Kat Gets Her Man
Chapter 1

Caution: This Mystery Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Rape, Heterosexual, Fiction, Crime, Cheating, Revenge, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Slow,

Desc: Mystery Sex Story: Chapter 1 - She arrests him he gets away, but can he escape her. This is a love story between two unlikely people that starts bad and end? Some mystery and a little sex.

This is the first part of a love story. As you might guess from my other stories, I have rather a dark view of love. But please don't judge the story only by part one. I want to thank Vickie Tern for all the editing assistance. It is a big job and I tinkered with it after she finished. There will always still be mistakes because this is free, and I am no professional.

The Montague bar on Capsulate Street was crowded on a Saturday night. When Sergeant Kathryn Keenan and Officer James Lefave of the Tyler County Sheriff's patrol walked in, it was 12:30 a.m. Both officers were in a somber mood. They had just come from Dennis Morgan's home where his wife Desi Morgan and her lover Scott Tillman had been assaulted. Tillman, a six foot three ski pro at the local resort had been expertly kneecapped with a heavy object, a small weighted Tee Ball bat by the victim's description. Desi had been vaginally raped with the small end of the same bat. There was a lot of blood.

Kathryn, an extremely well-built woman who stood several inches over six feet, had one hand on her service Glock and the other on her nightstick. Jim Lefave, a tall beanpole of a man, was six four with a head of bright red hair reflecting his Irish heritage, despite the French origin of his last name. Jim was a local boy. Kate was a New York City girl. She was a five-year veteran of the New York City police force who had taken the job with Tyler County to get away from her ex-husband, his family, and sadly her family. She had an eight-year-old son Thomas Sullivan, Jr. Who missed his father although he had rarely seen Thomas Senior when they lived in the south before the move. Kathryn's ex was a man who worked in his family's construction business when he wasn't' chasing women. Between the two he found little time for his son.

The Montague had a bad reputation with the road patrol. The old timers could remember the place from before Denny Morgan had taken it over. It had started life as a college bar in the 1960's before the drinking age was raised to 21. After that, it became a biker bar, a raw hard drinking kind of place where fights, drugs and prostitution were all on the menu. Now it was a place where older students mixed with bikers and anyone else who enjoyed the slightly wild atmosphere, the decent food, and moderately priced beer. The hookers and drugs were gone and Denny, as Dennis was known to everyone, could cool hot tempers before things got out of hand. Kathryn walked up to one of the two barmaids and asked for Dennis Morgan. The woman who Kathryn believed was called Lottie paused, not at first realizing that Kate was asking for Denny.

"Last booth in the back," Lottie answered.

Denny was a small man, maybe five six but with a husky built. He habitually wore a blue sports jacket and a red and blue striped regimental tie with a light colored dress shirt. On his right hand was his Cornell Law School ring. Denny was by profession a lawyer, and he kept a small law office even though his principal occupation was tavern owner. He was excessively proud of having graduated from Cornell Law School. He had worked very hard to get his law degree since his widowed mother had spent all of the family's college fund on his older sister's medical degrees. Denny had worked his way through school, including summers as a bartender at the Montague.

Kathryn briskly walked up to Denny in the back booth, her wide hips swaying provocatively despite her best efforts to prevent them. Denny was almost hidden in the booth. Only his arms and hands showed until you were right in front of him. But he could see the whole bar from where he sat.

"Dennis Morgan," Kate asked.

Denny merely nodded his head.

"Please stand, you are under arrest."

Denny stood up. Kate began to hook him up, to place handcuffs on his wrists.

"Kate!" James said nervously behind her.

"What?" she said, turning her head slightly to look at her partner as she closed the cuffs on Denny's hands.

As she turned, she saw the problem. The bar that had been filled with happily inebriated people a moment ago was now stirring into a hostile crowd. As she turned more fully, she saw two very big, angry-looking bikers coming towards them from the bar. They were truly huge men, and she was debating in her mind — stick or gun and leaning toward gun —when Denny stepped around her in front of them. Denny raised his cuffed hands to calm the crowd.

Earlier that evening Denny had stepped between the two bikers when they were squared off and preparing to 'kick the shit' out of each other. As the men had squared off, the bartender had reached beneath the bar for the bar-bat, a small child-size Tee Ball bat filled with lead shot. In the right hands, the bar-bat was a formidable and possibly lethal weapon. But Denny had moved quicker and gotten between the two men, who towered over him.

He'd placed his hands on their chests and said rather sarcastically "Don't make me hurt you guys."

The line brought the general laughter he had intended. Denny followed up with a funny involved story about his physical prowess, making himself the butt of the punch line of the tale. By that point, the bar was buried in laughter. Denny got the two combatants to have a free drink on him, and the argument was soon replaced by the two men sharing drinks together.

Now as Denny held up his hands the bar went silent.

"Please, please," Denny said. "These officers are just making what is clearly a false arrest. As most of you know, I am an attorney. Therefore, I know that such an arrest can lead to a big payday. Now considering the pitiful price of beer in this place I can use any cash that comes my way even if I have to go to jail to get it."

The bar crowd broke into laughter and cheers of "You get 'em Denny",

And "Just like a lawyer," and, "Some people have all the luck."

Kate and Jim used the momentary conviviality to get Denny out of the barroom and into the street.

"Thanks, Denny," Jim said once they were outside.

Kathryn gave Jim a withering look and pushed Denny to the side of the Sheriff's brown and white SUV parked by the curb. She patted Denny down for weapons, noticing as she did that he had a hard muscular body concealed by his loose clothing. After the pat-down, she helped him into the back seat of the patrol vehicle. When she was seated behind the wheel with Jim riding shotgun, she read Denny his rights.

"Did you understand what I read to you, Mr. Morgan?"

"Yes, but can I ask a question."

"Of course?"

"Why am I being arrested?"

Kathryn frowned at him. "You know why," she said.

"No, I don't," Denny replied.

"Assault and rape," Jim said.

"What, who, and when?" Denny asked.

"Your wife and Scott Tillman earlier this evening," Jim replied.

"You're saying, my wife Desi was attacked? And who is this Tillman?"

"Alright play it any way you want Mr. Morgan, but you are getting locked up. No more questions, "Kate said and started the car heading for the County Jail.

At the Jail, they confiscated Denny's clothes for evidence and gave him an orange jumpsuit. He called his lawyer Tony Abrouso, the most respected criminal attorney in the area, and got him on the case. Kathryn figured Denny could use the best, as she was confident Dennis Morgan was looking at a long sentence. Her confidence began to slacken the following morning when she escorted Denny to the hearing held in Judge Platt's home office.

The senior County Judge held the hearing from behind a big oak desk in his study. Judge Platt began by saying hello to everyone including Denny and then let Patricia Stone, the part-time assistant district attorney, argue strenuously for the setting of a high bail. Patricia was a pretty petite young woman, but Kathryn had seen her in action several times before. Pat was no push over. When she was done, Tony Abrouso began to speak, but Judge Pratt stopped him.

"Denny, you undertake to show up to answer these charges," Judge Pratt asked.

"Yes, your Honor," Denny answered.

"Good enough for me. You are released on your own recognizance and prohibited from coming within 200 feet of the ALLEGED victims," Pratt said, getting up and thereby signaling that the hearing was over.

"What just happened?" Kathryn fumed.

"You arrest the most beloved man in the County and you expected they would give you a medal?" Patricia said.

This was the beginning of the downhill slide as far as Kathryn was concerned. A search of Denny Morgan's car, home, law office, and, of course, the Montague, turned up only the bar-bat. Kathryn was, however, sure they would find blood traces and other evidence on Denny's clothing and the bat. This would be the evidence they needed to confirm the witnesses' testimony. Both Desi Morgan and Tillman had positively identified Denny as the man who had brutally assaulted them. The problem that arose very quickly was the reliability of the witnesses. Kathryn found it hard to believe, but the universal opinion was that Desi and Tillman were lying. This opinion was held by most of the sheriff's office.

"Jim how can you believe that?" Kathryn asked her partner.

"Those two are no good. You want me to take the word of a whore and her asshole boyfriend over a decent man. A guy who when we came to arrest him saved our asses, or have you forgotten? Jim said.

"No, but we have two witnesses."

"Yea, a slut who spreads for everyone and her sleazy boyfriend. Who is this Tillman character? Some ski bum here for a season hoping to strike it rich bedding a wealthy man's wife. I hear he was bragging all about it to his ski bum friends," Jim said.

"We were the first responders on the scene. You saw the condition that the woman was in, and no man does that to his own leg. Certainly not an athlete. He may never be able to use that leg again," she said.

"All I'm saying is those two can't be trusted," Jim said.

Kathryn could only shake her head and wait for the Lab Report from the State Lab. As a woman who had suffered abuse herself, she sympathized with Desi. She did not condone infidelity but saw no reason men should be allowed to play around while women were expected to be saints. Her fellow officers including the female officers saw her attitude as being unduly influenced by her sex.

"I can't believe it, this has got to be incorrect," Kathryn said.

"Told you," said Jim

The report back from the State Lab showed no blood on the bat taken from the bar or the clothing worn by Denny Morgan.

Kathryn was shaken, but it got worse. Moments later she was called to Under Sheriff Ferguson's office.

Jack Ferguson was old school. If he had his way, no female would work road patrol. There was one exception to that belief, Miss Kitty, as they called Sergeant Kathryn Keenan behind her back. Sergeant Keenan was the equal of any man he had. She was as strong as the average man and she was quicker and smarter in tight places. Even the best of men can lose it when things get tight, but Keenan was cool under fire. She was also the best shot he had.

Kathryn was the perfect officer and the worst pain in the ass he had ever known. She would not tolerate sloppy work by those beneath her. She worked so hard to toe the line herself she made everyone else nervous. When you add to her other problems her difficulty dealing with the more amorous of the male gender she was a colossal pain. Most men were intimidated by her size and physical presence, but males wearing a uniform often saw only a challenge. Her consistent rejection of every male advance had not made her popular, and in fact it had led to the rumor she was gay. This further isolated her from her colleagues.

As she walked into his office, Ferguson was once again struck by the sheer beauty of his Amazon of a subordinate. Tall for a woman with tits that entered the room well before the rest of her. With a stomach flatter than any man's in the department. Her red-blond hair cut short in a style that suited her and flattered her oval face, with its emerald green eyes. But it was those hips that got you. They moved like an invitation to a host of unnatural acts. On every other woman, the uniform was at best unflattering, but on Kathryn it was just this side of obscene. When the average citizen looked at Sergeant Keenan, they thought she was a stripper on her way to a gig.

Ferguson could only shake his head. Her nickname was demeaning, but it fit. She had the disposition of a cat, stubborn and unpredictable. He knew she had decided that Denny Morgan was guilty and that no amount of evidence to the contrary would suffice to dissuade her.

"I have nothing to do with it. The DA made the decision not to prosecute all by his lonesome," Jack said before Kate could get a word out.

"Doesn't he understand that this guy has the only motive for what is a brutal assault and rape? This looks so bad like we gave him special treatment," She said.

"You need to learn that we are only the investigators. The prosecution is the job of the DA," he said.

That settled it as far as Jack was concerned, but he was sure that Kate would not let it rest. As she walked from his office, he was sure the DA would be hearing from Sergeant Keenan.

Amanda had been the DA's secretary through three administrations. She knew her job was to screen those who wanted to see the DA. The office of the prosecutor in the State's smallest County was pretty much a one man job. There were two part-time assistants, Patricia Stone and Thomas Harder, but the day-to-day office of DA was Amanda, Frank, and Charlie Coffey, the investigator, clerk, and Guy Friday.

"Go right in -- he's expecting you," Amanda said on seeing Kathryn.

Frank Simon had his lunch on his desk and was settling in to eat it, a mixed Italian sub with extra dressing. Frank had gained a few pounds since becoming DA two years before. Papers and books were scattered about the office. Kathryn had to remove some from a chair to sit down.

Frank Simon's appearance and his untidy office did not exactly inspire confidence, but Kathryn had seen him in action. He was a very good prosecutor and perfectly capable of winning a weak case. The fact that he was not willing to even make an attempt in the Morgan matter irked her.

"Mr. Simon sir, I think you have not been appraised of how serious the injuries suffered by Desdemona Morgan and Scott Tillman are—" she began.

"Stop," Frank said, and with a small sigh put aside his lunch and from the morass on his desk pulled a flexible brown folder.

The DA laid his Morgan folder before Kate and said, "Go ahead open it. What we have here are thirty-three witness statements all freely given to Charlie Coffey attesting to the whereabouts of Dennis Morgan between 7:00 p.m. and about 12:30 p.m. when he was arrested by two Sheriff's officers. The best estimate is the crime was committed between 10:00 and 10:30 p.m.

Kate opened the file and began looking at the statements. They were from each of the Montague employees except the kitchen staff, the last of whom had left before 9:30, a half hour after the kitchen closed. There were statements from the bar patrons about where Denny was all that evening, and how he had stopped the fight around 10:30.

"These are all from his employees and friends. They could be lying to protect him. The barmaid Lottie says she refilled his coffee cup every half hour all night long. But there are only two barmaids when I was in there making the arrest, and they were busy as hell. She could not have been pouring coffee that often," Kate said.

"Go to the last affidavit and read it."

"I was in the Montague from 7 p.m. until 10:30. I eat dinner there every Saturday night since my wife died. I like to watch the sports on the seventy inch TV. I am familiar with Denny Morgan having known him for his entire life. He always wears his Cornell Law School ring. He is only one of two lawyers in the County who attended Cornell, and I know the other does not wear her school ring.

Denny Morgan was seated in the back boot when I arrived at 7 p.m. and he remained there while I ate dinner and watched the Yankees play. When the game ended I finished my beer and left a bit after 10:30. I could see Denny's Cornell ring the entire time I was there.

Signed: Edward Reagan, Retired Justice, New York Supreme Court Appellate Division."

Kate looked up at Frank, "Judge Regan?" She said.

"Yea the most respected man in this part of the state, and the most honest man I have ever known. You want me to go before a jury with him ready to take the stand saying the Defendant could not have done it. And oh, by the way, there are another thirty-some witness that say the same. Add to that the alleged victims filed a multimillion dollar lawsuit yesterday. Money is always a rather a good motive to lie

"So there's my case, the word of two greedy adulterers against the word of good Judge Regan and God knows how many others before a jury of Denny Morgan's friends and neighbors. I would not only lose the trial I would lose my job. Remember, Denny ran against me last time, and I only won because that Tea Party style Political Committee came in with a bunch of negative ads right at the end. Yes, I condemned that Committee, but it won me the election. I wish I didn't feel so guilty about it, but it did provide me more incentive to do the job to the best of my ability.

"If I prosecute Denny I will look like a vindictive SOB, who not only ran a dirty campaign but used his office against his opponent. People don't like that. I don't like that. But I do like Denny Morgan and if Ed Regan says he didn't do it that is good enough for me," Frank Simon reached for his lunch. "Now if I may I would like to go back to this great sandwich," he said.

Another officer might have given up when confronted by the solid alibi that Dennis Morgan seemed to have developed without any effort, but not Kathryn. She knew he was guilty. It was a matter of finding the evidence to prove it. That smug little man might think he had gotten away with it, but he wasn't counting on the relentless Sergeant Keenan.

Kathryn lived in a cute little two bedroom Cape on the northeast side of town. As a single parent raising a son, she had all the usual difficulties plus the rotating schedule of the road patrol. She worked ten days on and four days off, on alternating day and night shifts. It was a tough schedule with a child. If your spouse helps with child care, it's a lot easier. But that was never the case when Tom Senior had been in the picture.

Her ex had been a spoiled young man, more a boy who never grew up. They'd had Tommy because his doting parents wanted grandchildren, But Tom Senior was no father. The baby put a crimp on their nights out, and her insistence on working meant there was little time for them to be a couple without the baby. Kate soon realized her spouse was cheating. There were too many late nights when he came home smelling of booze, perfume, and sex. That's when the fighting started. Kate was a big woman and strong physically in ways that women aren't normally, but she was no match for Tom Sullivan's right fist.

The physical pain was bad, but nothing compared to the humiliation of a police officer reporting for work with a black eye and bruises. Everyone seemed to know who had inflicted the injuries. Another woman might have garnered sympathy, but Kathryn was too imposing physically to expect or accept the sympathy of others.

The ironic thing was that she felt like a scared little girl who wanted to run home to her family, but her mother, father, sisters, and brothers all sided with her husband. Tom Sullivan was not just rich and handsome, he had the Devil's own charm. He had a quick tongue and all the sweet words to go with it. He was sorry and he was provoked. Kate was a bit of a shrew, always at him about working late. She was jealous and tried to wear the pants. He always had an excuse ready, and the worst part was that he believed his own deceits.

Experts would have said that Tom Sullivan was a classic example of a domestic abuser. In public a loving husband and victim of an unsympathetic spouse, but at home a bit worse for the drink, an abusive and violent man. Kate came to know Tom Sullivan as a cheating, selfish, and immature individual with no impulse control. The kind of man no intelligent woman would stay married to.

Still, Kate forgave him twice for beating her. She knew this was two chances too many, but she did it for her son's sake. She walked after the third beating. It was either that or pull her service issue automatic the next time, and she was determined not to kill her son's father. There followed four years of hell. Everyone was on his side. He was required to pay child support but failed to pay.

The Courts were crowded and slow, and his family's overpriced attorney worked them like a fiddle. She finally threw her hands up and took the job at the other end of the state. He threatened to block her move until his attorney explained that the deal included no child support payments.

Late Wednesday night with little Tommy in bed asleep Kate slipped on her shorty nightgown. It had been six years since she'd had a man in her life. She was no lesbian, she needed the feel of a man's hard body. She missed the touch of a man's rough skin and the tickle of his beard in her private places.

She lay down on the queen-size bed she'd brought with her from New York. It was the bed she had purchased with Tom for their first apartment. The bed they'd made love in. She would push him down on this bed, undo his belt, and pull down his pants till she exposed his cock. Then she'd run her tongue around the helmet of his sex. As he hardened, she'd lick up the sides. When the moment was right, she'd take him into her mouth. She did it slowly, working him into her mouth a little deeper with each stroke of her head. He would moan and try to push deeper, but she'd hold him back. She loved a man in her mouth almost as much as in her pussy. Taking Tom this way first meant he would last longer later when he was buried deep inside her.

At first she had not enjoyed the taste of semen, but now she missed it as much as the taste of his cock. She'd work him slowly into her throat till her nose was buried in the musky fragrance of his pubic hair. Then holding him still locked in her throat, she'd use her throat muscles to gently massage his cock head until he'd beg for release. Then she'd take him fast till he erupted into her mouth.

He would try to pull away after he came, but she would lock her arms around him until she had sucked down the last drop of his discharge. It was a blowjob technique she had taken instruction on.

Kate had been a virgin three months before marrying the exceptional handsome Thomas A. Sullivan. Tommy was a boy who—if the girls could be believed—had a lot of experience. Kate had wanted to bring something to her wedding night her husband would remember and for which there would be no regrets on her performance.

For three weeks, she'd searched for someone who could tell her how to fellatio her man. She asked almost every hooker she encountered on and off the job. She'd tried to be discreet, hiding this from Todd Wilson, the experienced officer she had been teamed with as a rookie.

Then one day Wilson said, "My wife wants you to come to dinner next Tuesday."

"Ok, should I bring my fiancée?"

"Not a good idea. It's my poker night, and the youngest will be sleeping over with a friend. Understand?" he said with a slow nod of his head.

Doris Wilson was a woman in her early fifties. She had the rounded figure that comes with age and menopause, but she was still a handsome woman. She sat Kate down at the Wilsons' kitchen table and brought out a set of six phalluses. The instruction took two hours. There were jokes, giggles and much blushing from Kate's side of the table.

Over soup, Kate asked the question that had slowly begun to form, "Can I ask who taught you?"

"The madam in my first house ... Oh, don't be so shocked. My Todd knows, he arrested me several times before he worked up to asking me out. And yes that was the last time I turned a trick."

"And it wasn't a problem?"

Doris waved at the line of fake cocks. "There are many kinds of cocks but only two types of men. The kind worth having and the kind that are not worth your effort. Unfortunately, the first kind are small in number and the other far too many.

"With the good kind of man sex is the smallest part of the relationship. The right man will forgive anything for the woman he loves, and she must be willing to do the same for him," Doris said.

Doris gave her some final advice, "Remember, always finish him in your mouth and let him see you swallow his cum. It drives them crazy. You will get used to the taste."

"You don't find it a bit gross?" Kate said.

"You eat raw oysters?"


"First time did you think it a bit gross?"

Kate only nodded her head in reply.

"Trust me, girl, if you learn to give him pleasure you will learn to enjoy it," Doris said.

So Kate learned to give head from a woman who had mastered the art, and she had a real surprise for her husband on her wedding night. He surprised her as well. She thought his penetration would hurt her, but it didn't. Sex was something she came to with low expectations, and she was vastly surprised. What she didn't get was the love of a good man.

The first year of her marriage, she wore her husband out in the bedroom. Most days she fucked him until he was too limp to perform. But even in those days there were warning signs he had a roving eye. She often felt when they were out together that he was barely with her. It would have been so easy to cheat on him, but she would never do that. She was a one man woman. She just had the wrong man, and now she had none.

She was so horny and had no cock. So she reached deep into the drawer of her bedside table and brought out her silver bullet. The battery operated toy would have to do. As usual.

Thursday morning she rose early to put Tommy on the school bus. He needed to be out the door by 7:17 a.m. as they were at the top of the bus route. It was the start of her four days off and that gave her time to investigate Denny Morgan. She was parked outside Morgan's apartment by seven thirty. Denny had been ordered out of his home on Ganienkeh Road and had moved into one of the numerous rental apartments he owned in the college town.

Normally Kate had a good morning run after putting Tommy on the bus. She had heard that Denny Morgan ran in the mornings as well and decided to follow him at a discrete distance, letting him know he was being watched and hadn't gotten away with it.

At seven forty-five Denny exited the top floor rear of an older two family house. He ran south toward the University campus. Kate followed him. He kept a good pace until he reached what she knew to be the College cross country route. At that point, he took off. He was remarkably fast for a small man.

He must have run a good ten miles before his route took him back home. Kate was winded but unbowed. She had kept up with the man. Of course, he was more than a half-foot shorter and ten years her senior, but she still felt she had accomplished her task. A half hour later he stepped out of his house and entered his vehicle. His car she felt an odd choice for an attorney. He drove a ten-year-old Honda Pilot. Not the prestige car she would have expected.

Denny stopped at the municipal lot off the Main Street. He entered the Lakeside Diner about 8:45—in good investigator fashion she made note of the time he left his home and reached the Diner. The Lakeside Diner was not by the lake but in the town center. Nor was it a traditional diner, located as it was in a nineteenth-century commercial building. It was, however, a local hangout favored by the legal and political crowd.

Thirty minutes later Denny exited the diner and walked the half block to where his legal office was located in a mid-block storefront. Kate entered the diner and took a seat where she could watch his office.

She had barely settled in with a coffee and bowl of hot cereal when Deputy Don Walker walked in with his road patrol partner.

"Hey what you doing here, Sarge?" he said.

"Having breakfast," she replied.

Don was one of those men who never understood the word NO when uttered by the female gender. He was in his mid-thirties, determinedly single and extreme good looking. Add his six-foot athletic body and he did not actually often hear No. He had been after Kate since her first day in the Sheriff's office, and he was the source of rumors about her sexuality.

It was not that Kate was not attracted, but he was way too similar in personality and manner to her ex-Husband. Still, she was coming to the realization that if something didn't happen soon she would have to bed the bastard if only to get some relief. Toys were useful, but she needed the real thing.

Don and his partner gathered their take-out coffees and departed. They were no sooner gone when a thirtyish blond woman in business dress sat down at Kate's table.

"Hello, I'm Alice—"

"Blake. I know who you are, Counselor, and who you represent," said Kate to the attorney she knew represented Desi Morgan.

"Good, I was hoping we could help each other," said Alice.

"Sorry, I work for the Sheriff and my investigations are not public unless he says so," Kate said.

"Let me rephrase. I was hoping to help you with the information I have," Alice said.

"I'm not sure that we are still investigating your client's attack," Kate said warily.

"Well, I heard that you are not the kind of officer who gives up so easily. So let me share this with you," Alice said, discreetly passing a document to Kate.

"When you read it you will see it is a financial statement for Dennis Morgan. It shows him to be far wealthier than anyone around this town suspects, but if I were to guess it shows only a small fraction of his real net worth.

"You see, everyone looks at Denny and says that is not the kind of man to jealously attack his spouse and her lover. But what if the motive was money? Denny lives modestly. People know he has money, yet he lives like the average guy. No one suspects the enormous wealth he has. Wealth he would go to great trouble to protect," Alice said.

"Sorry, counselor, but rape and assault are crimes of passion," Kate said. She held onto the document more from curiosity than duty.

"You will never corner a man like Denny thinking inside the box. Yesterday, after the DA killed the charges against him, Denny filed suit against his wife and her lover. Thirty-seven causes of action for slander, libel, and malicious prosecution. You see, he is suing her. No matter what she gets in the divorce, he plans on taking it back," Alice said.

This made Kate sit back in her chair and smile.

"It's not funny," Alice said.

"I wasn't laughing. I was just thinking how unhappy I'm going to make Mr. Morgan when I get him——but now I have to go," Kate said, seeing Denny leaving his office through the diner window.

Alice followed her line of sight and nodded, saying," I'll keep in touch."

Kate nodded in reply and hurried after Denny. As it turned out, he was going to the Courthouse. For Kate, this was a familiar place. She knew the guards on the entry door. They waved her past the security. She easily followed Denny into a part of the Courthouse where she had never been.

In a small hearing room, a judge's bench had been set up. The lawyers were gathered at the front. They were passing comments and laughing at jokes. Denny seemed to be the butt of most of the jokes. He seemed to take it well and give back with a few jokes of his own. Kate did not normally see the lawyers in what she assumed was their general work setting. They acted much like the officers in the squad room at shift briefing.

Her experience told her there was always an officer or two who played the fool for the others. It was clear to her that Denny was the fool and maybe like many before him he resented the role, even while he played it to the hilt. The judge came in they all rose, and the proceedings began. There was nothing more than a series of motions that the individual attorneys argued.

Kate sat in the last row and perused the Morgan financial disclosure form. Alice Blake was right. Dennis Morgan was a wealthy man. The key to his wealth seemed to be the bar. Kate recalled his statement on the night of the arrest about the low price of beer. Whatever the price it was highly profitable and she soon understood why. The County was currently booming with microbreweries. Part of the reason was the natural spring waters that filtered through a Dolomite formation, and the other was the return of many farmers to growing hops. Beer requires hops, this crop had been a staple several generations ago in New York and had returned. Morgan was invested in all of it.

Looking at the report, it soon became clear that Denny had what amounted to a linear monopoly. He owned a part of each brewery and a long list of farms. Whatever he sold beer for he was getting it cheap and making money both sides of the transaction. His fingers had spread into numerous restaurants and drinking establishments. The last page of the report was a list of his real estate holding. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed that Denny Morgan owned half the County in value if not in square acres.

The report, however, seemed incomplete. The assets were listed, but there seemed to be no liabilities. Moreover, there were only three bank accounts listed, all at the Tyler County Bank and Trust. No balances were listed. The report was not certified by an accountant or signed by anyone. It was marked as a draft and undated. Alice Blake was right -- this was only part of the story.

When the hearings finished, Kate sat up straight making sure that Denny saw her as he exited. She wanted him to know she was watching. She wanted to worry him. She wanted him looking over his shoulder for her. She was coming to the conclusion that Denny's attack on the lovers was an act partly of passion and partly of greed. However, whatever the motive and however he might appear on the surface, this was a smart, deliberate man. Dennis Morgan was a planner and a schemer. The attack was well thought out and prepared beforehand. That was why there was no physical evidence, but how he had convinced so many people he was where he was not?

Denny made only one more notable stop that day before Kate had to leave to meet her son's school bus. He stopped at the YMCA to swim in the pool. Kate was watching him swim laps in the pool from the observation deck. He was a remarkably elegant swimmer, and that was the word for it. He seemed to pass through the water without friction. He wasn't in bad shape for a man his age either. He must be in his early forties, but he was in reasonably good shape. He was no muscle man. His was a lean build, but not excessively so. As she should have expected after that impressive run that morning.

"He's beautiful isn't he," an older woman wearing a YMCA Gym shirt said.

"Yes in a way I guess he is," Kate said.

"You so rarely see a stroke like that. It looks so totally effortless. If only he had been two inches taller," the older woman said.

Kate realized that the woman was referring to the beauty of the swimming stroke. Kate gave her a quizzical look," taller?" she said.

"Two-tenths of a second closer to the wall and he would have made the Olympic swimming team," the woman said.

Kate could only shake her head. Denny was beautiful, and it was not just the swim stroke. His looks were not movie star pretty, but there was something all male about him. A physical presence that was real. And yet he wore a mask. He was perhaps the most deceptive man she knew and just maybe the most interesting. But make no mistake, he would be made to pay for his crime. Sergeant Kathryn Keenan was determined that Dennis Morgan would pay the maximum penalty.

Kate followed and harassed Denny for two months on and off duty. She went over every detail of the crime. It had been well planned. At a little before 9:40 p.m. the lights in the Montague went off briefly. All the witnesses remembered the first electrical failure. Most remembered a second failure possibly at or after 10:40. Everyone seemed to remember the fight that Denny had stopped and the time of that could be clearly fixed at 10:47. The good judge could place Denny or more specifically Denny's Cornell ring in the booth at about 10:00 p.m. when the Yankee's first night game of the season ended. Both the Yankee's game and a Celtic's Basketball game had been playing on the large twin 70" TV screens over the Bar.

Kate went over every detailed. She when back and question each individual she could find. Anyone who had been in the bar after 9:30 p.m. This included every employee except the kitchen staff since they left well before the lights went out the first time. She turned up only witness saying they saw Denny in his back booth. The judge was the killer witness with his affidavit placing Denny in the bar as the Yankee game ended.

The maximum Kate figured Denny could have been gone was between twenty minutes and an hour depending on whether the judge was correct in what he saw. An hour was barely enough. Kate had found a back route from the bar to the Morgan house that could be traversed by a four-wheel-drive vehicle, such as a Hondas Pilot. The first time she tried it in the Sheriff's patrol SUV it had taken far too long but with a little practice the time improved appreciably. With enough practice, Denny could have done the route in say twenty minutes, with a round trip of forty minutes. That gave him twenty minutes to commit the crime and dispose of the evidence.

If the crime was committed between say 10:00 and 10:20, the time schedule was tight, but a determined man with a plan could do it. She had a grudging admiration for Dennis Morgan even as she hated the vile thing that he had done. She was no hypocrite. She knew the desire for revenge and violence that infidelity could instill in a person. She had been there, but good people resist the impulse. They certainly do not plan and practice to bring pain and suffering. Dennis had to be chastised. He had to pay a penalty, and it was Kate's job to bring that about.

Several times, as she drove the route she believed Morgan would have followed, she saw men on horseback with weapons. They watched her as she drove her Sheriff's vehicle. They were -- she knew -- Native Americans, part of a group that claimed land exempt from taxes. The dispute had been waged for years between the County and the Mohawks. If they were patrolling, they could have seen Morgan driving this route. The problem was they would never cooperate. To them, the County and the State were the enemies. Still would not others have seen Morgan racing his car along an almost unused back route? Why would a white lawyer know such a road by heart unless he practiced it?

For the next two months Kate followed, watched and harassed Dennis Morgan. She ticketed him for the slightest infraction. All of which he paid without complaint. She kept him under her constant surveillance, but he seemed to shrug it off. She meant to force him into giving himself away. It did not seem to be working until one bright summer's day she followed him down a quiet side street, and he made a U-turn right in front of her.

Kate flipped on her lights and sirens and pulled him over. As she approached his vehicle with her ticket book out he rolled down his window.

"May I ask what you think you were doing?" she said.

He smiled and said, "Just getting your attention."

"And why was that?"

"Want to ask you out next Friday night."


"I'm asking you out Friday night. So how about it?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Look you have been following me everywhere. I'd like to go out to dinner Friday, and so I figure since you will be there anyway..." he said with a little-amused smile at his own humor.

Leaning into his truck with her own smile, she said, "You are forgetting one thing..."

"Oh, what?"

"I don't date criminals," she said.

He laughed. Stopped, thought a moment, and said, "Well why not? Maybe I want to confess."

"So if I go out with you then you're going to confess?" she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

"Sure why not? It's been bothering me," he said.

She had to pause at that. She didn't believe him for a moment, but she was intrigued. He was right, what better way for her to follow and maybe trip him up than to go out with him. If she pushed, he might really make a mistake.

"What time Friday?" she said.

"Say 7:30," he said a broad grin cracking his face.

"Ok, 7:30 pick me up at my house," she said handing him the ticket.

"Good and sorry about this one, but your boss promised he'd fix any more tickets you gave me," He said waving the ticket and laughing.

All she could do was glare at him as he drove off.

Now, what was she going to wear?

This is the end of part one.

If you think you recognize any individuals or event, please remember I made this story up. I also changed and invented geography. Yes, I borrow from my life experience and the places I know, but I write fiction. It's just that and nothing more. Fiction is best when it sails close to the truth. © 2015 by Richard Gerald

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