Crimes of Passion
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Crime, Workplace, Rough, Spanking, Prostitution, Violent,
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Crime drama with erotic flair.
MARLA PRENTISS, SWF, 26, NURSE (RAPED AND MURDERED BY SERIAL KILLER)
The primary investigating agency involved in the gruesome murder case of pretty young Registered Nurse Marla Prentiss was the detective squad of the Clark County Sheriff's Department. All things considered, the CCSD was one of the best law enforcement entities in the nation and they had managed to put together a fine department with the mission of protecting the public and bringing criminals to justice with speed and efficiency.
Most of the actual funding for the department came directly from the Casino owners located in Las Vegas. That was only common sense from their perspective because they wanted a professional force to secure their investment in the gaming, housing and food industry in that mecca of entertainment and tourist trade.
My name is Amy Johnson and I am a crime reporter with the Las Vegas Daily Sun. I am fairly well known with the Sheriff's Department because my job calls for me to stay close to the headquarters in order to "scoop" the competition for details on the newest and most grizzly cases of criminal violence in their jurisdiction. I guess I am lucky to be young and fairly attractive although not in the category of the "Show Girls" down on the strip. My boobs are a lot bigger than average which seems to be more in demand these days and my legs and backside are shaped like a dancer's well-toned figure. I think that is because I run almost three miles every other day and sometimes compete in the half-marathons for the benefit of Children's Charities in the local area. Just between us, before I got on the Sheriff's Department beat, I didn't have much sexual experience despite my good looks because I was shy around boys and didn't have much of a yen to try it on with any of my female friends with a desire to make me their "closer than friends" friend. Some of them were real stunning in the looks department and I sometimes wondered if I was being a bit too picky over gender distinctions.
I graduated from the University of California with a degree in Communications and this job with the Nevada print media giant was my first attempt at gainful employment. I didn't seriously consider babysitting, flower arranging, or even working at Jack in the Box as real jobs but just a way to pick up some ready cash to buy stuff like lipstick and tampons. My generous daddy paid my expenses for food and housing while I was getting my degree but I didn't hit on my parents for the funds needed to buy all the extras.
It took me five years to get my degree but I put that down to the fact I had gotten pregnant in my third year and had to get an abortion to put me back on my academic track. Before you start berating me for my terrible behavior, I have to tell you that it was the result of getting raped at a frat party after being slipped a drug in my drink by a couple of rape-minded jocks with no sense of pity for innocent girls. I followed my counselor's advice and kept it quiet because they were well-connected with the fact they were both on the first team and their parents were alumni. The University agreed to pay for all medical costs and arranged for me to pick up my studies the following semester with no reduction in my grade point average. I told my parents it was just a terrible flu that was causing me to postpone my studies one semester and they followed my request that they would just let me recover on my own.
That Christmas vacation, my parents were all questions but my thin appearance and the changed look in my normally fun-filled eyes kept them off my back and life went on without any major changes in routine. The entire incident had shaped me and made me determined to be a fighter for victim's rights in the criminal justice system. The best way I could do that was by investigating and writing about violent crime and I was happy to head to Las Vegas and take the entry-level job offered to me. I felt certain that Las Vegas was a "hotbed" of violent crime and there were plenty of nasty criminals that needed to be exposed to the reading public.
Before I was assigned the Marla Prentiss case, I covered the riot at the indoor mall downtown and did a good job on writing about the girls that had been shamelessly groped and interfered with by the roving bands of dark-skinned males totally out of control. It was one of those situations where they were mostly juveniles and homeless to boot. It was a problem that seemed to exist in any big city where sex is a commodity to be bought and sold and where human trafficking was more common than the city authorities would like to admit.
My experience in school enabled me to empathize with the young women and I did my best to write an expose of the rotten underbelly of Las Vegas never seen inside a casino.
My immediate supervisor at the newspaper was a middle-aged reporter called Jack who hadn't written a good article in many years. He was divorced and a bit of a boozer although he didn't drink at work. He was good enough to give me a lot of excellent advice about where not to go and who to avoid if I wanted to get promoted in my job. I am ashamed to admit that I felt so sorry for him that I gave him a couple of blow-jobs in his car when we were out on assignment together and I knew he loved it but he didn't pester me to do more and I kind of liked that about him. I was sort of still a bit depressed over my experience in college and I generally didn't let my relationships progress much beyond a blow-job, a hand-job, or even letting a guy press his dick between my cheeks without going inside my brown eye. Most guys were more than satisfied with that just as long as they got their rocks off and I was smart enough to give them a "happy ending" that put a smile on their silly faces. I didn't see Jack as being a threat at all because he was so beaten down by his ex-wife, his lack of respect on the job and his drinking that he just saw my pretty mouth as a sort of generic female opening to take care of his need to get a happy tingle and didn't have any personal interest in me at all.
I would never tell him this but I kind of liked his big thick cock in my mouth and didn't mind it at all when he flooded my throat with his stuff because he was always so polite and apologetic about it that I just wanted to hug him and tell him he could count on me whenever he needed a little help in that area. I met his ex-wife one day in the hallway at police headquarters and she gave me one of those knowing looks that let you know she was totally aware that her ex-husband's cock had been taken care of by my slutty mouth more than once. She made me feel so guilty that I just crossed my legs and looked out the window at the gritty street outside pretending I didn't get the picture.
My assignment to the Case of Marla Prentiss brought me into close contact with the Homicide Detective Squad which consisted of three men and one female cop. The leader was Lt. Buzz who I was told was Polish but his name was so long and complicated that he simply changed it to Buzz to make it easier for people to pronounce. He had the wildest moustache I had ever seen and I wondered how that would feel down there between my legs if he was ever so inclined. I was told to never bring up the subject of his wife by the female cop so I followed that advice sensing it was a sore subject. The female cop was Sergeant Brenda and she was the toughest woman I had ever met. She kept constantly cracking her knuckles which was something my older brothers did all the time much to my chagrin because I could never do it right. Her jeans were so tight that I swear I could almost see her female slit that was right next to the seam in the fabric. When she bent over the files, all the guys turned their heads to ogle her heart-shaped behind but my female radar told me she was more interested in me than any of the guys.
From the very first day, I wore nothing but short skirts to the Detective Squad and made sure that my skimpy thongs were easily seen when I was perched on the edge of the wooden chairs. I made it easy for the three guys and even Sergeant Brenda to get good shots at my pussy because I knew it was important for me to blend in with this bunch if I hoped to get the real scoop on any of the cases. I was certain Brenda knew exactly what I was doing but as long as I included her in the dispensing of goodies, she seemed to go along with the program.
Lt. Buzz was interested but he seemed distracted most of the time and I could understand it because the closure rate on the homicides was notoriously low. I felt certain it had nothing to do with the homicide squad but was more the result of the fact that the county was sort of a transitory region with people coming in from out of state all the time and it was difficult to stay up on all the possible criminals because they did their best to stay out of trouble inside the county. We had our fair share of informers who made a living on furnishing information but most of them were more geared toward the drug transactions, the whore trade and the scams that seemed to get more complicated every day.
I learned quickly that the best approach with the murder cases was to treat each one individually and go with the averages to find the killer or killers. The detective on the squad with the most experience was a detective first class called Murphy who could cite every murder ever committed in Clark County and when it was solved. His expression was pretty sour at the moment because the solve rate was dropping with the introduction of a couple of active serial murderers in the area from out of state. One of them preyed mostly on the girls on the street or the escorts that would meet their Johns at a hotel or a motel with no security to speak of. They stayed away from the big-name hotels and the casinos because that was all protected by the syndicate boys with their own methods of enforcing good behavior. Some of that had fallen down in the past couple of years because of the biker gangs and the influx of illegals into the area with loyalty to the cartels south of the border.
Murphy was probably the best-looking of the male detectives and he didn't seem to have any of the vices of the others. He didn't drink, he didn't smoke, and according to Brenda he hadn't gotten laid for quite some time. The last really interested me because the first time I saw him I wondered about his organ size because he had the biggest feet I had ever seen on anyone. When he put his shoes up on the edge of the desk they seemed to dwarf everything else and I started getting a little antsy down there where the grass grows greener.
The last member of the squad was also the youngest. In fact, he was younger than me and looked more like an altar boy than a homicide detective. His name was Aldo and he had a bit of an accent that sounded either German or Russian. Brenda told me that it would be best to stay away from Aldo unless it was necessary because he had a bad reputation with women. When I tried to pin her down, she just shrugged her shoulders and whispered,
"He likes to hit the girls!"
I thought that was strange to have that sort of reputation and still be a cop but one never knows these days. Lt. Buzz pretty much gave me the same advice but he added that the reason was because he was being investigated for a double killing that saw two bad guys gunned down when he went to ask some questions about an alleged whore found right on the railroad tracks. Apparently, it was still being decided if it was a "good" shooting or if he needed to be brought up on charges of "excessive" force.
That was our happy group and I guess I was the unofficial coffee maker since I was the last one onboard.
CRIME OF PASSION
CASE OF MARLA PRENTISS
I guess you could say it was Detective First Class Murphy that "broke" me in on the workings of the Homicide Detective Squad in more ways than one. Of course, he was the walking encyclopedia of all the facts and history of the crime of Homicide in Clark County, Nevada and I pumped him for all of the hard, cold facts with ruthless persistence. However, I carried our relationship a bit further than strictly professional because I wanted to get closure on my curiosity about his hidden tool size just to see if it correlated to his shoe size. His shoes were so huge that they had to have been custom made because no company could afford to make a size that big for a minute part of the population. It was something that I had dabbled in in college and was fairly certain my theory was infallible.
Murphy was one of those characters that kept everything to himself unless he was pressured to divulge information. I had that sort of personality that just kept digging and digging until I got an answer and he was a tough nut to crack but once I got him talking he was a regular chatterbox making certain I had every last little tidbit of inside scoop on the case in question.
I was hot to trot on the Marla Prentiss case and he did his best to shield the facts but gave it up when I started to work on his libido in a way that he didn't suspect I was the one making all the moves. I have to admit one thing led to another and before long I had both hands filled with his business and it was enough to say both hands were filled and busy. My theory about size relationships was once again confirmed and I was a bit concerned my oral capacity would be unable to handle the volume.
At least he was a complete gentleman and patted me on top of my head and told me,
"That's a good girl!"
I know it is silly but his words spurred me to make greater effort and I managed to get most of it inside my warm, wet mouth pushing my tongue to one side to make enough space for the bulk of his thickness. Lubrication was certainly not a problem because the combination of his copious pre-cum and my own saliva acted to help him to slide with resolute authority far enough down my throat to trigger my gag reflex. After that, he eased up a bit probably because he knew I was young and tender and had not serviced enough cocks to have superior skills in that area.
He didn't hesitate to pull up my short skirt in the back and slip his big hands under the elastic band of my French panties to find my back door so quickly that all I could do was stare up into his smiling eyes knowing that he would eventually get around to stuffing me back there when he got around to it. It was enough to make me tremble with anticipation because my only experiences with anal fun and games were with me in complete control and I could tell the boys when to stop and when I was uncomfortable. I got the distinct impression that with Murphy my preferences would be second to his own desires and in all truth I think I liked it better that way.
I considered my assignment to the Homicide Squad to be a big break in my career and I was determined to make the most of it no matter what it took to make it a success.
After the big guy drained inside my chap-stick covered lips, I did my best to swallow it all down but had to half- run and half-scamper to get a couple of paper towels from the restroom to wipe off my previously immaculate blouse and my dreadful pointed chin. I could see Murphy smiling at me with amusement and it kind of pissed me off because I was still trying to clean my blouse but I acted like I thought it was funny as well and he started to fill me in on the murky details of the case that were hidden in his head and not in one of those shaky case reports that often had a lot of holes in them.
I saw in the dresser mirror that the muscular Murphy was still sporting an erection of some distinction and that he was more than interested in the way my cheeks were jiggling as I scooted around the room sans clothing. In a way it was comforting to know I had an admirer of my sinful flesh so close in my guilty nakedness.
At some point, Murphy put his equipment away and I breathed a sigh of relief because I was not all that confident that I could handle too much of something of that magnitude. I think Murphy liked the fact I was relaxed now and he started to spill the beans about the case. I wasn't quite sure if it was because he had stuffed my mouth without mercy or if he just needed to bounce his ideas off someone who wouldn't ridicule his gut reactions to nuances of the crime scene. In any event I was ecstatic that he trusted me enough to give me the details because now I was able to sort out some theories of my own that had been haunting me ever since I first saw the photos of the happy female victim after she was chewed up and spat out by the serial killer of young women far too young to die.
The first point that had mystified me even long before Murphy and I sat down on top of the mattress and started playing "show me yours" with our goodies and with our facts was the fact that there was not enough blood splatter in the crime scene to tag it as the dead certain location of the crime.
Murphy told me,
"Listen to me when I tell you, doll-face, that this prick, whoever he is, got all his jollies somewhere else and then transported the whole mess to the crime scene just to throw us off the scent."
In all honesty, it was, word for word, the exact same scenario that was running through my mind because I had made an effort to sort out and classify the level of chaos in crime scenes of violent passion to help put a face on the bad guys and close down a serial killer before he ran his score up at the expense of innocent young females. It looked like the well-hung Murphy and I were on the same page about the crime scene not being quite right as the actual place where Marla Prentiss had met and lost everything to a vicious killer with blood-lust in his eyes and depraved and unnatural urges on his mind that needed female flesh to slake his thirst.
Poor Marla had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
We studied the crime scene photos spreading them all out on the bed and I saw up close and personal how the poor girl had no chance to stop the killer from slowly tearing her to pieces as he satisfied his lust using her body to boost him into a frenzy of blood-letting even as her soul was consumed in his violent sinful excess.
I tried to put myself into Marla's position and in my mind I saw Murphy as the killer mounting me from the rear and stretching me to my limit to accommodate his needs. My heart was pounding and my special spot between my legs was throbbing with a need of my own but I was just role playing and it was thankfully not the real thing. I wondered if I would have to eventually give Murphy that prize that I knew he wanted but didn't ask for because he was afraid of rejection. I looked at his thick muscular chest and middle and considered the power of his long sturdy legs and hips that would require me to spread out to an impossible angle just to accommodate him between my legs. I was grateful that he had actually been a perfect gentleman up to that point taking only what was on offer and not pleading or begging for more like all the boys back at college that had only one thing on their mind when it came to one-on-one togetherness.
The forensics was a complete mess.
It was impossible to get around the fact that the blood was so contaminated and mixed that positive results were not likely to be accepted by any jury member with half a brain. The killer had been generous enough to leave the murder weapon behind but it was such a common yellow plastic "box cutter" that all of the normal avenues of investigation were of no use. There was no doubt that the serial killer was teasing us with his sense of invincibility having no fear of ever being caught.
The razor edge was still sharp after cutting through a plethora of poor Marla's defenseless skin and arteries as he played with her in an eternity of pain and suffering. Amy looked at the small tool sitting inside a sealed plastic envelope. It didn't look all that dangerous but she could imagine the blood spurting in every direction as the madman wielded it with deadly intent.
There was a possibility that the small amount of unidentified DNA found on the body belonged to the killer but it could also belong to anyone else who had been in contact with the way she was transported to the supposed crime scene or to any one of many contacts she had made after her last shower. Her job in the dermatology clinic meant she came into contact with many different sources of DNA in the course of her work and there was no point to start a difficult job of elimination before at least trying to match with suspects that would crop up in the normal scheme of the process.
Murphy showed her how the killer had "ridden" the girl using the small knife and managed to couple with her at the same time bringing him sexual and unhinged mental satisfaction in an obscene frenzy of chaotic depravity. She took the big man's weight on her back and felt his business erect and ready to do severe damage to her trembling core. A whimper escaped her lips and the detective seemed to snap out of a trance and released her patting her head to let her know it was only a demonstration.
Amy knew after that she would be willing to perform for the detective and hope that he would be restrained in his training both physically and with attention to bringing her up to speed on current investigations.
CRIMES OF PASSION
CASE OF MARLA PRENTISS
The trip to the morgue was not one that I particularly wanted to undertake but the entire squad was making the journey to see if they could possibly "brainstorm" some sort of approach from the clues the remains instilled in their thinking process.
The main morgue was located in the courthouse annex in the basement or I should say the sub-basement because it was actually under the parking garage that was home to the many official vehicles that all of the law enforcement agencies used on a daily basis. The body had been retained in the main morgue because it was needed for periodic case analysis and from time to time new testing was initiated to clarify a point that was still a bit "grey area" on the original autopsy.
It was Doctor Lee that had signed off on the original autopsy and one could tell from the visible frown on his face that he couldn't believe the words that he had spoken himself months ago when things had seemed more routine than now when so many other factors had come to light. The elderly man realized that he had fallen victim to the erroneous assumption that the thing was just a sexual street crime done at random to easy prey in the abandoned underpass.
Now they had new facts that pointed to the "box cutter" serial killer. We knew that she was in actuality his fourth known victim in the Las Vegas Metro area identified from the similar patterns of mutilation used in all the crimes of violence against women. In all the cases, the serial killer had taken his "trophy" of one nipple removed with surgical precision and the training of a surgeon with serious skills. Hopefully, there were only four victims but with the way these mind-altered freaks disposed of their bodies, there was always the chance there were more but not discovered as yet in out of the way places.
It was Aldo that had to run out of the viewing room and vomited violently in the trash can in the hallway much to the amusement of both Detective Murphy and Sergeant Brenda.
Lt. Buzz kept a straight face but I think it was only because he was the person in charge and didn't want to join a subordinate in such foolishness. I think they all expected it would be me running out to the hallway tossing my cookies but I was used to blood and gore after working a volunteer job with a respected church-sponsored assistance for crime victims organization. I needed to do something to keep my sanity right after my rape and subsequent distressing abortion and life-changing correction in attitude. I had been extra careful to hide the shame of being a rape and sodomy victim because I could see up close and personal how the tag was so destructive to young women with lives ruined because of pity.
I was really grateful to Murphy for not sharing my easy conquest and easily spreading legs with the other team members because I had a sense they all thought I was a slut in hiding and were just waiting for confirmation so they could treat me with outright derision and downright rudeness.
One thing that I noticed was the fact that the girl had a great deal of dirt lodged under her fingernails and I hadn't seen any report in the file that listed the trace elements of nail residue on the body. I wondered if it was a simple lost file or if someone had not made that effort to be one hundred percent certain everything had been done to locate possible clues. I didn't make a big deal out of it to the others but I whispered it to Murphy on the sly because I knew coming from him it would carry a lot more weight than coming from the mouth of a newly assigned female who was not really a trained cop like all the others.
I listened to Murphy calling attention to the fingernails and the pathologist on call scurried around trying to locate a specimen analysis matrix to determine when and if the samples were taken. Unfortunately, her efforts only resulted in confirming that the key ingredient of forensics were missing and she immediately started the process that would probably take a least a week to organize and give us a picture of what was going on with the dirt under Marla's cold dead fingernails.
It didn't make any difference to me that Murphy would get credit for the catch because I was there merely in a support role and the investigation was really the squad with me just hanging on as a liaison to the media. I never brought up to Lt. Buzz that I had actually taken a minor in Criminal Justice in college and was seriously thinking of going into law enforcement work before I was made victim by a pair of "frat boy" jerks ruled by their dicks and not their peanut-sized brains. I was glad that I was continuing my Judo sessions that I had started back in California after the assault because it gave me enough confidence to walk down a dark street at night and not worry too much about some jerk trying to pull my panties down. I must have looked in the mirror a half-dozen times a day and told my reflection,
"Those days are gone forever."
We started to make some timeline charts for the victim and then for some of the prime suspects to see where the gaps were and who didn't have a good enough alibi for the time of the assault. Even with our repeated screening, we could only reduce the list to about fourteen candidates and that was just too many for us to keep an eye on and follow on a twenty-four hour a day schedule. We needed to get the cut down to about three main suspects and just wait for him to make a mistake and allow us to put him away for good.
Later that night, I let Murphy come up to have a nightcap in my new quarters and he right away started to break my squeaking bed springs into his version of indoor Olympics. I don't want to give the impression that I was complaining because in all honesty I had acquired a bit of a thing for Detective Murphy. It just seemed important to keep that urge submerged because I wanted to keep that fact from him at all cost. I felt certain he was the type to push a woman with a yen for his muscular body away from him because he didn't want to feel like he was being painted into a corner or anything like that.
When he was finished with me, Murphy slapped my ass hard and told me,
"Keep improving with your action, honey, and I am going to have to make you a permanent part of the squad."
I knew it was his way of making me welcome but I felt certain most of young female cops on the force would have been bringing him up on sexual harassment charges in a heartbeat. The times were changing and the old "dinosaurs" of the law enforcement field were retiring before they got into trouble with headquarters.
I needed to have a lengthy conversation with Sergeant Brenda about that subject at the earliest opportunity because I didn't mind literally bending over backwards to get along with my male co-workers but my memories of being taken advantage of by my early experience with sexist jerks made me cautious about relationships that were literally where I slept or worked every day. My reasoning was along the lines of thinking the fact I was not a cop with a real badge and gun would made me seem like "fair game" to the horny guys willing to take a chance with an available female right on the doorstep.
We had a generic profile of the killer that emphasized the fact he was probably raised by his mother or grandmother and had a hatred of women that went all the way back to this childhood. I tended to view this as far too simplistic and was probably some textbook mumbo-jumbo related to sexual shortcomings.
The profile was also flawed because it was derived from some faulty data from the first two cases which were corrected after the profile was published but nobody had taken the time or effort to correct the profile record. I had gone into the backgrounds of the fourteen remaining suspects and looked for those common threads that most investigators believed were rampant amongst serial killers. Of course, each case was different but the very nature of serial killers was that their selection and almost ritualistic destruction of their prey was a signature that identified them almost like some fingerprint found right in the middle of a crime scene. Talking about fingerprints, it was obvious that the killer wore gloves the entire time of his killing frenzy because not a single fingerprint was ever found of the "box cutter" serial killer at any of the crime scenes. It was beginning to look like the killer was doing his thing at another location and then washing up the victim's body before transporting it to the supposed crime scene staging it to appear like that was the location of the assault. That would explain the lack of sufficient blood splatter and the inability to find specific DNA that was not compromised for one reason or another. He had probably used condoms and after he was finished, was smart enough to clean the victim external and internally with DNA destroying cleansing liquids to insure lack of good forensic evidence. He had even washed their hair in various places on the body to remove any sign of his presence. The victim's clothing and all jewelry had been removed before dumping the bodies and it seemed likely the killer had stripped as well taking care to shave all of his body hair to prevent any hair evidence from leading to his later identification.
They had carefully checked the sink and tub drains and traps for forensic evidence but if the theory that the dumping sites were not really the actual crime scenes then it would eliminate them as possible sources of discovered evidence.
Fortunately, the dirt evidence from under Marla's fingernails came back from the lab they had several clues that the detectives knew instinctively had merit for further investigation. One of the elements was a presence of the silt from the bottom of the nearby man-made Lake that was a circus of hard-drinking boat loving people that partied every weekend in drunken orgies of hedonistic excess. Every weekend, the jail was filled with new sexual adventurers from the boat orgies and it was easy to see that this particular victim was most likely on the lake at one of the parties on the night she was killed. In fact, another element found was the unique fibers that normally were found in marine carpeting used to cut down mold from wet surfaces. It was likely she had been dragged across the carpet on a boat at the lake or even wrapped in some of it when she was transported to the underpass in the City.
Sergeant Brenda started to screen all of the arrests made that weekend and gathered the names and address of any potential witness that might had seen the victim on one of the boats at the lake.
Murphy and I teamed up to take a forensic team out to the lake and gathered samples of any blood residue highlighted by their special light just to see if there was any match to the victim's DNA. We split up into two teams because there were almost sixty boats sitting anchored off the shore and tied up to the long pier. We didn't bother with the marina because those boats were covered for the past few months waiting for the new season to begin. It was unlikely any of them were involved because a check of their location showed none of them were active on the weekend in question.
I watched the young college boy's on one of the bigger boats acting like jerks accusing the forensic specialists of violating their "constitutional rights" by taking the samples. I knew the the blanket warrant was more than enough legal authority to help us pinpoint the scene of the crime. Almost all the boats had blood splatter that showed up on the scope in varying degrees but I could tell only a few boats had the splatter that you would expect with a major blood-letting of the sort that Marla had been subjected to by the taker of her young life.
We went over all the evidence back at headquarters and the only boat with splatters of possible concern was the one belonging to a casino dealer called Tony something. Nobody seemed to know his last name but I quickly looked it up in the registration data base and discovered the boat belonged to the son of the owner of biggest casino in Las Vegas. His name was Tony Tuscany and he was known to be a hunter of beautiful women to add to his list of female conquests. His reputation for nailing beautiful women and getting a photo of them taking it
"doggie" fashion with both their faces in the photo was infamous even in the liberal atmosphere of Sin City. His office was lined with dozens of the photos and almost every beautiful showgirl and even some celebrities in top of the Marque acts were up there on the wall for everyone to look at and know that Tony was serious about making any girl he took a shine to sing out "Daddy" at the right moment. A couple of the more famous big-assed bimbos offered serious coin to get the photo back but Tony just laughed and would enlarge the shot to make certain everybody that visited couldn't miss it.
He didn't have any criminal record and the reputation of his father was enough to keep the prosecutor from requiring him to give a statement down at headquarters without his lawyer's permission. It was beginning to look like we would have to put young Tony on the "Hold" list while we finished our investigation with the other remaining suspects.
I had the gut feeling I would be visiting Tony's office one day soon and I had no intention of yelling out "Daddy" on cue for the camera.
CRIMES OF PASSION
CASE OF MARLA PRENTISS
The entire Homicide Squad was fired up now because suddenly we had a lot of angles to investigate with regard to the horrible murder of young nurse Marla Prentiss. We were all moving along at breakneck speed like a bunch of hot-shots on the racing circuit just outside of town.
Strangely, it was when I was getting humped real hard by professional tough-guy Detective Murphy that the thought popped into my head we had forgotten to investigate Nurse Marla's background and check for any leads not connected to some random serial killer. It was a standard avenue of approach in any basic textbook on serial killer investigation but for some reason it was absent from the Marla Prentiss case. The more Murphy pressed my into the unyielding mattress the more I realized it was a major mistake even if there was nothing there to investigate. I heard Murphy start to grunt that familiar way just before he anointed me with his man-juice and tried my best not to lose my train of thought about Nurse Marla's background before the flood washed away my sense of logic.
I made a point of going directly to Lt. Buzz with the proposal we start a parallel investigation into Marla's history because I wanted to head that investigation up by myself using the newspaper's extensive data base credentials. I explained that we might find it was not any use at all but that the investigation would not be complete without it. I could see him thinking about that as he leaned back in his swivel chair inside the small office. It was impossible not to allow my eyes to wander down to his crotch and see the bulge that meant he had either stuffed a large sock inside his jockey shorts or his business at rest was bigger than most guys when they were fully extended. If it wasn't for the fact that Detective Murphy was attending to all my wants and needs with the utmost attention, I might have been tempted to offer a quick below the belt massage to take off the edge of eight hours of hard work in the office. Fortunately, I was feeling well sated that morning and I managed to keep my erotic thoughts unspoken and all I did was brush up against his shoulder with my backside letting him know all I was wearing underneath was a pair of flimsy thongs. I knew he was interested because I could see his trousers start to tent out in a familiar pattern that guys get when they got close to a pretty female's backside.
I managed to scoot out of the office without getting into serious trouble with my boss at a time when everyone knew I was still on probation and not yet approved to stay with the squad on a permanent basis. The fact that Lt. Buzz was happily married to an attractive mature woman with four young children should have been enough to deter my erotic impulses but his smile drove me to distraction and I had this irresistible urge to check out his technique. You can imagine my surprise that Sergeant Brenda told me the next day in the file room that Buzz had been "doing her" for years and was unlikely to stop because of his growing family. She informed me that he was an uncontrollable sex-machine whenever his wife was pregnant because she was sort of woman that considered the "with child" period a time-out for any sexual contact at all. If I had that sort of intelligence before leaving his office, Buzz would be probably be bragging how he had nailed the new girl before the first month was finished.
The standard background checks didn't come up with any dirt on Nurse Marla but when I ran the separate State by State checks, her name popped up in both Utah and Washington. The Utah stuff was nothing unusual. She had a couple of bum checks, a DUI and accident involving a Sheriff's car but hadn't been in jail and copped to all charges for probation. Her time in Washington only showed she was picked up one time in Portland for soliciting an undercover police officer while she was working a second job in a gentleman's club with a bad reputation for vice offenses. She wore a wire for a couple of months helping the prosecutor gather evidence against the establishment and was allowed to leave the State without going to trial. The prosecutor had an internal note that alerted the law enforcement section that she was a probably drug procurer mostly of the pill variety for pain relief but no solid evidence that was admissible in a court of law. They let the drug angle slide to gain her cooperation in the vice operation. Apparently, most of the bad guys involved in the club operation were still safely incarcerated so it was unlikely this was a directed hit on her to punish her for opening her mouth against her boss.
I did discover that one of the jailed "All Nude Girls" club traffickers in female flesh was originally from Henderson, Nevada and that he still had family living there. I looked up the sheets on Douglas and Dwight Marchese and saw that they both had long rap sheets but no recent arrests. They jointly owned one of the "off the strip" casinos that catered to the geriatric crowd. Since they were both in their forties, I figured they were old school hustlers and not part of the new swinging scene that pushed the whores on the high rollers like they were candy being handed out to open up and taste if they looked nice enough. It was hard to prosecute the exchange for many reasons, the least of which was the fact no money changed hands.
Their run down casino that had seen better days was generally crowded because the slots were notorious for generous pay-outs and that always drew the native population. I had even played the slots there and sampled the buffet because the quality of the food and the excellent preparations by the staff in the kitchen made me a frequent visitor just to eat and lose a few bucks on the one-armed bandits.
Murphy and I went to the main dining room and watched the two brothers eat their Sunday night special with a table filled with blatant bimbos and a little band of thugs surrounding them with muscle for hire. It just didn't seem right to me that these guys would be involved in something as dark and deep as a hit on a mark from another State just to please a cousin doing time in a Washington State prison.
When I saw Douglas get up from his booth to get a second helping of the lobster that was worth more than the total cost of the meal, I hitched up my "big girl" panties and headed to the buffet bar to rub elbows. I situated my backside right up close and personal to the younger brother and acted surprised when he turned and slammed into my soft and sensuous ass with his bulky build.
"Sorry, Miss, I didn't see you there. Hope I didn't break anything?"
The guy was typical Las Vegas hustler with his open collar and his expensive patent leather shoes that reflected the light from the hanging chandeliers. I patted my ass cheek and looked back at him over my shoulder like I was seeing him for the first time.
"I would have to say that it seems like it's still all there, Mister. I don't blame you for getting that lobster before it all disappeared."
The mobster patted my skirt right where my curves started to turn in and I could feel his greedy paws cupping my cheeks like he was checking my weight with his fingertips. I can't say that I blamed him because I was almost dishing it out to him like the ice cream on the next table.
"Let me know if I can get some re-fills of the lobster for you. I got an in with the cooks and I'll send one over to your booth."
I pointed out the booth with the glowering Murphy sitting there looking forlorn like a deserted spouse on New Year's Eve. The brother with the broken nose and the big shoulders looked at Murphy and recognized him immediately as a cop.
"Is that your husband over there?"
I laughed like it was a big joke. But it certainly wasn't funny if Murphy's big mug would put the kibosh on the attempt to get some information from one of the brothers using a woman's wiles and trickery.
"You must be kidding. That guy told me he was going to show me a good time and so far all I got was this buffet and I think he had a coupon for a free meal for a guest so he is one cheap prick."
The burly man chuckled at my frankness and I could tell he liked my choice of words.
"Don't you worry, kid, I will be sure to send a lobster over to you with some nice wine to wash it down compliments of the house."
He was good to his word and Murphy just glared at me eating the delicious lobster and sucking down the glass of wine that must have come from their high-priced cellars and not the paper boxes dispensed to the unwashed masses.
One of the goons shielding the brothers from unwanted conversation came over to our table and made a point of giving me a business card with a special cell phone number written on the back and the words,
"Call Me!!!" in big block letters.
I did exactly that sitting in the unmarked car with Murphy less than half an hour after we left the casino and he heard every word of my setting up a date for Douglas to show me his collection of baseball memorabilia guaranteed to give me a thrill. I tried to act as innocent and naïve as possible but it was hard to keep a straight face with Murphy sitting right next to me listening to every word and getting madder by the minute.
The office was decorated in a rustic style that reminded me of the old west before the city of Las Vegas was even there. The sight of the paintings of Conestoga Wagons and mule trains and all the forgotten tribes of warriors that were no match for the U.S. Cavalry except possibly at the Little Big Horn put me in a historical mood and I wondered what it was like to be walking around everywhere with all those petticoats underneath their dresses. I had heard somewhere on some reality show or on the history channel that most of the females out west in the nineteenth century were likely to wear no undies because the petticoats were so heavy they needed some air on their pussies just to keep from wilting in the mid-day sun. It seemed like an interesting line of discussion but I was unsure on how to broach the subject of females without underwear in a meeting with a man that had no scruples.
In all honesty, I was startled that Douglas did have an extensive collection of baseball artifacts and I felt certain it must have been valued highly because that sort of thing had a habit of gaining value faster than most other investments. The only exceptions might be either gold or diamonds which were like a liquid form of asset that never seemed to decline.
I steered the conversation to the Marla Prentiss case which did not seem untoward because it was still a hot topic of conversation in most social circles that made Sin City their special home. He was real informative on a lot of aspects about the case but I made the deduction that he had no inside knowledge of the case and that his "cousin" was not connected to the case at all. That meant that the Washington connection was a dead end and we would have wasted valuable time investigating with no payback at the end of the effort.
Since Douglas was being a gentleman, I rewarded him with granting him free movement of his happy hands over my goodies and even gave him a nice "on my knees" performance with a juicy ending that would keep him on my "friend" list and not a dissatisfied member of my threat list. I promised to meet him for a longer date later that week but I had no intent of keeping my word and would find some excuse to make my exit gracefully and without any hard feelings on his part.
CRIMES OF PASSION
THE CASE OF MARLA PRENTISS
After sorting through mobsters, gamblers and a whole gaggle of disgruntled lovers, we had come to the conclusion that it was a random crime done by a skilled serial killer with no love for Nurses or any other woman in uniform. Since the four victims were a National Guard Sergeant, a parking meter maid, a dental hygienist and a Nurse, it was a safe bet on the uniform angle and the mutilation patterns indicated the killer was well beyond the boundaries of possessing sanity.
It turned out that the elements found in the dirt under Marla's fingernails gave us the clues we needed to narrow down the suspect pool to just one man.
His name was Igor Homulsky and he had only been living in the Las Vegas area for the last ten months right about the time that the killings had begun. It turned out that Igor was in the country on a forged passport and that the Polish authorities in the San Francisco Consulate were looking for him because it was one of a batch of stolen passports that had been taken from a diplomatic pouch in the Zagreb airport. It was suspected that a gang of former Serbian nationalists had "liberated" the passports for re-sale in the Eastern Bloc countries.
Whoever Igor was originally we might never know, but the real Igor Homulsky had died years ago in an industrial accident in a shipbuilding plant in Poland. This edition of Igor worked the boats in the Lakes region and he did odd jobs at the marina to earn extra money. It turned out that all of the victims had at one time or another been guests on one of the boats in the marina or on the Lake and Igor must have processed their credit card or checked their driving license to pay for something or be served drinks at the bar or purchase beer for a party onboard one of the boats. It was the sort of connection that we might never have suspected if it wasn't for the silt from the boating basin. One of the things that confirmed our deduction was the large carton of yellow plastic box cutters just sitting out in the open in the maintenance shack which was usually unlocked and accessible to anyone that worked there or with business in the shack related to one of the boats.
Igor, of course, was not at work and was not to be found anywhere.
When we heard the phone ringing on the desk of Lt. Buzz, we all kind of looked at each other waiting for the words we knew were coming like a high speed train right at us and no way to stop it without causing an accident.
"All right, team, grab your gear. We have us a situation in the airport long-term parking lot. Sergeant Brenda, be sure to bring the camera and plenty of spare batteries. The crime scene is pretty large from what I understand because our boy is now cutting off pieces and spreading them around just to make things more difficult for us."
On the way to the airport, Murphy and I found out that the victim was an airline stewardess who had taken one of those prearranged auto deals that sent a driver and car to your location and billed your company for the travel. It sounded like a real good deal because it was a lot cheaper and easier to arrange than a regular taxi but it was beginning to look like they did not vet the drivers very well because there were several incidents lately of passengers becoming victims of their own drivers.
The area set aside for the long-term parking was much larger than most airports because of the flow of tourists coming in and out of Las Vegas on a daily basis but staying usually a week or making side-trips of a few days to the Grand Canyon or down to the Mexican border. It was only about half-filled and the general procedure was that you paid when you left and you could park anywhere you wanted. Human nature being what it was, the crush of cars was closest to the terminal to cut down of the hated walking with suitcases. Some of the outliers were scattered here and there like abandoned cars steaming in the cruel mid-day sun. The entire Las Vegas area was a vast basin of cement and steel and glass that reflected the hot rays of the sun into your eyes and assaulted your skin with the little gremlins that eventually did serious damage to the integrity of your life cells. Of course, not too many of the human-kind were pedestrian-minded unless they were walking from one casino to another or if they were on the street for a different reason. Those reasons were often of the illegal nature and that was why the house made their casinos and hotels into little fortresses of security and careful watching for scam artists and hustlers.
There was no way that the supposed crime scene could be missed.
Uniformed cops and forensic people were like a chain of ants making their way from the entrance to the yellow-taped circle surrounding what looked to be a Lincoln Town-car with windows so black and opaque that the interior was a complete mystery from a distance. All we needed was the bomb squad to make it a three ring circus of police enforcement overkill.
I saw the gaggle of media people outside the gate.
I recognized several of them and they looked at me enviously annoyed that I was the one on the inside getting all the scoop of these newsworthy events. I wanted to shout out that it wasn't as glorified as they were thinking because I was starting to get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had this premonition that this was victim number five and I had seen it all before and this was a delayed tape replay with the gruesome parts still to come.
She must have been in the car for a day or two at least because the stench of dead was discernable long before we got close to the car. I quickly put the peppermint mixture into my nostrils to make working close to the violence bearable and keep me from up-chucking the sausage biscuit that I had wolfed down on the way to work less than an hour ago.
The paperwork in the glove compartment indicated the car belonged to a rental company located right on the strip and that it was last year's model with all the bells and whistles. Well, now it came equipped with a nasty puddle of human remains destroyed by the "box cutter" serial killer and it was unlikely they would ever be able to get the smell of death from the interior. I was of the opinion this car was a total loss but the assholes in the insurance business would just say,
"Wash it up and it will be as good as new!"
The forensic guys were given the go-ahead to scrape the remains of the airline stewardess from the black leather upholstery and we all saw the tell-tale marks of mutilation that were all so familiar to us now. It was either the "box cutter" murderer in person or a very good "copycat" killer with a penchant for imitation.
The Lincoln was driven into the facility at exactly 10:30 PM the evening before according to the ticket on the visor. It was so kind of the killer to leave that for us because it helped firm up the tine line of the murder. As soon as the coroner gave us the time of death or at least the window of the time of death, we could backtrack from the front gate to the actual crime scene to determine our maximum area of operation. I couldn't help but notice all five dumping sites were within a fairly tight circle that centered right on the strip itself.
It was easy to see looking at the map that this site near the airport was the furthest one related to the "box cutter" serial killer's activities and it confirmed that our prime suspect Igor was right in the middle of the area of the serial killer's dumping sites for his victims.
I had reviewed the medical doctor's pathology report and she had confirmed that in at least two of the murders, the killer had carnal relations with the victim after her demise. I could only come to the conclusion that type of behavior indicated to me that this murderer was one who had no connection to other human beings other than as treats to be served up to him to satisfy his lust. I hoped most of the victims had died quicker than the evidence seemed to indicate but that was no solace in the face of absolute evil incarnate.
There was a sighting of our prime suspect Igor not far from the outskirts of Boulder City on the Nevada side of the dam that provided most if not all of the power for Sin City and a lot of other places as well.
Lt. Buzz decided that Aldo and Brenda would stay at the airport and continue to process the evidence from the latest victim of the "box cutter" serial murder and that he would take Murphy and me to the scene of the sighting of our suspect. I was completely onboard with that because the stench of the dump site was wearing me down and depressing the hell out of me.
We all piled into the black Escalade and turned on the blinking lights to make time heading over to Boulder City. Strangely, we had to head in the other direction to get on the main road to the dam because the side roads didn't connect to our destination. That seemed to annoy Murphy no end because he was the sort of guy that always went the shortest distance between two points. He was even like that in bed but in all honesty, I have to say I kind of liked that about him.
About a mile from the GPS destination, we turned off the lights and did our best to blend in with the other traffic. I suspected we probably stuck out like a sore thumb because mostly law enforcement and the drug dealers favored the Escalades for everyday use. When we turned down the gravel and dirt side road to the address furnished, we saw a pair of unmarked highway patrol cars watching a line of mobile homes with binoculars like they were spies working for the CIA.
Of course, Murphy knew both of them and he greeted them the Murphy way by almost breaking their wrists with his heavy hands.
The younger patrolman told us,
"Dempsey and I have been keeping an eye on the place since we got the report up at the dam. This guy has got some rap sheet back in the old country if it is really him. We heard his papers might not be as accurate as expected. The next door neighbor is in my car over there and she doesn't want to go back to her unit until we get him out of there. Apparently, this guy has been making goo-goo eyes at her teenaged daughter who is also in the squad car. They recognized him from the photo we got circulating on the public channel every fifteen minutes. They know him as Ted and not Igor like on his alleged passport."
I looked through the binoculars at the mobile home and thought I saw a shadow inside the window peering out but I couldn't be really certain. There was a battered old Dodge Dart in the driveway that looked like it was in running order but not the kind of car for a lengthy car-chase.
Lt. Buzz was undecided if we should just go down and arrest the prick and start grilling him on the murders or if we should back off and see if he made a mistake and incriminated himself by going to one of the sites or even looked for another victim to slake his thirst for female blood.
His mind was made up for him by the sight of Igor running down to the shitty-looking Dodge Dart and peeling rubber back up the gravel trail to the main entrance heading back toward the direction of Las Vegas and the far-away lights of the strip.
CRIMES OF PASSION
THE CASE OF MARLA PRENTISS
We radioed ahead for some of the local law enforcement to keep tabs on the silly Dart with the crappy paint job. It was such an odd car that it was easy to pick it out from the other cars on the road. It looked like the Serbian fugitive was either heading to a pre-planned killing party or he had some other nasty business on his agenda the required his immediate action.
I was glad that Lt. Buzz was driving because he was the most cautious driver in the squad. The last thing I wanted was Murphy behind the wheel because he took any other aggressive action by another driver as a direct insult to his manhood. God forbid it was a female driver in the other car because he would wax flowery about the shortcomings of women drivers and how none of them should have a driver's license unless they were tested at least once each quarter just to make certain they hadn't reverted to their female bad driving habits as one could always expect. He never let me drive the squad car when we were out on the road and I had given up begging like a teenager for the keys.
Then the Lt. got a call on his cell phone about some new witness for the last kill and he got out of the Escalade telling us to follow Igor but not to apprehend him unless he did something incriminating right in front of us. He was to wait for a squad car from local law enforcement to pick him up and deliver him right to the interrogation room to check out the new witness. That meant I was at the mercy of Murphy's driving for the remainder of the pursuit. I tightened up my seatbelt and said a silent prayer praying for his good judgement on the sharp curves.
Despite Detective Murphy's vocal dissatisfaction with the female gender, he never hesitated to bury the salami when push came to shove. That was his most redeeming quality and as far as I was concerned, it was enough for me. In the long run, I was more than willing to put up with his ranting tirades in front of others in exchange for his devoted attention when the bedroom door was closed. I suspected that more than one close female partner had split with him in a way that turned him sour on the entire gender.
That little shitty Dodge Dart was making the big SUVs look like assholes on the four lane highway into the downtown area. We circled the city and swooped off on a seldom used exit that also ran up to the Air Force Base and some unsavory neighborhoods crammed with bikers and the usual trash you find around a city filled with crooks and illegal activities.
Fortunately for our purpose of staying out of Igor's notice, the traffic was fairly dense with lots of trucks heading north to make their way into California via the mountain route hoping that the weather would hold for the next week or thereabouts. We saw the old car made a turn into a small strip mall with a dirty trash-laden parking lot sporting a fair share of pot-holes. Murphy eased over to the curb across the street and left the motor running as we watched our subject remove a large suitcase from the trunk of the small car. It was obviously heavy and he used both hands to swing it up into a Dempsey Dumpster on the side of the graffiti decorated painted cement block wall on the side of a small retail store with iron bars on the windows and in front of the entrance. The area was known for having periodic gang wars and biker confrontations from time to time and the owner was trying to protect his inventory when passions were running high.
There was a big sign on the wall that stated,
"Dumpster is for use of customers only!"
Igor was either randomly selecting this drop off site or he had used it before to get rid of things he didn't want nearby in case he was ever picked up for illegal activities.
Murphy was determined that we immediately rush over and retrieve the suitcase and put the cuffs on our suspect without delay. I almost had to twist his wrist to keep him in his seat until we saw Igor go into the massage parlor that advertised,
"All Oriental Staff" in the window.
I was certain he would be in there at least one hour getting the kinks out of his neck or getting kinky with the masseuse providing she was the submissive type.
"Cool it, partner, let's just grab the suitcase and keep an eye on him to see where he is headed."
Murphy walked over nonchalantly to the dumpster and snatched the suitcase out and shoved it in the back end of the Escalade like it was filled with feathers. I saw it was locked and there was not time to fool around with it. It was extremely unlikely to have an explosive device but I didn't want to be standing next to it when we tried to open the locks. I had my own thoughts about what was in it but I was certain it had some value as evidence just from the way that our boy Igor had tried to dispose of it.
We watched the subject leave the massage parlor and drive slowly now back the other way into the Las Vegas downtown area and the direction of the famous "Strip" of casinos that promised you everything but gave you an empty wallet.
He passed a lot of lonely females looking for quick trick companions on the gritty streets but most of them were "low-end" pussy rejects probably with a desperate pimp and a drug habit that needed lots of tending both day and night. It was sort of amazing how many there were because this was supposed to be a prostitution-free county even though most of the rest of the State saw it as a legal activity. It was the sort of contradiction in morality that confused most outsiders but made a lot of sense to the locals.
Igor was obviously heading to his job as a dishwasher at the Luxor right off the strip and we watched him adjust his hair-net in the parking garage and head for the employee backdoor under the watchful eye of the security guards that were all business and no smiles. It looked like he would be gainfully employed for the next eight hours allowing us to re-group and check out what his moments meant.
We made a record time run over to the forensics lab and dropped off the suitcase to a very unhappy clerk who logged it in and immediately took it out to the quarantine enclosure to begin the investigation process. I was certain they would be cautious because you never knew what you were dealing with until you exhausted the safe ways to determine it was not a danger to the investigator. I had no problem with that but poor Murphy was fit to be tied because all he wanted to do was to rip open the thing and see what was inside. He might have been perfectly right but this was not the time to be taking risks like that.
It was beginning to look like things were coming together and we started putting together all the incriminating facts and pieces of evidence to put the bars around Igor once and for all. I was anxious to get things on the road because I felt certain as soon as we had him behind bars the killings would stop and we would have reason to be further convinced of his guilt. Of course, it was all up to a prosecutor and some hard work by the district attorney investigators to make a conviction more likely.
Murphy had to go up to Reno in order to give testimony on a case they had closed the year before and it was just getting to trial up in Reno. I had no idea why it took so long except for the fact that the prosecutor had been defeated in the last election and the new younger female attorney was extremely cautious about presenting any case unless it had a high probability of success. The last thing the sweet young thing wanted was to lose a couple of high-profile cases because the media was nice until you screwed up in public. That was the kiss of death as far as the media was concerned and I knew she had plenty of reason to be careful because the Reno papers were a bunch of vultures just circling looking for dead or weakened public figures to prey on with great delight.
He gave me a "goodbye" hump on a bright and shining Sunday morning and I was exhausted well before heading out to the pancake house to get my big weekend meal that I had gotten into the habit of consuming only once a week. The other six mornings it was just coffee with no cream and no sugar for me because I wanted to keep my weight down to keep up with the demanding Murphy when he got in the mood.
When I got into my favorite spot up on Flamingo, I saw Aldo sitting all by his lonesome and he really looked like shit. I figured it would look like I was being snobbish if I didn't sit with him and I slid into the booth hoping my skirt didn't show too much. The last thing I wanted was for the sullen Detective Aldo to think I was offering pussy or anything like that because I didn't have any kind of read on the guy at all other than his constant sarcasm and negative attitude that turned off everyone on the squad. I had been careful to follow Sergeant Brenda's advice and kept my distance from him. I think in the back of my mind, my experiences with being raped and sodomized by a pair of college jerks made me doubly cautious about "bad boys" with a thing about women that made them ticking time bombs.
In retrospect, I had to admit that Aldo had always been a perfect gentleman on the job and he seemed happy to keep his private life just that. This was actually the first time I had bumped into him outside of work and it was entirely accidental and unexpected.
"Sunday pancakes, Miss Johnson, I guess everyone has hidden secrets?"
I had to smile because for once, Detective Aldo's remark was not as sarcastic as usual and he was showing a sense of humor that lightened his dark side. Murphy had told me that his partner was shot and killed and that he was wounded in two places by a crazed gunman wearing a pair of six shooters and a cowboy hat right on the strip on a rowdy New Year's Eve Night that was more violent than usual. He had put a slug between the insane man's eyes whilst he was shouting out,
"I'm the fastest gun in the west!"
After that he didn't take any partner by choice and became a sort of loner that got results.
Sergeant Brenda's description of his penchant for spanking his bed partners was truly a turn-off for me but on the other hand I had gotten to Murphy giving it to me good every now and then because it tended to stoke that flame burning deep inside that just needed to get out of control every now and then.
"How is your evidence research going on the "box cutter" killer?"
Aldo looked a little surprised that I had the case uppermost on my mind even on a free Sunday morning because that was something that he did himself although he didn't like to admit it.
"Well, we have almost six boxes of statements; forensics and background information that will help the prosecution put the killer away for a long time. The only thing we are missing is credible DNA evidence and an eye witness to make the case air tight. Of course, a confession would help a lot."
Aldo laughed at his own joke and I was forced to smile because I had the same thought on my mind.
We ate two full stacks of pancakes and lots of bacon and I didn't feel the least bit guilty because I only did it once a week.
When we walked out into the grinding sunshine, I turned to Detective Aldo and asked,
"Do you want to come up to my apartment and see some of the new stuff I discovered?"
In answer, he just smiled and wrapped his arm in mine and I knew I was probably heading to a heavy duty spanking and that in all honesty I probably deserved it for my sinful thoughts.