept on sucking. He loved it. He looked up at me. "Can you shoot off another time?" he asked.
"Probably," I replied. "You may need to work for it."
"I'm willing to do that. I had no idea it would be this good," he said. "It's big. Will it fit in my ass?"
"I can make it fit, but I prefer that you open up for me," I said. "You need to be really willing."
"I think it would be easy for me to be willing," he said. I rotated so we could sixty-nine. He did not last long and I took his load. It was a gully washer, and after a dozen ejaculations I surprised myself have having a second orgasm. If anything, Mac was more enthusiastic about taking it the second time.
I like precum, but am not that attracted to semen. I liked Mac's cream. It filled my mouth and my tongue was swimming it his hot jiz. We cooled down and he asked if I would fuck him. I told him I needed a rain check on that.
"I need to be really hard to get in a virgin ass and I like your balls full to bursting with sperm," I said. "I like to fuck the cream out of you for a hands-free orgasm."
"You can do that?" he asked.
"I can, but it takes some work and luck," I said. We dressed and I sent him home. I asked him to hold off on jacking off and come back when he was full to overflowing. I slept well that night.
The next morning I went to see King Cole Jr. He had a small office in a suburban office park. I had not called in advance. I wanted to surprise him. His office was open. I walked in the small reception area. There was no secretary. The door to the inner office was open. A big man came out. "Can I help you?" he asked.
"I am Detective-Inspector Robert MacTavish and I am investigating the death of Koch Robin," I said. Cole Junior swayed and almost fainted. I caught him and took him to a chair. There was an open can of Coke on his desk. I gave it to him. He pulled himself together.
"He was a wonderful man; my only real friend," he whispered. "I can't believe he's dead. Everyone liked him. He loved me. It couldn't have happened."
"I don't know why he loved me. I am a slug and he was so beautiful," he continued. "I couldn't believe he was so nice to me. Most people avoid me because of Dad. Anyone who is nice to me does it because they are afraid of Dad or they want something from Dad. Koch was different."
"Tell me about him," I said. "How did you meet?"
"When mom died Dad was too busy to spend much time with us. I was older, but my sisters need someone. I took care of them and went to their plays at school and soccer games. I also took them to dance lessons. I was the only guy in a bunch of mothers," he explained.
"Koch saw me and came over. I told him my story and he was sympathetic. We would go to the little snack bar and talk. He introduced me to some of the dancers and to the Moms. Most did not like Dad, but they began to include my sisters in birthday parties and sleepovers. They made friends. The girls look like my Mom; she was pretty. I look like Dad," he said. "I started eating a lot when Mom died. I lost the weight for Koch."
"He asked you to lose weight?" I asked.
"Oh no! He never said a word about it. I lost it so I wouldn't look like a whale when I was near him," Junior said. "I could talk to him. He did not think my problems were silly or stupid. Dad thinks I am stupid."
"Did you know he was gay?"
"Yes, he was a ballet dancer. Dad hates fags, but that did not make any difference. He hates just about everyone," Junior explained.