Caution: This Mystery Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, .
Desc: Mystery Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Lt. Brian Hobbs is trying to solve two seemingly unrelated crimes while dealing with trush issues in his marriage.
"Lieutenant, just got a call for a domestic. Guy is threatening to shoot his wife," my partner John Hastings said.
"Why they calling us?" I asked.
"It was a call for closest unit. We're only three blocks away," John said.
"Okay, let's roll," I said as I dropped my half eaten sandwich on the tray.
Two minutes later we pulled up in front of a duplex in Hudson Heights. As we arrived on the scene, we found a man holding a woman hostage in front of the house. He had his left arm around the woman's neck and he was holding a gun in his right hand, which was pointed at her head. As John and I stepped out of the car the man started yelling, "Stay away or I will shoot you too."
John started moving to the right while I moved to the left to make it harder for the man to watch both of us. I started talking to the man to draw his attention as John pulled his weapon and continued to slowly move to the right.
"Stop moving," the man shouted and pointed his gun at me as he turned his head to look at John. I stepped closer and started reaching for my weapon but before I could get it the man turned his attention back to me and started shooting. His first two shots hit me in the vest and knocked me back against the car. The third shot entered under my arm and exited my back. I heard two more shots as I fell to the ground. When I was able to look again, I saw the man lying on the ground and half of his head was gone. John had dropped him before he had a chance to fire a fourth shot at me.
The next few hours were a blur to me. It wasn't until seven o'clock that evening that I was awake enough to see that Carrie was sitting next to my bed holding my hand. Carrie, my wife of just four years, tried to be strong for me but I could tell how scared she was. My wound could easily have been fatal but I was lucky that the bullet hadn't hit any vital organs. I don't think that it had even really occurred to Carrie before that day that she could lose me and after that she lived in fear every time I went to work.
After a few months of her often breaking down and crying we had a long talk about my career and how it was affecting her. She told me that she knew I loved being a cop and she couldn't ask me to quit so we worked out a compromise. I agreed to take a job in a small town where the job would not be as dangerous."
I made a few calls and found an opening on my hometown police force. Carrie had grown up in Philadelphia and moved to Baltimore after college. Brodricksburg, Pennsylvania was much smaller than either of those cities and I wondered how Carrie would adapt to life in a small town.
Brodricksburg, Pennsylvania Thursday January 27, 2005 11:25 PM
"That's it, right there. Oh, that's good," I moaned. "Now just a little to the right. Push just a little harder."
"How's that?" Carrie asked.
"That's great, babe. Ah... That's it. That feels better now."
"Are you okay now?" Carrie asked.
"Yep. You've got the magic touch. My back feels a lot better now."
"Your back wouldn't hurt so much if you stopped playing basketball on Tuesday nights."
"You know I can't do that."
"Yeah, well, now that I fixed your back, how about you taking care of my needs?"
I rolled over and took Carrie in my arms and kissed her. "I'd be glad to take care of your needs, Mrs. Flintstone."
"Then get busy, Mr. Rubble."
As I kissed Carrie again I slipped my hand inside her nightgown and began to massage her right breast.
"How does this feel, Mrs. Flintstone?"
"That feels nice," Carrie answered, "but, since we are about to become very intimate, don't you think it would be more appropriate to call me Wilma?"
"Okay, Wilma it is and you can still call me Mr. Rubble."
"I don't think so."
"Okay, call me Barney."
The reference to Wilma Flintstone and Barney Rubble here comes from a long running joke between Carrie and me. Once, while watching 'The Flintstones' cartoon on television I told Carrie that I had heard a rumor that Barney Rubble was banging Wilma Flintstone behind Fred's back.
Not to be outdone, Carrie said, "Well, I heard that they have been having an affair for more than two years." Since then references to the Flintstone characters occasionally come up while we fooled around in bed.
When I moved my hand between Carrie's legs and pressed my finger against her damp slit, she moaned, "Oh, Barney."
I started laughing and before I could regain my composure the telephone rang.
Carrie rolled over and picked up the phone up from the bedside table. "Hello... Yes, he's here... It's for you," she said as she handed me the phone.
"This is Sergeant Giambo. We have a report of a shooting at 5219 River Road."
"No, sir. The call just came in."
"Call Sergeant Hanratty and tell him to pick me up ASAP."
I handed the phone back to Carrie so she could put it back on the table. "Sorry, Babe, there was a shooting on River Road and I have to go out there."
I could see the worry in Carrie's eyes. "This isn't Baltimore," I said.
"I know, but it is my right to worry, isn't it?"
"As long as you don't worry too much," I said. "This may very well turn out to be nothing so I might be back soon to finish what I started, Mrs. Flintstone."
That brought a small smile to Carrie's pretty face.
5219 River Road
Richard Hanratty arrived at my house fifteen minutes after I had told the dispatcher to call him. Richard Hanratty is a sergeant on the homicide squad and had been my partner for the last four and a half years. Hanratty, as I always referred to him, and I had grown up together and except for the eleven years I lived away from Brodricksburg, we had been close friends.
"What do you know about this?" Hanratty asked me.
"Nothing more than you," I said. "Just that there was a shooting out on River Road. The dispatcher said he didn't have any details."
"Fifty-two-nineteen is out near Grayson Road, isn't it?" Hanratty said as he stuck the red gumball light on the roof of our unmarked car.
"I believe so."
River Road is the portion of State Route 32 that passes through Brodricksburg, Pennsylvania running along the west side of the Delaware River, and 5219 River Road is on the extreme south side of Brodricksburg, an area that is more rural than urban. The homes in the area are all on the west side of the road, as there isn't room for houses between the road and the river bank on the east side of the road. The houses along this stretch of River Road are old and most of the properties had been farms at one time.
Hanratty had been correct. Number 5219 River Road was the address of the house on the corner where Grayson Road dead-ended at River Road. It was a large white two-story farmhouse that was built in the 1920s. The front porch went the whole width of the house and wrapped around both sides. Behind the house there was a large white horse barn and a four-car garage. There were already two black and whites and another unmarked car in the driveway when we arrived.
As we got out of the car, Hanratty said, "Remember that cabin we built out of railroad ties when we were kids?"
"Yeah, I remember that."
"Didn't we build it out in the woods behind this property. I remember that it wasn't into the woods that far from Grayson Road and I remember seeing the back of that barn when we walked down the old J&J rail bed."
"I think you're right. The cabin was probably a few hundred yards behind the barn. Luckily they couldn't see the cabin from up here."
When Hanratty and I walked up onto the porch the officer at the door nodded his head. "Lieutenant," he said as a way of greeting me. "Captain Ross is already inside. He asked me to send you in as soon as you got here. You'll find him in the study off to your right."
I said, "Thanks Henry," and then headed inside. I looked at Hanratty and said, "What the hell is Captain Ross doing here?" He wouldn't be the first call out for a shooting; I would.
Hanratty shook his head. "Beats me."
As we stepped into the study I saw the body on the floor. It was a man, mid-sixties, dressed in riding pants and a down vest over a fleece shirt. From the doorway I could see what looked like a single gun shot wound in the side of the man's head. In spit of the blood on his face, I was able to recognize him. It was Donald Boland, the owner of the house.
Before I could get close to the body, Captain Ross stepped in front of me.
"Well, the bookends have finally arrived," Ross said.
"We came as soon as we got the call," I said. "What are you doing here?"
"When one of Brodricksburg's leading citizens commits suicide someone from the BPD should respond, don't you think?" Ross said.
Other than the Chief of Police, Captain Ross is the highest-ranking officer in the Brodricksburg Police Department and normally would be considered the most likely successor to the Chief. The problem is that I hold the highest scores on the tests used by the department to determine who gets promoted and that includes the test for Chief of Police. That might explain why Captain Ross doesn't seem to like me very much.
"I am the head of the homicide squad and suicide or homicide, I am supposed to be the first one called," I said, "so why were you called before me?"
"I guess someone felt that Mr. Boland deserved a quick response."
I knew that Ross was just trying to piss me off so I let it go. "Well, let's see what we've got here," I said.
"I already told you what we have. It's a suicide," Ross said.
"Was there a note?" I asked.
"Then what makes you think it was a suicide?"
"Single gunshot to the head at close range. The gun is in his hand and there is no sign that anyone else has been in the room."
"Somebody was in the room," I said.
"What? Who? What makes you think someone else was in the room?" Ross asked, looking a little flustered.
"Who found the body?" I asked.
"Did she come into the room? I mean did she check to see if he was alive before she called 911?" I asked.
"I don't know. I guess she did."
"Then we know that at least one person came into the room."
Ross was getting red faced but he didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. Then finally he said, "Well, take a look for yourself. I am sure you will end up agreeing that it was suicide."
I looked the scene over carefully but could find nothing that would conclusively rule out suicide although I just had a feeling that something was wrong. The way he was dressed bothered me. He looked like he either just came back from riding his horse or was just getting ready to go for a ride. I considered the possibility that he could have gone for a last ride before ending his life. That would still fit the suicide theory, but what if he had hadn't gone for a ride. Would a man dress like he was going riding and then shoot himself? This just didn't fit for me.
The coroner came and fixed the time of death at approximately twelve hours earlier. That put it between 11:00 AM and noon.
I noticed that Ross stayed in the background while I worked but he never took his eyes off me. I had sent Hanratty to interview Mrs. Boland while I looked for whatever physical evidence I could find.
One thing that really bothered me was the apparent lack of any physical evidence. It almost looked as though the room had been cleaned after Mr. Boland was shot.
When I saw Hanratty come back into the study, I moved to his side and asked him what he had learned from Mrs. Boland.
"Didn't get much," he said. "She took the train into Philadelphia this morning and spent the day shopping with her daughter. She arrived back in Brodricksburg a little after ten o'clock this evening." Hanratty looked at his watch and said, "Well, actually last evening. She said that she arrived here, at the house, just before eleven o'clock. She said that there were no lights on in the house so she thought that Mr. Boland had gone to bed. When she didn't find him in the bedroom she went looking for him and finally found him in the study. When she went to check to see if he was alive she saw the gun in his hand. Then she called 911. I checked and the 911 call came in at 11:11 PM."
"I asked her if Mr. Boland had been depressed lately and she said that she didn't think so. That was about all I could get out of her. Her doctor is with her now. He wants to give her a sedative but she doesn't want one."
I went over to Captain Ross and told him I wanted to call the state police and ask them to send over their crime scene guys.
"Why waste their time?" he said. "This is obviously a suicide."
"Just the same, I'd like them to take a look," I said.
I went out on the porch to make the call. I talked to the Captain in charge at the state crime lab located in Bucks County and was told they would have a team meet me at the house within the hour. When I went back into the study I found that the coroner had already zipped Mr. Boland's body into a body bag and four officers were lifting the bag onto a gurney. Two of those officers were standing in the blood pool on the floor.
"What the hell's going on?" I asked.
"Captain Ross gave me the okay to remove the body," the coroner said.
I looked at Ross and said, "The crime scene guys are on the way and you just compromised the crime scene. The body should have stayed where it was until they got here."
"Look, I am the ranking officer here and I made the call. This was a suicide so there is no sense wasting anyone else's time on this," Ross said and then walked away from me.
Hanratty, who was back by my side by then, said "What a fucking asshole."
"Incompetent fucking asshole is more accurate, ' I replied. "Now we may never know what really happened here."
The coroner left with the body and the Captain left five minutes later, leaving Hanratty and me to wait for the guys from the crime lab.
While we waited we went into the kitchen to talk to Mrs. Boland.
"Detective Hobbs, my husband did not kill himself. He would not have done that," Mrs. Boland said in an almost pleading voice.
I wasn't ready to tell her that I agreed with her just yet.
"Your husband was dressed in his riding clothes. Would that be normal attire for him to wear around the house?" I asked.
"No... I mean, yes. He doesn't dress that way to hang around the house but he does go riding almost every day. He normally takes his ride around 11:00 AM. After his ride he comes up to the house for lunch."
"When you came into the kitchen tonight, did you see any sign that your husband had eaten lunch?"
"No. When he is home by himself he usually just makes a sandwich and has a bottle of beer with it. There are no dishes in the sink and there's no empty beer bottle on the counter."
Nothing I had heard so far helped me.
"I don't understand why he was wearing his vest," Mrs. Boland said.
"What? Are you talking about the down vest he was wearing?"
"Yes. When Don goes riding he puts his vest and riding hat on just before he leaves the house and removes them and hangs them in the mudroom as soon as he comes back into the house," Mrs. Boland said and pointed to the mudroom.
I could see several coats and hats hanging from hooks in the mudroom. On one hook I could see Mr. Boland's riding hat. It was a canvas-covered hard hat commonly worn by equestrians.
It might not have meant anything but I had wondered about the vest when I first saw the body and now it had context.
"Do you know of anyone that would want to hurt your husband?"
"No. He had lots of friends. I can't think of any reason anyone would want to hurt him."
"Mrs. Boland, has your husband had any business dealings lately that might have gone badly?" asked Hanratty.
"No. My husband is retired. The only business dealing he has spoken of in the last several months was when someone called and asked him if he would like to sell our farm."
"How long ago was that?" I asked.
"Maybe two months. Don told him that he wasn't interested and we never heard from him again."
"Did your husband tell you who it was that wanted to buy your place?"
"Don told me who called but I don't remember. It wasn't a name I knew and it wasn't important to me."
"If you should happen to remember, would you call me?"
"Yes. Do you think this might have something to do with my husband's death?"
"I don't know. It's unlikely but I would like to talk to whomever it was that talked to your husband."
"I wish I could remember that name."
The guys from the crime lab spent an hour taking pictures and looking around Mr. Boland's study. Detective Robertson, the lead investigator for the crime lab, spoke with me before he and his team left.
"The crime scene was contaminated by your officers, but I guess you already knew that," Robertson said. "If you can send us any pictures taken of the scene before the body was moved, it would be helpful."
"I'll get them to you as soon as I get back to the station."
"As to what I've seen here, I can't rule out suicide because I saw nothing that would indicate foul play but based on what you have told me about the way the deceased was dressed and what his wife told you, I do share your skepticism. I just don't think we'll find enough evidence to prove that this wasn't suicide."
"That's what I expected to hear," I said.
"Once we get a look at your pictures and run some tests on what little we found here, I should be able to send you our findings in about a week."
I walked Detective Robertson to the door and thanked him for his time and then I went back to the kitchen to speak with Mrs. Boland.
"We have done all we can tonight. I'll try to keep you informed of anything we find out from our investigation," I said.
"My husband did not commit suicide," she repeated.