Note to Readers: It’s best to imagine this one in 40’s cinema style. Yes, complete with clicking camera and over acting. Popcorn and crackling candy wrappers optional.
* * * * *
Quiet mumbles and flashing lights illuminated the grisly scene. Behind yellow Police tape, a man had been brutally executed. A popular baseball bat was shoved deeply into his anal cavity, lubricated with a heavy brown grease. Below the grotesque statue, a large pool of white liquid congealed below his limp, dangling oversized penis.
Upon closer inspection, we find a large red kiss mark on the man’s right buttock. As we move towards the pool of blood under his head, we see the same lip marks on the man’s terror stricken, bloodless face.
“That’s bearing grease, Steve.” Sergeant O’Reily brought a sample on an inspection cloth. “I’d know that smell anywhere.”
A quick whiff confirmed the Sergeant’s findings. “Thank’s Quinlan.”
“What shade would you call that lipstick, by the way?” O’Reily and Harding were pals, and spoke to each other easily, even though Steve outranked him.
“I’d call it Cotton Candy Red.” It sounded as if he was talking out of the side of his mouth, but it was just crooked. “Notify me about the slug, I’ll add it to my lead sheet.”
“I didn’t know you was into slugs, huh, huh,” the big Sergeant chuckled to himself.
“Why, I oughta…,” the much smaller detective raised his hand menacingly. He chased Quinlan off with a growl.
Detective Steve Harding traversed the small room looking for clues. He stood by the open window and looked outside to see how far up it was. Not too high, but a bitch to climb up none-the- less. Somebody he knew then. The fingerprints on the bat will help.
The simply furnished apartment didn’t look lived in. A one night stand perhaps? No, a woman that he knew, who could get him to do…that. Not much here…’cept a matchbook, yoink. “The Dirty Thirty.” Hmm, sounds interesting. Steve put it in an evidence bag, and left the scene with a thousand things to do. First thing, talk to this guys wife. The ring finger of his left hand displayed a very expensive looking gold band.
“Hello?” A very attractive brunette answered the large, ornate wooden door. Her hair was cut short and clung tightly to her head in flowing waves. She looked about forty, and the darkest brown eyes dazzled expectantly.
“Detective Harding ma’am, I spoke to you on the phone about your husband,” the lone detective was stunned by her beauty, but stuck to business.
Mrs. Hargrove’s face paled. She swallowed and looked away slightly, “Yes, of course. Won’t you come in?” She tried sounding polite, but it was difficult. “May I offer you a drink, a twelve year old Scotch perhaps? My husband liked to keep a fully stocked bar.” As she walked toward the bar, she stopped and touched it tenderly.
Pleasant memories? “No thank you Mrs. Hargrove, let’s just get to business. Did your husband have any enemies or business rivals?” He took out his notepad and a pencil, and sat on an ottoman in front of an over stuffed sofa.
Mrs. Hargrove noticed how his neatly pressed grey suit fitted his muscular body perfectly as he sat down. She sat across from him on the sofa and crossed her legs.
“No, Detective. My husband was a good man and ran a clean business. He was respected and loved through out the city.” She turned away melodramatically, “I… loved him very much as well.” She was on the verge of tears, but was determined to show no weakness to the policeman.
Right, show me a clean businessman, and I’ll show you a clean lawyer, “I understand that ma’am, I’m trying to find a motive. You wouldn’t have one would you?” He knew her reaction before he got it, but it was important to clear up that point right away.
Francis Hargrove glared at him icily, chilling him to the bone. “No. Of course not. We were very much in love, and I’ll miss him dearly.”
Steve had to admit, she did sound genuine. “Was he cheating on you, that you know of?” He expected claws and hissing but was surprised at her answer.
“Yes, he was. My husband was…a very potent man, and I could not keep up with his libido. So, several years ago we… tacitly agreed, that he could see other women, if he never left me. We were happy with that arrangement until…”
“Until somebody kissed his ass goodbye, you mean?” He knew he was being cruel, but you had to push the suspects buttons to get the answers you wanted.
Francis broke down traumatically, “We’ve been happily married for years, he was my soulmate!” Sparkling tears streaked down her smooth cheeks and landed on her heaving bosom. Her lips quivered with soul bending misery. “And you needn’t worry about the money, most of it was mine to begin with anyway!” Her hurt face turned into a snarl, as her pain lashed out from the dark, empty pit in her stomach.
“Do you know the name of the girl?”
“Hm,” she grunted brusquely, “which one? There were many.” Her reply was kartal escort pregnant with many unresolved feelings.
“The one he might have been most serious about, perhaps.” He softened a bit, and gave her a pleasant tone, “Any names would be very helpful in solving this heinous crime, ma’am.”
“There is something you must know about my husband first, Mr. Harding.” She paused to light a cigarette. “Did you… see the body?” She blew a smoke ring.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Did you notice anything, out of the ordinary?”
“Besides the bat and the hole in his head?”
She gave him a black hole stare, “Yes, besides those things.”
“He did have an enormous…”
“Exactly. I loved my husband very much, and when we made love it was… incredible. But lately, he wanted to put it, someplace unnatural.” She shifted in her seat slightly, as she tried to force the image out of her mind.
“I’m not sure I follow, Mrs. Hargrove.”
She leveled her eyes at him, and flicked her ashes in the ashtray. “He wanted to make love to me in the ass, Detective. Or anybody else for that matter, because I wouldn’t. I almost wish I had, he might still be alive,” she wiped a tear with a handkerchief. She anguished over the sad, ironic coincidence when the coroner told her about the baseball bat.
“That helps some ma’am. Can I have that name now, please?” His pencil poised over his tattered notepad.
“Cynthia Graves, his secretary,” spat Francis. At one point she seriously thought that she could share her husband with another woman, and not feel hurt by it. She never expected to lose him over it, that much was certain.
“Thank you ma’am. I’ll keep in touch.” Detective Harding put his hat over his sleek black hair and walked toward the door. Francis followed him.
“Detective?” She waited breathlessly. “If it is her, make sure she gets what she deserves?”
“I’ll try ma’am. It’s up to Lady Justice to deal out the punishment, not I.” He didn’t mind punishing himself once in a while, but not on women.
Loud, quick clicking steps echoed down the long marble hallway. In the distance, Harding saw a lone secretary in front of a large wooden door. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows, creating a heavenly glow around her. His steady gait mingled harmoniously with her rhythmic typing, as Detective Harding approached one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
Her long, straight, platinum blond hair was pulled tightly into a bun, high on the back of her well balanced head. Short reading glasses perched on the end of her delicate nose. A tight blue dress hugged dangerously to every curve. She looked up brightly to greet the visitor.
“Good Afternoon! Welcome to Bear and Hargrove, how may I help you today, sir?” Her blue eyes sparkled like diamonds, and the sun shone with her smile.
“Miss Graves? I’m Detective Steven Harding of the Police Department, ma’am. I need to ask you a few questions, I’ll just be a minute.” He sat down and took out his pad. He loved to do that, it got them all defensive and pouty if they were guilty.
She winked, “Why certainly Mr. Harding, I’ve been expecting you.” She took off her glasses, and gave him her full attention. She laced her slender fingers together, and smiled valiantly.
“Miss Graves, I understand you and the deceased were having an affair.” Best to jump right on it, he thought. It might rattle her cage a little.
She blinked once, and gave him a brief glassy stare, then said quietly, “We went out on a few occasions, for business reasons. We never did anything… unprofessional, Detective Harding,” Cynthia pursed her crimson lips together, and waited for the next question.
“Yes of course, just following leads ma’am. Where did you work before you came here?”
“I was a fashion model for many years. You may have seen me in ladies undergarment catalogs?” An eyebrow arched conspiratorially.
“I thought you looked familiar. Why the change in careers?”
“Mr. Hargrove offered me… much more for my services.” Cynthia looked away briefly.
She’s covering something up. “I’m sorry to bother you about this Miss Graves, but could you mimeograph this for me. It’s a very important clue, and I need a copy of it for myself before I turn it in as evidence.” He fumbled around in his pockets, and pulled out a crumpled up laundry list.
Cynthia looked annoyed, but thought it wise to cooperate fully. She smiled and said, “Of course, Detective. I’ll just be a minute.” She took the useless paper, and stood up to leave.
Wow. Steve watched her walk away, his eyes followed the pendulous swing of her wide hips. Long sturdy legs made her perfect ass dance rhythmically up and down, as long spiked heels clicked away to distant white noise. He shook his head to clear the fog, and made himself stand up.
He went to her desk and started opening drawers. Bingo. Lipstick…red, yoink. And…ah ha, a matchbook, kurtköy escort ‘The Dirty Thirty’ . Perfect. He heard her come back, and sat down quickly.
“Here you are Detective. I trust that is all you need?” Cynthia settled in her chair, and resumed her posture as before.
“That’s all for now, Miss Graves. Thank you very much for your time, I’ll keep in touch.” Steve stood, nodded politely and gave her his lopsided smile. He left her his card in case she had any questions, and left.
“Prints match, Steve.” The lab technician just finished comparing fingerprints, and called Detective Harding to tell him the news. “Another thing, the deceased prints are also on the matchbook you gave me.”
“That’s swell. Thanks Dave.” Steve hung up the phone, and picked up his coat and hat on the way out.
“Miss Graves, you are charged with the murder of Robert Hargrove. You have the right to remain silent…”
Cynthia Graves pale skin went a shade whiter, and nodded shallowly. She picked up her belongings, and allowed Detective Harding to take her arm, and drive her downtown.
Steve tried not looking back, but it was extremely difficult. She was quite captivating. Cynthia’s huge breasts swayed slightly with every bump and turn. Her flawless white face hid behind a light blue veil attached to her fashionable hat. Full red lips mumbled slightly, as her bright blue eyes followed the street activity. Long eyelashes batted back at him.
What’s she trying to pull? Steve asked himself.
He pulled to a stop and escorted her to the interrogation room. Cynthia was left alone under a bright light, while Harding went to get other officers to assist in the questioning.
Cynthia sat quietly on the stool, legs crossed and looking at her fingernails. She heard footsteps as several men walked into the room talking and smoking. This was the first any of them, besides Harding, had seen her and they all immediately quieted down when they saw her. She smiled politely, but didn’t get up.
“Miss Graves, may I call you Cynthia?” A slight nod and a tiny “yes” allowed the new face to continue. “My name is Detective Grant ma’am, I will be conducting this proceeding.”
Detective Grant was a large stony faced black man with a deep, gravelly voice. He worked hard to get where he was, and would beat anyone’s ass who tried to take it away from him. He took his job very seriously.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m sure.” She tried to shine, but her lucky stars grew dim.
“Cynthia, where were you on the night of March 3rd?”
“In my apartment, reading. I had Chinese food delivered at seven o’clock, and went to bed at ten o’clock, after my radio program was finished.” She looked satisfied with her answer.
“That’s not true, Cynthia. Your landlady said she saw you enter the building a little after nine.”
“Oh, yes. I forgot some dry cleaning. I had to pick it up.” Oh my god, how could I be cracking up this easily, Cynthia thought. Calm down, be cool. Smile, show a little leg…you’ll have them eating out of your hands as usual.
The men in the room gawked as Cynthia hiked her dress up slightly as she re-crossed her legs. Detective Grant was having none of it, he knew her game.
“Miss Graves. Please refrain from your present course of action, these men are trained police officers, not trained seals.” He took out several evidence bags and leveled a smouldering glare at her, “The fingerprints on this lipstick case match the ones on the baseball bat, and the color is the same as what’s on the body. Cynthia, it’s time you came clean.”
Cynthia slumped forward slightly, exhausted. She shook slightly, and heaved a deep sigh, resting her head in the palms of her hands.
“I thought he loved me,” she started off slowly. “Everyday he told me he was going to leave his wife. Deep down I knew he wouldn’t, but I always had hope.
“A few weeks into our… relationship, I became suspicious that he was cheating on me.” Her gaze sharpened to a point on the table, and her lips tightened when she almost whispered, “I could handle sharing him with his wife, but no one else.”
“Why the bat Cynthia?” His tone shifted to a soothing chant.
“I was hired for my expertise,” her eyebrows raised, trying to stretch her point. “He offered me more money than I ever earned as a model, on one condition.”
“What condition was that, Cynthia?”
She stopped before she went forward, this was getting difficult. “On the condition that I…let him make love to my ass. I had done it before, and I thought it was an fair enough deal. But I agreed before I saw…it.”
“Go on,” Grant’s voice rumbled softly.
“His cock was so huge, it scared me senseless. But he really was a gentle lover, and he took his time. It took a while, but I came to…love it.” She sniffled up tears into her laced handkerchief.
“The bat, please?”
“Yes, yes the bat, just a minute,” she sounded maltepe escort annoyed as she blew her nose lightly. “When I found out he not only had one more mistress besides me, but three others, I was furious. The time he took with me and the things he gave me, made me think he loved me.
“I went looking for him, and on the way I stumbled across a sporting goods store. I saw the bat in the window. I pressed my face to the cold glass, and marveled at it’s size. It reminded me of Robert so much, I bought it thinking I was just going to scare him with it.”
“Yes?” Grant crossed his arms.
“It was easy enough to get him to meet me in a lonely apartment, we did it all the time. I told him I wanted to do something different, he agreed. Then I showed him the bat, and he started to back pedal.
“I laughed at him, and said something to the effect of, ‘Oh, you can dish it out but you can’t take it. If you ever want my ass again, you’ll let me have your ass.’
“He understood grudgingly and got undressed, as I greased the bat up. I could tell it hurt him, but I didn’t really care. He hurt me in more ways than one, that pig!” She spat on the table, clearly still furious at her dead lover.
FLASH! We see Cynthia holding the bat in both hands like a cock. She kisses the top with sparkling red lips and says sweetly, “C’mon Bobby, don’t you want to feel how good you make me feel?”
“Cynthia, what about the gun?” Grant leaned forward, resting his big arms on the table in front of him.
“The gun was his, he always carried it in the breast pocket of his coat. When he turned around and bent down, I took it out and placed it near me when he wasn’t looking, just in case it got ugly. I wasn’t planning on killing him, I just wanted to protect myself in case he got violent,” she sounded very shaky, like the truth was fighting to get out.
“Robert was really getting into it, I was…shocked. As he reached his climax he started calling out ‘Francis, oh god Francis!’
“I was the one fucking him not his wife!” Cynthia pounded the table with an angry fist. “I saw red. I started really giving it to him hard, twisting and plunging it in and out with cold, furious vengeance. Then I remembered the gun.”
“Yes?” Grant said calmly. Every officer in the small room squirmed nervously in their chairs as she related her gruesome tale. Sympathetic pain? Or wondering uneasily if they themselves wouldn’t do anything this goddess asked of them.
“He loved it… until I shot him.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she showed true remorse over the horrible thing she had done.
A muscular, older man with grey hair stepped forward from the shadows, “Miss Graves, do you understand you are looking at life in prison for what you did? It’s curtains for you. A pretty girl like you won’t last a day in the slammer.” Captain Hertzke was terrorizing her on purpose, he had other plans for her.
The blood left her face and her lip trembled, “I understand that, I didn’t want to kill him, I just… I just,” Cynthia cried uncontrollably until the Captain spoke again.
“Miss Graves, please calm down,” Captain Hertzke looked back at the others in the room, and winked. “I’m prepared to offer you a deal, Cynthia.” She quieted down to listen.
“It seems that Mr. Hargrove posed a threat to several… operations for us. You actually did us a favor.”
She brightened visibly. “You mean, I can… go?” Cynthia whimpered.
There was a brief hush, before a roar of laughter erupted from the officers in the room. “Miss Graves, Miss Graves, I believe you misunderstood me. You still owe a debt to society,” he looked at Detective Harding, and nodded towards her. Steve walked up to her, and handed her a piece of paper.
“What’s this? ‘You are cordially invited to The Policeman’s Ball, tomorrow at 9:00 p.m.’ What does this mean?” She put the gold embossed invitation on the table in front of her.
Captain Hertzke rested his hands on the table and almost boomed, “It means, Miss Graves, that we are giving you an escape route, if you attend ‘The Ball’. It will be hard work, but you will be free.
“Of course we will keep an eye on you, and you’re not allowed to leave the city for a while, but you can go about your everyday business. Let us know what you decide.” He turned to leave the room, all the rest stood to follow him out.
“What do I need to do?” Cynthia asked slightly worried.
“All you have to do is show up, instructions will be given to you there. Be early.” They all left, leaving Cynthia feeling greatly relieved, but even more worried.
Cynthia was dressed to the nines by 9:00. Black spiked heels pushed her legs up into shapely wonders. Silk panty hose, and a tight midnight black dress followed every exaggerated curve of her voluptuous body.
The dress was backless, and cut low in front. She wore a pearl necklace and matching earrings, and a simple black hat with veil. Long white gloves came to her elbows. She sat in her car for hours before she went in. She noticed only men entering, then it hit her like a .38 slug. She was very glad she dressed like this.
“I’m going to get away with murder, and all I have to do is fuck a room full of men?” Cynthia spoke aloud in disbelief. Her beautiful red lips pulled back into an ironic smile.