Author's note: the following story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. The author wishes to express his gratitude to Copperbutterfly for her editing to make this a better story.
"Ring-g-g-g!" came the insistent sound of our doorbell.
I looked questioningly at my wife, sitting across the dinner table from me. She shrugged and returned an 'I have no idea' look to tell me she wasn't expecting someone.
"Probably a salesman or some kid wanting to mow the lawn," I said. "I'll get it."
I got up from my half eaten dinner and started to the front door. I glanced at the hall clock, verifying that it was a few minutes after seven-thirty on a Thursday evening.
I opened the front door, prepared to turn away whoever it was. To my surprise, there were two men standing at the door, both holding police badges in folders for my perusal.
"Mr. Turner? Mr. Stanley Turner?" one of the men asked.
"Yes, sir, that's me," I answered.
"Is your wife Pamela Turner?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Why?"
"I'm Detective Getz and this is Detective Johnson. Is your wife home?"
"Yes, she is. We're in the middle of eating dinner right now. Can this wait?"
"No, sir. We have a matter to discuss with both of you. Would you please come downtown with us?"
"What? What is that all about?" I asked, the tenor of my voice rising with annoyance.
The second policeman pulled the storm door further open and the first stepped forward. "Mr. Turner, I don't think you want to discuss this matter in front of your neighbors. Let's get Mrs. Turner and go downtown."
"Are we under arrest? Can you tell me why?"
"You are not under arrest at this time, sir. However I will tell you that both of you are considered persons of interest in a matter we are investigating. Now if you will just come with us, we'll see if we can get this issue handled."
Just then, Pam walked into the living room. "What's going on, Stan?"
Before I could respond, Getz said, "Mrs. Turner? We are Detectives Getz and Johnson. We have a matter to discuss with you and your husband. Please come with us to the station house."
Pam started to protest but Getz held up his hand and silenced her. "Ma'am, we can do this the easy way, with your cooperation, or the hard way, with handcuffs, but make no mistake about it — we are going to do it."
"Okay, let me get my purse."
She went to the kitchen with Johnson following closely behind her, then returned. Getz read us both our Miranda rights. "You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one..."
We made a little procession out to their car. We were split, with Pam in the front passenger seat while Johnson drove, Getz and I sitting in the back. Each time I tried to inquire about what was going on, Getz just put a finger over his lips in a shushing motion. It only took us a few minutes to get to the station.
We were escorted into the chaos of the front desk area and then past all the turmoil of what looked like a drunken brawl. The detectives led us up a set of grungy worn stairs. Johnson herded Pam into one interrogation room and I started to follow but Getz tugged my arm toward another room, so I followed him. I was full of unspoken questions.
The room was nondescript, painted in a sea green with a black painted concrete floor. There was an old metal-and-formica table in the center of the room with a straight-backed chair on either side. Getz waved me to one chair while he pulled out the other.
There was a tape recorder on the table. As he pressed the record button, he said, "If you don't mind, Mr. Turner, we'll record this session so there won't be any question of who said what later."
"That's okay with me, Detective, as long as you promise to provide me with a copy of the tape too."
He frowned, but slowly nodded his head in agreement.
"Let's get started, shall we? Mr. Turner, where were you last Saturday evening?"
I was surprised at his question and had to think back. "Uh, Saturday was August eleventh, right? Well, from... I think about five-forty-five until around six-thirty, I was eating dinner in my kitchen with my wife. From six-thirty until about seven o'clock, I read the newspaper. A few minutes after seven, my brother-in-law, Jason Jefferys, arrived and the two of us talked a while and then watched the Rangers and Red Sox baseball game on the tube. It went eleven innings so it didn't finish until about... twelve-thirty or twelve-forty-five, I think. After that, Jase and I talked a bit more about plans he has for building a deck. He left somewhere around twelve-fifteen or twelve-thirty, I'm not sure. I went up to bed and didn't wake up until... I dunno. I think it was about eight-forty-five Sunday morning. Why do you need to know?"
As I had been talking, Getz scribbled down notes on a legal pad. It looked like he was recording the times I gave him. Instead of answering my question, he sat back in his chair and perused the notes for a couple of minutes before leaning forward again and looking into my eyes.
"Do you know a Mr. Lee Thompkins, Mr. Turner?"
"Lee Thompkins? I don't think that name rings a bell, Detective. Should it?"
"I don't know, Mr. Turner. Would you have any reason to know your wife's lover?"
"My wife's what?" I screamed, incredulously. I came up out of the seat, ready to take a swing at this man who was besmirching my wife's good name.
Getz stood and glared back at me. "Sit down, Mr. Turner!" he commanded. "Are you saying you didn't know your wife had a lover?"
"I didn't and I still don't, Detective. What th' hell gave you the right to make such an accusation?"
"Evidence, Mr. Turner. Hard facts. Sunday morning Mr. Thompkins was found murdered in a hotel room at the Hyatt Regency downtown. Would you care to guess who registered for the room, Mr. Turner?"
The implication deflated me in a hurry. I slumped back to the chair. "My wife?" I asked in a barely audible whisper.
"Yes, your wife, Mr. Turner. Now tell me where your wife was supposed to be Saturday night."
I inhaled and tried to control my rampant heartbeat. "She was going to do some shopping and then go to the movies with my sister-in-law, Katie Jefferys. It was something the two sisters did most weekends, unless we had something else to be done."
"What stores did they frequent?"
"I... I don't know. They went to the mall and... damn, Detective, she hit almost every store."
"Where were they going to the movies?"
"At the Cineplex in the mall. That's where they always went."
"Uh, huh. On Sunday, did she tell you what movie they saw?"
"I... I don't... remember if she did. She might have and I just wasn't paying attention."
"Do you know what time she got home?"
"Uh... no, I guess I was asleep when she came in. She was in bed when I got up in the morning but... I don't know when she got there."
There were several moments of silence as Getz scratched out something on the note pad. My mind was in a whirl of unanswered questions but the overriding thought of my wife being unfaithful after seven years of marriage was keeping my thoughts from falling into any sort of logical pattern.
Finally I asked, "Detective, other than the room being registered in my wife's name, do you have... uh, evidence... that they were actually... lovers?"
Once again he leaned back in his chair and studied me intently before finally answering. "First her fingerprints are all over the room so we know she was there. Perhaps most damning evidence is that he was found laying on his back naked on the bed. His... ah, genitals were covered with bodily fluids. They are a mixture of his... and hers."
"There's no doubt about that, Detective?"
"None. Sorry, Mr. Turner."
I sat back and let the implications sink in. If Pam had been meeting a lover every Saturday that she and Katie had been "going shopping and to the movies," then she had been cheating on me virtually all of our seven years of marriage. Pam and Katie had made a practice of getting together every weekend. Shee-it!
"Let me guess, Detective. You figured that I had learned about my wife's lover and went to take him out. Is that why we're here?"
"Well, let me tell you, Detective, if I had known about the son-of-a-bitch, I might have done just that! Unfortunately I was too dumb to suspect anything was going on."
"Mr. Turner, I tend to believe you but we'll have to check out your alibi. Please wait here."
He got up and left the room. Left me to my rambling, raging thoughts of my wife's infidelity. Until a few minutes ago, I had thought that I would do anything for Pam, even giving my life to insure her well-being. Now... now I wasn't so sure. No, that's not really true. Now I was pretty sure I wouldn't do anything to make the slut's life any better. In fact, I was beginning to think of ways to make her life a living hell!
While I sat there thinking about the jumble of facts that had been dumped on me that evening, my emotions ran the gamut from self-pity to despair to passion for revenge to... whatever. I couldn't keep my thoughts channeled in one direction long enough to make any real decisions... except one. I knew that my marriage was effectively over. I might have to live with the bitch for a while longer until this issue was resolved one way or another but it wouldn't take the form of a marriage any longer.
.... There is more of this story ...