The Saint Valentine's Day Murders

THE SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY MURDERS

'Conduct Unbecoming' Swinging Couple Polices Vegas.

"TWO DEAD, TWO WOUNDED IN VALENTINE'S DAY SHOOTING"

It was the lead article on page one of the February 15 Las Vegas Review-Journal:

"Valentine's Day Orgy Turns Brutal, LVMPD Says"

Devan Knight, a Las Vegas Metropolitan Homicide Detective, is just starting breakfast in his kitchen. A large red See's heart-shaped candy box sits open and a dozen red roses sit in a vase on the table, remainders of a loving Valentine's Day spent with his treasured wife of 6 years, Alyssa, the night before. "Thank again for the luscious candy and roses, Dev" She said.

"You are most welcome, sweetheart. See's are the best, and you know I will probably ham-fist the most of them before you do. You were so late getting home yesterday afternoon I thought I was going to Valentine alone, but you made up for it in spectacular fashion.

Smiling, openly flirty "I was pretty spectacular, wasn't I. Glad you noticed."

Smiling back, he scans the first page of the Review-Journal article. He quickly learns enough to abbreviate his breakfast, hug and kiss his beautiful lady, tell her "Duty calls" and rush out to his car.

They would probably be calling him shortly, surprising they hadn't already done so. Maybe they figured he would be on duty by 8:00 anyway and he couldn't get there much sooner if they did call.

Frankly, the shooting of 4 people would not always make the lead story in bustling Las Vegas. Slow news day he thought. Two dead also wouldn't make him skip breakfast ordinarily, but there was something about headline crimes that seem to grab more attention from Homicide. He felt the need to be Johnny on the spot for his team.

He flicks on the flashing lights on the side of his unmarked car, which enables him to move around the traffic jam ahead. He tuned his radio to KXNT, not necessarily the best radio station, but the one that would be covering the slaughter at this hour.

When he arrived at Metro there was little of the expected hustle and bustle. Sergeant Warner filled him in; the Lewis team had been assigned to what they were already calling the St. Valentine's Day Murders. Three Detectives were already out at the site and Sergeant Rog Lewis would be joining them soon.

Devan himself was part of the Hogan Squad, which accounted for why he had not been alerted earlier. Fine with him, didn't sound like the kind of case he wanted on his plate right now. He knew he would be loaned-in if the investigation got complicated and needed more manpower. With half the squad still out on it, it didn't sound like the usual open and shut murder where the perp was already behind bars.

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He spent the day working on a sad case, a middle-aged African American woman and a young girl had been burned to death in a low-rent apartment house two days ago. His first visit out there made it clear that the whole building had been a firetrap with untended trash and some obvious fire code violations. He heard that the Fire Department investigators had already uncovered enough evidence to pretty much fry the slum lord.

That wasn't his job. The law simply requires that all deaths from fire had to be investigated to confirm that the deaths were purely from accidental fire, and not in some way abetted by the hand of a person or persons. It didn't look like that was likely here. The origin of the blaze was a gas stove on the floor below the victims' apartment and two apartments west. The LVFD investigators had already concluded their on-site investigation yesterday, noting nothing unusual with the pattern of fire spread, nor any trace of chemical accelerants.

The 10-year-old girl was said to have been staying at her grandmother's apartment for reasons he had yet to confirm, but he was told by neighbors that she stayed there to help the disabled woman, thought to be her grandmother. Unless autopsy showed up some suspicious signs, he didn't find any reason to suspect "foul play".

He loved that phrase; did it date back to the Sherlock Holmes era? It certainly doesn't appear on any official crime reports now days.

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Deva was able to get home nicely before dinner. He plopped down on his beloved recliner and turned on the TV news while Alyssa was in the kitchen, rotating a couple of baked potatoes already in the oven after started pork chops on a low burner. The St. Valentine's Day shootings were still the top story. He didn't learn much that he hadn't already heard this morning except that they expanded on the revelation that the slain were believed to have been swingers of some sort, attending a get together at an unnamed place on Sahara known for sexual activities. Sounded a lot to him like the infamous Green Door, which every member of the police force knew by reputation.

As he tuned up the volume his wife trotted in and put her hand on his shoulder to listen. The announcer said that there was evidence that a party had been underway, involving members of a local swinger's group. They cautiously were not naming the exact location, or the exact activities involved. Camera shots were of the police, with Homicide's Lieutenant Leonard Simpson as the principle speaker. No on-site views were shown. It was still unclear who might have started the gunfire.

"It was at the Green Door." He said, looking up at his wife who nodded.

The announcer included the information, not known when yesterday's paper went to bed, that a third person had died, and one woman was in the ICU at Saint Rose Dominican. They flashed the names of the victims as they showed photos of them in life, not stating where the pictures had been obtained.

Alyssa gasped audibly and threw her clenched hand up to her mouth. He gathered she must have recognized someone, so he got up and threw his arms around her and hugged her in comfort. "Did you know one of them honey?"

She moved closer to the screen pointing at the middle one of the persons shown. "Only by having fucked him a few times."

"Dwayne Johnston?" he asked, pointing at the name on the screen, under a good-looking middle-aged man's mug shot.

"He didn't go by that name of course. You know we don't use real names in the clubs. But, yes, that's the man. I knew him by the name of Warren. The last time we hooked up was only last week. Oh My God!" She choked again.

"Oh, sweetie", he pulled her closer, hugging her tightly. "That has got to feel horrible. So So it was at the Green Door?" She nodded tearfully. 'Did I meet this guy?"

"I'm pretty sure you did hon. Not that you pay a whole lot of attention to who is fucking your beloved wife!" she replied with a borderline snarky tone and a loving smile.

"Oh, don't be so smarty-ass honey. I don't think you want me screening and approving all your fuck buddies, do you?"

Alyssa hugged him closer and said "Ha, that'll be the day. Oh, God, this is just so creepy. Why didn't you give me a heads up?"

"To tell you what? When I left this morning all I knew was what I saw in the paper. Our squad didn't catch that case, so I didn't pick up any good skinny around Metro. I for sure will in the morning."

They sat down on the couch together while she trembled awhile. "My God Dev do you know how it feels to know that someone you had been intimate with just days ago, was shot to pieces. I clearly remember how his cock felt in me, it was very nice. Now, blechh!"

She had already known full well about the shooting, of course, as well as who the victim was. She had witnessed it from a few feet away and had even gotten her face sprinkled with a few droplets of her lover's blood. Keep composed. But she couldn't let her husband know that she had been in the club to witness the horror.

It wasn't the fact that she had been intimate with the guy that she had to hide. But, she was terrified that if her law-and-order hubby found out how close she had been to a fatal shooting that he would immediately pull the plug on their favorite recreation.

He would also be mortally pissed off that she had even been in the club without him and without his knowledge. Especially on Valentine's Day!

That solo visit was a first for her. Maybe the thought of her Valentine being at work on Valentine's Day fostered some urges that required quenching. He would probably consider her clubbing without him as tantamount to cheating. She sheepishly figured it really was, sort of. He must not find out that she was there.

They sat there together awhile longer. She loved him so very much, how could she have done that? She didn't even get close to hooking up with anyone yesterday. The news quickly covered the follow up on the tragic fire Devan had investigated, in somber tones. Nothing new regarding the victims. Then he suddenly smelled a burning pan and ran out to turn off the crispy chops. Alyssa turned off the oven as well. They shook it off and resolved to go to bed instead.

He consoled his shaking spouse as best he could, at least for a couple of hours. Maybe longer. It was obvious to him, from her open wantonness, that she wasn't behaving like she had just lost a dear loved one. But the shock of it was still understandable to him. To her as well, but from a bit different perspective.

The next day was Wednesday, their usual night out at the clubs. When you are on call with Homicide one does not go out drinking alcohol on high-crime weekend nights. He had expected she would want to take a pass after her disturbing news, but she told him the best thing she could do was to get in the arms of some new hunk. She wasn't in "mourning" for Warren/Dwayne.

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To explain how the Knights got to this point...Alyssa and he were well aware of the high risk to them for being active swingers while he worked in a sensitive government job. They talked about it in depth when they were first drawn to the lifestyle by way of some rather innocuous initial wife swapping. Well, one might call it innocuous, but it was addictive for both of them. Neither will ever forget their first hookups.

It was a private wingding at the home of Marcia and Wilbur Collins, with a dozen couples, and no singles that were noticed. They had gotten pretty inebriated, you can call it drunk if you prefer, at a party with mostly new to them acquaintances. Right about midnight Marcia announced "Its Cinderella Time, any of you who want to go home now can turn into pumpkins with our profuse thank you for having joined us for a great evening. Anyone who feels that you may have had too much drink to drive or, for whatever other excuse, want to sleep over here, just hand me your cell phones. The husband's phone, that is."

As some men started handing their phones into a breadbasket sized box, Devan looked questioningly at his worldly wife. She grinned and leaned over and mumbled in his ear "Sorry, I forgot to clue you in beforehand. If you don't want to play, we just say our thanks and go home now." Two or three couples seemed to be doing that very thing.

"If you do want us to stay over, just put your cell phone in the box. Then, we'll stay here, and the ladies will take turns blindly picking out a phone, but we can't pick our own husband's. Then we go off with the owner of the phone we picked to find a private corner to spend the night together.

"Fair warning Devan, when you come around to find me in the morning, expect me to be pretty much filled with someone's cum. If you think we are ready for this it's your decision, sweetie." Her beaming grin made it clear which path she was favoring. He loves her so much he couldn't bear to disappoint his oversexed wife. So, solely for her sake (wink, wink) he surrendered his ageing I-8, the last in the box.

Marcia, the hostess lady, then handed the filled box to her husband and told him to take charge while she herself drew the first match-up. She then grabbed a nondescript black phone without seeming to dig down into the box. As Marcia circulated around holding out the phone she had picked, Dev was quickly able to identify it as his own. She grabbed him by the shoulders with a brief kiss on the lips and he took his first really close-up look at the red-headed lady, who was not a lot older than him. She had a prettier than average face and way prettier than average tits. It also appeared, by all available evidence, that she sported a gorgeous hind-end. Devan immediately felt that his neighborly decision to play the game had been the wisest choice to make.

Everything went pretty much according to script for the rest of the night. Pretty much. Actually, over the following 3 ½ hours, Devan fucked the hostess Marcia in her luscious mouth and pussy and again in her mouth. After a couple hours of sleep his partner de jour awoke beside him on her master bed and, after a tinkle, she wouldn't keep her hands off of him. Well, at least she acted like she wouldn't, he never actually asked her to stop. She shoved him on his back and proceeded to cover his boner with her still slippery vagina. He fondled her big breasts and kissed them a lot.

After the lady of the house finally had her fill, he wandered around to find his sweetheart. He located Alyssa down on the first floor in the dining room off the kitchen. Literally down on the first floor. She was being taken advantage of, by a nice man proactively trying to screw her naked body into the carpet. Dev didn't really recognize the man. Marica had led him up to her bedroom before Alyssa even took her turn at the draw. He sat down Indian style alongside them and watched intently. He hoped to pick up a few tips on how to properly play Cinderella Time with Mrs. Knight. Based on his wife's audibly raucous sounds, the man apparently did do a good job of nailing her to the carpet.

On the way home they were both laughing aloud and feeling each other up in the car. She proudly told him that her phone guy turned out to be a quite good fuck and they were at it most of the wee hours. What little sleep they had was with his head between her breasts. Only one other man seriously came on to her and they screwed for maybe half an hour before her husband had sat down next to them.

Alyssa emphasized that it wasn't her that finally ran out of steam. Devan silently loved the way she was developing of chatting so casually about intimate details that would have sent the average married couple screaming toward the kitchen knives. Alyssa, for her part, was smiling inwardly at the recollection of reaching out to squeeze her husband's hand while this man, whose name she didn't even catch, had her bucking her bare ass into up into his fervent thrusts and loudly orgasming for the umpteenth time. God only could recall how many she had been blessed with last night.

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They were hooked. Totally addicted. They gushed about it to each other frequently in the coming days and weeks. And with each retelling they seemed to magnify the wonderfulness of their experience. Quite the opposite, he felt, than the way most couples might downplay their enjoyment of their extramarital activities.

But they fully understood that if their new hobby was discovered by LVMPD, it would instantly be found to be 'Conduct Unbecoming an Officer of the Law'. What should they do? They could cross their hearts and swear never to party outside marriage again. Silence. No supporters? This had been WAY too much fun.

Or he could just find new employment. He vetoed that, at least for now. He is rightly proud of what he does, and thinks he is pretty good at it. Alternatively, they might just keep on exploring this aphrodisiac lifestyle, very cautiously, and move to another city only if they get caught. That may be a cop-out, but it garnered the most positive responses.

They clearly understood that any more group parties like those at the Collins' would get them identified for who they were and that would probably be career ending. They had heard about the sex clubs and he suggested that they had a decent chance of anonymity under stage names at one of those places. So, they explored the idea carefully, he had some good source material in the Metro archives, and finally decided they liked the famous/infamous Green Door, out west on Sahara, best for their purpose.

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In their first club dates Devan had tried to participate together with the woman he came in with, but rather soon she candidly informed him that she didn't really prefer that. She smilingly pronounced that, while he was a better fuck than any guys she met in the clubs, and she loved him to death, he was easy, and she could have his cock any old day. So, she wanted to reserve her club time for the excitement only new cocks can give a girl. God love her for her foresight and her directness.

Thereafter, they went together to the club, and returned home together, but usually went their separate ways inside the maze of rooms. On most nights, they made it a point to meet up every hour or two; typically, she might wink and hold up 3 or 4 fingers, and he might shrug his shoulders, or raise a single digit. To them, "going out to the club" translated to "let's go out together for some extra heavy extra-marital sex, and maybe hubby can get a little too." They made no pretenses, and no apologies, and both thrived in that culture.

Sure, there were rules. Health and security were foremost. Both would use made up names and dress in a way that would at least partially disguise their identity. They were never to leave the club with anyone other than their spouse. They agreed never to accept any drugs, or drinks that might have been doctored. They were never to agree to any photos, although the club would surely enforce that rule for them. They never touched anyone that they even suspected of using a false ID. Or who looked like they could possibly have some kind of STD, although how does one really spot that? Last rule, they had to recount to each other, every word and deed as best they could recall. If asked.

Those rules had served them pretty well for the last 2 ½ years. There was only one breech and that was completely accidental. Somehow, Alyssa lost track of her husband one night, they have no recollection of where he had gotten to. She freaked out and had a few too many shots while waiting for him to find her. He had the car key of course and they had left their phones in the car. She had only small money in her clutch purse and didn't know if Uber or Lift would accept her credit card (they would have).

Some presentable looking gents offered to take her home and she rather quickly agreed, figuring that with four of them, nothing very evil was likely to happen. And it didn't, not really. They drove Alyssa to their own place instead of home and she couldn't think of any reason to object, the night was still early, and the company was enjoyable. The all-male quartet made sure she was comfortable and tended to, and that her drink stayed full.

Then the four gently, but persistently, enjoyed all her delectable orifices well into the next day. She didn't remember to even call Devan from a borrowed phone until past noon and caught holy hell from him for that. Two of the gentlemen drove her home to a very worried and angry husband.

He civilly thanked them for returning his wife in one piece and took her to the couch to comfort her. She fell asleep in his arms after giving him only the briefest summary of what parts of her anatomy the guys had done what with.