The Death of Love

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--oOo--

This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental. Some of the themes and subjects contained in this work are of an adult nature, so unless you're 18 or older, do not read this. All characters are over 18.

Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of a homicide scene as well as references to both criminal activity and suicide. This is also an

anti-cuckold

story! If any of this upsets you, please read something else.

If you haven't read Part 1, this will make little sense to you. The introduction to that part also explains the motivation behind writing this story and a little background.

Again, I thank you for reading and appreciate your honest and constructive feedback via comments and emails.

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The Death of Love

Part 2

Tuesday 07:18

Carmen answered her cell, "What' cha got, Mike?" An edgy intensity infused her low, tired voice as she slid out of the grip of adrenaline and caffeine.

"Bingo! I found the smoking gun that explains this whole stinkin' mess." Mike said, his fatigue sloughed away by the elation.

"Talk to me!" Carmen said, suddenly alert.

"It's more like a smoking flamethrower," Mike rasped. Then, he gave her the shortened, fast-facts version.

"So, Kyle Chastain was correct, but going from a weird kink to double-murder-suicide..."

"Took a calculated breakdown," Mike interrupted, "and in his journal, Royce left us a gift."

"A journal?" Carmen exclaimed.

"A very detailed one," Mike replied. "In it, he explains how Bernadette changed this kinky thing of theirs from a consensual, mutually satisfying adventure into a coerced hell for Royce. She essentially took control of him.

"She even forced him to unlock his social media, email, and investment accounts for her. Made him set the passwords to her maiden name and numeric birthday. If it's just a numeric password, her birthday."

Mike heard Carmen rustling something, and then she said, "I have Royce's phone and her driver's license right here." After a few seconds, she declared, "I'm into his phone."

Mike said, "You've unlocked a gold mine because his journal says she routinely sent him photos, text messages, and emails to control him and make his life hell."

"What a bitch," Carmen hissed. "Bigelow has overtime coming in to help chase social media and electronics for us, and I'll get the day shift Cybercrimes techie on it, too," Carmen said. "I'll start her on the laptops and email accounts."

Mike said, "We need to find an 'Elaine.' I'm convinced that's the blonde's name. She and a lady named Susan and Dublin are all over this journal." Then, he painstakingly described Bernadette's alleged betrayal, and like her partner, Carmen's blood ran cold.

"I'm going to start pulling things apart," she said with renewed energy. "Are you on the way back?"

"Yeah, a patrol unit is giving me a ride. I'll stop off for kolaches and donuts, too," Mike said.

"I'll put fresh coffee on your desk before I go down to see Wendy in Cybercrimes," Carmen said.

Forgetting about a bed and a shower, she began to hum without realizing it. As an investigator, a breakthrough like this refreshes the mind, body, and soul. It's the drug that keeps one working for days on low, single-digit hours of sleep.

As the sun climbed above the low clouds in the east, the old 14th Precinct building started to bask in another glorious summer day.

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Tuesday 10:44

Mike munched on a kolache while watching his partner scroll through Bernadette Boyle's Facebook. Lt. Price Bigelow stood behind her alongside Cheryl Brown, an Assistant District Attorney and Bigelow's oldest child.

"Lay off those donuts, Pop," she said, brushing some loose sugar off Bigelow's black tie. "Don't make me tell Mama," she half-joked.

"Here's one of the women," Carmen said. "Susan Klaven. She goes by Sue or Suzie. She or Elaine Whipple, or both of them, are in almost every photo with Bernadette and Dublin."

Mike opened Elaine Whipple's Facebook on his PC. "Sue Klaven, Dublin, and Bernadette are all over hers, too," he observed.

Bigelow looked at his daughter and asked, "You've got that look; what're you thinking?"

"Whipple is a blue blood trust-fund baby, so let's get the brass up to speed. Somebody above us will need to run interference when her daddy calls the mayor. I'll call Fuller and give him a heads up."

Life father, like daughter--Cheryl Brown spoke frankly with her boss, District Attorney Thomas Fuller.

Carmen answered her desk phone and spoke lowly for a few moments. Afterward, she said, "That was Lassiter, the Western District patrol supervisor. He says that one of his officers observed Elaine Whipple leaving her gated community in a white Mercedes sedan. She returned fifteen minutes later with a Starbucks."

Cybercrimes tech Wendy Mulvaney appeared in the doorway and said triumphantly, "Found the videos. Two of them are on Mrs. Boyle's laptop. Both have GPS and metadata. They came to her via email from Susan Klaven." She handed Carmen two sheets of paper. "Guess where they were shot?"

Carmen and Mike examined the papers and shared a triumphant look. "La Casa de Whipple," she chirped. She turned to Cheryl and said, "We need to bring Ms. Whipple down for questioning. You want to observe?"

"Yes," she replied, "but the search warrants are about ready for a judge, and I need you or Mike." Cheryl pointed at the pile of printed Facebook pages and emails. "With those, plus the video evidence and the photocopies from Royce Boyle's journal, the warrants won't be a problem."

Carmen turned to Bigelow and said, "Do you want to go with me, or should I grab someone else?"

"I'd be honored, Detective Otero," he said with a grin. As Bigelow and Otero walked out of the sweltering squad room, he smiled at his daughter and said, "Go ahead and dry snitch me to your Mama, but I'm taking the last maple-walnut glazed."

Mike asked Cheryl, "Is Judge Scofield the warrants judge today?" Scofield and Mike had a long and trusting relationship.

"Indeed, he is," she answered. Give me ten minutes, and we will run downtown to see the right honorable judge. He'll recess from noon to two."

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Tuesday 12:36

"Under penalty of perjury, do you solemnly swear that the information supporting these warrants is true and was obtained using established investigative and police procedures that comply with all local, state, and federal laws and comply with all Constitutional guarantees, protections, and relevant court rulings?" Judge Scofield droned.

"I do," Mike said before lowering his right hand.

Judge Scofield signed the warrants, and his clerk automatically separated the copies and commenced creating the long, legal paper trail these documents would join.

"Here you go, Detective. Have at 'em!" the judge said before returning to his corned beef sandwich and black coffee.

When Mike stepped into the anteroom next to the judge's chambers, Cheryl wrapped up a phone call. She said, "My office has assigned two investigators to assist the uniformed officers when you're ready to execute the warrants. Dad says day shift detectives Howard and Szabo are now searching Dublin's residence.

"Also, we're still scouring their social media and electronic devices. Getting into the cloud takes a while because those companies sometimes ain't real police-friendly." Cheryl laughed, "Of course, they will sell your personal information in a nanosecond."

Mike laughed and agreed. Then, turning serious, he said, "I doubt Whipple and Klaven suspect they're complicit in anything. I don't want to scare 'em off before we can interview them."

"Dad says people pour out their hearts to you," Cheryl said admiringly. "Thinks you're one of the best interrogators on the force."

Mike scoffed. "My partner is the real talent, especially getting people to open up." He smiled warmly. "Her patrol supervisors in the Harbor Division noticed her talent; that's how she made detective so quickly."

"And that's why Dad put y'all two together," Cheryl said. Mike looked away, embarrassed. "Come on, Mike, remember your last two partners."

"Yeah, Scott and Baskin," he said with a wan smile. "Don't remind me."

"I'm sure every day you work with Detective Otero reminds you that you're not dragging around an 'anvil' or a 'dead horse.'"

Mike smiled to have his own words come back to haunt him. "I'll need to have a word with the El-Tee about talking shop with his oldest progeny," he joked. "Come on, Kiddo, let's head back to the 14th Precinct sauna. I can't handle this real air-conditioning." Mike turned and led the way to the parking lot.

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Tuesday 13:06

After meeting at the station, Mike and Carmen drove to the Baker residence to sleep and shower. Elaine Whipple had not yet lawyered up. Instead, she promised to show up later for an interview, and they agreed on a time of six o'clock.

Mike quickly showered and slid into bed beside his sleeping wife, Christy. Carmen showered in Aunt Phyllis' bathroom and slept on a futon in her sewing room. Being a semi-regular around the extended Baker household, Carmen kept some clothes and toiletries there.

For the exhausted detectives, falling asleep instantly became an acquired skill, and the resulting three hours of sleep felt surprisingly restorative.

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Tuesday 18:13

Elaine Whipple arrived several minutes late, blaming downtown rush hour traffic. Carmen escorted the freshly scrubbed, neatly coiffed blonde into Interview Room 4. Her expensive French perfume and trace of lavender soap clashed with the small room's institutional disinfectant aroma.

Carmen began, "First, Ms. Whipple, thank you for coming. My name is Detective Carmen Otero, and this is my partner, Detective Sergeant Mike Baker. May I call you Elaine?" The pretty blonde nodded. "Good," she said. "I'm Carmen, and this is Mike."

In a soothing yet firm voice, Carmen advised Elaine of her Miranda rights and emphasized the voluntary nature of the interview. After Elaine signed her waiver of rights, the interview began. Mike leaned back, clicked his pen, and opened the worn binder containing his ubiquitous yellow legal pad.

"Did you hear about the triple shooting on Rappaport in Overland Heights last night?" Carmen asked.

"Yes," she nodded gravely. "Of course I did."

"Did you know any or all of the deceased?" Carmen asked.

Elaine frowned and nodded. "Uh-huh. All three. Very well, too." She made an appropriately sad face.

Carmen said, "Judging by your social media, you certainly did. You've posted many photos with them over the several past months."

"Yes... I, you know, do a lot of social media." Elaine chuckled awkwardly. "Facebook addict, here!" she announced, self-deprecatingly raising her hand.

Carmen and Mike smiled politely.

"Are there any photos containing Royce Boyle on your social media?" Carmen inquired.

"I'm not sure," she said quietly. "Probably not," Elaine added with a slight grimace.

"Well, there's not," Carmen stated. Elaine half shrugged.

"So, Elaine, did you socialize with all three: Sean, Bernadette, and Royce?"

The pretty blonde idly pushed her hair behind her right ear and slowly nodded. "Uhm, yeah," she muttered.

Carmen asked, "But isn't it odd that Royce is never mentioned, much less seen, on your social media?"

"I... I don't...think that... I mean, I'm not sure why, but... he wasn't really friendly with me," Elaine replied uneasily. "I ahh... I didn't have much to do with him."

"But you just said you did," Mike pressed.

"Well, not much, but yeah, a few times, I guess," she managed. Elaine pondered momentarily, and then as if challenged by the silence, she stated, "Look, detectives, I saw him when visiting their house, or if he went out with us, but... I was more Bernadette's friend than his. She and I met at Eclipse Garden Books book club a little over a year ago."

With an awkward fidget, Elaine slowly began unraveling.

"Until early March, Royce was all over Bernadette Boyle's Facebook," Carmen observed. "Typical of many wives' social media."

Mike flowed right in with, "...but after the 15th of March--the Ides of March--you, Sean Dublin, Susan Klaven, and a couple of others are all over her page. Except for older photos, Royce disappeared just like that," he snapped his large fingers, startling Elaine.

"I don't know what to tell you!" she retorted. "That was Bernadette's Facebook." She slowly wrung her hands and continued testily, "I can't control what she posts on hers. Royce isn't on mine, but not everyone I socialize with is on my Facebook! What are you looking for, Detectives?"

Carmen and Mike exchanged blank looks. Their passive interaction and targeted silence were intentional. "Fair enough, Elaine," Carmen said, as if conceding the point.

Mike pivoted. "Let's go back to March 3rd. What can you tell us about that night?"

Puzzled, she said, "I don't know." Elaine frowned and shrugged. "It was probably just a regular day...I mean, that was months ago." She squirmed and smiled weakly. "Sometimes, I can't remember what I did yesterday, so..." she laughed hollowly.

"Do you recall that you, Susan Klaven, and Bernadette Boyle went out for the evening? With a specific goal in mind?" he clarified. "You might remember because of something unusual that Bernadette did. Something that you and Susan knew about and maybe helped her with."

Suddenly understanding, Elaine hissed, "How's this relevant?"

"We think it is," calmly replied Carmen. "Tell us about that night."

Elaine composed herself and said testily, "All right, that was the night Bernadette wanted to pick up a strange cock! She and Royce wanted to try cuckolding! Do you even know what that is, Detective?" Elaine spat.

"Tell us how that night went down," Carmen requested, ignoring Elaine's retort.

"I mean... Royce... he eventually went down...on his wife, but that was later," Elaine said with a smirk.

The detectives' stone-faced reactions subdued Elaine, and she continued, "Bernadette went to the apartment of a guy we'd invited to meet us at the club and had sex. Just a pure hook-up like she wanted." Their continued lack of reaction made Elaine uncomfortable. With both hands, she slowly swept her hair behind her ears.

In the empty silence, a more passive Elaine explained, "Look, she and Royce fantasized about her sleeping with another man. Coming home to him, he'd reclaim her. That's supposed to be hellaciously kinky.

"So, long story short, Suzie and I helped her. The guy was one of Sean's pals from the gym, Adam Daley. Bernadette later said that she and Royce loved the experience. 'Best sex ever,' she told me."

"How did Sean become involved?" Carmen inquired.

After a short pause, the pretty blonde explained, "Well, Adam was on a cruise when Bernadette wanted a repeat. So, Suzie called Sean, and... well, Sean replaced Adam!" She snickered drily, "Sean and Bernadette had serious chemistry from the moment they met, and she went a little nuts with him."

Carmen said, "Explain 'a little nuts.'"

"They couldn't stay away from each other," Elaine replied. "Despite being an intelligent woman in her forties, she went overboard with Sean. She loved his arrogant, cocky, bad-boy personality.

"They became like boyfriend and girlfriend, and Bernadette changed. She started acting like Sean. You know, all bossy and mouthy. She craved Sean's approval and validation." Elaine sighed. "Lotsa women get addicted to that."

Neither detective spoke, and after an awkward pause, Elaine continued, "It got weirder, though." She stared at the table with a grimace. "It started getting out of hand in a bad way."

"How so?" Carmen asked.

"Well, the deeper she got into Sean, the more she lost respect for Royce. Bernadette didn't say those words, but her actions showed her disrespect. She bullied Royce and did demeaning things, which Sean went along with. That pair fed off each other, and their actions got very ugly."

Carmen narrowed her dark eyes and fixed Elaine with a withering gaze. "Describe how it 'got very ugly.'"

Elaine rubbed her temples and squirmed. "They did humiliating things like..." she blushed, "like comparing the guys' age difference, penis sizes, and Sean's fitness." Elaine sighed and methodically touched her hair. "She did things to her husband that I didn't like. She laughed when Sean called him names and stuff. It hurt Royce, and I didn't like it."

"Did you see or suspect any physical abuse?" Mike asked.

Elaine shook her head emphatically. "No, it's almost like they understood that any physical stuff was over the line. Weird, huh?"

Mike scribbled a few notes and asked, "Did you ever tell Bernadette to ease up on Royce?"

"Yes, I told her that unless Royce was okay with everything she and Sean did, it was like cheating. I said, 'You're married and need to remember that,'" Elaine recalled.

"Later on, I pointed out that Royce clearly hates what those two did and found it humiliating. Even when Royce got jealous, she told me this was part of the cuckold experience. Suzie said it was normal and called it 'cuckold angst,' I think.

"Bernadette even said, 'Royce decided he's submissive and gets off on the humiliation,'" Elaine recalled. "I know a little about cuckolding, and some men do get off on it. So, I was like, 'Whatever,' you know."

Elaine ran her fingers through her hair and sat cross-legged in the chair. Contritely, she added, "It sounds self-serving now, but I liked Royce."

"But from what you saw, you figured Royce accepted how he was being treated?" Mike asked.

Elaine shrugged. "Yes, I did," she said slowly. "Maybe... maybe I wanted to think he accepted it because I hoped my friends weren't bad people. Maybe I hoped they wouldn't lie to me to hide what they really were doing to..." her voice trailed off as she wrung her hands.

It always begins in the eyes, and Mike saw a dawn of understanding beginning to break upon Elaine Whipple.

When Elaine didn't further elaborate, Carmen said, "You mentioned earlier that you know about cuckolding."

Elaine smiled wanly and replied, "No, not really. I know just what Suzie told me. The crap you read on the Internet isn't real." She laughed nervously. "Suzie is all into this female empowerment thing and has dabbled in cuckolding and female-led relationships, that sort of thing. You know, the big expert.

"On her website, she advertises feminism seminars, empowerment, and cuckolding resources, some silly assed kind of Womyn Power lapel ribbons, legal services through a 'women's law firm' and stuff like that." She sneered, "Not my thing at all."

With a hint of disdain, Carmen asked, "I take it you ain't down wit' the struggle, Sista?"

Elaine understood the implication and firmly replied, "Detective Otero, I'm a rich, spoiled, hot mess, but my life is comfortable, easy, and hellaciously fun. I love being a woman; part of that is loving men and being loved. Men are not the enemy--my only complaints are with individual guys. Honestly? Suzie and I get along great unless we talk about sex, politics, or sexual politics."