Mistrusting a Memory
Chapter 33

Copyright© 2008 by Lubrican

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 33 - Detective Sergeant Bob Duncan was assigned to investigate a routine rape case. But this case turned out to be anything but routine. Somehow, he and the victim became friends '" good friends. Then there was an accident and Bob had to decide whether to arrest her for a crime... a crime she couldn't remember committing... a crime that might land her in prison for the rest of her life.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Reluctant   Heterosexual   Petting   Pregnancy   Slow   Violent  

Bob was turning in tickets. He'd been approached by no less than six people when he came into the building. Dillworth was gone. News like that travels like lightning in any organization. He'd heard not only that Dillworth was gone, but the circumstances of how he'd gone. The place was still abuzz with it. Nobody knew exactly why it happened, but the manner in which it had taken place had made the detective division euphoric. He didn't think anything about it when his supervisor, Captain Quincy, approached him.

"Turn those in later," said Quincy. "The chief wants to see you." He sounded worried. "The commissioner is with him."

"What for?" asked Bob. He had a sinking feeling he knew what it was for. If anybody took even a little time to look into things, his relationship with Lacey couldn't remain a secret for long.

"I don't know," said Jeff. "I asked them if they wanted me there, and they said it wasn't necessary."

"That's fucked up," said Bob.

"They asked me one other thing ... before they said that," said Jeff.


"The chief wanted to know how I'd feel if I lost you."

Bob looked at him.

"I'm sorry, Bob," said the captain of the traffic division. He actually looked sorry. "I tried. I told them you were one of the best I have. That's when he told me to have you report, and that my presence wasn't ... necessary."

"Probably trying to keep you out of the union tussle," said Bob. "You don't need that shit anyway."

"You ARE one of the best," said Jeff. "You make life interesting, and sometimes you're a pain in the ass, but you're one of the best."

"Thanks. They in the conference room?"

"No, the chief's office."

"Anybody else there?"

"The union rep's not there, if that's what you mean. You want me to notify him?"

"It's not your job, Captain," said Bob.

Bob didn't delay. He just went out of the squad room and up the hallway. The chief had his office on the same floor as the squad rooms. He felt like it made him more accessible, though why he thought normal patrolmen would ever seek him out without a summons was a mystery. Bob went into the front office. There was a young woman there who he knew was named Marjorie. He'd never talked to her before, though.

"Officer Robert Duncan," he said simply.

She smiled gaily. He wondered if she'd trained herself to do that, just to try to keep from being dragged into emotional situations. "I'll tell him you're here." Bob started to sit in one of the three chairs against the wall, but she said, "Don't sit down. He's expecting you."

Bob stood at parade rest in front of the chief's desk. No use acting like a slouch. The way he saw it, he'd had a pretty good run, and even if they canned him, with the kind of experience he could offer he wouldn't have any trouble getting a job in another city. He'd have to work his way up again, but he was already at the bottom here, so it didn't matter.

"I want you to know that the only reason you're standing here in uniform is because you referred the Fetterman woman to a psychiatrist when she thought you were her boyfriend," said the chief. The commissioner was standing, leaning against a wall, with his arms folded. He was impatient, because he'd been here for over two hours and had other matters to attend to. But it didn't show. He just appeared to be ... watching. Bob wondered what kind of man would want to be there to watch the slaughter.

The patrolman didn't say anything. What was there to say?

"I assume you aren't seeing her anymore," said the chief.

"No, sir," said Bob.

"Good. I..."

Bob interrupted him. "What I meant, sir, is that you're incorrect. I am still seeing her."

"You want to explain that?" ask the chief, his voice choked.

"No, sir," said Bob. "It's personal ... and I don't think it would matter even if I did." He stared straight ahead. "I'm not going to try to hide it, though."

"Charley," said the commissioner. "Take a breath." Bob's eyes flickered to the man, who was staring right at him. "You're a maverick," the commissioner went on, addressing Bob this time.

"I suppose it could be viewed that way," said Bob. "Sir," he added belatedly.

"A city councilman's wife tried to shoot you," said the commissioner. "She's coming up for trial pretty soon, by the way. I checked."

Bob wondered what was going on. Were they just playing with him?

"Yes, sir," he said, his voice neutral.

"The last woman you arrested for a serious crime ... the woman you're seeing ... got off scot free," said the commissioner.

"Yes, sir," said Bob.

"You arrested her for murder, and now you're ... dating her? Don't you think that looks a little odd?"

"She was found not guilty, sir," said Bob.

"Oh, believe me, I'm aware of that."

"Other cop's wives have been arrested and prosecuted," said Bob, beginning to feel the anger rising in him. "They don't get fired when that happens."

"You're going to marry her?" There was finally some emotion in the commissioner's voice.

"This is a bad idea," said the chief.

"Hang on, Charley," said the commissioner. "You know why we're doing this. Let's see it through."

Had Bob not already been stiff, he would have frozen, but not because of the commissioner's comment. What his mind centered on at that moment were his own last words. Where had that come from? He loved Lacey, and he knew she loved him, but there had been no talk ... no thought ... of marriage. And yet he had put her in the same category as an officer's wife. His mind roiled and his fingers twitched behind his back. He felt a tenseness, almost a feeling of panic.

"Well?" asked the commissioner when Bob didn't say anything. "Are you going to marry her?"

"I ... um ... we haven't talked about that," he finally said. "But my point remains, sir. That's personal. If the press asks me about that, I'll tell them the same thing."

"That's all fine and well," said the commissioner, firmly. "But in any case, she's part of the equation."

"What equation is that, sir?" asked Bob.

"Go ahead, Charley," said the commissioner, apparently turning things back over to the chief. "This doesn't really change anything."

Bob's eyes bounced down, to the chief's face, and then back up. The man was red in the face.

"You may be aware that this department needs a Captain of Detectives," said the chief.

Bob had no time to adjust to the change of subject. He couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Yes, sir," he said. "That was an excellent management decision."

The commissioner coughed. It sounded almost like a stifled laugh, but it had to be a cough, because he coughed some more after that.

"You want to tell me why you feel that way?" asked the chief, his voice tight.

That was something Bob WAS willing to talk about, and he did, at some length, staying in his formal stance and staring straight ahead. He had listed seven reasons why Frank Dillworth was bad for the division, or the department in general, when the chief stood up.

"That's enough!" he said harshly. "Look at me."

Bob did. The man was angry, but there was something else in his eyes ... something Bob couldn't quite categorize.

"At ease," he finally said. He tossed a hand. "Sit down over there."

Bob looked behind him and saw a chair. It was a nice chair, with a high back, covered in dark brown leather.

"Here, sir?" he asked, unsure again of what was happening.

"Just sit down!" barked the chief.

"Calm down, Charley," said the commissioner. "You want me to leave?"

"You got me into this," growled the chief. "You're going to be here when it happens, cause I'm not taking the shit for this if it all goes south."

"For some reason I have a feeling it's not going to go south," said the commissioner. "But I'll stay, just to make sure you don't start a fist fight with him."

The chief turned to stare at his boss, then sat suddenly back down in his chair. He looked anguished. Bob wondered what in the world was going on here.

The chief's face went calm again, and he put his hands on top of his desk.

"Maverick you may be," he said, "but you're smart. And you know your stuff. I have a feeling I'm going to regret this for the next twelve years, three months and fourteen days, which is exactly how long it will be until I can retire ... but..." He went silent. After what seemed like five minutes, but was really only fifteen seconds, the commissioner spoke.

"What he's trying to get out is that your name came up as a candidate for Captain of Detectives."

Bob blinked.

"You're shitting me," he said, wonder in his voice.

"You're shitting me, SIR," barked the chief.

"You're shitting me, SIR!" Bob almost yelped.

The commissioner laughed out loud.

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