A basketball agent is brutally murdered outside the Chase Center in San Francisco. All evidence point to D'Jarl Watson, an assistant basketball coach at the University of San Francisco. Rob MacKay, Watson's friend and fellow coach unravels the mystery, but in doing so he puts the life of one of his prize recruits, and his family in jeopardy. This is the second book in the Rob MacKay mystery series. 

Note from the author: As started I contemplating this book, there was a turnover in the head coaching position in basketball at USF. Two head coaches in two years had been lured away by high profile programs offering signifyingly more money. As I had served as the school’s Director of Athletics ten years before, I was concerned of the possible upheaval in the basketball program interrupting what was a consistent twenty game win-a-year program. The dynamics of a Division I basketball program was constantly on my mind.

I didn’t want to write a book based around coach leaving, so I put one of my favorite characters from THE SPEED DATING MURDERS, D’Jarl Watson, in jeopardy by being arrested, accused of murdering a professional sports agent. I did manage to mix in a little romance into what is essentially a look into college sports and the often sordid side of professional agents.Note from the author: One of the more pleasant things about writing, is that often you fall in love with your characters. It doesn’t matter, male or female, you want to give them more, more background, more bits of character. This was the case with a bit character from the second book, Janet Dorrinson. This time I was able to bring her into full Blume but under horrific circumstances. In this book I move away from basketball, except for the time pressure it puts on Rob MacKay who is now working in off season as a part time Investigator for the Criminal Defense Attorney that represented D’Jarl Watson, Nate Hart.

Excerpt

Rupe Johnstone slid into the Chrysler 300 rental car, feeling embarrassed as he passed the rows of BMWs, Mercedes, and Lamborghinis parked in the players lot under Chase Center Arena. But there had been no better cars available at the airport. Still, it had been a good meeting with the Warriors brass. He took a minute, talking into his phone before starting the car.

He waved at the attendant at the gate, who raised the steel curtain that protected the rides of the players and the executives of the Golden State Warriors and drove out of the building onto 16^th street. He had not en reached the corner, when a tall black man in Warrior's warm-ups stepped out of the shadows of the building. The man had his hood up but recognized the shape and seven-foot height of the Warriors third year center. It had been a very good meeting, and this might be the icing on the cake.

Rupe was the coach of an AAU basketball team, one of the ten best in the nation. He had fallen into at first unofficially helping his players, find college teams, usually with a substantial under the table payment from some alumni of the university. Then realizing the full potential, he had become a registered sports agent. Being an agent was now taking the majority of his time and providing most of his money. 

A tall black man in Warrior's warm-ups was waving him down, his face covered against the wind. He had heard that the rookie for the Warriors had become dissatisfied with his representation and was actively looking for another. If he could land him it would be the end of a perfect day. Well, almost perfect. The confrontation with the assistant basketball coach at USF when he had tried to talk to their freshman forward phenom had turned nasty, but that was to be expected. Contact with an agent could lose a college player his eligibility. Bad for the college but good for the agent if he could get the kid into the draft and he was selected high enough.

He stopped next to the player, rolling down his window. The man still had the hood up on his uniform, and his face was still in shadows. Rupe started to say hello, to welcome player to climb in and talk, when there was a flash of silver as a blade was thrust through the car's window piercing Rupe's throat just below his chin. It severed blood vessels, voice box and the nerves as it cut cleanly through the vertebrae of the neck. Rupe had not put the car in Park, and now his foot slipped off the break. The car started forward slowly, as the man in the Warrior's uniform pulled the long feather shaped blade out and strode without haste down the cross street.

The squeak of shoes against the hardwood was almost deafening as the whites ran their offence against the greens. The play was as spirited and fast as against any opponent. I stood next to Tip Pennington at half-court and smiled. We had one more pre-conference game before Christmas break.

Tip blew his whistle, and play was stopped. As second assistant I could also whistle a stoppage in play, but it was much more effective when Tip did it. I'm Rob MacKay, by the way, Robert really, but no one calls me that. As second assistant I was responsible for teaching our new guards, our system.

"Rob, show number 12 what he's doing wrong defensively," said Tip to me in a tone that suggested a teaching moment, not a lacing down of the player.

It had been our best pre-conference since the Bill Cartwright years. 11-0, with an average win differential of eighteen points. The fact that we were starting three freshmen and the first man off the bench was also a first year made Tip smile even more. D'Jarl Watson, who had just been elevated to First Assistant and I had assured him that Damari Murphy, the forward from Folsom and Jackson Bomar from Cartwright country, of Elk Grove would be ready, but Domingo Jobim, and Danny Priest had pleasantly surprised us not only with their play, but with their maturity. In the way of young men, Murphy had been nudging six-eight when he committed. And now a year later he was over six-ten and showing no signs of stopping growing. Domingo had also grown and now was over six-two and hadn't lost any of the speed that had first attracted me, the year before.

Watson and I stepped on the court, Me to show Domingo what he had done wrong In his defensive assignment, and Watson to work with Avery Pierson, our Junior center who had made great strides in his Sophomore year and was still improving. Having Domingo, and Jackson feeding him, and Murphy at his side for rebounding didn't hurt either. 

Being unbeaten in pre-conference play was great, and real interest had been shown in our freshman recruiting class, recognizing it as one of the best in the nation, but Gonzaga was also unbeaten, and they had played a tougher schedule. St. Marys had only one loss, and BYU had only lost two with a schedule almost as strong as Gonzaga's. The West Coast Conference was now considered the best of the non-power conferences with the four best teams the equal of most teams in the ranking. Gonzaga was ranked fifth in the nation, and BYU eighteenth, but both USF and St. Marys were starting to get votes. If we could win this last pre-conference home game and do well in the Las Vegas Christmas tournament the kids will have earned a break.

Not that it would be a complete break for the players. All had opted to stay on campus, although they would have to sleep in a hotel for the first two weeks, as all school dorms were shut down. All four of the freshmen and five others had elected to take winter break courses. Two of the freshmen needed them to make sure that when the spring semester started they would only be required to take twelve units. The other two were excellent students and didn't need to spread out their work load but just wanted to take the extra course. Besides supervising the guard play, it was my job as Second Assistant Coach to make sure that the players take the right courses, got tutoring if they needed it and passed.

The lone remaining game was to be on next Tuesday night against Oregon State. It was a game that we would have been expected to lose at the beginning of the season. But now with the record being what it is, and the Freshmen, especially Damari Murphy getting attention we were five point favorites. Tip blew his whistle and the action started again.

I looked up at the clock. Everything ran by the clock in Tip's practices. You were only allowed twenty hours a week with the team on the floor. Accurate logs were kept and signed by both players and coaches.

At the end of the gym, the door opened, and two men, accompanied by Don Chatley, the head of the campus police approached the side court where D'Jarl and I stood. I recognized one of the two. It was Inspector Philip Farley of the San Francisco police department.

A little more than fourteen months previously, Farley had considered me a suspect in a double murder surrounding a speed dating event that I had attended. His partner had even thrown me into jail for the weekend because I wouldn't answer questions without my lawyer present. Eventually the real murderer had been caught with the help of information that my girlfriend Michelle DelCarlo and I had discovered. Farley had never apologized for his rough treatment of me, but he had become a fan of USF Basketball, buying a season ticket six rows up in the Hile section. This did not look like a fan's visit.

I left side court and moved to where the two men were standing. "Yes?" I said directly to Farley.

"I'm not here to see you. I need to speak to D'Jarl Watson."

"What for?"

"Please call Watson over," said Farley.

I waved to D'jarl, who stepped over to Tip, said something then walked over to me and the others.

"D'Jarl. These men would like to ask you a few questions," said Don Chatley.