We were stopped between the ninth and tenth floors, looking into one another's eyes, anticipating what would happen next when a bell rang. Our eyes locked, smiling, when the bell rang again. Damn, this always happens, I thought as I reached for the phone.
"Captain? We've been infiltrated," the caller announced in my dream-drugged ear.
"Not again," I groaned, recognizing Carter's voice.
"It's the same M.O. as before."
I frowned, looked over to my nightstand, reached for a glass of water and took a sip. It was warm
"Do you mean it's the same size and shape as before?"
"It's approximately the same size and shape," Carter paused before adding, "Captain."
"That hardly qualifies as an M.O."
"The stains are about the same too."
"What time is it?"
"A few minutes past two. It was not there when I came on duty or when I made my rounds at one. I just found it before I called you."
"Don't touch anything. I'm on my way," I ordered before hanging up the phone. I got out of bed, stretched lazily and made my way to the window.
"Not on my watch," I mumbled under my breath as I opened the drapes and let the moonlight filter into the room.
A nude couple was cavorting in the pool. I watched them for a full minute. From my sixth floor apartment the water looked inviting and the couple totally consumed with one another. Ah, to have a normal nine-to- five job. Ah, to be able to take a dip in the pool at two in the morning, nude.
D. R. Case Inc. is my company's major account and I intended to keep it at all costs. I was hired, according the director of security, because of my reputation and because of the slogan on my letterhead, "Not on my Watch."
Jerry Saddler was impressed with my resume. In addition to my ten years of exemplary service on the city police force, youngest detective, most awards for heroic service and fastest advancement in department history, it gave an impressive summery of my vast experience.
"What made you give up such a promising career?"
This was the question I dreaded most. I gave him the standard answer. "I was drawn to the opportunities in the private sector and I wanted new challenges, a chance to prove my abilities." It was bullshit but he bought it.
As director of security for D R Case Inc., Jerry admitted that his primary objective was to protect the company's records and software from being hacked by competitors. He spoke of fire walls and computer security like they were his sacred sanctuary. He wanted to turn over building and employee security to my company.
Dressed in combat fatigues, I adjusted my holster and buckled the strap that held my sidearm snug against my right thigh; it made me feel safe and secure. On the ride downstairs the elevator made me remember my dream. When was the last time I slept long enough to finish it?
Jerry usually breezed right past the desk and the security log, anxious to get to his computer and his precious firewalls. But something told me the first two incidents had changed his routine. He would check the log this morning. I could expect a call at, say; 8:17 A.M.
Herman Carter is one of my best officers. I trained him. But working two jobs interferes with his sleep. I understand that. Working two shifts and being on call twenty-four hours per day interferes with mine too.
The boardroom is on the tenth floor, near executive row. I know it well. The large room is dominated by the marble-topped table in the center of the room. There are two doors at the rear of the room, one leading into a kitchenette and the other to a unisex bathroom. And there is a full compliment of audio/visual equipment assembled around the room; parts of the system hanging from the ceiling.
Sixteen plush chairs were pushed against the walls that early morning. This was the third time I had been invited to inspect the table by one of my officers and I recalled my previous visits to the room. On both occasions one of the chairs was half way between the table and the other chairs, carelessly left askew, probably by the cleaning crew, anxious to go to their next job. Otherwise the room looked the same.
I told Carter to get rid of the yellow tape across the entrance. "'Crime scene, ' is not the appropriate term. It doesn't apply to a couple having sex on the boardroom table," I explained to Herman.
Something looked amiss. This time the two goblets of fresh cum were nearer the edge of the table.
"It looks different. I wonder if it's the same couple this time," I speculated to Carter.
"You're right captain. I noticed that too."
Carter motioned for me to move to a squatting position. He pointed out where the back of the female's legs left sweaty imprints on the ebony marble surface.
"They're too close together," I said, recognizing the point he was making.
"How do you mean? There were no sweaty marks on the edge the other two times."
"How would you know? You weren't on duty either of those times?" I asked. Herman's comments were making me suspicious.
"I read the reports and saw the photographs. There was no mention of the legs coming down over the edge."
"You're right, there wasn't. Good work Carter," I congratulated my officer, feeling foolish for questioning how he knew what had been discovered by previous investigations.
"It's my job. Isn't that what you always say, captain?"
I was preoccupied with the table. Something did not seem right. We had to verify this was the same couple, committing serial sex acts on the boardroom table. Otherwise, we had to consider the possibility that there were imitators, duplicating what could become a trend.
"Let's examine what is the same as the other times and what is different," I said to Carter. As was my custom, training sessions were always the order of the day or the middle of the night as it were.
"They've always used the same side of the table and approximately the same spot," Carter ventured to say.
"Good, good, but what's different?"
"The place where cum was deposited and the sweaty places on the edge of the table," Carter was quick to say.
"Exactly," I encouraged him. "But there's something else."
"The placement of the legs, they're too close together," I said, sliding my ass onto the table to demonstrate. "See, the female would have her legs open like this. The sweaty imprint made by her ass should be farther back on the table and the male's palm imprints are missing completely."
"Unless," Carter began, coming over to me and pushing my legs up, "she had her heels dug in and his hands were on her knees."
He held my legs open at the knees while we contemplated his point.
"Ah," I said, "in that case there would be marks where the girl's shoes met the table. Even worse, there should be scratches on the marble surface."
"There aren't, I checked," Carter said, still holding my legs open at the knees.
"Let me up Herman. Let's check for scratches again."
"I'm telling you Captain, there are no scratches."
"Don't form an opinion so fast. Remember the class on observation? It's chapter six in your workbook. What if the female was barefooted?"
We checked the table again. He was correct. There were no scratches or marks where I predicted they should be.
I watched as Carter filled out the report, making sure he remembered to include each of the discoveries we had made. He took measurements while I photographed the scene, female's ass on top of table, female's leg placement at edge of table and where the male's cum had landed.
"That's it, this guy was tall," I exclaimed, startling Carter. Alertly, he studied the table and nodded his head. He saw my point.
"Step over here Herman," I said, sliding my ass back up on the table and letting my legs dangle over the side. "See, you're not tall enough to get your cock up to the girl's pussy if she's sitting back here."
I pushed him away and jumped to the floor. "The first two were shorter and both had to get up on the table. That's why the girl's ass was nearer the center of the table. It may have been the same couple because the positions were close and the places where the guy dumped his cum were almost identical. This latest incident must be another couple. The guy is tall and the girl has a smaller ass. Put that in your report," I instructed Carter.
We cleaned the table and I said goodnight, entrusting Carter to make the proper notations in the security log.
As I predicted, the call came at exactly 8:17. Jerry Saddler sounded insane. "Benjamin, get your ass over here," he shouted, making me knock the glass of warm water over on the nightstand.
I called the office to cancel my morning appointments and put on my dress blues, complete with captain's bars and police ribbons. It is my company. I can be any rank I choose to be. And because I run it like a police department, I chose to be the captain. The ribbons were earned for valor while I was a member of the force. Wearing them on a security guard's uniform violated department regulations. What would they do if they found out, fire me?
Jerry had calmed down when I arrived at his office. I used police vocabulary like 'perpetrators and surveillance.' I even mentioned 'modus operandi.' By the end of the meeting I agreed to spend more time around the company and take steps to find out who was fucking on the boardroom table.
My duties at the office would suffer but the D. R. Case Inc. account is important to me and my livelihood. I would make sacrifices.
.... There is more of this story ...