Date: Mon, 18 Jan 2016 10:41:51 -0500
From: bldhrymn@aol.com
Subject: Who Killed Bishop Mandrake

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

If you enjoy these stories. Please consider giving a donation to Nifty!


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.