Ankle Breaker
About The Book
Back in college, Marty Brown coached a ragtag basketball team of inner-city sixth graders, who went from barely able to dribble a ball to earning a spot in the Nor-Cal Championship Tournament. But the joyful memory of that winning season is overshadowed by the dark reality of a murder case gone cold—until a familiar face appears on TV and dredges up memories of a season Marty will never forget.
“I was on this case from the day it happened.” The caption on the screen identified the man speaking as Detective Pete Willover. “We had a good idea who did it, but we couldn’t prove it. We wouldn’t be able to prove it . . . not for twenty-six years.”
Ankle Breaker is based on the true story of two dedicated men. The coach teaches his players about hard work, determination, friendship, and God’s love, while the detective doggedly investigates and solves a decades-old murder. Through the power of teamwork and the advancements in DNA technology, both stories careen toward a shared conclusion. Bolstered by God’s grace in a world that is often cruel and unpredictable, a group of kids who could have given up on life before they even got started discover surprising victories, uncommon friendships, and help with navigating challenges in their young lives.
About The Author
Margaret Jane Brown
Margaret Brown is a wife, mother, grandmother, retired career missionary, spiritual director, and author who holds a master’s degree in Spiritual Formation from Portland Seminary at George Fox University. She loves to read, hike with her dog, Bella, and do crosswords and other puzzles. Margaret and her husband, Marty, live on eight acres outside of Portland, Oregon, where they love to host friends and family. While she enjoys the ocean, her pinnacle of happiness is spending time with her amazing children and wild and crazy grandkids.
Quotes From... Ankle Breaker
Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the sound of the screaming motorcycle and the crunch of metal from repeating in his mind like a stuck record. He couldn’t stop hearing the sirens or forget the recurring vision of the black-clad body flying over the hood of his car.
A second night in the car found Marty once again wide awake, staring out the front windshield at the darkened outline of the giant fir trees. The words that Gerry had read that morning echoed in his head, and the flying motorcycle faded. New thoughts of God out there in the distance, looking out for him, calmed the anxiety that had overwhelmed him the last few days.
It had been painful to watch his dubious team warm up on the opposite end of the court from the home team. Opposite end of the court; opposite in every way from the McClellan team. Flimsy white T-shirts for uniforms was the least of their problems, but it was the most indicative. These kids were on the losing end of the economic scale, talent scale, and every other scale you could think of. This will be a slaughter, he predicted.
“I was on this case from the day it happened.” The caption on the screen identified the man speaking as Detective Pete Willover. “We had a good idea who did it, but we couldn’t prove it. We wouldn’t be able to prove it . . . not for twenty-six years.”
He carried a mixed bag of thrills and disappointments into that gym. He had been a hero, but he had also been cut from more than one team. He received pats on the back and once got hit on the top of his head by the coach’s clipboard. Athletics gave him confidence, scared him to death, challenged his abilities, and shaped his character. Athletics had the power to do all those things simultaneously.
Pete had already dealt with the lab in this case. Extrapolated DNA from a family member would help in matching the DNA on the evidence from the murder. Getting DNA from Jennings himself would help in court.
His own broken heart beat wildly. He didn’t know what to say. The emotion was overwhelming. The tears hadn’t stopped flowing since he had heard the news. Death of a child? How do you explain that? Where was a loving God in this? How did he convey the love and goodness of God to children, let alone to himself?