Eliminate the Impossible

British English spelling and grammar.

Years ago I read a story here where the guy could not work out how his wife was cheating on him. Turned out she was doing it with a work colleague in the company carpark. I like unusual discoveries, so here's mine.

***

Eliminate the impossible

Monday

"Well I'm disappointed." I said.

"But you should be delighted." he replied. "Your wife is not having an affair after all."

"She is."

"That's impossible." added the young woman sitting next to him, "I've watched her for three weeks."

"But she is. Despite paying you guys an arm and a leg, you just haven't been able to prove it."

"No, you merely suspect it." said the boss. "We take on cases like this with an open mind. And you paid us 'an arm and a leg' - as you put it - to discover the truth."

"You're too expensive."

"We laid out our fees before you hired us. £50 an hour, 10 hours a day, 5 days a week for 3 weeks comes to £7500. We also charged for an additional operative to cover our main lady at times. That, plus travel and meal expenses for the two of them; came to another £1,000, and £500 for the gym membership."

"Gym membership?"

"Of course." said the woman. "You wanted me to watch your wife at the gym. There was a discount if I signed up for six months. Can't say I'm crazy about gyms, but I still go every week. It would be stupid to waste it. I could have just filmed her going in and out, like I did at the restaurant. But you wanted a thorough job, so I followed her. She has a nice car by the way. I wouldn't mind one like that."

"It's a late VW Scirocco; the R model with the black roof and rear spoiler. It looks like I might have to sell the damn thing to pay your bill!"

"And you still can't tell me when your suspicions started?" asked the guy.

"Not really; maybe a couple of months ago. Let's forget it; keep your gym membership."

"Look, there are certain clues that suggest a spouse is having an affair. I ran through them with you at the outset, but I'll do it again if you like."

"Go on."

"Stop me when I mention something you've noticed. Your wife is distant, defensive, and short-tempered when questioned. There are changes to her mobile phone or computer usage. There are changes in the frequency of sex. She starts working late, or spending more time away from home. She wears sexier clothing or underwear. There are lingering smells of aftershave, alcohol or smoke, often combined with her increased usage of showers. Anything there ring a bell?"

"No." I had to agree.

"So you gave us nothing to work on; except your certainty."

"I am certain."

"But you know what Sherlock said: 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' It's not our fault the truth does not meet your expectations."

"I'm sure though. I just can't explain why. Do one last thing for me. You're the detective; imagine she really is having an affair. Now tell me the improbable truth. How is she doing it?"

"OK:

She's having sex in the hairdresser toilets. It would have to be a lesbian affair, as there are no male workers, and in the three weeks we were observing, no male customers either.

A man is sneaking into her car while she's giving someone a perm. He slumps down in the driver's seat and covers himself with a blanket or something. He gets his dick hard just before she knocks off work. She removes her panties, and then goes to her car. She sits on him reverse cowgirl style and has an orgasm while she's driving home. He exits the car after my observer has left.

She's sneaking a lover into your house or possibly he lives in your loft. She screws him downstairs while you're asleep. Maybe she's knocking you unconscious with some drug.

She's having an affair with me, and my assistant is covering for us ... or vice versa.

She's been keeping tabs on you all along and found out you hired us. So she stopped all activities till we finished!"

But most likely of all is - she's doing it on her days off work, when you told us not to check, claiming she's always in your sight."

It was my turn to sigh.

"It's rare to get someone willing to pay for the type of thoroughness we put into this case. So I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll keep your original deposit. But will give you back half the rest of the fees if you can prove she's playing away from home. You have one week. And it must be something my operatives could have found out. But I warn you, we are talking about the impossible."

I didn't hold out much hope, but it was a fair offer.

The problem is Cassie's schedule is so unwavering. Her working week at the hairdresser's is Tuesday afternoon to Saturday at 6 pm. On Wednesday, her first full day in, she goes to the gym at lunchtime. She says it's an energetic start to her working week. The other days, the girls in the salon bring their own food in, and take a lunchbreak in shifts. Occasionally - usually a Thursday -- one or more of them will pop out to a café; also in shifts.

The only rear access to the salon where she works is a dreary yard just big enough for a van to reverse in and make their weekly deliveries. And the salon manageress always checks the unloading personally. The days Cassie has off, we do everything together. I work from home so I always take the same free time as her. We shop, have dinner out, go to the movies; we do everything together.

I looked at their photos and movies. They had her leaving the house, arriving at and leaving the salon, and getting home; all stamped with the date and time. The first occasion was a movie, but the remainder were stills. On Wednesday, she stopped off at our favourite Greek restaurant on her way to the gym to collect a sandwich and a pot of yoghurt. She changes into her gym clothes at work, as she wears them when she gets in her car. The restaurant clips were always movies; presumably to confirm the amount of time she spent in there. The longest she ever took was four minutes. There were even photos of her working out at the gym; including her esting her Greek take-away.

Sunday

We went to the supermarket. Cassie waited while they weighed and gutted the fresh fish she'd chosen, and I went and browsed through the DVDs. They had a selection of cheap older ones. And there I found one of my all time favourites -- Manhunter.

At home we unpacked.

"Manhunter; wasn't that the prequel to Silence of the Lambs?"

"Yes, though they didn't realise it at the time."

"Who's in it?"

"The profiler is William Petersen; you'll recognise him as Grissom in CSI. Hannibal was played by Brian Cox."

We watched it and I stayed up after she'd gone to bed.

I sat there and brooded. When I was sure she was asleep, I played my evidence clips on the tv again. Was there something here, staring me in the face? William Peterson studied the home movies of the slaughtered families, it was my favourite scene. He watched his clips over and over again and talked to himself. 'You know you need a bolt-cutter, don't you my man? And you know about Jacobi's dog and Leeds' cat.' And then he has his epiphany: 'You've seen these movies, haven't you?' Well if it worked for him, it might work for me.

I spread the photos out on the floor in date order, and ran the movies again. No epiphany yet, but I was soon done with the photos. I knew they weren't telling me anything and put them away. I played and replayed the clips at the Greek restaurant. I was feeling a prickle on the back of my neck. She goes in, but my observers don't need to follow. She's out again in two to four minutes. I returned to the leaving home parts,

"You go to your VW and unlock it, don't you my girl? When you arrive at the salon, you get out and lock it again."

I tried it with the restaurant and gym.

"You're only two minutes picking up your salad but you still lock it, don't you? You love that car don't you? So why don't you lock it when you take your yoghurt jar back?"

On the fifth viewing, I spotted it. Thanks William.

Thursday

"Do you have the cash?" I asked.

"I do." he said. "Did you bring my movie camera?"

I handed it over. He'd made a big fuss about customers using his equipment, but I'd persuaded him; it was only for one day. His attractive observer was in attendance again. We all shook hands.

"I need you prepare the movies taken on the first day. They show my wife leaving the house, arriving at her workplace, amd her return trip."

"OK."

"And I need similar clips of her lunch time trip to the gym on the Wednesday."

"We have similar vids of the following two Wednesdays."

"No need, the first one will suffice. And can you," I turned to the girl, "please access your notes on her first two visits: to the restaurant and the gym."

They were ready.

"These are the films where you should have have spotted the adultery clues." I said.

There were eight short clips: house, salon, salon, and house. Wednesday showed: restaurant, gym, gym, and restaurant.

"I must admit I can't see anything untoward." he said.

"Why does she return to the Greek restaurant?" I asked.

"It's in the report." said the girl. "Your wife returns their yoghurt pot."

"OK. And how long did you stay at the gym the first time?"

She opened her iPad and consulted her notes.

"Almost the entire hour she was there. I asked about membership fees. Then I insisted on a thorough tour of their facilities; including the changing rooms, showers, and toilets. She was working out the whole time; easy to spot with her auburn hair, and red headband. I stayed long enough to see her eat her lunch before she hit the showers."

"You state you returned alone to the restaurant the following Tuesday morning, before my wife set off for work. What's the story there?"

"It's run by two Greek brothers. One arrives early and takes delivery of the bread and salad stuff. A couple of girls, they also look Greek, come in mid morning and they set out the ingredients in a chilled display. They open at eleven, and offer a take-away service till around two. The girls stay on and prepare for the evening opening. The brother, who is also the chef, gets in late afternoon and sets up for the sit-down evening restaurant meals."

"I hear they're very eco-friendly." I said.

"They are. Sandwiches and salads are made to order and are wrapped in paper; no plastic. Customers are mostly repeat business and know to bring their own containers; eating salad out of paper is not easy. The yoghurts are home-made and sold complete with a proper spoon. First timers have to pay a deposit. But regulars are on an honour system to bring back the jar and the spoon. They're sterilised and re-used."

"Now I'd like you play the movie I took yesterday. Can you display it straight off the camera?"

"No problem." he replied, and plugged it in.

The camera was moving down an upstairs corridor -- I was rather proud of how smoothly I was carrying it. A hand, mine, came into view and pushed open a door. The room was well lit, but the corridor was dark so I wasn't spotted. Cassie was lying on her back on a bed. A man with an incredibly hairy back was on top of her. They were both naked and every time he thrust into her, she lifted her hips to meet him. She also dug her fingertips into his buttocks to pull him as far inside her as she could.

The pace increased to a climax -- hers. She moved her hands to behind his neck and opened her mouth wide. Cassie kissing this man was of course not as serious as her fucking him. Yet it seemed more intimate. Now I understood why prostitutes will not let you kiss them. After sucking his tongue into one orifice, and his dick into another, she broke away from the kiss. Her arms flung out to the sides; fists clenched, and her entire back came up off the bed. She shouted 'Ga, ga!' -- a noise I'm very familiar with.

"Now it's my turn." he said. "I know how much you love this part. Let's see how many more orgasms you can have!"

It is said there's a certain sexual activity that Greeks are fond of. I didn't particularly want to witness that, so while she got on her hands and knees I panned across to the chair. Neatly piled, on top of his clothes was Cassie's gym outfit. Her new white Nike's sitting primly on the floor, next to his black leather loafers. For some reason they looked like they belonged to a married couple. A brief shot of him entering her from behind, and I started to close the door. Before it shut all the way, he turned and saw the movement. I put the camera down.

"But that's impossible!" shouted the woman. "She left within minutes every day I was there. She must have found out you hired us, and started again yesterday!"

I turned to guy: "What do you think?"

"I think I get it. I owe you some money!"

"No!" she insisted. "I was so careful. This is impossible."

"Not your fault." he told her. "We both should have worked it out." He turned to me. "What was the clue in the other movies? I didn't spot it."

"Get them set up again. But perhaps I should explain it to your assistant first. She's very confused."

"Yesterday, I went to the restaurant a few minutes before my wife." I said. "The lunch time take-aways had just got under way. I browsed and then asked if I could use their toilet. They were getting busy and showed me where it was. While I was out of sight, Brother Number One must have gone upstairs, claiming he would have a nap, and leave the girls to serve. As my wife entered the restaurant, another assistant emerged from the kitchens. She was dressed in identical gym clothes, right down to a replica wig and headband. She grabbed her sandwich and yoghurt, and went out to my wife's car, where you filmed her getting in. While you were following the waitress, and checking her presence at the gym, my wife was going upstairs to fuck the owner. You weren't aware of course. You said yourself how easy it was to keep an eye her. The work-out clothes, the hair; it was all you needed."

She thought it through for a moment.

"But the other girls in the restaurant would know."

"You're right. The two who worked behind the counter must have known the third one; especially as she was already dressed like my wife. They're all in on it."

"But ..."

"It's ok. You wouldn't have known about this unless you actually went into the shop and observed the lunch time activities. I understand why you waited outside. As you said she was only a minute or two."

"So how did you do it? There's only been one Wednesday opportunity since we finished the job. How could you be so sure what was happening in the shop? You were hiding in the loos!"

"I'd already worked out how they'd been doing it. That's why I came in on Tuesday and borrowed the camera."

"It's a fair cop." said the boss. "You get half your money back. Now show us what you discovered on our surveillance movies."

He ran them yet again.

"Home to salon and back, there's nothing unusual in the way she locks and unlocks the VW door. But restaurant to gym and back ... she's suddenly left handed!"

"Jesus! Well spotted!"

"May I ask what you'll do now?" the girl asked.

"Sure. Instead of retreating back down the corridor, I stood the other side of the door. Our big Greek friend rushed out, and away from me. I followed and somehow he tripped at the top of the stairs; probably while trying to pull his trousers up. Poor chap must have hit every one on the way down!"

"What about your wife?"

"I stepped into an alcove as she followed him, also pulling her clothes on. However improbable this sounds, it is the truth! She fell down the stairs as well, and landed on top of him. They were both half naked. The shop girls recognised me; we've eaten there in the evening. They just stared and didn't call the ambulance until I'd left. I'm told they have quite a number of broken bones between them; they'll both have to stay in hospital for a couple of weeks. By the way, would you like to buy a VW Scirocco? I can offer you a good discount!"