Double Coverage

Chapter 2: Tad Dossner

Chapter 2: Tad Dossner

10:31 A.M.

I uploaded the crime scene photographs to my Cloud, sipped a coffee, and began to examine each of the pics, digesting Tad Dossner, his bludgeoned and almost unrecognizable face, and items inside his bathroom. The blue-and-gold Viper helmet lay next to what was left of Tad’s head. The head gear was smeared with blood and part of the guard at the front was cracked. Tad was naked, covered in his own blood. His face looked like a bowl filled with crimson and smashed cherries. No longer could I see his clean-shaven high cheekbones, hazel eyes, or the cleft in his adorable chin. Tad’s bald head was also covered in blood, which looked like a swimmer’s cap. His narrow frame was also drenched in blood, which turned my stomach a touch.

At thirty-four he had made a career for himself in the ESFL. For the last ten years he had been one of the league’s leading officials. Prior to such status he was Coach Normandy Bain’s assistant of the Vipers. And prior to that position he was a water boy fresh out of Duke with a degree in nutrition. Childless, wifeless, siblingless, being quite the loner, Tad liked his coffee, paperback mysteries to read, and cigarettes, which he had tried quitting three times and failed miserably at. He didn’t own any pets, had a sparse wardrobe, and rarely, if ever, visited his seventy-two-year-old mother in downtown Erie. He lived alone on Chess Street, rented his one-bedroom apartment for six hundred dollars a month from Julia Lullaby, and died with over three million dollars in a savings account, according to the WTVC morning news.

I knew all of the officials by first names who worked for the ESFL, calling them my friends. There was Bobby Tanner (Officer Jim Tanner’s older brother), Jamie Bodice, Phil Candorelli, and Nolen Bankcroft. Some of the officials were queer and others enjoyed the company of women. Sexuality seemed not to be an issue when we would all gather for a beer at Lund’s Sports Bar on Smithson Street in Vanmer and talk about football and other sports. No one cared that I had numerous boyfriends in my past, was engaged to a professional soccer player at one time, and enjoyed a well-built jock in a tight uniform, particularly football players. Lund’s was like that, of course, easy going and liberal, a man’s bar without inhibitions.

I reviewed a few more uploaded photographs. Blood was splattered on the sink’s pedestal base, as well as on the American Standard toilet. The bathroom used to be a glaring white, but now it was splotched in the official’s remains. Brain matter coated in a crimson hue hung on the white tile. The oval mirror above the pedestal sink was splashed in blood and was cracked in numerous places. One photograph showed Tad’s ankles and feet outside of the bathroom, positioned in the doorway and bedroom area. His left hand was bent, positioned against one of the tub’s claw feet. There were no other wounds on Tad’s naked body. No scratches or bruises. No gunshot holes. No burns. Whoever had killed the man simply bashed his skull in with a helmet, left the weapon and body behind, and went on their merry way.

My eyes grew tired from reviewing the photographs I had taken, none of which were published in the Vanmer Independent because of their grotesque and graphic nature. I had closed the electric file they were in, checked out the time, and saw that it was almost noon. I decided to visit Lund’s Sports Bar for lunch, and see what else I could learn about Tad’s murder.