He looked around the house and cursed.
"That fucking bitch! Damn It!"
The whole house was a mess. The pots and pans from dinner, the night before, were still on the stove and the sink was full of dishes and pots from dinner two nights ago. The dirty laundry, in the bedroom, was stacked higher than the hamper it was supposed to be in, there was trash everywhere and she was not to be found. He was pissed!
He walked back to the den and kicked an empty pizza box out of the way as he was dialing the phone. All he got was her voicemail.
Seething, he looked around the house and, trying to curb his growing anger, began to pick up trash and straighten the house.
He was silently sitting in the den, in the dark, when he heard the key in the lock of the front door. He watched her come in, carrying her heels and carefully shutting the front door, making as little noise as possible. As she tiptoed down the entryway, he spoke carefully and slowly.
"Care to explain where you've been?"
She jumped and turned.
"You scared the fuck out of me, you asshole!"
He stood, walked into the entry, turned on the light and looked at her. At first glance, everything seemed normal but, to someone who notices details, there was a story. He was a detective on the homicide squad so his business was details.
He noticed her makeup was smudged and patchy, except for her lipstick, which was fresh. She was still flushed and obviously sweaty. Her hair, which was usually so carefully arranged, was slightly in disarray and she was missing one earring.
"I'd ask you who you've been fucking but I'm not sure you even know their names."
He easily dodged the shoes she threw at him.
"YOU BASTARD!"
"Are you going to deny it?"
She stared back at him and then spat the words at him like weapons.
"No, you piece of shit of a husband. There were five of them and I fucked them all more times than I can count. What are you going to do about it, you fuck?"
He looked at her and suddenly realized he no longer gave a shit. After eight years, he was done. Actually, he felt sorrier for her than he did anger. What was it that drove her to need to constantly have strange cocks in her pussy, ass and mouth? She never repeated with the same ones, they were always different.
"Nothing. I want you out of the house by tomorrow."
"Oh, NO! I'm not going anywhere! You can move but I'm staying!"
He sighed. He had no intention of leaving the house, either.
"Then you're going to have to put up with me."
"HAH! You aren't ever here anyway and when you are, you're too tired or too preoccupied with a murder or something to even give a fuck about this marriage, much less fucking me."
She turned and stormed to the back of the house as he sighed deeply when he heard the bedroom door slam.
"Well, that's that, I guess."
He turned, sat back down in the recliner and picked up the full glass of scotch sitting on the table beside the chair. Maybe Glen Livet would rock him to sleep. Later, he roused and looked around. Pulling himself out of the recliner he stretched.
"Fuck, that chair is not a good place to sleep."
He glanced at the clock. He was going to have to hump it to make it to the office on time. He headed to the guest bath, to shower, not wanting to chance meeting her in the bedroom or master bath. He found some clean clothes in the laundry room and was soon headed out of the door to his office.
It turned into a routine day. Things were quiet in the city and they were reduced to chasing old leads on old cases which usually meant spending hours on the phone trying to find people that invariably didn't remember anything or had long since moved.
When shift change finally came, he was relieved and then realized he had to go home. He looked around and thought about staying at the office but decided, instead, to head to the local bar where the other cops hung out, have a few drinks and at least have a few laughs.
He ended up staying until almost one am before he finally broke free of the crowd and headed out to his car. He checked himself and decided, if he was careful, he could make it the short distance home and drove carefully until he pulled into the driveway. He was still able to notice that her car was gone and shrugged. At least he didn't have to face her and he would get to sleep in the bed. He made his way into the house, collapsed on the bed and was almost instantly asleep.
He woke the next morning and groaned. The light from the window was like a stabbing knife through his eyes into his brain. He stumbled into the bathroom and into a hot shower where he stood for a long time just letting the hot water pound on his face and head. When he got out, he felt almost human again. He pulled on his clothes and headed out to the office, noticing that her car was still not in the driveway but didn't have time to really care.
It looked like another quiet day. He spent the first part of the morning simply filing reports and other paperwork that had been piling up for weeks. That done, he wandered down to the lieutenant's office and stuck his head in.
"Anything pressing?"
The lieutenant looked up and shook his head.
"If we don't have something to do soon, the city council is going to start asking questions about why we are getting paid."
"Catch 22, if we do a good job and stop crime, the 'powers that be' think they don't need us and they cut the budget."
He turned and walked back down the hallway toward his desk as one of the other detectives slammed down the phone and turned around.
"We have two unidentified bodies in a warehouse down by the industrial district. Who wants it?"
He ran toward the man.
"I'll take it. I sure as hell don't have anything else to do. Who is on it with me?"
The new female detective looked up as the lieutenant stuck his head out of his office.
"Take Rafferty. She needs the experience."
He turned to look at the pretty young detective. She had just gotten her promotion and this could be her first big case.
"Come on, let's roll!"
As they drove across town, he chatted with her politely. He didn't know much about her but it was obvious she was smart. She had come up through the ranks rapidly, as fast as the promotion system would allow, but working homicide took more than book smarts. It took a certain intuition and an ability to read people. He believed that it couldn't be learned, you either had it or you didn't.
They could see the flashing lights of the marked units sitting in front of the building, with a line of yellow police tape strung between them, and the coroner's wagon was there. They parked behind one of the marked units and walked toward the door. The uniformed officer nodded as they walked up.
"Hiya, Steve. Looks like one for a movie."
The officer looked the young woman up and down.
"Officer Stevens, meet Detective Sergeant Rafferty."
The uniformed officer suddenly straightened and gulped.
"Pleased to meet you, Ma'am."
She smiled.
"Don't worry about it officer. I'm not one of those progressive career women. I can appreciate an approving look from a handsome man."
She winked at him as she walked past him into the building as Steve looked at the officer and chuckled.
"Ain't that a kick in the ass!"
He walked in as well. They walked down a long flight of stairs into a basement. It was dim except for the flood lights that the forensics unit had set up around the scene. The bodies were already gone but it was still a grisly sight. As they walked toward the lights, he kept looking around, trying to figure out what the hell this place was.
As they approached, the forensic tech stood up and met them just at the edge of the light.
"I'll let you guys in when I'm done. We are still taking samples and photos."
"What do you have so far?"
"One male and one female, both unidentified. They were apparently involved in some kind of kinky sex game. The woman was tied to that bench there and the man was laying alongside of her."
"Do you have a cause of death, yet?"
"I can't say for sure but I will venture a guess on the woman. I would imagine it had something to do with the three inch diameter, wooden stave that was shoved into her asshole and almost out of her mouth. As for the guy, I'm not sure but he has all kinds of trauma on his head and face."
He heard something gurgle behind him and turned to look at Rafferty holding her hand tightly over her mouth.
"There's a bathroom up the stairs if you need to do that. Just don't contaminate our crime scene."
He turned back to the tech as he heard her heels clicking rapidly across the concrete floor.
"What the hell is this place?"
"As close as I can tell, it's a dungeon. All of this stuff is some kind of torture equipment."
"Jesus fucking christ, what the hell were these people doing?"
The tech shrugged and turned back to the crime scene. Steve stood and watched as they moved around, one taking pictures and one bagging samples and evidence. He finally saw the wooden stave laying with a tag around it and several plastic bags wrapped around it. The sharpened end was bloody.
He wandered around the room looking at the different equipment and the other gear scattered around. There were whips of all kinds, leather manacles of all sizes, ropes hanging from the ceiling, a huge wheel, what he assumed to be a rack, some kind of sawhorse contraption and steel cages.
It was like wandering onto some bizarre horror movie set. He heard the click of heels coming back across the floor and turned to look at her. She was a bit pale but standing straight and walking steadily.
"The first one's always the worst and this one's pretty bad. What do you make of all of this?"
He was gesturing around the room as she looked around then she casually commented.
"It looks like a BDSM club."
"A what?"
"A BDSM club. You know. Bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism."
He shook his head.
"How the hell do you know about that?"
"It was a hot topic when I was at college. I never got into it but I have several friends who got started in college and are still active."
He looked at her. College grad, fresh detective sergeant, good looking and one hell of a body. He shook himself mentally and tried to refocus. As they walked around the room, the tech called to him.
"We're done if you want into this area. Is there anything else?"
"No. When will you be ready for us in the morgue?"
"Give us a couple of hours. The ME is tied up on another case from the county."
