Again a thank you to blackrandl1958 for her editing.
Who doesn't hate Mondays, thought Sgt. Roland Martin as his cellphone rang in his pocket.
He hadn't even bit into the first of the three chocolate cake doughnuts he had bought at Dunkin' Donuts during his first coffee break of the week before that Goddamn phone chirped. Seriously, did somebody fuckin' die?
The answer to that question, he found out when he answered the call, was yes.
"Dead body at 1492 Sumner Ave., Rollie," Lt. Steve Gray said without hesitation when he heard the call connect. "Dispatch rolled a unit on a call of an open door at the residence, and when the patrolman went inside, he found a dead body. You might not want to finish those doughnuts I know you have before you go, though, because the kid was a rookie, and this was his first dead body. He blew chunks all over the fucking carpet right next to the DB... and down the hall as he tried to run out the door so as not to mess up the crime scene twice. Oh, and also on the front steps. Fucking kid made a bigger mess than the Goddamn killer."
"Thanks for the warning, Gray Man," Rollie said disgustedly as his younger partner, Det. Leslie Bingham, listened to his end of the conversation while shoving half a Boston Cream doughnut into her mouth.
For the thousandth time, Rollie noted how much his partner looked like she could be his wife's younger sister.
"We're up, and I wouldn't bother finishin' the rest of your stuff from what Gray Man just said. "Chuck the cakes and I'll grab the coffees. Meet you in the car and I'll fill you in."
There were two cruisers with their lights on at the house when the two homicide officers pulled up. One of the four patrolmen was sitting halfway in the passenger side of one of the cars with his face most of the way into a barf bag.
"Tell the fuckin' kid he'll owe me for drycleanin' if I get any of his puke on my clothes," Rollie said to a second patrolman standing near-by.
After carefully stepping over the pile of vomit on the front steps, Rollie and Bingham carefully entered the house and headed toward the bedroom where the body was found. There were two more patrolmen in the bedroom, both holding handkerchiefs to their noses due to the stench of the voluminous barf pile.
"The victim is Macallister Leonard, a 28-year-old single artist of some note who has lived in the home for about two years after moving here from Portland, OR. One gunshot to the back of the head... looks like a .22 caliber, done from close range, almost like a hit or someone the victim knew and trusted," reported the senior patrolman on the scene, Sgt. Bill Ford, a veteran cop who knew his business, Rollie thought.
"Doesn't look like anything was taken. His wallet was still on his dresser, his TV is still intact and nothing looks like it was gone through.
"Now if you don't mind, we're going to step out and get some fresh air. Call us if you need anything else."
Rollie nodded, and Ford and the remaining cop were out of the door quickly.
Bingham started taking photos of the crime scene while Rollie wandered through the home. He was somewhat surprised to find two kinds of shampoos and two kinds of conditioner in the shower stall, one being more a man's type and the other being more along the lines of what a woman would use. In fact, he noted absently that one set of shampoo and conditioner was the same products his wife used.
"Definitely a woman staying here from time to time," he called out to Bingham when further snooping found a woman's hairbrush and a bottle of White Shoulders perfume in a drawer in the bathroom cabinet. "Probably an older woman judging by the White Shoulders. I buy that for Sandy, and the girl at the shop where I get it told me that next to nobody under the age of 40 buys the stuff anymore."
He removed some of the blonde hair from the brush and put it in a plastic bag for DNA analysis. He put the brush in another bag so the lab could check for fingerprints.
Rollie had been on the job for 22 years and was good at what he did. His instincts brought him back to the bedroom, where he started checking out the various drawers and the closet. He noted that one of the drawers had several items of women's lingerie and one side of the closet had several items of women's clothes, enough for several days of dressing. There was even an ugly yellow sweatsuit similar to the ugly banana-looking thing his wife used to wear around his house occasionally before she finally got rid of it to stop his complaining.
Rollie didn't move for about a minute and realized he had stopped breathing as he looked at the sweatsuit. He reached into the closet, removed it by the hanger and was scrutinizing it intently when Bingham interrupted his reverie.
"Whoever she is, her taste isn't very good," Bingham voiced.
"Yeah, whoever designed this should be beaten," Rollie quickly joked to cover his thoughts.
He placed it back in the closet after noting it was the same size as his wife wears. He could feel the hair standing on his arms.
"Maybe you need to step out for a few minutes, too, Rollie. You look white as a ghost," Bingham said.
"Yeah, good idea. I'll be back in five," Rollie said.
Being careful of where he stepped, Rollie walked outside, his brain thinking in 18 directions at once. He knew that what he saw in the house was the end of his 24-year marriage, although he was still thinking clear enough to know he would verify fingerprints first.
He would get an item of Sandy's from home and give it to the fingerprint jockeys to match up. He could have that done before shift was over.
Twenty-four years over in the snap of his fingers, Rollie thought to himself. Fuck! He loved her... She apparently didn't love him, or if she did, with not the same commitment.
He felt the wretch coming from deep inside his stomach. He doubled over and spewed the remnants of last night's dinner on the ground.
"I've never seen you do that before, Rollie, but I don't blame you. That was pretty rank," Bingham said as she walked up.
Rollie was embarrassed by vomiting, even if it wasn't for the reason Bingham thought. There was no way he could tell her about this right now, even if the two partners talked about virtually everything going on in their lives.
As he had figured, Rollie had the answer he didn't want before the end of shift. He knew he had to recuse himself from the case, and went in to see his commander.
"I got a big fuckin' problem, Gray Man," Rollie said when he walked in to the commander's office. "Seems my darlin' wife has been fuckin' the dead guy for some time, enough time that she has some clothes and stuff at his home."
Gray's head popped up from the paperwork he was viewing like it was spring-loaded and he stared gapped-mouth at his charge. Even though Rollie expected that reaction, he still blushed deeply.
"I ran fingerprints on a hairbrush I found at his house against stuff from home that had Sandy's prints on them: bingo. She had clothes and other stuff there. Fuck. I never had a Goddamn clue. I guess I'll find out tonight how long this shit's been goin' on."
"I'm sorry, Roll. Really," Gray said. "Do you think she killed the guy? Ballistics won't be in until tomorrow, maybe. Bill Ford said he thinks it's a .22. Sandy got a .22?"
"Fuck. She does. I'll find it and bring it in later. If it turns out to be a .22, you guys can go for the match," Rollie said.
"Do I think she killed the guy? If you would have asked me yesterday, I would have told you no way could she have killed anyone... but I also would have told you no way could she have cheated on me. Apparently, I am a fuckin' idiot, boss."
"You know we have to bring her in for questioning," Gray said. "Do you want me to send a couple of uniforms over to your house, or do you want to bring her in?"
"I guess it's better if I do it, boss. Might take me a bit, though. We have some talkin' to do as well," Rollie said.
Sandy was surprised when she pulled into her driveway to find her husband's car already there. That was a rare occurrence and usually only happened if she had a late showing in her job as a real estate agent. She found her husband sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee.
"What a nice surprise, you home early for a change," Sandy said as she moved through the kitchen. "Let me throw on some sweats and I'll start supper."
"Did you love him, Sandy? Did you love Macallister Leonard?" Rollie asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
Sandy stopped dead in her tracks and her shoulders stiffened visibly. For all she knew, her husband had just shouted at her from behind. Her first reaction was to run, but her feet seemed glued to the floor. It took several seconds before she was able to turn around to face Rollie, although she couldn't look him directly in the eyes.
"I-I-I..." she rasped, her soprano voice suddenly sounding like gravel. "I suppose I have developed feelings for him. I'm sorry, Rollie."
Her eyes filled with tears as the two locked stares. She could see horrible pain in the eyes of the man who exchanged wedding vows with her 27 years ago. She moved to take a seat at the table with her husband.
"How long had this shit been goin' on?" he hissed.
"About two years. I showed him several houses when he moved here, and we... just sort of clicked. It just sort of happened," she responded.
"Two fuckin' years. It just sort of happened," he repeated quietly. "Like you were showin' him a house, all of your clothes fell off and you tripped and landed on his hard dick? Because that's totally believable."
The woman started studying the wood grain of the table intently with her eyes. She had never before been spoken to like that by her husband. She wanted to cry, but was suddenly afraid of how her husband would react to that.
"We would get together sometimes during the day, sometimes at night when you were doing late shifts. His schedule is fairly flexible, and you know that most of my hours are flexible," she explained.
"His schedule isn't so flexible anymore, Sandy. He's in the morgue right now with a bullet hole in the back of his head, and you're our number one suspect."
Rollie had to reach out and grab his wife's arm to keep her from falling out of her chair onto the floor when her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out. He deadlifted her out of the chair and carried her to the sofa in the family room.
Sandy woke up sobbing while Rollie stood near-by. He noted the faint
seemed
real enough, but her acting like a loving wife for the past two years while she fucked another man also
seemed
real enough.
"You know I didn't kill him. You know I couldn't do something like that, don't you Rollie?" she pleaded.
Up until this morning I would have agreed with you. But if you could fuck another man for two years, I guess you could be capable of a lot more... a lot more," Rollie said. "Right now, I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."
