Who Killed Bishop Mandrake By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have, comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
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Bishop Mandrake wasn't a bishop. His mother's maiden name was Sarah Bishop and his father's name was James Mandrake. God has a sense of humor, and Bishop Mandrake became an Episcopal priest, thus becoming the Reverend Mr. Bishop Mandrake. This caused considerable confusion.
Bishop Mandrake was sincere in his beliefs and into social justice. He had all the makings of a pompous ass. To cure him of his sincerity, the real Bishop assigned him to a poor, inner city parish, where he would discover the cruel facts of life. Bishop Mandrake loved it there. He had an unlimited amount of energy and loved to help people.
In general, sincere clerics are a pain in the ass, but eventually all of us in the police discovered he was different. We could send people who needed help to him and he would help. He could help battered wives, homeless runaways and hopeless alcoholics. He helped them without preaching or pity. He helped without red tape.
St. Peter and All Saints Episcopal Churches' congregation was heavily gay or poor and had a good number of foreign immigrants. Mandrake had a knack of getting other main line churches to help out or contribute to his causes. Most of them were in good neighborhoods and wanted an opportunity to help the unfortunate. Bishop had a knack of connecting the right people to the right helpers.
He was happily married and had four children, two sets of twins. He wife seemed to be frazzled most of the time, but the ladies of his church loved her and the kids so there was always someone to help.
As a cop, I ran into him quite a bit. He lived in a huge, Victorian style Rectory, so if I had a badly battered woman and her children, he could put them there for a few nights. It was vastly easier than child protective services. He was good for families' displaced by fires, and the church was open 24-7 in cold weather. Bishop was a good man.
It was a shock when someone shot him dead at the breakfast room table in front of his wife and kids. I was the detective in charge of the investigation. I am Brick MacTavish. Brick is a nickname due to my stature. I am built like a brick, a six-foot-tall brick. From the day I was born, it was clear that a career in ballet was not in the cards. My partner is Lance Thompson. He is a country boy from Nelson County, Virginia. He was like a fish out of water when he came to Richmond, but he is smart and learned fast.
The murder was a big media event. Murdering a priest is a rare and unusual event. The television and newspaper reporters knew him well. He was a good source of feel-good stories, or of person needing help stories. They covered his murder in great detail.
Luckily, the Senior Warder, Helen Smith, was smart and knew the church well. I was shocked at what she told me. I would have thought that a young, handsome priest devoted to good deeds would be inspirational and admired by all, or at least people would pretend to be inspired.
Bishop Mandrake had an impressive amount of hate mail, and the church had several instances of vandalism. Helen was librarian and she had all the hate mail and had categorized and filed the threats by subject and sender. 70 % of the mail was unsigned. Most of the letters were written with bad grammar and stunning spellings. I'm not a good speller and I was shocked.
A good portion of the mail was anti-gay and thought ministering to the gay community was sinful. Another part of the mail was offended by the churches tolerance of immigrants. The final group was opposed to the poor, sick and unfortunate. They thought these situations were God's judgement and helping people was against God's will. God loved only the healthy and wealthy in this view.
There were some letters that were entirely irrational. They concerned anti-vaccination efforts, the Communist menace, abortion and home schooling. These had no connection to the church. Helen remarked that gay men have a limited need for abortions.
Bishop's wife was unware of these letters and threats. They had not been reported to the police, but the Diocese was aware, they sent paid guards at the Sunday services and public events. Helen thought most of the letters were sent by big-mouth cowards, and they were all talk nor action.
The bullet that killed Bishop Mandrake came from a high powered sniper rifle. These rifles are not common. That suggested assassination rather than a more casual murder. The breakfast room had glass on three sides and was almost a conservatory. The angle of the bullet could have come from the street or the lower floor of the buildings on the adjacent street. His wife had tried to help her husband and had moved the body, so we couldn't get the exact angle of the shot.
The murderer had to have seen the children when he shot Bishop. That was most worrisome. It takes a hardened perpetrator to kill a father in front of his children. I sent Lance off to check on the people who had signed the letters. I went to see the Bishop.
The Right Reverend Bishop Michael Smith was shocked at the murder and had pulled out all of the diocesan hate mail. He had an assistant, Charles Tolliver who handled that sort of mail. He was out of the office but would be more than willing to help. He would be back that evening. The Bishop was also worried about the funeral. It would have four or five Episcopalian Bishops, the Catholic Bishops, and senior clergy of most churches in attendance. If the murderer was anti-religious, that would be attempting target. There was also some sicko church from the Midwest planning to protest at the funeral. Apparently they were coming on a bus.
I was hunting for a murderer, but the next few days focused on the Sicko's. They had a news conference that was shown on the morning news. Apparently they liked any publicity without concern for the family of the deceased or the mourners. By the time I was back in the office, the local leather bar people had taken it badly and publicly said they would confront and beat the shit out of any protesters.
The bar, Bike Boy, was usually good about keeping drunks under control. They were in a warehouse district so the noise wasn't a problem. I knew the owner, Don, and went to see him. His patrons had a distrust of the police based on old harassment, and the patrons taste for controlled substances, mostly marijuana. Don was firmly anti-coke and hard drugs. Bishop had been the go to man for them when there was an overdose. It was less red tape and jail time than with the police.
Bishop was helpful and didn't tell the police. He did give the drug squad some helpful hints as to dealers, and was extremely helpful when a bad batch of drugs hit the street. Detective Alvarez of the drug unit told me Bishop never told him directly who was dealing, but Alvarez always knew who he was fingering. Bishop would say, "There may be a problem on Second Street in the 800 block." Alvarez knew what that meant and who dealt drugs in that block.
I told Don that the police were giving the Bishop case 100 % attention, and the funeral would have strict security. They did not need to worry about disruption. I asked if drug dealer might be involved.
"I doubt it," he replied. "There is no word on the street that there was any involvement. The bikers liked him. He got a few of them to mellow some. The drug dealers like big weapons, but I doubt they are good shots. Bishop was shot early in the morning; most guys were sleeping it off. They wake up at the crack of eleven."
I had known Don for years. He specialized in the friendly, no mess blow job. He liked to swallow the evidence so no one could tell. While he was a cum hound, but he had a gourmet's appreciation of sperm. He said mine was the Champaign and caviar of manly ooze. He had a strange knack of getting you off quickly and totally. There were no late drips when he blew you.
I didn't see him often and usually it was related to a case. He didn't mind, saying that my cock added an extra dose of male hormones to the usual mix. He was a no muss, no fuss cock sucker. I had a cell call while we talked, and Don unzipped me, got me hard and sucked me off, by the time the call was over. I like to keep things professional, but he was a pro too.
The call was from Lance. He had found a few potential suspects from the hate mail list. He had cross checked the list with gun owners' permits. Six had permits, two were "Collectors" with multiple guns.
That evening, I met with Charles Tolliver at his house. I wanted to talk with him soon since religious whackos were his specialty. He worked part time and he would be out of town for the next few days. Tolliver lived in a large house overlooking the river. It was the servants' day off and he answered the door. He clearly did not lack for cash. He was the retired, only child of a banker and his heiress wife.
"This is a little hobby of mine," he explained. "Most men in my situation play golf, I am interested is religious fanatics and delusions. I have been trying to identify ways to separate the delusional from the dangerous."
"Have you had success?" I asked.
"I have had modest success, but let's say my results are not as yet publishable," he said. "One characteristic of all religious obsessions is that they ignore the basic teachings of the religion. "Do unto other as you would have them do unto you," or "let he who without sin cast the first stone," are not the in the fanatics' realm of belief. They are obsessed by sin and careful adherence to petty rules and regulations. They tend to like black and white distinctions and are much more into punishment for sins than forgiveness."
"The Reverend Bishop Mandrake was concerned about the poor, weak and sick. All of those things would drive a fanatic to distraction. The Good Samaritan is not high on their list of heroes," he continued. "There are two groups into violence that afflict our church. Most of our oddballs want things like returning the old Book of Common Prayer to the service, banning women from the priesthood, or using incense in services. They are irritating, but harmless. They are like the Catholics who think that saying the mass in Latin will make everything good again."
"We have two lone wolf problems, Eric Helmstadt and Jerry Holmes. They live in semi-fortified houses, feud with their neighbors and think all problems can be solved by guns. Their parents were good members of the church, but they died. They rarely go to church, but they know what we are doing is sinful and evil. Gays, women and non-Northern Europeans are all problems," he explained. Neither man is married now. I think that Helmstadt has had three wives. None lasted more than six months."
"The other problem is the Hand of God group. It is run by a Collin Best, a defrocked priest. Collin is a hell and brimstone preacher who should be in a Holy Roller type church. He says he was defrocked due to the purity of his beliefs. We made a mistake with him. He is an embezzler. We defrocked him instead of sending him to jail," Charles explained. "Jail would have been a wiser choice."
"Collin is a charismatic man to the weak minded. He has simple solutions for big problems. Drug addiction could be stopped if all drug addicts stopped taking drugs. Divorce should be illegal, birth control banned and we could solve the crime problem with the generous use of the death penalty," I said. "His congregation is small and consists of damaged people. He tells them that they are God's enforcers, especially selected by God to do his will."
"How small is small?" I asked.
"There are six men and one woman," Charles said. "Collin has a weapons fixation. He feels that talking with your enemies simply postpones the in evitable slaughter. I do not know how he got through the seminary. I doubt he has read the New Testament. I don't think Collin would actually injure or kill a man, but he would get someone to do it for him."
"Do you have any evidence other than suspicions?" I asked.
"I recognize the hand writing on some of the threating letters," Charles replied. "I am not a handwriting analyst, but I am 90% sure they were writing letters to us and to Bishop's church. Have your technical people check."
"I will, this information is useful," I said. "I appreciate the information."
"By the way, I think we have a mutual friend, Carlisle Winston," Charles added. "He and Judson are old friends."
"We are acquainted," I said. Carlisle was an old friend; Judson was a friend and sex partner.
"I've known Carlisle since I was in school. Judson is the sort of man I like. Carlisle told me that you made Judson look like a girly man," Charles said. "I hope you will forgive me if I tell you that I have a taste for very masculine men."
"You like to slum?" I asked.
"Oh no, I hope I haven't offended you. That is not my interest. It's not class or economic status that excites me. I like intense masculinity. I have one or two friends at the country club who are good," he continued. "I will admit that you being a police man is exciting. I have never had a police man in my ass. Have I offended you again?"
"No, different strokes for different folks is fine with me," I said.
"Would you like to see the rest of the house?" he asked. I knew what he wanted, but I said yes anyway. One of the wings of the house was now an exercise room complete with a shower and steam room. We were soon naked in the steam room.
"Judson told me you take your time working your way into his ass," he remarked.
"I like it slow and easy," I said.
"Judson said you were big. He thought I was really tight. It will be tighter for you," he said. I nodded. "One more thing. Could you shoot off in me? That turns me on greatly. Hal, by chef, loves to fuck me with a cum-filled ass too."
"You get double use out of one climax?" I asked.
"I do; does that bother you?" he asked. He was in good shape for a sixty-year-old man. His cock was impressive, long and thin.
"Not one bit. Once I am done with it, you can do anything you want," I replied. Charles was tight and his rectum all but shrink wrapped itself to my cock. He was a master bottom. He moaned and wiggled as I thrust rhythmically.
I was near the climax when Hal returned. He stripped as soon as he saw us. Apparently he was accustomed to sharing his boss's playmates. The Chef was a short muscular man with no neck. He bent over to suck Charles' cock. Hal must have had a detachable jaw like a snake. He took it all.
I shot off as did Charles a few seconds later. I pulled out slowly. Hal detached himself from Charles' cock and quickly replaced me in Charles's ass and began to thrust.
"Have you men done this before?" I asked.
"I sure have; I love to churn it up. Someday I will discover the secret of making sperm butter," Hal replied. "Damn, you left quite a load in there. Had you been saving up? If you have any leftovers, you can shove up my ass. I'm not a virgin."
It was a strange situation, but both Charles and Hal were completely at ease and comfortable. I went home a half our later and slept really well.
Lance was waiting for me at the office the next morning. I told him about Collin, Eric and Jerry. I had photo copies of the Episcopalian letters. When we compared them to Bishop's letters, it was clear that many were written by the same men. We sent them to the forensic unit. Lance had read them all. Lance sounded like a country boy, but he picked up some grammatical quirks and odd phrases that reoccurred in the letters. One of them also tended to add an additional space after the letters "qu". It was clear that 50% of the threatening letters came from the three sources.
As we worked on the letters, the ATF and FBI dropped a bombshell. The rifle that fired the shots that killed Bishop had been used in two additional shootings, one of whom was of a Federal Judge. I set our computer guys after any possible links.
While this was going on we were also gearing up for the funeral and the protest. Had I been a civilian I would have been tempted to protest the protestors. They had never met or heard of Bishop Mandrake before his murder. They knew nothing about him. This was pure, unadulterated publicity seeking.
To make matters worse the Governor's wife worked with Bishop on abuse issues. Both she and the Governor were going to attend. We were worried, but the governor's security detail from the State police were very concerned.
The basic plan was to have as little uniformed presence at the funeral as possible. That was not true of undercover officers. This was complicated by the multiple jurisdictions. We had State police, ATF and FBI agents involved. We came up with a white rose to identify the good guys. The uniformed presence away from the funeral was to be very pronounced.
The State Police had hopes they could stop or delay the protesters' busses using traffic regulations. If they were classified as public transport, there were pages of regulations they had to meet. The protesters could go to court, but that could easily take weeks to resolve.
Bishop Mandrake's position in church was temporarily filled by the Reverend Butch LaFleur. I was surprised he was replaced so quickly. The Bishop didn't like to leave traumatized churches leaderless for long. Butch was not a nickname. His father thought LeFleur sounded too girly. He gave his son the most macho name he could think off. Butch joked that Butch was better than Hard-As-Nails LaFleur. Butch looked like a professional wrestler and had a personality to match. Bishop Smith told me they wanted an energetic man who was not easily intimidated. I thought they may have overdone that.
He moved into the attic of the Rectory, leaving Mrs. Mandrake and her children in residence on the lower floors. He was a man of action, not a passive mourner. Some reporters tried to get and interview Mrs. Mandrake. Butch made sure they only tried once. I met him the second day he was at the church. He seemed hyper active, but he took the time to sit down with me. He was aware of the vandalism problem and he liked his attic room because it gave him a good overall view of the church and the neighboring streets
He offered to help me any way he could. We shook hands as I left. He looked me in the eye. I have terrible gaydar, but I knew he was gay, and that he knew my situation. Somehow I knew he and I would get close.
That night he called the police. There was an arsonist at the back door to the church. By the time I got there, there were at least 12 patrol cars and fire engines surrounding the church. Butch had confronted the arsonist, who had tried to run. Butch ran faster and tackled the perp. Lance came to the church and recognized the would be arsonist as Wilbur Demarest, one of his letter writers. Wilbur said he was innocent, but he had spilled the gasoline on himself.
I didn't think he was the murderer. It would have been nice if he had been, but arson and murder are very different crimes. Usually there is a financial incentive, or a fascination with fire and destruction. The Fire Department arson squad was very interested. Wilbur began taking about other fires. Fran Talbot, the head of arson investigator, knew that all the fires he mentioned were suspicious. She was happy.
The day of the funeral was bright sunny and warm. I went by the office and found a report from the State Police. The protesters busses had been pulled over by the West Virginia Police and had been impounded for multiple safety problems. The group had made a stir at the funeral of one of their men. They remembered and were not forgiving type men. The group members had made a ruckus. All were in jail and waiting for the judge to get bail. The judge scheduled a hearing at 3:00 in the afternoon, two hours after Bishop's funeral was scheduled.
Lance and I had photographs of potential letter writers. We couldn't call them persons of interests, but Lance invented a category called "interesting people" and distributed the photos. We had them on the secure police web site too.
The funeral went on without a problem or a sighting. Mrs. Mandrake was a beautiful woman, and was continuously enveloped in her family and friends. There were no grieving widow photographs on the news. The massed clergy men and women made for an impressive procession. Our people took a lot of photos of the crowd.
With the distraction of the protest gone, Lance and I settled gone to work. First of the list was Charles' potential suspects.