N.F.L. Star and Murder Victim BOSTON - Odin Lloyd did not own a car, so, just after dawn, he would pedal his bicycle from his Fayston Street home past blocks checkered with overgrown yards and rusted fences in one of Boston's roughest neighborhoods. Mr. Lloyd, 27, would be on his way to work as a landscaper, or sometimes to an odd job when he could find one. A gifted high school athlete, he had not abandoned his childhood dream of playing pro football. He played with a semipro team, the Boston Bandits, sometimes on high school fields - even if he could not always afford the $75 dues. Forty-five miles away in the suburbs, Aaron Hernandez lived in a four-story mansion with an in-ground pool. A former college and high school football all-American, he drove a $75,000 car and played tight end for the New England Patriots before sellout crowds. Last year, when he was just 22, he signed a $40 million contract extension. Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Hernandez had virtually nothing in common, other than a love for football. But their lives did cross, and now Mr. Hernandez is in jail, charged with Mr. Lloyd's murder. Interviews with more than a dozen friends and relatives of both men reveal a complicated relationship that offered Mr. Lloyd a glimpse of a rarefied corner of professional sports, but was also filled with constant reminders of the vast gulf between the two athletes. Mr. Lloyd's murder and the subsequent revelation that Mr. Hernandez is being investigated in a separate double homicide have tarnished the Patriots organization, which holds itself up as a model franchise, and delivered the latest black eye for the National Football League, a league that has long coped with players who commit violent crimes. But on Fayston Street, where Mr. Lloyd lived, and in Bristol, Conn., where Mr. Hernandez grew up, the murder and its fallout have come as shocking, and tragic, mysteries. Mr. Hernandez and Mr. Lloyd might never have met but for two sisters from Bristol. Mr. Hernandez and one of the sisters, Shayanna Jenkins, were high school sweethearts. Last year, when she became pregnant with his daughter, he bought a sprawling house in North Attleborough, Mass. Their daughter was born in November, and Mr. Hernandez began calling Ms. Jenkins his fiancée. Sometime in the last 18 months, Mr. Lloyd began dating Ms. Jenkins's sister, Shaneah. At Jenkins family gatherings, the men became acquainted. Mr. Lloyd, of course, knew all about Mr. Hernandez's football career. But Mr. Lloyd did not discuss the Boston Bandits with Mr. Hernandez, at least at first. "When they first started dating, I asked Odin, "Does he know that you play football?" " said Cliff Anderson, a player on the Bandits. "He goes, "No, I didn't mention it to him; there's no need for me to mention it." He didn't want to make it like he was a groupie, that he was trying to use him in any way. Over time, Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Hernandez started spending time together away from the Jenkins sisters. They arranged their own outings, and Mr. Hernandez's towering presence - he is 6 feet 2 inches and 250 pounds - and his expensive cars were spotted in Mr. Lloyd's rough Dorchester neighborhood. Mr. Lloyd, his friends said, was the kind of football player who danced onto the field, took command of the huddle and always had his teammates" backs during games. Born in St. Croix, he spent a few years in Antigua and was raised in Dorchester. At 5-11 and a sturdy 215 pounds, he was a hard-hitting linebacker. He attended John D. O'Bryant School of Mathematics and Science, and in 2003 the previously downtrodden football team contended for the league championship, in part because of his energy. "He was my best hitter on the team that year," his coach Jeff Venter said. He was pretty much feared. Mr. Venter said he thought Mr. Lloyd had the skills to play Division I football. But his grades were too poor for him to be a prospect, and they even caused him to miss much of his senior season. Mr. Venter called the loss "heartbreaking." When Mr. Lloyd graduated in 2005, he was admitted to Delaware State University but never attended classes, apparently because of financial problems, according to one of his uncles. Football, however, remained a constant. He joined the Bandits, who play home games in front of fans who pay $6 for a seat, with children admitted free. Mr. Lloyd seemed to thrive in the low-profile world of semipro football. "He didn't care about material things or what other people thought of him," said Kerome Coley, a friend. That's why so many people gravitated to him. Another teammate, Dee Hodge, said Mr. Lloyd knew his big-time pro football dreams would never materialize. "We don't have no agent," Mr. Hodge said. Nobody is calling us or nothing. We are in a grown-man Pop Warner league. Steve Eder contributed reporting from New York; Ben Shpigel from Boston; and Joe Drape from Bristol, Conn.