Chapter 21

The weary looking Chief Inspector lolled back in his chair, removed his glasses and gently rubbed the now exposed pinch points on the bridge of his nose. "Oh, Ian," he sighed at the man who stood stiffly to attention before him. "How could you be so naive?"

"But I didn't rape her, sir!" Inspector Ian Smythe instinctually responded.

"Of course you didn't, I know you better than that. But you did have sex with her, you can't deny that. That, coupled with your record with Sergeant Adoga, Constable Jones' allegations and her evidence..."

"But those letters weren't written to her!" broke in Ian in desperation. "They were meant for Fiona... er... Sergeant Adoga!"

"That may as be... but Constable Jones has them now and she insists that you sent them to her. According to her, you've been pestering her with letters and verbal insinuations for weeks. Then, just the other day, you started to touch her in a most inappropriate manner."

"That's not true either!"

"There's talk around the station, Ian..."

"Talk? What kind of evidence is that?"

The Chief put his glasses back on. "None at all, and we both know it. On the other hand, she continues to claim that you raped her and you've no evidence to the contrary. As it stands, I doubt if you'd be convicted in a Court... but a disciplinary hearing is another matter..."

"Oh..."

"Quite. 'Oh', indeed. And were you to lose..."

"Dismissal, disgrace, loss of pension rights..."

"Exactly. But I've been talking to Constable Jones and... well, she's willing to drop all charges if..."

"If what?"

"If you resign."

"What!?!" exploded Ian. "Resign?!?"

"Think about it, Ian. No blemish on your record... you keep all your benefits... and, with your 'good' record, finding a job in the security field wouldn't be a problem."

"But I didn't do anything! It's all a tissue of lies! Don't tell me she gets away with it?"

"Of course she doesn't 'get away with it', Ian. I know you didn't rape her and I know she's lying. I'll be keeping an eye on her... I don't know why she wants you out of the force but there must be some reason. And, whatever it is, it won't be the end of the matter, mark my words. There's more to this than meets the eye; and whatever it is, she'll trip up over something or other at some point, never you fear... and then I'll have her!"

"So... you believe that I have no choice?"

"No, I'm afraid you don't. I'll be expecting your letter of resignation before the shift ends..."

Ian stood before his front door much later that same evening, one eye closed as he used the other to aim the Yale key he clutched tightly in his hand at the lock which, for some odd reason, never seemed to stay as still as it normally did. "God fucking damn it all to fucking hell!" he yelled to the street in general as he missed for the fifteenth time, resting his weight against the wood with his left hand. Suddenly the door moved, opened from the inside by his wife and Ian fell forwards, saving himself from hitting the floor by the simply expedient of grabbing hold of the woman's shoulders. Disgusted and embarrassed that the neighbours might see this debacle, his wife gathered up her strength and dragged her obviously drunk husband into the house. She then started to ease him down the corridor towards the living room.

"What do you call a Serbian prostitute?" he suddenly slurred at her. "Sloberdown Mycockyoubitch!" Ian laughed at his own joke before going on to ask, "What's the difference between a drug dealer and a hooker? A hooker can wash her crack and sell it again!"

"You're drunk," she accused him, dropping him unceremoniously onto the sofa.

"Clearly so..." he replied.

"Why? And where's your uniform?"

"Don't have one no more!"

"What do you mean, you don't have one anymore?"

"Not a copper no longer - resigned... forced to."

"You've been forced to resign?" she asked incredulously.

"You deaf woman?"

"I thought your... affair with that black cow had been sorted out?"

"It has... this was someone... something else."

"What are you blabbering about?" his wife asked him and, caught in a moment of self-righteous indignation, he told her. Which was a mistake that Ian wouldn't have made if he had been sober. "You raped a constable?" she challenged in horror.

"No... no, listen. She seduced me and then called it rape for some reason..."

"Oh, I see... this woman just sort of took a fancy to you? Now why don't I believe that? I have enough trouble believing that one woman, other than my own foolish self some years back in my youthful stupidity, could actually fancy you, let alone two!"

Getting angry at this slur on his character, Ian tried to stand... and promptly pitched forward to spread his length on the floor. And once down, he didn't move again as, moments afterwards, a sonorous snoring began to fill the room.

"Typical!" his wife chided, shaking her head. "I'll just have to take matters into my own hands and stop this indiscriminate rutting of yours." And, so saying, she squatted down beside her husband and, with obvious outward signs of distaste, she began to pull his trousers down...

The next morning Ian Smythe woke up to find himself laying on the floor of his lounge suffering from a horrendous headache and a mouth that seemed to be filled with cotton wool. Groaning slightly, he held his head in his hands while he struggled to clear his mind. Briefly he wondered why his legs were so cold but, since that seemed to be the least of his problems, he put that thought to one side while he scratched his balls. Reaching down with his right hand, he was shocked to encounter, not his own testicles, but a cold lump of metal. Rolling onto his back, Ian struggled to focus his eyes and eventually managed to make out the reason why he couldn't scratch himself - his balls and cock were encased in what could best be described as a metal codpiece that was held in place by some thin, but strong, metal chains and a padlock. "Lydia!" he yelled, trying to summon his wife whom he instinctively knew must be responsible for this outrage. "Lydia!" he called even louder before immediately regretting his rashness as his headache redouble in intensity. "Oh, god," Ian muttered as he slowly hauled himself to his feet... and promptly keeled over again, tripped up by his own trousers and underpants which were rumpled up round his ankles!

"Oh, so you're awake then?" his wife's sarcastic tones cut into his brain from her place by the door to the room.

"Lydia... what's this?" Ian asked, pointing to the codpiece.

"It's a chastity belt, what does it look like? I knew that I'd never be able to trust you following that letter I got about you, so I had it made up ready. And now that I've heard about this second woman, I've gone ahead and used it. Oddly, it suits you, it really does."

"God damn it all woman! You can't do this to me! Unlock this thing this instant!"

"Not a chance... and don't even think about trying to cut your way out. I paid extra for really good quality metal... and if I ever find that you're not wearing it, I'll throw you out of the house, understand?" Ian understood for the house had already been Lydia's when they'd first met, she having been left it by her parents... and it was still in her name. "Oh, hell! I've got to go somewhere, then we can discuss this further..."

"There's nothing more to discuss. I've laid out my terms... all you have to do is to live with them. What more is there to talk about?"

"But Lydia..." Ian's voice took on a whining tone. "I need to go..."

"So who's stopping you?"

Ian looked at his wife and raised his arms away from his body in a gesture of helplessness. "You need to let me out so I can... you know... piss..."

His wife looked at him in disgust. "You know I don't like language like that used in the house. Besides, the belt won't stop you performing your natural bodily functions. It's rustproof and has holes drilled in it. You've just got to get used to sitting down when you want to go."