A Dead Marriage

I am not a policeman and am sure I have screwed up some of the police stuff in my story. For that I apologize. But, there is some truth to this story, and I want to share. As usual in my stories, no RAAC and no BTB either.

Have you ever seen a dead body? I don't mean in a funeral home, nicely laid out in a casket. I mean freshly dead, with that horrible stillness that comes to the body when the soul, the spirit, the life force, the whatever, has left.

I'm a cop, in a small town, and I have never even investigated a murder, much less seen a murder victim. But I have seen plenty of dead bodies, 'freshly' dead if you will, killed by accidents, by just getting too old, although doctors never call it that, by suicide a few times. Those suicides might be the worst bodies to see. I mean, they're dead because they wanted to be dead. Tough on the survivors.

My story starts with my coming home from work, not early, not late, just at my regular time. Middle of winter so I used the remote to open the garage door as I pulled into the driveway. Wife's car is there, in its regular place, no strange car in the garage or in the driveway. I parked on my regular side of the garage. Lots of 'regular' going on here. I walked into the house from the garage, no premonitions, no worries, just a regular sort of homecoming after work.

As I entered the kitchen, I called out, "Janey, I'm home." No response. The beginning of worry, not bad worry yet, just a 'wonder where she is' kind of worry. I walked through the kitchen and into the hallway, no Janey, no noises at all. I started up the stairs to the bedroom level, still no noise, my worry getting more serious. Almost to the top of the stairs, my worry accelerated. Premonition kicked in: something bad was going on. I actually drew my service weapon, for the first time in years. Our bedroom door was closed. I drew a breath and let it partially out, a way to handle stress. I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open with my handgun. And stopped. Immediately I thought crime scene. But as I stood there and analyzed what I was seeing I realized this was maybe worse than a crime.

My wife was lying in our bed, with that awful stillness of someone dead. I would have, and I tried to make myself, run to her, to hold her and shake her and maybe find that she was not really dead, that she was just asleep, or maybe unconscious. But lying next to her, with that same stillness, was a man.

I did walk into the room, but not to the bed. I walked to the windows, and opened both, as wide as they would go, even with the mid-teens weather outside. Then I walked over and turned off the propane space heater that one of them, my wife I guessed, had turned on to keep them warm while they did what they did. I did touch my wife's carotid artery, just to make sure: no pulse. I didn't touch the man, didn't go to his, what used to be my, side of the bed.

I knew I was in shock. I felt like I was moving in water or molasses, everything slow and difficult to move through. My thoughts some jumble of despair and trying to think like a cop should when he discovers two dead bodies. I stood there, hands hanging at my sides, trying, unsuccessfully, to look at my wife and not also see the asshole next to her. As my brain started to work a little better, I realized that at some point I had reholstered my sidearm. That realization kicked my brain back into a higher gear.

I walked out of the bedroom and back down the stairs. I couldn't call my partner. He had just gotten off work and he couldn't really help with this mess. I mean, why ruin his evening? I decided to call my boss, Captain Caparelli.

"Caparelli, Detectives Office."

"Dave," I said and thought, as I had a million times, that David was a strange name to give an Italian baby. Maybe his mom had a relative named David, but ....

"Hello, who is this?"

"Uh, Dave, it's Jack, uh Jack Thomas, and I, I, ...." I couldn't go on.

"Jack, what's wrong, you just got off shift. Did you get home okay?"

"Yeah, Dave, uh, listen, I need you to come to my house, with a team, you know, EMT's, I guess crime scene, but, uh, no sirens, just quietly, you know." I knew I wasn't sounding very coherent.

"No, Jack, I don't know. Now take a deep breath, let it out a little, and tell me what's going on." I almost laughed, hearing him remind me of the stress reliever we were all supposed to practice when we needed it.

"Dave, yeah, okay, listen, there's been an accident at my house. It's, it's, just, uh, just come to my house with the team, okay?"

"Jack, I'm on the way." I guess the sound of my voice convinced him something serious was going on. I just sat there, in the living room, waiting for the circus that was about to descend on me and that bedroom upstairs. I couldn't go back upstairs, but I did manage to go open the front door.

Captain Caparelli walked in a few minutes later, and behind him came two uniformed officers, two EMT's and a guy I knew was our local crime scene investigator. Dave held up his hand and they all stopped. Then he came over and sat down beside me.

"Jack, before we go any further, how about handing me your service weapon?" I looked at him in surprise, but then realized I shouldn't have been surprised. From my incoherent phone call, he was probably wondering what I might have done.

"Sure, Dave, here it is," I said as I handed it over. "You can see it's not been fired. Actually, I've never fired it in line of duty."

"Okay, thanks. Now can you tell us, or maybe show us, what's going on?" I stood up, about a hundred years older than I was an hour ago, and led him upstairs. Again, he motioned to the others to wait. We got to the stop of the stairs and I motioned him into what had been Janey's and my bedroom. I would never sleep there again, and neither would she, so it certainly wasn't our bedroom anymore. I had recovered a bit from my initial shock and walked into the freezing cold bedroom behind him.

"Dave, that's Janey, you may recognize her from department parties. I don't know who the asshole is. I cam home from work, came upstairs and found them like that. The space heater was still running. I turned it off and immediately opened both windows. That's why it's so cold in here. I didn't touch either of them except to feel Janey's carotid to see if there was still any pulse. There was not. I then walked back out, went downstairs, and called you. I think I was in a bit of shock when I called, and I apologize for that. I think I'm still a bit shocky, but I'm dealing. I know you and your guys downstairs need to process this scene. I'd like to wait downstairs; I really don't want to stay up here."

"Jesus, Jack, hell yes, go downstairs. Wait, I'll go with you and get the team sorted out to deal with this." And we did go, and he did get them all sorted and started on their jobs. Sometime later, the EMT's came down with two folding gurneys, with wrapped forms laying on them. Somebody else carried the space heater out, I guess for testing. And Dave sat down beside me again.

"Jack, I know this is a horrible time for you, but I need to ask. Do you know the man? The man upstairs I mean."

"I really tried not to look at him, not very professional of me, but no I don't think I've ever seen him."

"I'm going to show you his driver's license, just the photo part, and ask again, have you ever seen him? Do you know him?" I did look at the photo, actually studied it, not to see if I knew the asshole, but to try to see what Janey had seen in him. But I just couldn't see anything.

"No, Dave, I've never seen him, I don't know who he is and, maybe worse, I can't see any magic, any attraction, anything that would have pulled Janey to him, that would have ...." And I started to cry. To cry in front of Dave and the crime scene guys. I tried to stop, I knew they would share this whole sordid story all over the department, I knew people would be feeling sorry for me, but at the same time whispering about how I couldn't satisfy my wife. How I was a cuckold.

I did stop crying. At some point, my partner, Mike Blankenship, and his wife Molly showed up. Dave disappeared, while Mike and Molly sat with me, gave me something to drink and finally got me into the kitchen to try to feed me. No one said much; they just sat with me. Molly held my hand; they both said things would get better. Eventually, they sort of stood me up and walked me to their car. We drove to their house, Molly gave me some sleeping pills and they put me to bed in their guest room.

I had never taken a sleeping pill before and I think the pills gave me weird dreams that night, dreams of Janey and me, Janey and asshole, Janey and some other man. Eventually the pills wore off and I woke up early, still dark on a winter morning. I lay there, thinking about my now dead marriage, wondering why Janey cheated, for how long, with just asshole or others, many others? Bad thoughts to have in the dark in a strange house. Did she love that guy? Was she planning to leave me?

We had been married ten years, no kids - neither of us was a kids kind of person - and four months ago we had gone on a cruise in the Caribbean to celebrate our ten-year anniversary. I thought we had a lot of fun, and I know we had a lot of sex. And I thought the sex was good. We had even gone skinny dipping at a beach on St. Martin. Janey had teased me when I got hard; I remember telling her I got hard because of her, not because of the other naked ladies, none of whom looked as good as she did. Later that afternoon, back on the ship, we had showered together, which was a challenge in that very small ship's shower, but we washed each other, and I washed Janey's hair. After our shower, the sex we had was amazing; Janey started having orgasms and it was like she couldn't stop. She finally started crying.

"Jackie, Jackie, Jackie, you've killed me. I'll never be able to get out of this bed." Funny choice of words in retrospect. And now, in the Blankenships' spare room, I started crying again, remembering that time on the ship. When Janey had recovered a bit, I got a brush and started brushing her hair, something I rarely did. For me, brushing her hair was somehow more intimate than sex. I could lick her most private parts, and did so with enthusiasm; I liked it and I think she loved it. But brushing her hair somehow touched some chord in me. I remember that afternoon on the ship, running the brush through her hair, untangling the snarls from our rolling around on the bed, and crying, crying because I loved her so much. And now, lying in the dark, crying again because I know it's all gone, and maybe never was.

Eventually, I heard noises in the house, and I got up, took a quick shower in the en suite bathroom, put on the same clothes from the day before, and wandered out to the kitchen. Molly was already there, fixing breakfast, coffee already made. She didn't say anything, just gave me a hug, and it was the right thing for her to do. Feeling a warm female body, with her arms around me, smelling her hair, gave me more comfort that morning than any words could have done. We stood there for a minute or so, and then she gently pushed me away.

"Drink some coffee, Jack, and eat breakfast. I think you need both this morning."

"Thank you, Molly, you're right, I guess I haven eaten since lunch yesterday. And Molly?" She turned away from the stove to look at me. "Thank you for the hug. That meant a lot to me."

"Well, Jack, you mean a lot to me."

"And to me, partner," said Mike as he walked into the kitchen. "I know you just got dealt about as bad a hand as life can deal you, but I also know you're a tough SOB and you'll survive this shitshow." Molly and Mike both took off from work that day. They took me to a nearby park after breakfast. Mike conned me into kicking a soccer ball with him, then Molly tried to get me to play tennis and then they gave up on trying to distract me. We sat down at a picnic table, and I just looked at Mike.

"Okay, partner," he said, "obviously fun and games are not working, so how about I give you the news about yesterday? That better?"

"Mike, you know it is. I need information, not distraction."

"Okay. I called into the office early this morning and I'll give you what I got. Guy's name is, uh, was James Johnson. He was an exec at a lumber exporting company, wife a stay-at-home mom to take care of their two kids, ages ten and eight. She went into hysterics last night when Robert O'Toole, you know Robert, right?" I nodded, Robert O'Toole being our best cop at notice-of-death work. "Well, he and Mrs. Johnson's pastor went over to their house to give her the news, just notice and cause-of-death news at that point, and she had her hysterics. I guess she eventually recovered a bit, her parents came over, and O'Toole and the pastor left. Then things must have gotten really interesting. TV news was already broadcasting the story about a faulty propane tank and two people, one of them a cop but the two of them not married to each other, dying from carbon monoxide poisoning. Mrs. Johnson must have seen it 'cause she went a bit crazy. She started throwing her husband's, well her late husband's at that point.... Anyway, she started throwing his stuff on the front lawn and about then his parents show up, I think not knowing about the TV story. She attacks them, I guess for what a rotten son they raised. One of them calls 911 and a patrol car rolls up. Then the missus really goes nuts, she grabs a knife from somewhere and tries to stab one of the uniforms responding, who happens to be female. The two cops responding must not have known about the uh, earlier adventure at your house because the male of the two patrolmen tasers the missus. That causes her parents to get into the melee and more cops get called. And of course, a TV wagon also shows up. Eventually, enough brass arrive to calm everybody down. No one went to jail, and I understand apologies were extended by everyone."

"My god, earlier you said this is a shitshow. I had no idea how bad a show you were talking about."

"Yeah. The Captain asked me to keep you out of the office for a few days, until he calls and tells you it's okay to come back. You and I are both on full pay for now, so that's a good thing. He said you might profit from going away for maybe a week, like to somewhere warm, maybe a cruise."

"Yeah, like I feel like a cruise right now."

"Well, I think he thinks it might help you to be away from this show, give you some time to get your head sort of past what your wife did, you know?"

"Mike, and Molly, you guys are great friends, and I know you, and Caparelli, all mean well, but I need to stay here. I can't work through what has happened if I'm somewhere off on a cruise ship." Plus, I couldn't tell them about my last cruise, with Janey, and my crying about that last night. "I'll call Caparelli tomorrow and tell him I plan to stay here, work things out and go back to work when I'm ready." And that's what I did.

I got a temporary apartment; I mean I just couldn't live in the house anymore. I tried to sell it, but a realtor friend, the wife of a cop buddy of course, told me that a house doesn't market well when there has been an 'event' there. She suggested I rent it out for a while and then she would be happy to market it when the story is old news. I ended up renting it to a young couple who had decent jobs but no money for a down payment. Maybe they can be my buyers in the future.

The coroner's hearing was held exactly a month after the two deaths. I had to testify, along with Caparelli and the other guys who responded that afternoon. The ruling really was a forgone conclusion: death by misadventure from carbon monoxide poisoning due to faulty propane gas space heater. It turned out that the heater had been recalled because of its defects and the manufacturer had filed bankruptcy, I guess because of the number of deaths attributed to the heater. Janey and I had missed the recall notice and never thought about the dangers of using the heater.

Because of the bankruptcy, any claim I might have made against the heater manufacturer was worthless. But I did have some good news from our department insurance coverage. The department covered all officers with a $500,000 life insurance policy and withheld $12 per pay period for the same coverage for our wives. And it was double indemnity for death resulting from accident. That meant I collected a million dollars, tax free.

I never learned anything about the affair between Janey and the asshole: how long it lasted, how they happened to meet, what started it, how they felt about each other. That last unknown was the worst for me: how did they feel about each other, and what would that have meant for their spouses? From department rumor, asshole's widow was a real bitch, trying to blame everyone but her husband for what happened. Maybe he wanted to leave his wife and was trying to talk Janey into leaving me, or maybe Janey and asshole had already decided to leave their spouses and run off together, or maybe they were just fuck buddies, or, who the fuck knows? That's going to haunt me a for a long, long time.

For now, I just go to work and hope for a better future.

End