A Locked Room Mystery

By Akkano

John Longbottom, an accountant and entrepreneur, has fallen into the clutches of Ms. Marina, a particularly cruel and sadistic dominatrix.

But who is this mysterious Ms. Marina? And how did she mange to piss into Longbottom’s whiskey, slip cyanide into it and murder him in front of  eight witnesses, without anybody noticing anything? Join the world renowned detective, Ms. Cheryl Holmes, aided and abetted by her sidekick (and her spouse), Jane Holmes as she unravels the mystery and unearths the startling solution, which is plausible only within the femdom setting.

Prologue

Well John, you bastard, I have you now and you know it. How does it feel? You wronged me horribly, caused me a great deal of pain and misery. Well, you will pay, pay and pay again for it and I will take enormous pleasure in ensuring you never have neither the ego, strength nor pride to put another human being in such a position. You will pay John, and

pay for the rest of your miserable life. All your life you have given grief to others, Let us see how you like it, now that the shoe will be on the other foot. Your unending nightmare is about to begin. Welcome to the terror dome…

Flashback-One

John was apprehensive as he knocked softly on Ms. Marina's room. She had summoned him by the simple and age old method of blackmail; the documents she had scanned to him being convincing enough for him to know Marina could ruin him for life if she chose. According to her, there was but one course left to him.

Submission.

Inside the room, Marina looked at her watch. It was exactly 7.00 p.m. on the dot. Just as she had told him.

Her lips curved into a smile. A smile that was part contempt and part pleasure. She had been convinced from the start that he was trainable and now more than ever she was confident her darkest desires could be achieved. Not only would she remake him into a creature barely recognizable from the man preceding it but doing so would be easy.

She let him stand at her door for a full ten minutes, making enough noise to let him know she was there and he must wait before, in a tone she knew would madden him, saying:

"Come in, it is open."

As John entered her room she was seated at her desk and he looked here and there for a

nonexistent chair.

It took a few moments for him to realize the omission was deliberate and she intended for

him to remained standing in front of her.

The woman with his fate in her hands was looking (or pretending to look) at some papers and normally he would have laughed at such an obvious ploy to make him sweat. But this was not normal. On this occasion he was actually sweating.

After a few minutes she looked up, peered at him over her reading glasses and examined him critically, as if she would examine an object. "Take off your clothes."

Take off my clothes, really? He thought to himself. Be naked in front of this fully clothed

woman, give up the control to her completely? In his business dealings so far, he had

invariably come out on top (if sometimes after a bit of struggle). Should he capitulate to her completely then? He looked at her. She looked simply ravishing, gorgeous in her plain cotton business suit.

He thought of refusing. But then he thought of the incriminating documents she had sent him, which were still on his hard disk. Even if that may not send him to prison, it would almost certainly mean financial ruin, followed by a divorce.

He complied with a sigh and removed his shirt and trousers; the smirk of derision greeting their removal guaranteed to heighten his sense of shame and helplessness.

"Good boy.” she said patronizingly. “I see you are wearing your wife's dirty underwear and bra like I told you to. Boy, won't she be surprised if she could see you now."

She laughed.

It was laughter that seemed almost demented to him and, if he had not known better, he

would definitely have described her as insane.

“What do you think your sainted wife would say if she could see you now?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, the prospect of the woman he loved seeing him in such a

condition before another triggering outrage, but she cut him off sharply:

“Silence! That was rhetorical. When I want you to speak I’ll give you permission.”

Wonderment replaced his outrage. Was she serious? Did she truly expect a man such as him to only speak when spoken to?

"Now take off that dirty, disgusting lingerie," the interruption to his thoughts made answer.

He hesitated, not wanting to be naked in front of her while she was fully clothed. Ms Marina sensed his hesitation and she was furious. "I will teach you to disobey me, you sniveling bastard."

She held the lingerie with both hands and tore it off his body, leaving him fully naked.

“Now, hold on a minute there,” he protested, gravity of his situation forgotten under the

outrage. “That was expensive stuff, I bought it myself. You can’t just throw your weight

about like this.”

“Expensive, really? What do I care about expense? Anyway, if we are talking about money, let us look at the consequences of you defying me.”

She opened up her laptop and brought a document on the screen. “See this letter here? You outline your misdeeds in here, in almost a gloating manner. Note your signature at the bottom.”

She brought up another document.

“This is where you swindled poor Tom out of a significant amount of money by insider

trading. This represents proof positive of insider trading. I am sure district attorney will be interested in this. But this is the corker.”

She pulled up yet more evidence incriminating him.

“After Tom declared bankruptcy, this is where you swindled his poor widowed mother of

whatever nest egg she had built up for herself. You persuaded her to give her nest egg to

Tom, so that he may dig himself out of the hole.”

John bit into his lip and forced himself to remain silent; hearing his exploits spoken of aloud somehow making his situation seem all the more dire.

“And what was the consequence? Not only did Tom go under, but the widow lost her nest

egg into the bargain.”

Her voice and tone grew colder.

“She had to go on welfare. A woman of her age. And all because you…”

She broke off, not needing to finish.

“No matter, it is all documented here. What is more, you did all this on your company’s time, using your employer’s resources. If this is all made public, you are very likely looking at conviction for a white collar crime.”

The prospect did nothing to belay John’s rising panic at the situation in which he had placed himself and of which she had control.

“At the very least you are looking at loss of your reputation, loss of your job and millions of dollars in judgment against you.”

That rising panic reached his mouth in the form of bile.

“In a sense,” she went on, obviously delighted at the barrel of which she was in the process of tying him over, “I almost wish you do defy me. There is nothing I would like better than to ruin you for life.”

He believed her.

“But, being the softhearted soul I am and feeling sorry for you, I am giving you another

chance.”

John believed this also, though he was not at all convinced it would go well for him.

“Now I don’t want any backtalk from you. Remember, your utter ruin is only a mouse click away.”

He wanted to reason with her, to talk himself out of the situation the way he had talked

himself out of so many situations threatening to him, but he remembered her order that he not speak until spoken to and remained silent.

For now.

"Get on the bed," she snapped, practically pushing him to the mattress to land with a thud. Skillfully, and in what seemed no more than a matter of seconds, she chained his hands and feet to the bed and left him on his back, fully exposed to her, before gagging him with his wife's dirty, expensive and torn lingerie.

Then she took out the leather belt she was wearing and proceeded to whip him systematically for a long time. Angry, red welts soon appeared on his body. Tears of pain started flowing from his eyes, down his cheeks. He started to whimper, his sound being muffled by the gag. After a while she started to sweat from the effort. She stripped down to bra and panties and kept up the beating.

When eventually – after what seemed an eternity to her agonized victim - she became tired, she stopped and dumped his body on to the floor, removing his gag and the fetters restraining him before seating herself in a chair and lighting a cigarette.

As soon as the gag was removed, John started bawling at the top of his voice, not caring that she, the instigator of his agony was sitting calmly in a chair, smoking as she witnessed his unmanly and self-pitying response to her beating of him.

He was hurting all over, the body now covered in angry red welts transmitting searing

messages of white-hot pain to his nervous system and, never having endured pain in his life, he found he could do no more than scream in the hope that venting in such a way would lessen the torment he was feeling and she was watching.

Already, he was mentally broken, all defiance beaten out of him.

If he had not realized it beforehand, he now knew Marina had not been kidding when she had promised him pain. All it had taken had been one simple, if vicious, beating for him to become mortally afraid of her. Through his agony, and shaming to him as it was, he told himself he would do anything to please her. Anything to avoid a repeat of the beating.

She paid him no attention, but smoked in silence as his screams reduced to sobs and then to whimpers; which was when, to the surprise of both of them, he did something that gave proof of just how effective and revelatory that “simple” beating had been.

Barely believing he was about to do it, recently raised wounds still screaming at him and

desiring no repeat of the beating responsible for their existence, he decided to pre-empt any such intentions on his blackmailer and tormentor’s part to repeat them.

Sliding with immense difficulty, movement stirring the angry red welts on his torso to fresh levels of discomfort, he shuffled across to her and lifted a foot to place its heel in the palm of his hand.

Amazed by a show of deference she had fully expected her victim to be making, if nowhere near as swiftly, she waited for his next move.

The breath left her body then, when, as if he were on some kind of auto-pilot, he placed his lips upon her big toe with reverence. Oxygen even harder to come by when he placed that toe in his mouth and begin to lick and suck.

Ms. Marina all but orgasmed at this show of deference and submission towards her and any doubts she may have entertained on the question of being capable of “training” him were suddenly a thing of the past.

If he behaved in so servile a manner after just one single taste of her belt – and a milder taste than she had at first intended – just how enslaved to her would he be after experiencing a full range of the sadism he inspired her to?

With even more confidence – certainty even – she leaned back to enjoy the sensation of

already having reduced this once proud and over-bearing man to a beaten thing at her feet.

Only after he had licked and kissed her from toe to foot and covered every inch of her slightly sweaty flesh with his servile tongue did he stop. Having thought it would have placated her, he was jolted from his contemplations when she was immediately onto him.

“Did I tell you to stop, you son of a bitch?” she hissed, face a mask of sadistic intent despite the fact he had not needed to be ordered to do it in the first place.

Feeling something inside him give way, the agony of his wounds keeping her recent

treatment of him fresh in the memory, John again broke down – this time more fully. Great heart-wrenching sobs convulsed his body and the woman intent upon owning him utilized his weakness. Pretending to be moved by his anguish she positioned herself on the carpet beside him.

“What’s the matter, darling?” she asked in a deceptively maternal voice as she maneuvered his head to her breast.

John allowed his face to bury itself in her ample, soft bosom and found himself reverting to childhood, crying his heart out as he returned to the security and safety of the breast, only minimally aware of the sweat he could smell drying on her body as he succumbed once again to the motherly authority he had thought was a thing of the past. Even if it was not intended to remain maternal. Sensing his capitulation, Marina started caressing his face with her fingers and made soothing noises:

"It's all right, sweetie. You obey mommy each time, without hesitation, and she won't have to punish you."

She produced an handkerchief and wiped his eyes with it.

“Blow", she said, to him, holding the handkerchief to his nostrils.

He blew into it and she wiped his nose.

"Now open your mouth. Your mistress has a treat for you."

When he did as she asked, she flicked the ash from her cigarette onto his tongue, the

motherly and the maternal vanished; smiling as she pressed her cigarette to his nipple and put it out. He cried out with pain.

Holding his chin in her fingers to keep his face steady, she bend down, brought her face close to his, and spat in his mouth.

He could smell her breath, could see the thick, foamy spit leave her mouth to enter his and descend onto his tongue in a thick column.

Left with no other choice, he mixed her saliva with the cigarette ash and swallowed, feeling revulsion at the whole process as he remembered her saying in one of her emails, that their meetings would be pleasurable.

The emails she had written at such length had neglected to add the meetings would be

pleasurable only for her.

Finally, as she looked down on his hapless, pathetic form, she took pity on him. Raising a cup of her bra, exposing one large breast, she held his face in her fingers and gently

guided her long, brown tit into his mouth. The expression he couldn’t see triumphant as,

automatically, he shut his eyes and started sucking contentedly, tasting the salty sweat on her breast as she let him nurse for a few minutes.

After a while, wounds still painful but soothed somewhat by his return to infancy, he began to doze off.

Only to be slapped awake viciously:

"That was your first lesson, bitch. A lesson in pain and power. My power! Now get out.'

Chapter-One

The Locked Room Mystery occurred more than 20 years ago.

That was when Mr. John Longbottom of Salt Lake City, Utah committed suicide.

At least that was the official verdict; there were rumours that it was actually murder.

My close friend and spouse Cheryl Holmes was involved in the case. She is a world

renowned detective, and respected all over the world. She has been unsuccessful in very few cases, of which Locked Room Mystery was one.

At least that is the commonly held wisdom until now; the consensus of opinion among the uninformed being, that she could not decide whether it was suicide or murder (the official verdict notwithstanding).

Well, let me put those doubts to rest here.

Incidentally, I am Jane Holmes, close friend and spouse of Cheryl Holmes. We have been in a long term relationship, lasting many years, a relationship that has blossomed since the final year of our high school. To both of us, it was love at first sight and there was magic between us right from the beginning. This has been my only relationship, while Cheryl had a short fling with another girl before we hooked up. We have been married for more than ten years now (both of us are Canadian citizens, and our marriage is perfectly legal all over Canada) and at the time of our betrothal I changed my name from Jane Watson to Jane Holmes.

Anyway, to come back to the Locked Room Mystery; I can state here categorically that it was not one of Cheryl's failures and she was able to solve the case. I will present the solution here, secure in the knowledge that - with the recent death of certain parties involved in the case - the truth may finally be revealed.

The facts are well known, mainly because the circumstances surrounding the case are so

strange and so mysterious and would have to have been to attract my easily bored Cheryl in the first place.

We were vacationing in Utah at that time when it first came to our attention. As ever we had our ever faithful servant, Reginald, with us and were enjoying The Great Salt Lake, Bryce Canyon, Timpanogos Caves, and the natural beauty that is Utah. We were, in fact, having a great time, with dear Reggie acting as our chauffeur for the rental car.

In Utah, we were often mistaken for sisters (Miss Cheryl Holmes and Miss Jane Holmes). In actual fact we were 'sisters', though in a different sense and we never corrected the wrong impression (not in Utah). We were acquainted with John and Heather Longbottom and she had invited us for an evening of duplicate bridge. Evidently she was going to participate in some tournament and this was supposed to be a practice session.

We had known the Longbottoms for several years by then. Heather was a devout Mormon, John not so. However, they were both very liberal in outlook and had no problem forming friendships with people who were unlike themselves (which explains their friendship with us, two lesbians). They were also somewhat familiar with the femdom scene in Utah (such as it was), Mistress Lilith, a prominent dominatrix in Utah being a childhood friend of Heather. Hence, when we told her that we were planning to visit Salt Lake City, she invited us for the duplicate bridge game.

Reggie dropped us off at Heather’s house and we all of us gathered at around 7.00 p.m. in the spacious card room. Duplicate bridge of course, needs eight players. There was myself, Cheryl, Heather and her mother (Mrs. Monica Barnes). There was also Mistress Lilith and her sub, together with a Mr. George Forester, and Miss Melody Finch, Heather's younger sister.

Heather introduced everybody around and just as we were about to begin, John Longbottom walked in. It was not difficult to see he was in something of a foul mood.

"Hard day at the office, dear?" Heather asked.

"No, hard evening at home." John grumbled. "Boss told me to do an account in a hurry, he wants it by tomorrow. Of course he couldn't tell me this before, he had to tell me just as I was about to leave. It seems some outfit wants the completed account of their audit by tomorrow.”

He appeared to notice his guests for the first time:

“Oh, hello Cheryl. Hello, George."

"Hello John,” Cheryl greeted him. “Which account is that?"

"Some infernal outfit called Internal System Devices,” he told her with a put-upon smile

before turning to Heather.

“Anyway, I will be busy the entire evening, darling" he said, kissing his wife then taking in the rest of the gathering. "You people enjoy yourselves and have fun.”

He turned to go but turned back as a thought occurred to him:

“Sorry, Heather, nearly forgot; I must leave for New York early in the morning, with the

completed account. Best if I sleep in my office tonight, if you don't mind."

And, so saying, he kissed her again before retreating to his office next to the card room and shutting the door behind him.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and our game began in earnest. The maidservant, Teresa was around to see if we needed anything, but we were pretty much absorbed in the game. John was in his office throughout and after about two hours, we broke for a drink. At that time, Longbottoms' maid entered John's office to see if he wanted a drink and, while we could not see our absent host, we could hear him.

"Eh, what? No, nothing for me Teresa, thank you. I have already made coffee with the coffeemaker in my office."

The maid left his office and closed the door behind her, obviously having been waved away. Just then Heather got up:

"Excuse me, folks, but I forgot about John's whiskey. Teresa, get me a bottle of Blue Label from the bar and open it. Have you washed the decanter yet?"

"Yes, Mrs. Longbottom, I washed it in the afternoon. It is there on the kitchen table."

There was a small kitchen next to the card room.

"Well, go get a bottle of Blue Label from the bar and pour it into the decanter. Leave the

decanter on the table."

Teresa was back in a few minutes.

"The decanter is full and on the table, Mrs. Longbottom."

"Thank you, Teresa. I will put it in Mr. Longbottom's room."

She smiled at the rest of us:

"Would anybody like a glass of whiskey? How about you and your sub, Lilith?”

Her inquiry was couched in the perfectly normal tones of a hostess to her guests and it struck me that Heather was perfectly comfortable with the unconventional relationship between Lilith and her submissive.

"During a duplicate game?” Lilith laughed. “Give me a break, duplicate is a serious business. None for me thanks. Nothing for my sub either."

The sub looked disappointed and gazed wistfully at the decanter and then at his mistress, but did not say anything.

"Anybody else? George?"

“Blue Label, you say? Well, Blue Label is always welcome."

"Sis?"

"Oh, why not. I don't take this duplicate business seriously anyway."

Heather gave her a dirty look but did not comment further, saying to the maid instead:

"Teresa, fetch two whisky glasses"

Theresa curtsied. “Yes, ma’am.”

Heather got up, went to the kitchen, brought the full decanter to the table and poured George a generous drink as Lilith’s sub looked on enviously. She repeated it for Melody, pouring her a much smaller drink, then replaced the stopper and immediately opened the door to John's office and went in.

"Here is your whiskey, dear. I will leave it right here in front of you, on the table."

We heard John grunt in response and Heather closed the door to his office behind her before visiting the bathroom and joining the card table again.

Soon the game was in full swing and requiring our full concentration. It was not until another hour or so had passed that Teresa the maid again entered John’s office to ask him if he needed anything (this at Heather’s urging) and was again shooed away.

The game progressed and pretty soon it was around 11.00 p.m. We could still see the light beneath the door leading to John's office.

"John is working really hard. Isn't it about time he hit the sack?" George wondered.

"Well, when he is busy like that, I don't like to disturb him," Heather said

"Well, I don't mind" Monica said firmly, taking full advantage of her mother-in-law status. Leaving the table she moved to the office and opened the door before saying to him in a no nonsense voice:

"John, it is getting late. Time for you to go to sleep. You have a long day ahead tomorrow. Whatever is left, you can finish on the plane tomorrow."

Through the open door I could see John look up.

"Oh, hello, Monica. Well I am finished anyway."

Preceded by his mother-in-law, whose word obviously held some sway with him, he came out of the office and greeted the crowd.

"Hello again, everybody. Sorry for being such a poor host, but I’m sure my lovely Heather has more than made up for it. I have to say good night, but I hope we can all get together when things are less...” it seemed to me that he hesitated, looking for the correct – or at least, apt – word “…hectic for me.”

His eyes flickered to the maid;

“I’ll have my usual drink of Blue Label and hit the sack.”

With that he turned his attention back to Heather:

“Goodnight, dear."

After kissing his wife he retreated to his room once again.

Just then I got an interesting hand. Bidding soon skyrocketed to game level and Cheryl bid Four Clubs - the Gerber Convention we had agreed upon. I dutifully replied Four Hearts, showing one ace. Cheryl startled me by bidding Six Hearts. Evidently she had forgotten about the Gerber Convention and thought it was a genuine suit bid.

As the dummy came down, the sorry state of affairs became all too clear; three loose clubs in each hand, two down for sure.

I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself down, and in my sweetest voice I asked

Cheryl: "Dear, did you forget that we agreed to play the Gerber Convention?"

The expression on her face told me everything, but I knew it would not do for me to remain angry as it would be bad for the play. I also knew I must try to salvage the contract.

If I could.

Fortunately diamonds split three each between the two defenders and I was able to establish the thirteenth diamond for an extra trick. That still left the problem of one trick.

By trick eight I had placed every card and could see my way to a brilliant trump squeeze.

This was going to be great. No way will they reach this contract at the other table, and it

should mean a big score for us on this deal.

Just as I was about to play the key card to initiate the trump squeeze, there was a big crash from John's office and we all stood up, startled.

Rushing from the table, Heather tried to open John's office, but it was locked.

"Dear, are you all right?"

There was no answer and Heather became frantic:

"My God, something has happened to John."

"Hold on there, Heather," George said as Lilith’s sub joined him and the two men crashed

into the door with their shoulders.

Fortunately the door was not strong and it caved in quickly to reveal John's body lying on the floor, next to the bed. The glass of whisky had slipped from his hand and glass fragments and whisky were all over the floor. Heather was in first, everybody following her.

She fell prostrate on John's body.

"Are you all right, John? Speak to me."

Cheryl was at the back of the crowd (no doubt still thinking of the goof she made of the

Gerber Convention) and only gradually edged her way forward until she was at the stricken man’s side.

"Heather, don't touch anything,” she said almost immediately, her natural instincts of

detection and procedure kicking in and making her seem, unintentionally, less than

sympathetic.

“John is dead," she said, releasing his pulse.

I thought Heather would faint, but she somehow managed to keep herself together.

"Please all of you,” Cheryl continued, “do not handle anything. The police will expect

everything to be left undisturbed.” She allowed this to sink in then, to the maid:

“Teresa, call the local police now and tell them there has been a…” realizing the effect her words were having on the Heather, she caught herself. “Tell them there has been an accident and to come as swiftly as possible.”

I noticed the whiskey decanter was standing on the night table next to the bed and that it was still open with the stopper beside it. Unobtrusively, and without touching it, I leaned in to sniff the contents and detected a faint odour of almonds.

"Cyanide," I muttered before, forgetting the injunction not to touch anything, I opened the window.

And those are the facts as seen by Sergeant Robert Spencer when he arrived on the scene.

Robert saw Cheryl and immediately recognized her.

"Hello, Miss Holmes, glad to meet you. I am Sergeant Robert Spencer, but you can call me Bob."

She introduced me to the Sergeant.

"Listen Miss Holmes,” he said, taking her aside, “I’ve heard about you and any help you can give me in the matter would be most appreciated."

With her usual succinctness and always willing to be of service, Cheryl described to him the events of the evening.

"On the surface it appears to be suicide,” she told him. “I don't see how anybody could have introduced cyanide into the whisky - I assume it was in the whisky.

She looked to me and I nodded before she went on:

“From what I can see at first glance, he must have done it himself."

At that point, George stepped forward.

"Hello, Sergeant, I am George Forester, a friend of John's. There is no way I will believe this to be suicide. John did not have the demeanor of a man about to commit suicide and neither was he the type. He was working his butt off for the past several hours and talked of going to New York tomorrow.”

He looked at his wrist-watch.

“Well, today, seeing that it is past 12.00 a.m. I’m sure the others here would agree with me."

There were general murmurs of agreement as the Sergeant considered the situation..

"Well, the coroner should be here soon,” he said. “I’ll have the whisky from the glass and the decanter tested for cyanide."

"Bob, one suggestion, if I may.”

“By all means, Miss Holmes,” he agreed, the out of place honorific evidence that, along with most of Utah, he considered us sisters rather than two women joined together by matrimony.

“Mr. Forester also had a glass of the same whisky,” Cheryl pointed out. “The glass is still on the table. Perhaps you may consider having that tested as well.”

Another thought occurred to her:

“Actually, so did Melody"

The Sergeant nodded his agreement.

"I’ll have both tested together with the decanter and Mr. Longbottom’s glass. That should tell us if cyanide was introduced after the whisky entered the office. But since Mr. Forester and Miss. Finch are still very much with us, I suppose there isn't any doubt of that."

"What about the computers in his office? I remember seeing a laptop on his desk and a

desktop on a table near the wall."

"As I recall, the desktop displayed an error message,” I told him. “Presumably something is wrong with it."

"Well, after they are dusted for fingerprints, we’ll take them in for testing."

By this time a sobbing Heather had been escorted from the office and out of sight of her dead husband’s corpse.

"So what next, Sergeant?" Cheryl asked him.

"Well I suppose we must question the people in the card room."

"To what end? Are you going to ask them where they were when suicide/murder took place? They were all playing cards."

"Then what do you suggest, Miss. Holmes?"

"My suggestion would be to get the whisky tested first, see if the computers yield anything useful. Once we have more information, we may be better situated to question the people involved."

"All right then. When the coroner and the forensics have departed, we will call it quits.

Where may I reach you, Miss Holmes?"

Cheryl supplied him the information and we prepared to take our leave of the grieving widow and supply what consolation we could under the tragic circumstances.

As it turned out we did not get the chance.

"Cheryl, I would like you to look into this affair," Heather declared before we had a moment to speak, making an admirable attempt to stay in control of herself in the face of what had just taken place.

"Me? Why me? The police are handling the case."

"Yes, but I have more faith in you."

"Well, it will cost money, there may be expenses."

Heather wrote out a check.

"Will this cover them?"

"This will more than cover it, you have been generous. I shall see what I can do."

"Thank you, Cheryl. Upon successful conclusion of the case, there will be a handsome fee for you."

Of course, if the above sounds mercenary on Cheryl’s part, you must understand that the

expenses she referred to were very real and nearly always considerable. It was her livelihood after all and, though the Longbottoms were acquaintances, they were not of the close variety and to offer to take on the case for no fee would involve real financial sacrifice on the part of Cheryl – and by association – me.

Anyhow, with nothing to be done until we had a fuller grasp of events, we continued our

sightseeing in and around Salt Lake City. It was two days later when Bob called us.

The rest of the story may be found at www.femdomcave.com

A Locked Room

Mystery

By

Akkano

**********

Flashback-Two

Ms Marina looked up from her chair.

"Hello, John. I see you are on time again. You are a fast learner. Strip off your outer clothes."

John removed his trousers and shirt, once again exposing his wife's soiled underwear he had been instructed to wear as Ms Marina looked at him approvingly.

"Very good. Come and besides me on the sofa."

John wondered what kind of deviltry she had cooked up for him today but did as she asked just the same and placed himself next to her. Today, however, Ms Marina seemed to be in an amorous mood – though she did move swiftly to imprison his hands at his back with a pair of handcuffs. This she followed by tying his feet together.

"Don't be scared, my pet."

So saying, she took him in her arms and started kissing him, her lips moving all over his face which was soon dripping with her saliva. She pried open his lips with her own and inserted her thick tongue into his mouth. Soon, she was invading his mouth to explore each and every

nook and cranny of its interior.

John was beginning to get aroused. However, she started transferring saliva into his mouth and John was grossed out. Her secretions gathered up in his mouth and he was forced to swallow repeatedly. Finally she started spitting faster than he could swallow and her saliva

overflowed his mouth and began dribbling down the sides of his mouth and onto his chin.

John started to have difficulty breathing and he began to choke on her spit. Ms Marina disengaged from his face and ended the kiss as John continued to sputter and attempted to suck in air.

She was not done, however.

As soon as John was breathing normally, she invaded his mouth again; despite his attempts to keep his mouth closed. With his hands cuffed at his back though, Ms Marina simply held his nose with her fingers until he opened his mouth to breath and slipped the thick slimy invader into his mouth. Again she allowed her tongue free access to the moist interior.

Suddenly, she changed the angle of penetration slightly to bear down hard and John could feel her upper tooth bite into his upper lip. As the sadistic kiss continued, the pain steadily increased until it was sheer agony. Tears of pain started flowing down his cheeks and he

struggled to get free. But it was useless, with his hands and feet tied together he was powerless to resist her attentions.

Resigning himself to the situation as far as he could, he relaxed and started responding to her kiss.

After a long time, Mistress Marina was satisfied and she abruptly withdrew, allowing a large deposit of her spit to fly from his mouth and land on his chest. It was the least of John’s problems as his tongue gingerly touched the spot where she had pricked his lip with her tooth. It hurt and he could taste the raw, metallic taste of blood.

If her intention was to repulse and disgust, he told himself, she had totally succeeded.

"It was good for me; I hope it was for you." she chuckled.

"I have a present for you, sissy. In my skirt. Here, feel it."

John felt under her skirt with his hand and got the shock of his life. She was wearing a huge strap on. Realizing what she had in mind he pleaded with her:

"Please don't, Ms Marina."

The simple request enraged her and she slapped him. Hard.

"Did I ask your opinion, bitch?" she hissed at him.

He fell cowed and silent and hoped her rage would pass, so intimidated had he grown in her presence.

And in so short a space of time.

"Well, you are going to take what is coming to you and you are going to like it. You are going to experience how it feels like to be raped. You have been metaphorically raping others all this time,and it is about time you found out what it feels like."

She tore off the underclothes he was wearing.

"You seem to be going through a lot of your wife's underwear lately,” she said with a nasty laugh. “I wonder what she thinks of it?"

"Come on, let us go to bed."

“Look, er, Ms Marina, can't we talk?"

"No time for it, it is time to have sex. What is the matter with you, any normal, red blooded man with jump at the chance when a beautiful woman like me wants to go to bed with him."

He was now completely naked. She tied up his feet to the bedpost over his head, exposing his rosebud. His hands were pinned under his legs and he felt totally vulnerable. Fully clothed, she got on top of him and started kissing him passionately. The only passion however, was aggression. Domination. The tongue probing kisses themselves represented a kind of assault and she started to maul his non existent breasts viciously, leaving scratches and nail marks behind.

"Maybe I should get you breast implants, sissy. That way I will have something to maul." Finally she stood up near his face and brought her strap on to his lips.

"Kiss Mr. Violator."

To his eternal shame, he did so without a fight, his acquiescence emboldening her still further.

"Now suck on it, you son of a bitch, and suck it well. Remember, your own saliva is all the lubrication you are going to get, so you better make a thorough job of it.”

John tried to lubricate the strap on as best he could.

"Enough!" Ms Marina barked.

She kneeled with her knees on both sides of him and appeared thoughtful. "Well,” she said finally, having reached a decision, “as I am feeling generous today I will give you more lubrication."

Ordering him to present his rear, she spat generously into his asshole and worked the saliva in with the tip of her strap on. Despite this, however, it was with some difficulty and no small effort that she managed to work the strap on half an inch into his asshole. Then, with one mighty and powerful shove, she penetrated his ass fully.

Unbearable agony took hold of John and he screamed in pain as he felt his ass tissue tearing.

Ms Marina slapped him viciously.

"Shut your pie hole, bitch."

John started screaming even louder, his pain and terror beyond reach of verbal displeasure.

"Shit," she muttered.

As he continued to scream, she bent down, pressed her lips upon his and started kissing him, inserting her tongue deep into his mouth to stifle his screams.

Gradually, her tongue and her strap-on established a sort of rhythm. In and out, in and out, both went in sync. John's screams reduced to whimpers, silenced by her mouth. This went on for a while. Once John passed out with agony, only to be revived again by the same pain and accompanying mental anguish.

Ms Marina kept on jack hammering. Fucking him relentlessly. She broke out in sweat due to the effort, and her sweat started dripping on to John's body as he closed his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to block out the pain, the agony and the smell of her sweat from his mind. He was in sheer Hell, knowing that, if there ever was one, this surely must be it. The strap on was a double-dildo, and the smaller part of the dildo was buried inside Ms Marina's vagina.

As she kept fucking John, stroke by stroke, she was getting aroused at the same time. Soon she reached a devastating orgasm followed by a glorious climax. It was while climaxing that, by chance and without meaning to, she happened to touch John's prostate.

His reaction amazed them both.

John's whole body shuddered and he had the best climax of his life, depositing his load ineffectually on his thighs. After Ms Marina came down to earth, she unstrapped the strap on. Removing it from John's ass she threw it to the floor and untied John's hands and feet.

As she lay down on the bed by John's side and lit up a cigarette, John continued to sob and whimper. He could feel blood pouring from his torn ass and the pain was unbearable. However, unbelievably, it was also mixed with an incredible amount of pleasure.

Despite his considerable agony, he could do no more than acknowledge that the climax he had experienced was unlike anything he had experienced before. After a while John's whimpers subsided – though his asshole remained on fire – and he turned over, moved closer to the woman who had just raped him, violated him so cruelly, and, cuddled up to her; draping an arm over her body and snuggling close to her.

The soft words he heard cooing from his mouth seemed to him as if they came from the lips of a complete stranger:

"I love you, Ms Marina."

Above him, she was amused:

"Well, you were a good sissy today,” she told him, careful to remain derogatory towards him. “So I think my baby deserves a reward."

With that she blew smoke onto his face.

"Open your mouth sissy," she ordered, gratified to see the beaten man obey instantly. She tapped the ashes from her cigarette onto his tongue. Without being told, he swallowed them readily.

“Good boy.”

When her cigarette was finished she smiled at him expectantly:

"Open your mouth again, sissy."

She dropped the butt into his mouth.

"Chew it and swallow it."

He promptly chewed the tobacco and swallowed it.

She unbuttoned her blouse and raised one cup of her bra, exposing her breast. She took his face in her hand and brought her nipple close to his mouth. John didn't need any encouragement. He started sucking eagerly. He could smell the sweat on her body. He began to doze off while suckling on her breast. Soon both were asleep, for the night. John suckled on her large breast from time to time in his sleep.

**********

Chapter-Two

"Hello, Cheryl, I have all the test results."

"Well, come on over Bob, we’ll meet in the coffee shop in the lobby of our hotel. My treat."

While Cheryl and I ordered coffee, Bob ordered fruit punch.

"No coffee for you?"

"Sorry, Jane. But I am a Mormon. Our religion forbids coffee and tea."

"And also alcohol and nicotine." Cheryl chimed in.

"Quite,” he agreed, with what I took to be a rueful look.

“Anyway,” he went on, becoming businesslike, “the whisky did contain cyanide, as expected. Both in the glass fragments and in the decanter. However, it also contained a small amount of urea, and I don't know what to make of it. How would urea get into whiskey?"

Cheryl whistled. "I can think of one explanation, but it is totally outrageous."

"And that is?"

"Somebody pissed into the whisky."

"What?" Bob looked outraged, cheeks reddened with outrage at hearing such a proposition – and from the lips of a woman too.

"That is the simplest explanation as to how urea got into the whiskey."

"After so many years in this job, I thought I had seen everything,” he said, shaking his head at the possibility. “But this is totally bizarre. Why would anybody pee in another person’s drink? And from what I hear, it’s expensive stuff too, not exactly your ordinary run of the

mill whiskey."

"Indeed,” Cheryl agreed. “Blue Label is one of the more expensive whiskies. But I really cannot think of any other explanation."

"So you are telling me that not only did the murderer put cyanide into Mr. Longbottom's whiskey, but he…”

“Or ‘she’,” I interrupted.

“Or she,” he continued with a nod of acknowledgement, “also peed in it?"

"It certainly looks that way," Cheryl told him.

Our Sergeant looked thoughtful at this new development.

"That certainly confuses matters even more. In one sense it makes it more likely that it is indeed murder and not suicide. Unless Mr. Longbottom himself peed into his whiskey and then put the poison in it.”

“Precisely,” Cheryl agreed.

“And why would he have done that unless he was totally loopy."

“He most certainly was not that,” I assured him as Cheryl questioned him further.

"Was there urea in the other two glasses?"

"No, not a trace. Somebody must have peed in the whiskey after it was taken to Mr. Longbottom's room."

“What about fingerprints?”

“No luck there. The only fingerprints we found were the ones we would expect, those of John, his wife Heather, and the maid, Teresa. We would expect their fingerprints to be present. If Heather or Teresa is not the killer, the killer must have worn gloves.”

"What about the computers?"

"There was nothing in the laptop. Nothing useful, that is. There were the accounts he was working on, all completed and ready to be delivered. Some other business stuff."

"But the desktop was wiped totally clean, there was hardly anything on the desktop. And from what our computer expert tells me, it was an expert job too, it was not wiped out by an amateur. Our expert was able to recover very little, mostly meaningless fragments."

"Anything interesting in the fragments?"

"Well, fragments of spreadsheet, letters etc., nothing important. There was one fragment that looks interesting, however. It said 'Ms Marina thanks you for'…”

Cheryl and I shared a look.

“That was it," he finished, looking at us both quizzically as we shared knowing nods. “What is it?”

"The term ‘Ms’ implies a dominatrix," I enlightened him.

"I thought they preferred the term ‘Mistress’?” he asked.

This time it was Cheryl who answered:

“That’s correct. But these days the use of the word is considered somewhat… old hat. The word of choice for those who are not professional dominatrixes, or involved in some kind of organised role-play or the like, is ‘Ms’. It is intended to denote a relationship that is not based on the willing acquiescence of the male half of the partnership. The female half of this one-sided relationship is neither playing nor being paid for her efforts.”

“A dominatrix, in other words,” he stated, not seeing a difference.

“No, Sergeant. A dominatrix is somebody who dominates, tortures, and humiliates her client with that client's consent. There are some men who find this type of activity entertaining and she is paid handsomely for her efforts."

"So how does that help us?" he asked, still unconvinced it appeared.

"Well, if Mr. Longbottom was involved with a dominatrix, she may well piss into his whisky, as a punishment. Can you test for whether it was a man's piss or the piss of a woman?"

"I’ll have it checked.”

The Sergeant looked troubled:

“But you mean to say that in order to punish Mr. Longbottom, this dominatrix would spoil such an expensive bottle of whiskey?"

"And what makes you think that she would spoil it? Her sub, or client, probably would drink it even if she has pissed in it. He may even find it appealing that the whiskey has been sanctified by her piss. It would be, as she no doubt informed him, ‘an honour’."

"Please don't use words like sanctified, Cheryl,” he admonished her. “Not even in jest."

"Sorry, Bob. I didn't mean to offend you. Anyway, to you the whiskey may be… spoiled. But that may not have been the case for Mr. Longbottom; whether he was willing submissive or coerced into being so."

"But isn't drinking piss dangerous? It could lead to all kinds of diseases."

"Not really" Cheryl replied. "The urine of a normal, healthy person is totally germ free, totally sterile. In fact urine may be the only bodily fluid which does not contain any germs."

I recall marveling internally at this point, beaten as to where Cheryl managed to pick up such arcane snippets of information.

"So,” Bob continued, “we may possibly be able to connect the dots here.”

Another thought struck him.

“Oh, here is something else. We also found another significant phrase… 'darling Melody'…

He evidently was fooling around with somebody."

"Not somebody, Bob. Melody is his sister-in-law, his wife's younger sister. She was present the other day."

"Well, the plot thickens. Anyway, I am ready to start interviewing the witnesses. You coming?"

"Who first?"

"Let us start with George Forester. He is an entrepreneur, and has had some business dealings with Mr. Longbottom in the past. He also knows the Longbottoms socially.”

Not long after, we were doing just that.

I remembered George as a handsome man in his forties and he greeted us warmly.

“May I offer you a drink? Fruit juice, Pepsi, anything? Sorry, Miss Holmes, but no tea or coffee."

"But you have no problem with whiskey, I see."

"Well, I make an exception for whisky, especially whisky like the Blue Label."

Soon we were settled on his living room sofa.

"So, what can you tell us about Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Forester?" Bob quizzed him.

"Call me George. I have known John for some time now; we have had some business dealings in the past. I also know him socially and have been to his house many times."

"What kind of business dealings, George?" smiled Bob, putting the man at his ease.

Just the same, George hesitated.

"Remember, we can always check,” Bob reminded him in graver tones. “You will save us a lot of trouble if you tell us voluntarily."

"Well, to tell you the truth, there was no love lost between me and John. He outright swindled me in a business deal, I lost several thousand dollars."

"Then how come you are still on friendly terms with him?"

"Well, I am fortunate in that several thousand dollars is not that much money to me. Besides, his wife, Heather is simply a delightful person. Also, I am a bridge enthusiast, so are they. So we have kept friendly relations. But these days our contact is purely social, not business."

"So you did have a grudge against Mr. Longbottom?"

"You mean did I kill him? No, I didn't. Sure I resented him for swindling me. But as I said, it was not that big a hit for me. Certainly not enough to commit a murder. Besides, how did I introduce the poison into his whiskey? I never went anywhere near the damn whiskey."

"That is not quite true, George. When Heather was pouring whiskey from decanter into your glass, surely whisky was near to you. You could have slipped something in it without Heather noticing."

"Surely you don't believe that, Cheryl. Besides, I think Heather poured the whisky for her sister after she poured mine. If I had slipped cyanide into the whisky, her sister would be dead as well. Also, you were playing at the same table, remember? You or Jane could have seen me.”

"Well, we will cross that bridge later. Do you know of anybody who had a grudge against him, enough to kill him?"

"No, I don't. I don't think John was a nice man, but he wasn't enough of a bastard so that somebody would want to kill him. But of course, I could be wrong."

"Are you married, George?"

"Divorced, for two years now."

Have you heard of a Ms Marina?"

"Ms Marina? Can't say that I have. May I ask what this is in connection with?"

"Well, the name came up during investigations, she may be a material witness."

"No, I am sorry, I can't help you there."

Bob looked to Cheryl but a slight shaking of the head indicated she had nothing further to add.

"Thank you George,” Bob said.. “We will be in touch if we have any more questions."

When we made it outside into the crisp air, Bob was all purpose:

"Right,” he began, clapping his hands together. “Mistress Lilith is next."

The look Cheryl and I shared the same misgivings.

“Bob, if I may make a suggestion,” I said, knowing by now how my sweetheart worked and wishing to be of some service myself,.

“Mistress Lilith is a dominatrix and as such operates around the edges of the law. She may clam up if she sees you. Suppose Cheryl and I see her first and see what we can get out of her. She may well be more open with us females rather than a man. If Cheryl cannot get anywhere with her, you can always pay her a visit later."

Bob was already nodding in agreement.

"That sounds reasonable,” he agreed, again clapping his hands together. “Then we visit Miss Melody Finch next. I’ve already spoken with her and she knows we are coming."

As described earlier, Melody was the sister-in-law of the deceased and a young woman in her late twenties. A willowy, beautiful blonde. So beautiful, in fact, I remember George trying to hit on her the other day. Without success, I might add.

It was Bob who started the questioning.

"What do you do, Miss Finch?"

"Call me Melody. I am a student at University of Utah. I am in the final year of medical school."

"So from next year we call you Dr. Finch?"

"Hopefully, yes. Next year I will very likely leave Utah and find an internship elsewhere. I am also looking forward to moving into my own apartment. Currently I am sharing with another student."

"Well, what did you think of Mr. Longbottom?"

"He was all right, I suppose. I didn't really know him that well. Mostly I went to his home to visit my sister."

"Really, Melody? We have ways of checking, you know?” Bob told her. “Are you sure you didn't know him well? Intimately well"?

Her complexion paled.

"Oh, my God! You know! Please, for her sake, don't tell any of this to Heather,” she entreated us. “It will crush her.”

Her look became more imploring when she received no such assurance. “Please?"

It was Bob who took it up:

"All we are interested in, Miss Finch, is solving his murder. We don't care about anybody's sexual indiscretions. But we must have the truth. Did you have an affair with Mr. Longbottom?"

She almost swooned in her chair before collecting herself enough to answer.

"God, yes. How bitterly I regret it now. That was four years ago, I was an undergraduate at Brigham Young University in Provo. I was young and naive, and John was this suave, debonair older man. I had a crush on him and he exploited it to the fullest."

"How long did the affair last?"

"For less than a year. The crush soon wore off, and I realized he would never leave Heather for me. Not that I wanted him to, I didn't want to ruin my sister's life.It was a sorry episode in my life that I am trying to forget."

"Did you resent him enough to kill him?" Bob asked the obvious.

"When the affair ended, yes. I could have killed him then. But now I have moved on. Soon I will be a doctor, I have my whole life ahead of me. I had no reason to kill him."

"You decided not to do your medical degree at Brigham Young University?” Cheryl observed.

"BYU doesn't have a medical school. Even if they did, I wouldn't do medicine there. I found the atmosphere there too oppressive, too religious. I am not a good Mormon. My sister disapproves of my drinking. I didn't want to spend four more years in a Mormon institution.

Anyway, many students who do their undergraduate studies at BYU come to University of Utah for medical training."

"Your sister poured a drink in your glass and replaced the stopper in the decanter. Could she have slipped anything in the decanter before that?" Cheryl pressed her.

"Don't be absurd. Even apart from the fact that there is no conceivable reason for Heather to kill her husband, there is no way she could have slipped anything in the decanter.”

“How so?” asked Bob.

“My eyes were on the decanter when she was pouring and I am sure other players were also watching her. I just don't see her being able to slip anything in the decanter under the watchful eyes of four people."

"Have you heard of a person called Ms Marina?"

"Ms Marina? No. I haven't. That sounds more in line with Mistress Lilith, you may ask her."

"Thank you very much, Miss Finch. We will be in touch."

Later Bob asked:

"How about it, Cheryl? Could Heather have slipped anything in the decanter before she put the stopper in it?"

Cheryl was emphatic about it:

"No way, Bob. I was looking at the decanter, so, I assume, were George and Jane. There is no way she could have slipped anything in the decanter, no matter how skilled she is. And we don't know that she has any skills at all in that direction."

"Well, people can accomplish amazing feats with sleight of hand."

"Well, anything is possible, I suppose. But I think it is highly improbable. I would as soon believe that the maid or Heather's mother slipped something in the decanter when they entered John's room, rather than think that Heather did it. They both were in his room, you know, however briefly."

"Well, how about it? Could either of them have done it?"

"I don't see how, Bob. We could not see the inside of his room, but both of them just entered the room. Their voices were consistent with them being just inside the door. Each literally spoke one sentence and was out the door.

"Either the maid, Teresa or Monica would have had to walk over to the night stand where the decanter was placed - Heather had placed it in front of John, on his table, and he must have moved it afterwards - remove the stopper, drop cyanide inside, replace the stopper and come back to the door. And all this without John noticing anything. There just wasn't enough time for all this. Both of them stood in the door, spoke a sentence each, and were out again."

“How about if she slipped it in his glass while she was in his office?”

“Then why was there cyanide in the decanter? It would be silly to put the poison in both the glass and the decanter. And when did she piss into the whisky?”

“Hmmm… by the way, I wanted to ask you something. I know only rudiments of bridge, I am not good at it. But when a deal is played isn’t one player, the dummy free to walk about, get a drink, do anything he or she pleases?”

“It is not that simple, Bob,” I told him. “Dummy can perform one useful function. Dummy can tell the declarer if he has to play from hand or from the dummy.”

“And why would the declarer need help with that?”

“Well, let us suppose that declarer is in a difficult contract. He has just won a trick and is plotting his strategy for the rest of the deal. He may think for a few minutes, forget which hand he has to play from and then reach to the dummy to play a card. Dummy is allowed to

tell him that he has to play from his hand, not from the dummy.”

“In a friendly game it may not matter. But in a serious duplicate game, the declarer is subject to penalty if he plays from the wrong hand. So it pays for the dummy to pay attention to what is going on.”

“During the game dummy may have got up, walked about, perhaps even got a drink. But he would come back very quickly, so he could pay attention to what was going on.”

“Interesting, I didn’t know that. But the dummy is by and large free to walk about. My question is, could the dummy have entered John’s office and slipped cyanide into the decanter?”

“Under the watchful eyes of so many players? Highly unlikely. When he opened the door to John’s office, that would have made a noise. Also when he came out and closed the door behind him, that would have made a noise. Besides, why would John permit him to slip

anything in the whisky decanter?”

“Nevertheless, it is a possibility.”

“But think what you are asking, Bob. The player has to make sure that he is the dummy, then without anybody noticing, he would have to enter John’s office. Then without John noticing, he would have to walk past him to the bedside, remove the stopper and slip cyanide into the decanter. Then he would have to put back the stopper, again sneak by John’s side so that he wouldn’t notice, come out, close the door and rejoin the game, without any of the players noticing.”

“Then there was Teresa. She was not playing cards, but waiting in the room, paying attention to the players. It would be practically impossible to sneak past all these people.”

“Don’t you think he would have come up with a better plan to commit the murder, a plan where he would have a better chance of success? Besides, how did he piss into the whisky?”

"Well, it seems nobody could have put cyanide in the decanter. It is looking more and more like a suicide."

"The problem with that is that John did not look anything like a man about to commit suicide. If he was going to kill himself, why work his butt off completing the account? He could have left it undone."

"Unless he found something while doing the accounts which caused him to commit suicide," Bob observed.

"It is possible, I suppose. But then he would have left the accounts half done. But they weren’t half-done, were they? They were complete. Ready to be delivered to Internal Devices. Why complete the accounts if he was going to kill himself? Besides, you are

forgetting the urea in his whisky. That clearly shows some other person did it."

"Unless he himself pissed in his whiskey."

"Do you really believe that?"

"No, I don't,” he admitted grudgingly – and it’s easily verified, anyway. But I find it equally difficult to see how anybody could have introduced cyanide into his whiskey.”

We all fell silent for a while until, with another clap of the hands we were beginning to realise denoted Bob was about to act in some way, he stared at us purposefully and said:

“Oh well, all we can do is keep plodding, I suppose.”

His next words were directed at Cheryl:

"Next thing is for you to visit Mistress Lilith and her sub.”

Cheryl smiled.

"Let me know how it comes out," he told her.

**********

Flashback-Three

John opened his eyes in the morning, Ms Marina's nipple still in his mouth.

He sucked on it gently, so as not to wake her up but she was already awake and gazing at him. She rubbed his cheek with her fingers and yawned as John got an awful whiff of her morning breath.

After letting him suck for a while, she removed her tit from his mouth.

"Go brush your teeth, use the mouthwash and come back to bed," she ordered.

John complied, brushed his teeth and came back to bed.

Ms Marina smelled his breath and slapped him several times.

"What part of using mouthwash didn't you understand, bitch? Now get your ass back there and wash your nasty mouth properly with the mouthwash, or you will receive a flogging."

He was back again soon after.

"Well, that is better. Now my baby's breath smells sweet, like a baby's breath."

She asked him to lie down on his back and climbed on top of him to start kissing his face, ensuring John kept getting awful whiffs of her morning breath. It was all he could do not to gag or throw up.

She kissed his face for some time, raking his cheeks with her teeth and drawing blood as her spit started to burn in the scratches. Then she brought her lips close to his. He realized what she was trying to do and shut his lips firmly.

"Oh, does my sissy not like his owner kissing him?" she asked mockingly, caressing his face gently with her fingers. Then, when she saw that he was not alert, she suddenly fastened her lips on his and held his nose in her fingers. His lips parted to breathe and she invaded his mouth with her tongue.

John was overcome with her fetid bad breath. He could taste and feel the morning slime on her tongue, as her tongue explored his mouth. He kept on struggling, but to no avail. She started transferring her saliva into his mouth. Finally John started sucking on her tongue, tried to suck the slime on her tongue. He clasped his hands around her and clung to her like a baby.

Ms Marina smiled to herself. Her plan to reduce John to a simpering, whimpering sissy was coming along nicely. She again transferred a massive amount of her spit into his mouth knowing he would be forced to swallow it.

Finally, having made the point she could do as she wished with him, she disengaged from the kiss and removed her tongue from his mouth, giggling as she saw that several strands of her saliva still connected her lips to his.

John hoped that she was finished. However, she was just getting started. She cleared her throat, coughed and gathered the mucus in her mouth. Before John realized what was happening, she pounced on him, fixed her lips on his and invaded his mouth with her tongue again. This time he could taste her salty, slimy mucus in his mouth. John felt nauseated, he just hoped he wouldn't throw up in her mouth, he knew the consequences won't be pretty.

She played with her mucus for a while, mixing it with her saliva inside his mouth and rolling it on his tongue with her tongue. Finally she withdrew and ordered John to swallow. When he was finished swallowing, she asked him to open his mouth again. She gathered the leftover mucus in her mouth and spat it into his mouth. As John saw the foamy, thick yellowish mucus descend into his mouth, he knew he was going to be sick.

He gulped quickly, got up and ran to the bathroom. He heaved and was sick in the toilet over and over again. He was heaving for a long time, until his stomach was totally empty. Finally he tasted bile coming out of his stomach. He stood up, brushed his teeth again, used the mouthwash and reported back to his tormentor.

"Come back to bed, sissy," she commanded.

As he lay down besides her, she took him again in her arms and mocked his downcast expression:

"Who was a good sissy then?"

With a laugh, she kissed him again and again, making him experience her awful morning breath, but, fortunately for John, there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up.

"Time to do some muff diving, you whore son," she told him.

Removing her skirt and panties, she stood up over him on the bed with her legs on either side of him facing his feet and lowered her pussy slowly onto his face. John could see her dense, thick, hairy jungle descend upon him. Soon his mouth was enveloped with her thick bush and John found it difficult to breath. She repositioned herself on his face and John was finally able to get some air; however, now her asshole was sitting squarely on his nose and he could smell the awful stench of her asshole.

Again he remembered her words:

"It will never be a pleasure for you John, only for me."

"Lick, and keep licking until I tell you to stop."

John promptly obeyed, inserting his tongue into her pussy. Secretions had gathered in her pussy during the night, her vaginal juices, urine, sweat etc. and the smell was terrible. He started licking gently. As she got aroused, her clitoris emerged from its hole, like a hooded cobra. He found her clitoris in his mouth and he gently nibbled on it with his teeth. At this, Ms Marina gave a loud moan and had an orgasm.

Now John knew that her clit was sensitive and would lead to her climax quickly he was able to do so several times. Perspiration from the required effort poured off him with the effort. Worse, he could smell the pungent odor of her sweat.

After several orgasms, she moved slightly so that her asshole was touching his lips.

"Now, worship my asshole and see if you can bring me to climax that way.'

He could see that her asshole was dirty with hair, bits of tissue paper, dried bits of shit etc, yet he immediately started licking, trying, in the process, to insert his tongue into her asshole.

He did not succeed.

Her asshole was very tight but he found that if he pressed his tongue into her asshole Ms Marina got excited and started moaning loudly.

He cleaned the bits of tissue paper and the bits of shit sticking to her asshole hair and, by meticulously licking and cleaning her asshole, was able to bring her to yet another climax.

Perversely, and despite the inhuman way she was treating him, he was proud of the accomplishment.

Proud or not, however, his lips were covered with her frothy, foamy discharge and there was also a bad taste in his mouth. But she was not finished yet. In fact, she seemed insatiable.

Turning herself around to face him, his mouth was again engulfed by her thick, hairy, sweaty bush.

"Now I want one last, earth shattering orgasm, then we are done. Go on, worship at my temple. Make me proud."

She started grinding her pussy against his mouth and John responded by licking and sucking vigorously; a few of her pussy hairs coming loose in his mouth for his efforts, though he was encouraged to see she was getting aroused big time.

An idea occurred to him and he lubricated his middle finger with her pussy juices, then, while gently nibbling on her clit, he inserted his middle finger into her asshole.

She gave a loud yell and had a huge orgasm, her vaginal juices gushing out into his mouth and over his face as he started choking and sputtering. Her vaginal discharge was milky in color but he could see a colorless liquid seep out of her vagina into his mouth and he tasted piss. Her orgasm was so intense, that she had lost control of her bladder and urinated a little into John's mouth.

When she saw that John had swallowed her piss, she stared down at him and mocked him.

"Well, my little sissy likes to drink mommy's golden nectar, does he? Well, there is plenty more where that came from. Open wide."

So saying, she started pissing into his mouth. Her morning piss had a sharp, strong, pungent smell and taste. But John swallowed it all (his stomach was empty anyway) as she voided her bladder into his mouth.

"OK, we are done here. Let us shower and clean up. Follow me to the bathroom on your hands and knees."

She walked to the bathroom, John following her like her dog. She sat down on the toilet.

"Lie down on the floor, sissy. Good. Now start worshipping my feet while I take a dump."

John took her big toe in his mouth and started licking and sucking it. Mistress Marina sat on the toilet and voided her bowels with a loud noise. An awful stench filled up the bathroom and John was afraid he may throw up again, this time expelling her piss that he had swallowed. Ms Marina sat on the toilet until John had worshipped both her feet. Then she wiped herself and got up.

"Now we will brush our teeth, sissy."

"I have already done so, Mistress."

"Well, then do it again."

As John got up and picked up his toothbrush, Ms Marina told him:

"Now lie down on the floor with the toothbrush in hand."

John wondered what she was leading up to, but he obeyed her. She sat down besides him and started to brush her teeth. She motioned him with her hand to open his mouth. As he did so, she spat a generous amount of toothpaste mixed with her saliva into his mouth. He started brushing his teeth with that. She repeated it a couple times more.

"Now, mind you don't spill any on the floor, keep it stored in your mouth." She said to him with her mouth full of toothpaste, spitting in his face.

Soon his mouth was overflowing with her spit, his spit and the toothpaste. With difficulty he managed to keep it in. Ms Marina stood up and rinsed her mouth.

"Do you still have everything in your mouth, sissy?”

He nodded, shamefaced as he tried not to retch.

“Good. Now we will take a shower. Aren't you lucky? You get to take a shower together with your dream Goddess.'

A demoralized John did not feel very “lucky”.

"Get into the bathtub and lie on your back," she said, walking into the bathtub naked. He did as she ordered, obedience coming more and more readily to him.

"Now as I shower, the water will cascade down to you. You may rinse your mouth with my bathwater, and also clean yourself, that will be your shower."

John was appalled; she expected him to rinse his mouth and wash with her dirty bathwater.

While taking her own shower, she deliberately stepped on him from time to time and John found her weight on his body unbearable. He prayed inwardly that it wouldn't result in any broken bones. From time to time she also gave him a swift kick and managed to find enough piss left in her bladder to piss on him.

Soon she was finished.

"OK slut, now come out and dry yourself. That was a very good session, I thoroughly enjoyed it."

When they had dried and got dressed, she told him

"Turn on the coffee maker and make two cups of coffee for us."

As they sat down with coffee mugs in their hands, John pleaded with her. "Please, Ms Marina. Haven't I suffered enough? Please release me now. Let me go if you have any human pity."

"Suffered enough? You?”

Her laughter was cruel and, John thought, more than a little unbalanced.

“Far from it,” she went on. “You still must suffer much more. Oops, I almost forgot, I must sanctify your coffee. Bring your coffee mug here."

She generously spat into his coffee then lowered the mug to her pussy and pissed a small amount in his coffee, amazing him that she could have any left in her after their recent exploits. Smirking at him, she stirred his coffee with a spoon to mix it in.

"There, that is how you drink coffee in my presence. Oh, and sissy? In case you develop any balls, any spine, just remember that I am recording our sessions, and can post them on the Internet any time I wish, for everyone to enjoy."

"I have filmed you in such a way that all of you are visible, but my face is never visible. So nobody will recognize me, I have nothing to lose by posting them on the Internet. Remember this before you develop a backbone and try to terminate our relationship. You leave only when I tell you that it is finished."

"Also, I have deposited the DVDs and all the incriminating documents with a lawyer here in Salt Lake City, to be published in the event of my death. So don't get any ideas."

**********

Chapter-Three

Mistress Lilith's dungeon was located discretely in a suburban area, and looked like any other house in the vicinity. Dear Reginald, our manservant would have been shocked if he had known where we were headed (he has accepted our lifestyle, but frowns upon any other

alternative lifestyle). He discreetly waited in the car in the driveway. The door was opened by a good looking young woman dressed in French maid costume.

After she announced us, Mistress Lilith came out to greet us. "Please, do come in ladies. And call me Linda; that is my real name. Will you have a drink? Tea, coffee, or maybe something stronger? I assume you ladies are not on duty."

"Oh, why not,” Cheryl consented. “After all, we are on vacation. I will have Scotch on the rocks."

"Jane?"

"The same for me please. So you don't have any problem with tea, coffee or alcohol?"

"Certainly not. I am not a Mormon. Andrew, get two Scotch on the rocks for the guests and a martini for me."

"At once Mistress."

Andrew curtsied and departed.

"Wasn't the name of your bridge partner Andrew?" a somewhat amused Cheryl asked her, as always enjoying politeness and deference in a man towards a woman.

"Yes, this is the same person."

"What?" I exclaimed. “This girl looks nothing like Andrew."

"It is all in the clothes, make up and deportment, Jane. Andrew wishes to dress up as a French Maid and serve me, so I trained him as to how to dress and behave like a French Maid."

"Well, you have certainly trained him well. So your servant is your bridge partner?" I asked her.

With a short laugh Linda replied:

"Don't let Andrew hear you referring to him as my servant. He is my sub and there is a big difference. In real life he is a high powered executive. But here in my dungeon, he belongs to me. I decide whether he is going to be my bridge partner, my servant, or… well, whatever my mood dictates really.”

"And you get paid for this privilege. A good thing you have going here."

"Being a dominatrix is not as easy as you seem to think. It may surprise you, but it is the sub who is in charge, not the dominatrix. The sub decides what the limits are, what kind of pain he will endure, what kind of scenario he wants to act out (teacher/student, mommy/child etc.), and to what level it should be taken. The Mistress works within definite, prearranged agreements. Also she must know the limits of her sub, when to stop administering pain etc., or she may cause serious injury to the sub. Then she lays herself open to the lawsuit or perhaps even criminal charges or... oh, the drinks are here."

With a great show of respect and deference, Andrew served the three of us.

"Now, Andrew here wants to serve as my maid, so I make him one. I can order him around as much as I want. I can punish his indiscretions by spanking or whipping, but only within prearranged limits."

"This is not Blue Label, I am afraid, I am not that rich. This is still good Scotch, though."

I took a sip and had to agree, but when I glanced at the ice cubes floating in my glass I got the shock of my life.

The cubes themselves were in the shape of a male penis. I had to admire the workmanship as it was quite detailed, including two tiny testicles, but… well…

"Linda,” I asked with disapproval, “where did you get these ice cubes? I think they are gross, if you pardon my saying so."

"Well, men have ice cubes in the shape of naked women, so I figure what is good for the goose is good for the gander. I like ice cubes in the shape of penis. But if you are offended, I could replace them with normal ice cubes. Oh, I forgot you are lesbians (we see so few of those in Salt Lake City); you may find the sight of male penis offensive."

"No, it’s OK. I just wasn't prepared for this; that’s all. Do you buy these ice trays in the store or what?"

"Unfortunately not. Ice trays for bare breasted female shaped ice cubes are easy to obtain. But I had to get these specially designed. There is only one company in USA who will supply custom made ice trays. I got it from them."

"So you sent them the sketch of a penis and they made ice trays to order?"

"Actually I sent them a replica of Andrew's penis. Even though he is a sub, he is well endowed. You sure you don't want normal ice cubes? Andrew can replace them, it is no trouble."

"No, that is fine, Linda. Don't bother."

"But enough about me. I assume you want to talk about John's death. Have they decided yet whether it was murder or suicide?"

"We are still working on that. Incidentally, after we are finished with you, we would like to speak to Andrew, about that day. What was your connection with John?"

"Andrew, these nice ladies want to talk to you about the death that day. Tell them what they want to know and tell the truth. You are excused until they are finished with me." Andrew again curtsied and left the room.

"Now, where were we? Oh yes. I am acquainted with his wife, Heather. We are childhood friends. Though she disapproves of my lifestyle (and I think she is too much of a straight jacket), we have remained good friends."

"And you had no contact with John, not in a professional capacity?"

"If you mean he was one of my clients, the answer is no. As far as I am aware, he is not involved in this lifestyle at all."

"Do you also go by the name of Ms Marina?"

"Ms Marina? No, I don't. Is she a professional dominatrix in Salt Lake City? If so, I haven't heard the name, and the community is pretty small here."

"Well, she may be a material witness. Could you maybe ask around to see if anybody in your community has heard of her?"

"Sure, I will see what I can do."

"Thank you, Linda." Cheryl said and I drained my glass; the offensive ice cubes had already disappeared.

"We would like to talk to your sub if that’s acceptable."

"Sure, no problem. Andrew?" Linda called him.

Andrew came out. This time he was dressed in a three piece suit and looked like the Andrew we saw the other day.

Linda excused herself." Well Andrew, how well do you know the Longbottoms?"

"I am afraid I cannot be of any help to you, I met them the first time the other day. I was there purely as my mistress' partner and nothing more. When I am serving as her sub, she orders and I obey. I assume she must have cleared it with Heather, since Heather seemed to be

expecting me."

"So you did not know John or Heather before that day."

"Not in the least."

"Do you visit other mistresses besides Lilith?"

"Well, yes. Sometimes."

"How about mistresses out of town?"

"Actually, this is out of town for me, I am not from Salt Lake City. I am about to go back home, that is why I am dressed in a suit."

"Have you ever visited a Ms Marina? Or have you come across the name?"

"No, can't say that I have. I don't think she works here in Salt Lake City, I am familiar with the names of all of them here."

"How often do you visit Mistress Lilith? Are you a regular visitor?"

"That my dear woman; is none of your business. I fail to see what that has to do with your investigation."

There was nothing submissive about him now, quite the opposite in fact, he looked every bit the business executive that he was.

"Maybe not, but didn't you hear your mistress order you to tell us the truth? You are bound by that. If we give your mistress a bad report, if she knows that you disobeyed her order, you probably will get some sort of punishment." I put in, realizing as I said it that it would be punishment he would most probably enjoy.

Andrew yielded with good grace, just the same.

"Well, yes,” he said, “I am a regular with her. Whenever I am in town I always try to find time to visit her."

"So if she used any other name, say Ms Marina, would you be aware of it?"

"Very likely, yes. Unless she keeps it a top secret."

"And to your knowledge, she has never used that name?"

"No, Never."

"Thanks, Andrew.'

**********

Flashback-Four

"Well John, today I am going to introduce you to the joys of body worship. But first, remove all your clothes, I want you totally naked."

"May I ask what is body worship, Ms Marina?"

"You will find out as we go along." Ms Marina replied. "But first, you have a pleasant duty to perform. You may remove my clothes, all of them."

John approached her and reverently kissed her feet.

"Good, slut, you are learning. Now remain kneeling on the floor, but reach up and undo my skirt."

John did that and the skirt fell to the floor as Ms Marina stepped out of it.

"Now you may stand up and unbutton and remove my blouse."

John stood up and removed her blouse, exposing her bra overflowing with her ample breasts.

John could feel stirring in his loins. Then Ms Marina raised her arm and he got an awful whiff of her armpit. He wrinkled his nose.

Noting this, she told him:

"Well, John, I have already told you that you won't enjoy any of our activities together. To make sure you don't, I haven't showered for the past 24 hours, I haven't used any deodorant and you may find the smell a bit ripe. I simply stayed away from people for the past 24 hours, I was preparing for our session."

John immediately felt even more queasy.

"You will be in close contact with me for the session, you lucky dog. If I see any attitude on your part, we will have to use the attitude adjuster on you. It will be the belt, Mr. Violator or maybe both."

He winced as he remembered the session with Mr. Violator; it had taken several days afterwards for his asshole to stop hurting.

“How do you like my garlic breath?" John heaved as he got an awful whiff of her breath.

"Now unhook my bra in the back."

As John did so, she removed her arms from the bra, freeing her large, pendulous breasts, and sat down on a chair to light an evil smelling cigar.

"Now carefully undo the suspender belt and remove my stockings and my panties. Roll the stockings down gently on my legs. Mind you don't cause a run in them" She said, blowing cigar smoke on his face. She stood up so John could remove her panties and he could smell the stink of her panties as he held them in his hand.

"Open your mouth," she ordered with the cigar still in her mouth.

As he opened up the smelly, stinky panties went into his mouth.

"Now go stand in the corner facing the wall, put your hands over your head and let me smoke in peace."

She finished her cigar and made herself a cup of coffee, keeping him in the corner for a full half an hour; then finally, as John's hands started to ache, he was relieved when she ordered him to come to her.

She was lying naked on her bed.

"Now, the way you do this is that you worship every inch of my body, except my face. I don't want your filthy lips anywhere on my face. Other than that, you must lick, suck and kiss every inch of my body. You may start with my gorgeous, but perhaps stinky, feet."

John’s eyes took in her feet and, once again, asked himself how he could sustain humiliation of such a kind.

"Oops, I almost forgot. I must make sure that you don't find what we are about to do pleasurable in any way.”

She got up from the bed, produced two clothes pins, and applied them to his nipples.

Unbearable pain at once shot through his body and he cried out.

"Please, Ms Marina, take them off, I beg of you."

"Painful, isn't it? Well, there is some good news. Let a few minutes pass and the pain, though still there, won't be an agony any longer. Now let us get going."

She lay down on the bed again, this time on her back

"Oh, just one more thing before you start. If while worshipping my body you get nauseated, heave and throw up, that is OK by me. If you go to the washroom and throw up in the toilet, you will merely get a spanking for it. But if you dirty my bed or puke here in the room, you

will have to lick it up clean and get a spanking."

With this in mind, John took her big toe in his mouth and started licking. Her foot smelled of sweat and tasted salty. But mercifully, there was no dirt on it. He was determined to please her and he started licking and sucking vigorously. He sucked and licked her toes, in between her toes; he sucked and licked the bottom of her foot.

Suddenly she lashed out with her foot, sending him reeling.

"Enough, bitch. The other foot."

Swallowing the minute amount of blood he could taste in his mouth, John started on her other foot.

When he came to her legs, he found that she had not shaved in a few days and short and sharp stubble started pricking him. Regardless, fearful of what would happen if he didn’t, he licked her legs in long strokes, blowing on them and kissing them all over. Again he could smell and taste the sweat on her body and asked himself how anyone could perspire so much. The truth being, unknown to him, that she had poured some salt water on her body and allowed it to dry.

As he came to her thighs he could smell the strong, rank smell of her pussy. She had not washed herself for 24 hours and the smell was rather ripe. Her thighs and her legs were smooth (if one disregarded the stubble), creamy and gorgeous. Why couldn't she make herself presentable, John wondered. Then John would have enjoyed this activity. He licked and cleaned her fleshy thighs and finally came to the part he dreaded, her pussy.

Her hairy bush stank of vaginal juices, sweat and urine. Not only that, but he also could smell her asshole further down. He closed his eyes, tried to get the smell out of his mind and started licking the hairy, sweaty bush. He brought her to orgasm several times, each time she flooded his mouth with her frothy, milky vaginal discharge.

He was worshipping her pussy for what seemed to him like hours, and he brought her to orgasm several times. Sometimes she would lose control of her bladder and eject a small amount of urine, which also he licked clean. His jaws were beginning to get sore. He was glad when Mistress Marina ordered him to move on, even though he knew he was probably going to throw up from the next activity.

Ms Marina was right in that the pain due to the nipple clamps diminished after a while. However, whenever the clothes pin touched any object, it sent a stab sharp, shooting pain through his nipples.

She turned over, lay on her stomach and said:

"OK, now worship my backside."

He started by planting small kisses on her ass cheeks. He put off the dread moment as far as he could, kissing and licking her ass cheeks for a long time. Her ass cheeks were wet with his saliva, which he licked off dry.

With a sigh, he parted her ass cheeks with his hands to reveal her dirty brown hole. She was not very clean down there. Like last time, he could see bits of tissue paper and bits of shit stuck to her ass hair. As he put his lips to it and kissed her asshole, the smell was too much for him.

He put his hand over his mouth and ran into the bathroom, trying to ignore the intense pain caused by the jiggling of the clothes pins on his nipples. He sat hunched over the toilet bowl and threw up copiously. He washed up and came back.

Ms Marina said:

"That has earned you a spanking, slave. But at least you didn't dirty the bed or the carpet, so you don't have to lick it up."

Now that his stomach was totally empty, he felt better. He again parted her ass cheeks and kissed her asshole. The smell was as bad as ever, but at least he wouldn't throw up. He took some of her ass hair in his mouth and started licking gently, to clean it off. It took him a long time, but eventually he managed to get her asshole clean, swallowing plenty of junk in the process.

It was a relief to move on to her back. Now there was only the smell and taste of sweat to worry about. He worshipped and cleaned her back with his tongue and finally came to her arms. He started with her fingers, taking each finger in his mouth and sucking on it as if it was a small penis. From there he proceeded to her hands and then to her arms. As he approached her armpits, he could smell the stink of her armpits.

But at least she had shaved her armpits; he did not have to worry about armpit hair. The smell again was over powering and there was stubble in her armpits, but he managed to clean and worship her armpits without throwing up.

She turned over on her back and presented her front to him. John licked and cleaned her breasts. He took a nipple in his mouth and started sucking gently. This part he was enjoying (in spite of the smell) and he could feel his penis harden.

It was also turning her on. She took his hand in hers and guided it to her pussy. He started fingering her pussy and her clitoris, while suckling on her breasts. Mistress Marina started to moan and soon experienced an earth shattering climax. She again put John in between her legs to clean her out until, finally, she was satisfied and complimented him:

"You have been a good sissy, darling."

So saying, she took John in her arms and kissed him deeply. John gagged on her garlic breath. He kept struggling in her embrace. Mistress Marina ignored him and kissed him for a long time, transferring generous amount of her spit into his mouth.

"Now, time for your spanking before we finish. But let us do something about the nipple clamps first."

She took one clothes pin in her hand and yanked it viciously. John screamed with intense agony. Smiling, she did it again with the second pin. John fell to the floor and clutched his head in his hands. Tears of pain flowed down his cheeks. He did not know that there could be so much pain in the world.

After he had recovered from the pain shock, Ms Marina told him:

"Go to the corner and bring the flat heeled shoes you will find there."

John found the shoes easily enough. The bottoms were dirty as Ms Marina evidently used the shoes outside the house and when he brought the shoes to her she asked him to get on her lap. Taking one shoe in her hand, she raised it and brought it down hard on his bottom with a loud smack.

She spanked him for a long time and to John, it did not hurt as much as her beating him with a belt.

But it was a whole lot more humiliating.

**********

Chapter-Four

That evening we met with Sergeant Bob to compare notes. Cheryl filled him in regarding our visit to Mistress Lilith and her sub.

"Well, I don't see that we have advanced all that much." Bob said.

"We still don't know if it is suicide or murder. If murder, we don't know how it was carried out."

He remembered something else:

"Oh, and I asked about testing the whisky to see if the urine belonged to a man or a woman. The problem is that there was very little urine in the whisky, just a couple of tablespoons in maybe a litre. The urine concentration is too low to test for estrogen.”

Cheryl nodded, thoughtfully.

“So no,” he went on, “we have no way of knowing if it was a man's urine or a woman's. To be honest, we really don't know anything."

"Well, it is not as bad as that. We may reasonably surmise that he was into the femdom lifestyle and that he was probably visiting this Ms Marina. I have a feeling if we can identify this lady we will be much further along."

"Well, I will contact police departments in all the major cities and see what they can dig up. If this Ms Marina lives anywhere in USA, we will find her. Incidentally, here is a bit of tidbit for you. Our George is not the manly man, the he-man that he pretends to be.”

“How so?” I asked.

“He is a homosexual."

“What? Are you sure?"

"Well, bisexual actually. That was the reason for his divorce. The divorce records were sealed at his request (and his wife didn't object). But I was able to get access to them. Both of them wanted to hush it up, neither of them wanted publicity. But that indeed was the reason for their break up. Which leaves only one witness. John's mother, Monica Barnes. She is a devout Mormon, a straight laced woman who Heather evidently takes after and from whom I doubt if we will get much."

"Aren't we going to talk to Heather?” I asked. “I would think by now she would have got over her initial shock, grief and should be able to talk rationally."

"Yes,” Cheryl agreed, speaking for Bob. “After we have seen Monica we will talk to her."

Another thought struck her:

"Oh Bob, I forgot to ask you something. The card room and the adjoining office are not at the ground level, they are on the second floor. Do you think it is possible that somebody may have climbed the wall and entered through the window?"

"You mean, while John was absorbed in his work, somebody could have snuck into the room through the window, pissed into his whiskey and put cyanide in the decanter? It sounds absurd on the face of it"

"But there are practical difficulties as well. I did examine the outside of the house, and it is not easy to climb on the wall outside the window. There are not that many handholds and footholds. An accomplished gymnast may possibly be able to do it, but even then I wouldn't bet on it."

"The other difficulty is that there are bars on the window, so nobody can get in that way. What he may have had to do is to throw the cyanide into the whisky with deadly accuracy (assuming the stopper was not in the decanter and that whisky was exposed). Then there is the question of pissing."

"He could have squirted his urine into the whiskey with a water pistol." I pointed out.

"To what end? We are speculating to no useful purpose that I can see. Besides, urine splashing into the whiskey would most certainly have attracted John's attention, no matter how absorbed he was in his work."

"Of course we have been assuming all along that the murderer pissed into the whiskey. Suppose there were two persons, this Mistress Marina pissed into the whisky and the murderer put cyanide in it."

"Then that doubles our difficulty. We can't even imagine how one person could have snuck into John's office and now we have to worry about two persons."

"Also, I recall seeing a refrigerator in John's room. Anything interesting in it?"

"No, just the usual food items. And none of them contained any cyanide or urea."

"What we need is more information. Let us talk to the mother-in-law, Monica."

**********

Flashback-Five

"Well sissy, here we are again. Guess what? This time we are going out."

He stared back at her with complete horror.

"What? I can't go out dressed like this. I can't risk being exposed to public in this condition."

"You mean dressed like a sissy? Dressed in my dirty underwear, wearing an ill fitting dress, wearing make up like a clown? Dressed not so that you would be mistaken for a woman, but dressed so that you would be recognized for what you are, a man dressed as a woman?"

"Well, too fucking bad. We are going out and that is that."

"Please don't Ms. Marina, I beg of you."

Mistress Marina produced a small, pearl handled pistol. She shot at him so that the bullet just missed him. The pistol had a silencer on it, so the shot made only a muffled sound.

"Now listen bitch, I won't kill you if you disobey. But I can certainly wing you, maybe shoot you in arm or leg and believe me, I will. Now get your ass out the door before I really lose my temper."

John meekly followed her out the door. Fortunately for him, they went straight to her car parked in the garage. John automatically walked over to the passenger seat.

"And where do you think you are going?"

"I assume you don't want me to drive?"

"Certainly not. But you are not worthy of sitting besides me." She popped open the trunk and leveled her pistol again at him.

"Into the trunk with you. Go on, don't waste my time."

Reluctantly he climbed into the trunk. Ms Marina closed the lid, got into the car and started driving. John was grateful that all was done away from public eye. In a way, he was glad that she made him lie in the trunk. That way there was no danger that anybody would see him.

It was a short drive and soon John could feel the car coming to a stop. He could hear her talking to somebody and soon the top of the trunk popped open. As John's eyes got accustomed to the light, he saw that there were two other women staring down at him, besides Ms Marina.

Both were dressed as bikers and were, in fact, biker chicks.

One of them was very tall and had the girth to match her height. She easily picked John up in her arms and unceremoniously dumped him on the ground. John could smell her body odor.

Both the biker chicks looked at him and burst into laughter.

"My! What a sissy. You got a winner here, Marina. Or should I say 'loser'?"

"All right, you pansy. Get up," the large chick barked at him, while delivering a vicious kick.

John struggled to obey and saw they were in the front yard of an old, ramshackle, rundown, abandoned house. They all walked into the house and in the front room there were perhaps fifteen more biker chicks.

"They are a lesbian biker gang, sissy." Ms Marina informed John.

"They are so looking forward to meeting you. This little lady here," she pointed to the large woman, "is Nasty, the leader of these lovely ladies."

"They are all eager to have fun with you. None of them are very clean though. Especially Nasty here." Ms Marina remarked, sniffing.

"What's the matter, dear? Don't you ever wash?"

As the girls clamored around their prey, Ms Marina told them:

"All right, ladies, calm down. Everybody is going to have him."

Nasty immediately began to fondle him, looking at him the way a predator would look at its prey. John was terrified, petrified with fear. He sat there, staring at his abuser open mouthed, unable to do or say anything.

Ms Marina saw Nasty fondling him and swatted her away.

"Get your hands off him. You got to pay first. Now, form a line, everybody is going to have him."

Ms Marina produced a box of condoms.

Now John found his tongue:

"Please, I don't want to do…"

Ms Marina slapped him hard.

"Shut up, you son of a bitch. Who gives a fuck whether you want to or not? Just lie down on the mattress here."

She pointed to an old, threadbare mattress on the dusty floor.

"Come on ladies, let us have some order here, please form a line."

"I go first, of course." Nasty told the girls. “You all form a line, after me." John was still sitting on the floor, dazed and petrified, and the leader gave him a swift kick which landed him squarely on the mattress.

"OK ladies,” Ms Marina informed them, “it’s 50 dollars each."

"How about letting me go for free, Marina?” Nasty asked, a little indignantly. “After all, I am giving you so much business."

Ms Marina thought about it and then, nodding to herself:

"OK Nasty, for you it is on the house. The rest of you pony up and get in line."

"Now, how are we going to do this? If each girl individually has her way with him, this will take just too long. We will have to multi task." Nasty said.

"Right. I don't see why two of them could not do him at the same time. Suppose each girl squats on his face first, he brings her to climax by licking her. Then she puts on the double dildo inside her and fucks him in the ass."

"Right, fucks him until she achieves an orgasm." Nasty put in.

"No, she fucks him to a maximum of 10 minutes. If she has not achieved orgasm by then, that is just too bad. This way we will be done in a few hours."

"Right, sissy. Ready to pull a train? Let us get the show on the road. Nasty, if you would do the honors?"

"Thanks, Marina." Nasty pulled down her jeans and lowered her haunches on to his face.

John was hit will full force by the stink of her pussy.

"Start licking, bitch, if you know what is good for you."

Terrified of both the situation and the women, John started licking vigorously. Fortunately, Nasty was already horny, so it didn't take long to bring her to climax. She ejaculated copiously into his mouth. As John finished licking his lips, another one took Nasty's place. As John started licking her, he felt a stabbing pain in his asshole. No doubt it was Nasty fucking him.

And it went on for a long time. After a few of them, John was totally exhausted. He was also in constant agony, brought on by dildos being in his ass almost continuously. He kept passing out due to agony, only to be brought to consciousness by Nasty's stab of cigarettes. Soon he was sporting quite a collection of cigarette burns.

Some of them pissed in his mouth after they achieved orgasm. He threw up a few times, but they didn't seem to mind, they continued, with him lying in his own vomit.

This went on for hours, as they took turns raping him. He could feel bleeding from his ass, but they paid no attention and went on with the gang rape. Some of them paid an extra 30 dollars each and had another go at him.

Finally the last one pulled from his ass and they were done.

"Well, that was awesome, Marina. Is the sissy for sale?” Nasty asked Ms Marina as John lay whimpering, sobbing on the bed. “I would like to make him my biker bitch. How much are you asking for him?"

"I don't know, Nasty." Mistress Marina replied around her cigar, giving it some thought as she counted her money. "We will discuss that later. At the moment, he’s lying in a pool of his own blood, so how about you and a few girls helping me to put the whore in the trunk of my car? I brought a large plastic sheet for just such occasion. We can wrap him in it and put him in the trunk of my car, then I’ll dump him in some quiet, unfrequented road, where eventually a passing motorist will find him.”

With a smile, she added:

“I hope."

**********

Chapter -Five

Monica greeted us warmly. She was around 60 and looked well for her age. She could easily have passed for a 50 year old.

"Terrible business, Sergeant. I still can't believe it happened."

"No doubt. How were the relations between you and Mr. Longbottom, Mrs. Barnes?"

"To tell the truth, I did not like him. He is a lapsed Mormon (Jack Mormons, as we call them), he had strayed away from religion and from God. He drank, which is forbidden in our religion, and he rarely attended the Church. I was opposed to their marriage."

Knowing the Mormon religion and its somewhat intolerant nature as I did, this hardly came as a revelation.

"I very much wanted my daughter to get married in a Mormon Temple,” she went on, “rather than a Mormon church. But they would never extend permission for a man like John to get married in a Temple. Every couple who wants to get married in a Temple has to be interviewed by a Bishop, and John would never have passed the muster."

"However, once he was married to my daughter, I loved him as a son. One doesn't have to like a person to love him. We got along quite well, though I suspect he didn't approve of my religious ways. But I only wished him well, I had no resentment against him."

"Did you get along with your older daughter, Heather?" Cheryl, Sergeant asked.

"Oh, most certainly. At least she has not strayed from religion, like her younger sister. We have a close bond. A few years ago, she had a miscarriage and I was there for her at that time. I am much closer to her than I am to Melody. And now Melody talks of going out of Utah for internship. That will take us further apart still." Monica wiped her eyes.

"And what was the relationship between Melody and John?"

"Relationship?” her face became stern. “I assure you, there was nothing of… that nature between them. They got along well enough, certainly, but I don't think there was anything more than that. Why, you surely don't think...?"

"Mrs. Barnes, I don't think, I only ask questions,” the Sergeant interjected diplomatically.

Cheryl took the opportunity of the ensuing silence to ask:

“Can you think why anybody would want to kill Mr. Longbottom?"

"Not really. But then I didn't really know him that well, so I really couldn't say. But wasn't it suicide, I thought that nobody had the opportunity to introduce the cyanide into the whisky?"

Bob shook his head.

"We don't know yet," he told her truthfully. “"You were the last person to see your son-in-law alive, Mrs. Barnes. When you went to his room did you see or hear anything unusual at that time?"

"I was in his room for maybe half a minute. I asked him just one question, which he answered. I did not have time to look around; I wouldn't have noticed anything, suspicious or otherwise."

"And what was his demeanor like when you talked to him?"

"He seemed perfectly normal. I cannot believe that he would commit suicide just a few minutes after that."

"Well, we still don't know if it was suicide or murder. Thanks for your help, Mrs. Barnes,"

Cheryl said. “We’ve already taken up too much of your time.”

As we were getting up to leave, I asked her:

"Incidentally, I assume you have never heard the name Ms Marina?"

"Why yes, as it happens. I have."

All of us sat down again, in somewhat of a shock – especially the Sergeant.

"You what? You know the person known as Ms Marina?" he asked.

"No, I don't. Miss Holmes asked me if I have heard the name. I did hear the name, but I don't personally know her."

"And where did you hear the name?" Cheryl pressed her.

"From John, my son-in-law. Apparently she is what is called a dominatrix. John explained to me what a dominatrix was, I did not know that such creatures existed. Absolute abomination."

Sergeant Bob was nodding agreement.

"Anyway,” she went on, “John told me he had got caught in the clutches of this Ms Marina and she forced him to do unspeakable, filthy, disgusting things. It is a wonder that such acts are legal, I am surprised that they are not banned, at least here in Utah. We are a God fearing people in Utah, and such acts are allowed to happen?"

"And how did John feel about that?" I asked.

"Surprisingly, he was ambivalent about it. Mostly he was repulsed by it, but sometimes there would be this wistful look in his eyes."

Sergeant Bob seemed taken aback by the development:

"And do you know why he confided in you, his mother-in-law, and not go to a therapist?" he quizzed her. “Would it not have been less  embarrassing for him?

"Actually, he was seeing a psychiatrist: a Dr. Norm Peters here in Salt Lake City; though he did open up to me about it just once. And the reason he did was to tell me that he had finally decided to give it up, to tell that abominable, wicked creature – I refuse to call her a woman as she brings shame to all womanhood - to get lost and, in his words: ‘to take a hike’."

“Why the sudden resolution,” Cheryl asked.

"He told me he wanted to get back to his Mormon roots. He also told me he wanted to start going to Church again. Since I am a regular Church goer and very active within it, he wanted to come with me to the Church the next Sunday. He was, he said, going to give up drinking. He never smoked anyway, so that wasn't a problem."

"And yet he didn't have any problem drinking Blue Label which killed him."

"The day before the bridge game, he told me that was his last drink. He was going to pour the rest of the decanter down the drain - at a cost of more than 100 dollars, I was told - and confront Ms Marina the next day.”

She stifled a sob.

“He never lived to see the next day."

"Did you tell any of this to your daughter?" I asked after allowing her a few moments to collect herself.

"Well, I was so happy for Heather. There marriage has been a bit strained, since her miscarriage three years ago. She seemed to blame John for that. However, my hope was that this new path John was about to choose would bring them together and was the reason I did

not tell her about this… dominatrix. That was none of my business and I reasoned it would be better coming from John himself. However, I did tell her that John was going to give up drinking, I thought she deserved to know at least that much from me."

"And what was her response?"

"She broke down and cried in my arms, she was so happy about it. Her prayers of many years were answered."

Sergeant Bob looked at me to see if Cheryl or I had any more questions and we quickly shook our heads.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Barnes,” he said. “You have been a big help."

"Well, here is the breakthrough we were hoping for,” Cheryl exclaimed when we were outside.

“And it came from a very unexpected source,” said Bob, taking it up and turning to me.

“Thank you for asking her about Ms Marina, Jane. It had totally slipped my mind. Not in a million years would I guess that a woman like Mrs. Barnes could be aware of a woman like Mistress Marina."

"I suppose the next step would be Dr. Peters. I will phone him and set up an appointment."

We saw Dr. Peters in his office and after introductions, Bob got right down to business.

"I assume you have read about the death of Mr. Longbottom?"

"Yes, shocking. It came as a total surprise."

"I understand he was one of your patients."

Dr. Peters took a long time in answering. He seemed to be thinking what to say. Finally he replied

"Well, I suppose I could admit to that, without violating any confidentially privileges. Yes, he indeed was my client. I prefer to call them clients, not patients."

"We will need the details of his sessions with you, your diagnosis, his prognosis etc."

"Sorry, out of the question. Even if I wanted to, there are confidentiality laws."

"Look Dr. Peters, a man is dead, very likely was murdered. We need all the information there is to carry out a proper investigation. I could get a warrant, raid your office, and cart away the records. That will mean a big disruption for you. It will be much easier on you if you give us the information."

Again Dr. Peers thought about it.

Eventually, he said:

"I will talk to American Psychiatric Association and ask them if I can

reveal the information without breaching the client confidentiality. If they say yes, no problem. If they say no, then I am sorry but you will have to get your warrant and confiscate the records." He got up.

"Well, thank you, Dr. Peters. Let us know what you decide."

"Now what?" I asked.

Cheryl looked thoughtful:

"Well, I was hoping to get the information from Dr. Peters before we talked to Mrs. Longbottom, but I suppose it is not absolutely necessary. Let us pay her a visit. Hopefully Dr. Peters will come to a decision in a day or two."

**********

Chapter-Six

Heather still seemed not quite herself and was clearly still grieving. However, she was ready to talk. She was in late thirties and looked stunningly beautiful, if slightly overweight (but bulging in all the right places). She carried it off very well though, and if I had not been already married, I would have seriously considered making a pass at her.

"So Mrs. Longbottom. Any idea who would have wanted to kill your husband?" Bob began.

"Not really, Sergeant He had many business ventures going, he may well have made enemies there, I wouldn't know. George for instance. But as far as I know, I cannot think of anybody."

"What about George?" I asked.

"Well, he is a dear. In spite of John swindling him, he did not hold a grudge. I offered to make up his losses (I have my own money). He declined, said it was not really much of a loss for him. After an initial period of hostility and coolness,, he had warmed up to John ecently."

The mention of her husband’s name brought Cheryl in:

"How were the relations between you and John?"

"Well… If I am to be totally truthful, not the best. Three years ago I had a miscarriage, and I blamed John for it. Wrongly, as I later realized. I was depressed during the pregnancy, and I blamed John for my depression. I also thought that I lost the baby because of the depression. Later I realized that I was just being silly."

"But relations between John and me had been strained until the very end. But I think they were about to change for the better. A couple of days ago my mother told me that John told her that he was going to give up drinking. He was going to turn over a new leaf. The decanter

I filled up for John was going to be the last one, I thought. I was right, but in such a different, horrible way."

She sniffled.

"Do you work for a living, Mrs. Longbottom?" asked Sergeant Bob

" I work part time, I am an investment broker."

"Why part time?" I queried.

"Well, we are quite well off; God has been good to us. John had his own money, I have my own. In addition, John had a substantial income, what with his job as an accountant and his business ventures. It really was not necessary for me to work, we didn't need the money. So a few years ago I started working part time. The remaining time I devote to charities, fund raising, that kind of thing."

"Now, think back carefully. When you took the decanter over to John, could anybody have introduced anything in the decanter at any stage?"

"You mean cyanide? I don't see how. As soon as Theresa poured the whisky into the decanter, put the decanter on the table and left, I picked up the decanter and brought it into the card room. I poured two drinks, one for George and one for sis. Then right away I placed

the stopper in the decanter, took the decanter to John's room and left it on the table in front of him."

There was a silence.

"I can emphatically say,” she went on, assuming that silence to be accusation, “that there was no way anybody could have put anything into the whisky between pouring it into the decanter and taking it to John's study."

"How about afterwards?" Bob quizzed.

"Well, only two persons went into his study after that. One was my mother and the other was Teresa. And there is no way either of them could have put cyanide in the whisky. For one, they didn't have the time and for other, I know them very well. I would just as soon believe that you or Cheryl or Jane here put cyanide in the whisky than to suspect mom or Teresa."

“Do you always fill his decanter?"

"Yes. The routine is that Teresa washes the decanter, dries it and leaves it on the kitchenette table. After I tell her to, she fills it up with whisky and I take it to John's office. That has been the invariable routine for the past several years."

"But Heather, you don't drink." Cheryl pointed out.

“No I don't, I consider it to be an abominable activity. But I also consider catering to my husband, pleasing my husband to be part of my wifely duties. I was very relieved when mother told me that John is going to quit drinking. I fervently hoped that that was the last time I would have to fill up the decanter."

"I noticed that John's study had only a single bed in it. Did you ever sleep with him in his study?"

"No, I didn't. John slept there when he had to get up early the next day, so as not to disturb me. I have a study which is identical to John's in every respect. Bed, refrigerator, coffee maker etc. I sleep in the master bedroom or in my study when he would sleep in his study."

"We would like to talk to Teresa, if you don't mind."

"Sure, go ahead."

Coincidentally, Bob received a call on his cell phone at that moment, speaking very little and mostly listening As he put away his phone, he gave a low whistle:

“Well, our Teresa is not quite what she seems. I heard something very interesting about her just now.”

Rising as one, and followed by Heather, we made our way to the main kitchen and talked to Teresa as she cooked.

"Can you tell us of your movements on the day of your master's death?" Bob asked her.

"Well, isn't much to tell. I was in attendance, to look after the players. See if they needed a drink, a snack etc. There were snacks in the refrigerator in the small kitchenette next to the card room. The bar is nearby. I was in the card room all the time, except when I was fetching for the guests."

"And when your mistress asked you to fill the decanter."

"Well, yes. I took a bottle from the bar, opened it and poured it into the decanter."

"And Mrs. Longbottom immediately took it to the card room?" Cheryl took it up.

"As far as I could see."

"When you went into your master's office, to ask him if he needed a drink, did you see anything unusual in the room?"

"Strange you should ask that. I have a nagging feeling that something was out of kilter in his room, but for the life of me I cannot think what it could be."

“Was it the first or the second time you entered his office? “ Cheryl asked.

“I think it was the second time.”

"Can you recall what it was about? Something on his desk? Perhaps you saw something on his computer?"

Teresa thought hard.

"Well, I really couldn't say for sure. It certainly had nothing to do with the desktop computer. It had the screen saver on, as usual. It was more to do with some housekeeping detail, I think. Being a house keeper I have an eye for such things. But for the life of me I cannot remember exactly what it was."

Bob came to attention:

"Are you saying the computer was working OK when you entered his office?"

"Why, certainly. Why shouldn't it?"

"So, our mysterious killer has certainly been busy" he said to Cheryl." Not only did he put cyanide in the whisky, he also pissed in the whisky and destroyed the computer as well."

"Pissed in the whisky? How disgusting." Teresa put in.

"And what is more, he/she did all this without anybody seeing him/her." Cheryl replied before returning to Teresa.

"How long have you been working for the Longbottoms?"

For about 5 years. Mrs. Longbottom hired me shortly after they were married. But just yesterday I gave my notice. I need a change, I will go somewhere else."

"I assume maids are very much in demand?"

"They are, I will find another position without any trouble."

“Really? You think you could find another job, just like that, here in Utah?”

“Certainly. As a matter of fact, I have already found one.”

“And did they ask you about references? About your real name, for instance? Who hired you, anyway? May I see your driver’s license?”

At once her face fell.

“So you know about me, do you Sergeant?”

“Indeed I do. Best to come clean, don’t you think?”

The slightest of nods and a light sigh indicated she agreed.

“Oh, all right. Then as you probably know, I am not a woman, but a man. I am a pre-op transsexual.”

“And how long have you been pre-op?” Cheryl asked, recovering quickly from the Sergeant’s bombshell.

“For many years now. I can’t afford the gender reassignment surgery.”

“And what were you doing before you started working for Mrs. Longbottom?”

“You and the Sergeant probably know everything anyway, so why ask me?”

We waited.

“Yes,” Teresa said with a put-upon sigh, “I was serving time for armed robbery. My part in it was very minor. That, combined with good behavior, enabled me to get out of prison in a couple of years. But yes, I am a convicted felon.”

“And why did Mrs. Longbottom hire you?”

“It was part of a prison outreach program. As a transsexual, prison was sheer Hell for me. I was facing a bleak future, as a transsexual felon. Mrs. Longbottom was literally my savior; she gave me another chance where nobody else would. I am eternally grateful to her for it.”

“But now you are leaving her, in her hour of need.”

“I talked it over with her, she is OK with that. In fact, when I told her I would like a change, she talked to her friend, Mistress Lilith. Mistress Lilith has offered me a job in her dungeon. I really don’t know what I would have done without Mrs. Longbottom, she is one in a million.”

“Have you known Mistress Lilith for long?” asked Cheryl.

“She and Mrs. Longbottom are friends, so I have seen her several times at the house, I have served her before. But I wouldn’t say that I really know her. Anyway, apparently I was able to fool her. Even after seeing me for several years, she had no clue that I was really a man. She was bowled over when Mrs. Longbottom told her. In a way I was flattered that I was able to fool her. That probably was one of the reasons why she hired me.”

“And did Mr. Longbottom know of your secret?”

“He did, and he had no problem with that.”

“So let us see now. You are a convicted felon. Also a transsexual. If you lost your job here, it would have been very difficult for you to find another job here in Utah. Now, if Mr. Longbottom had given you the sack, would you say that would be enough of a motive for you

to kill him?”

“Me? Kill Mr. Longbottom?”

She stared at us as if we had arrived from the outer rings of Saturn.

“That is a laugh. Longbottoms have done so much for me, they have been so good to me, that if they had thrown me out, I would gladly have left, after thanking them profusely for all they had done for me. People like the Longbottoms are very rare, Sergeant. I would much rather kill myself that even contemplate harming Longbottoms in any way. Believe me or not as you will.”

"Do you know of anybody who would want to kill your master?"

"Well, I can think of at least two people. He had swindled Mr. Forester out of a bunch of money. And then there was that Miss Finch, Mrs. Longbottom's sister."

"What do you know about her?"

"I know she fooled around with the master. One day she came to visit, and Mrs. Longbottom had to go out to her friend's house. There was some emergency. At that time Mr. Longbottom broke off their affair. I overheard the conversation."

“And?” Cheryl pressed.

"Miss Finch was very upset about it. She threw a regular tantrum. She threatened to kill him."

"And how did Mr. Longbottom take the threat?"

"He laughed it off. He told her she was just a kid, and she better get on with her studies. Miss Finch left here hopping mad."

Again, we all three of us shared looks, knowing there was no more to be said at this point. "Thank you for you co-operation, Teresa," Cheryl thanked her and after a few brief words with Heather we left.

**********

Bob called us the next day.

"I have heard from Dr. Peters. He has received OK from American Psychiatric Association, he is willing to talk. I will meet you at his office."

Cheryl’s face was animated with excitement and I got the impression our enquiries would soon be reaching a conclusion.

Her next words confirming my suspicion:

“I believe our interview with Dr. Peters will prove most enlightening."

"John has been visiting me for almost three years now,” Dr Peters told us as we sat before him in his office; the three of us, Cheryl, Sergeant Bob and myself, convinced what he would have to tell us would prove significant. The reticence he had displayed during our last meeting in this office absent now the ethics committee of his particular branch of medical science had given their blessing for him to divulge the details of his treatment of the deceased.

“For the last year,” he began, hands steepled before him contemplatively as he gathered his thoughts, “he mainly talked about Ms Marina. He described some of his sessions with her in great detail. I asked him to write them down, they are in his records."

"Could you photocopy the records for me?" Bob asked.

"No need, Sergeant. I have a chartless office, everything is on the computer. If you give me your E Mail, I will send the records to you."

"And how did he feel about Ms Marina?" Cheryl interjected, a slight tautness of body, recognizable only by me, telling me she was scenting the coming conclusion – or at least some information that would take us a considerable way towards one.

Doctor Peters gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head and answered:

"He was very conflicted about her, Miss Holmes. At one level, he loathed and despised her.”

The head shook some more, this time less imperceptibly.

“At the same time, however, I got the feeling that he was beginning to enjoy the sessions more and more.”

“Enjoy?” the Sergeant came in with frank disbelief. “How could anybody enjoy…”

“My opinion" Dr Peters cut in, a tad irritated, “is that he had a latent masochistic tendency which was activated by these sessions. It was really a love hate relationship."

"Did you know that he was about to break it off with Ms Marina and damn the consequences?" Cheryl asked.

"Yes. It was at my suggestion. Normally, I would not take such a pro-active stance with a patient but this woman was clearly having an adverse effect upon his mental well-being. I told him to break it off as soon as possible, whether he wished to do so or not. I was convinced

that a few more sessions with this despicable Ms Marina and the masochistic and submissive tendencies she had unearthed in him would have started to dominate his consciousness completely. Once that happened, of course, I explained that he would find it very difficult to break it off. Perhaps impossible."

"Did he tell you who this mysterious Ms Marina is?" I asked.

Cue more head shaking.

"With that I can be of no help. He said he preferred to keep that information to himself. I of course, could not and did not force him. And that, I am afraid – unless you wish to hear a more clinical and comprehensive description of the horrors my former patient endured at the hands of this woman – is as far as I can assist you."

I could see a little tic of impatience at the corner of Cheryl’s mouth and I knew she was a little disappointed with the information Dr Peters had provided, though, as ever, she was courtesy itself:

"Thank you, Dr. Peters. You’ve been very helpful and I thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule.”

“We’ll be in touch if we need anything more," Sergeant Bob, told him unnecessarily, unable to shake the years of Police service that led eventually to cliché and self-parody, even amongst the best of his kind.

"No problem, Sergeant. Sorry I was so uncooperative at first, but we have our regulations and guidelines. I wish you the very best in finding this woman."

When the three of us made it back to the police station, Dr Peters had been as good as his word and the documents had been attached to the Sergeant’s email address.

It was with a mixture of high curiosity and the anticipation of revulsion that we downloaded the descriptions of Longbottom’s sessions with the doctor and scanned them through.

"Why, this is absolutely filthy, totally horrible," was Bob's reaction after reading the sessions.

"It beats me how a man like John - or any man worthy of the name – could put up with this Ms Marina for so long."

"Bob, I have an idea,” Cheryl told him, resting a reassuring hand on his arm to calm him after the shock of reading what a member of our sex had perpetrated upon a member of his.

His face as he waited to hear what she had in mind was a mixture of high anger and sheer disgust and it was not difficult to tell that any idea, no matter how unfeasible, would be welcome to him if it took them to the door of Longbottom’s tormentor.

“Suppose we show these sessions to Mistress Lilith?” Cheryl went on. “She may be able to tell us more about what kind of woman this Ms Marina is and how her mind works based upon John's description of the sessions."

Bob was already nodding before Cheryl had finished.

"Sure, you do that and let me know what she says."

“Will you not accompany us?” I asked.

He shook his head, expression remaining thunderous as he attempted to scan some fresh reports that had been waiting for him on his desk when we had arrived:

“The way I feel right now after reading the transcripts of those sessions I don’t think |I could trust myself in the presence of a woman who… You know? No matter how willing the men who pay for her to treat them in such a way and the fact it’s only supposed to be a bit of role-playing.”

Cheryl was all concern and understanding, as was I. To read of such abominations perpetrated upon a fellow human being were difficult enough to take. More so when it was a fellow man and the fiend torturing him was a member of the so-called fair-sex.

"Jane and I understand completely and you may leave Mistress Lilith to us.”

Her eyes indicated the reports he held:

“Any word about Ms Marina yet?"

Attempting a smile, he put himself back on an official footing:

"No, nothing from any of the various police departments. Nothing from Mistress Lilith either, it’s almost as if this Ms Marina is a phantom." He held up the reports he had been scanning.

“But this does give us a few further leads.”

“The biker gang?” I asked.

Sergeant Bob nodded.

“Yes,” Cheryl took it up. “It is, of course, imperative to try to trace the biker gang. I cannot imagine this being a difficult undertaking as I assume there are not too many lesbian biker gangs in Salt Lake City, so…”

“That’s right,” a re-energized Bob came in. “. I didn't even know there was one in Utah, so the chances are this one may be from outside the state.”

“Then we’ll leave you to look into that while we have a chat with Mistress Lilith, if that’s acceptable." The passion evident on our Sergeant’s face left us in no doubt as he nodded with intent :

“Oh, it’s acceptable, ladies. I’ll get on it right away."

He was making phone calls before we could take the few steps that led us from his office…

**********

This time Andrew was not there. Linda again offered us scotch on the rocks (but this time without the offending ice cubes).

…"Interesting." Was Linda's reaction after reading the description. "I can guess a few things about Ms Marina from these sessions."

Both my expression and that of Cheryl’s said:

“Go ahead”.

"First, she does not have a proper dungeon. You may have noticed she uses very little in the way of equipment. That’s revealing.”

We waited to be told why.

Linda took a sip of her martini.

“You will have noticed, no doubt, that I have a fully equipped dungeon and all kinds of equipment filling it. There are a variety of different kinds of whips, canes and nipple clamps. You will also have noticed the flogging block, the enema apparatus and much more.”

Our nods indicated that we had indeed noticed the paraphernalia of her… trade.

“This Ms Marina, however, mostly seems to use – or ‘used’ to be more correct - her body to dominate John. Instead of nipple clamps, she uses clothes pins. Instead of a proper whip, she uses her belt. Her domination consists mainly of humiliation, rather than administering pain."

We waited for her point to emerge, both of us, I suspected, with a sneaking feeling as to what that point may be.

Sure enough:

"This tells me, Linda, went on, “that she is not a professional dominatrix, but an amateur. Maybe that is why I have not heard of her before. Another thing I noticed is that she really seems to hate John.”

What we had read of her treatment of the man from Dr Peter’s sessions with him, I told myself, were hardly indicative of affection.

“That,” Linda was continuing, “is not at all typical of a dom/sub relationship."

“Certainly, in this case,” Cheryl agreed, “there is a certain professional ambivalence missing, it would seem.”

"Just so, my dear. When the relationship takes place between a married couple, the dom loves the sub. A professional dominatrix like me does not love her sub, but she certainly respects him as a client she needs to satisfy.”

“Simple business sense,” I heard myself say, hoping my irony would be missed by our hostess.

It was.

“A dominatrix,” she went on, “does not hate her sub. All the administering of pain, humiliation, torture etc. is a carefully choreographed performance in which both the dom and the sub willingly participate, the terms of the transaction negotiated beforehand."

"From what we know of this ‘transaction’,” I told her, “I think we can say with some certainty that Ms Marina does seem to hate John. Either that or she has an almost superhuman difficulty in allowing her fondness to surface.”

“It would appear that way.” Linda agreed, unfazed by the slight mockery underpinning my tone and for which I could not quite help myself. “But in her way, she also loves him.”

I could see Cheryl nodding, the two of them obviously up-to-speed with something I had yet to spot.

“I would say,” Linda took it up again, directing her words at Cheryl, “that she is -was - somehow personally involved with John, the relationship is not a business relationship."

Again Cheryl was nodding.

"And do you think she is the kind of woman who would be capable of killing John?"

Our hostess responded instantly:

"Oh, absolutely. If her hatred for him became intense enough, she would be quite capable of it. I’m sure Dr. Peters would be able to provide a definitive opinion on the subject."

"And Ms Marina is definitely a female,” Cheryl pressed, “there is no chance that she could be a man?"

"I would say very likely she is a woman, but man is a possibility. But, if it is a man, he would need to be skilled in dressing up as a woman to be able to pull it off. Remember, Ms Marina used to be in intimate contact with John, and, assuming we speak of a man, unless he was an expert in dressing up as a woman he would easily be discovered."

"But Linda,” I came in. “John suckled on her breasts, he licked her vagina to orgasm. Doesn't that tell us that Ms Marina cannot possibly be a man?"

Linda was amused, enjoying be able to parade her knowledge of the more outré realms of sexual commerce before myself and Cheryl.

"You would be surprised at what kinds of props are available these days,” she laughed. “False breasts that could be distinguished from real ones only after a close examination, and then only if one has doubts about them to start with. A realistic looking vagina, with authentic looking pubic hair.”

Even Cheryl’s eyes raised at this.

“Why not?” Linda laughed. “And as all of us in this room know from experience, orgasm can be faked.”

We all of us were in agreement on that truism.

“I am not saying that Ms Marina is a man,” Linda explained.

“The likelihood is she is most probably a woman. But a man certainly can't be ruled out."

Cheryl was deep in thought by now.

"Also, there is another thing that strikes me as an anomaly.”

“Which is?” I prompted when she hesitated.

“Well… That last session as described by John. To me, it seems totally out of character with the others. Almost… Almost as if a totally different dominatrix was present and not Ms Marina."

Cheryl was with us again:

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but in the first four sessions Ms Marina did not expose John to public ridicule. Their… scenes… if we can call them that, were conducted in strict privacy. Also, she did not show any interest in making money off him. As far as we can judge, she didn't even charge him for the sessions."

“Go on,” Cheryl urged.

"And yet, in the final session, she decides to expose him to the public and she pimps him out. She does not care if he is severely injured and lying in a pool of his own blood. And she dumped him on a deserted street for a stranger to pick him up. I’ve given it some thought and I don't know what would make her change towards him so completely."

"The lesbian biker gang were something of a departure too,” Cheryl reminded her.

“Precisely. They are extremely rare and there isn't one in Salt Lake City. Believe me, I would have known if there was one. They must have come here from out of town. Maybe even out of State. The whole session sounds very mysterious, very out of character. In fact, if you pressed me…”

“Yes,” I said expectantly, taking her at her word.

“Well… If you pressed me I would have to say the whole session sounds almost phony."

She let this sink in for a few moments then said:

"I suggest you talk to Dr. Peters about it, he may be able to give you more insights into Ms Marina's personality."

It was a good idea and we duly informed Sergeant Bob of Linda’s suggestion.

**********

Not long after our meeting with Linda, the three of us did indeed talk to Dr. Peters again….

…"What can you tell us about the final session described by John, Doc?" asked Bob.

Dr. Peters thought about it for a long time, either refreshing his memory with the details or deciding how to approach that description.

Then, finally:

"It was that session which made up John's  mind (at my urging) to break it off with Ms Marina and face the consequences."

"Because he was scared Ms Marina may really sell him to the biker gang?"

"No, Sergeant. You see, the entire session was made up, the product of John's vivid imagination."

"What? Did you get that from psychoanalysis?"

"No, John himself told me so. About a week after he gave me the description of the session, he told me that, though the other sessions really happened, he made up the last session. But the fact he had done so told him how deep and how fast he was sinking. He knew that Ms Marina was messing with his mind, and pretty soon he would find it impossible to be able to get out at all. He may even have become a willing slave to her. That  when I strongly urged him to break the relationship off."

“Just like that?” I asked, the likelihood of such a woman allowing him to walk away unscathed hard to buy into.

"No. Not, ‘just like that’, the doctor said, flashing me a look I took to be of mild irritation.

“At no time did Mr Longbottom delude himself that it was going to be simple and he was well aware his reputation would be ruined. There very likely would be a divorce and he may lose his job. He thought it highly likely he could also be faced with lawsuits for financial damages"

"But he was independently wealthy,” Sergeant Bob protested; “he didn't have to work for a living. If things got too bad, too unbearable, he could have moved out of the state, started over again. He could have lived somewhere anonymously but happily."

The doctor reacted with a shrug, ill at ease with his professional standing.

"The alternative was to fall more and more deeply into despair, to become a willing slave of Ms Marina, to love her and hate her at the same time, a life of misery, pain and unhappiness."

Cheryl took it up:

"So he decided to choose the lesser of the two evils?”

“Yes,” Doctor peters agreed. “But the description he wrote of the last session definitely acted as a motivator for him to break it up with Ms Marina"

That evening, after our discussion with the doctor, we were discussing the case in our hotel room and after going over all the details so far, Cheryl was clearly frustrated.

"You know Jane, I can't help but feel that I am overlooking something obvious, something trivial. The murderer is toying with us. I feel that the solution is staring us right in the face, I am just too blind to see it."

“As always, you’re over hard on yourself, my love,” I told her , taking the support role I knew would always bear fruit when she was in a mood of self-recrimination.

"Thank you darling, your faith in me is, as always, touching, but I am convinced it was indeed murder and not suicide.”

My look said: ‘maybe’.

“But who did it, and how it was done, I still have no idea. I’m sure though that, once we know how it was accomplished, the identity of the murderer will be obvious."

I could only nod my concurrence, knowing that once she was on a train of thought it was best to stay silent and allow it to run its course.

“There is, after all, no shortage of suspects. Yes, I know; these are all the women, but even the men cannot be ruled out. Both Andrew and Teresa are experts at dressing as women; they could easily have posed as Ms Marina to John. George is ‘straight’ gay and as far as we know has no transsexual tendencies. But we cannot be sure.”

I nodded thoughtfully, the way most supportive sounding boards would.

“We really cannot rule out any of the six bridge players,” she went on, more to herself than me. “And how was it done? Well, that’s anybody’s guess. How the murderer can piss into the whisky, destroy the computer and murder John in front of eight witnesses, it is all truly baffling.”

"Dear, what you need is a good stiff drink to relax you, like we had at Linda's house. When Andrew served us drinks, I remember it was relaxing, at least to me.”

I opened the door to the adjoining room and called out. “Oh, Jeeves? Scotch on the rocks for Cheryl and for me.”

Reginald raised his eyebrow one eighth of an inch, showing his disapproval. He dislikes me calling him Jeeves, you see; while Cheryl, being more straight laced, always calls him ‘Reginald’, but I do so enjoy teasing him a little from time to time.

“At once, ma’am,” he acquiesced before departing, disapproval for my teasing evident only to those conversant with his somewhat restrained body-language, of which, surprise, surprise, I happen to be one.

At once Cheryl's face underwent a change.

She looked as if she had just had a revelation.

"Drinks, of course. That is how it was done. My God, it is so simple, so obvious that I completely overlooked it. It is beautiful in its simplicity. Jane, you are a dear, a gem. I could kiss you. In fact, why don't I?"

She grabbed me by my arm and pulled me into her embrace. Holding me tightly, she brought her lips to mine and inserted her tongue deep into my mouth. She kissed me fiercely and passionately, her hand playing with my breast as I felt her tongue explore all the inside of my

mouth.

I gave a contented sigh and relaxed in her embrace as our tongues entwined with each other.

This was total bliss.

After a long time, Cheryl broke the kiss.

"Wow honey, thanks.” I said, wiping my mouth with a Kleenex. "What brought that on?"

"What you said, dear. It was profound."

"I will take your word for it, for I have no idea what I said that was so important. But if it worked once, it may work again."

Solemnly I began:

"What you need is a good stiff....."

"Don't push it, blondie. Now go away, leave me alone for half an hour. I have several phone calls to make. Go on, scoot."

A clearing of a throat caught our attentions; during all this, Regi had been standing with two drinks on a tray, waiting for us to finish.

“Oh, thanks Reginald” Cheryl accepted the drink from him.

I was happy for Cheryl, happy that she had found the solution.

"All right, Ms. Great Detective,” I told her, “be mysterious. I am out of here." I threw Regi a look

“Jeeves, draw a bubble bath for me. Put in rose scented gel. I will have my drink in the bath tub.”

It was only after thirty minutes luxuriating in a bubble bath that I roused myself and entered our bedroom naked to find Cheryl waiting for me.

"So who did you call?" I asked, pleased that, despite her preoccupation with the case, my body in all it’s bare glory could still compete with her attentions.

"I called Bernard back in Toronto."

"You mean our detective friend?"

"The same. I gave him a job to do."

"And who is paying for it?" I asked, ever practical.

"Did you forget that I got a check for expenses from Heather? I also called Linda and requested that she cooperate with Bernard. Oh, and here is something that concerns you. I called Bob and requested him to arrange a meeting of all the witnesses for the day after tomorrow evening."

Usually, such a plan of action meant only one of two things.

"Are you going to reveal the killer then? Or is this a trap for somebody?"

"We will see, I haven't decided yet. Anyway, let us put the case out of our mind now and let us celebrate our success. My, but you look ravishing, Jane" Cheryl said as she pulled me into her embrace yet again and proceeded to ravish me. It was quite a celebration. Needless to say, afterwards we both needed a shower.

**********

A note to the reader from Jane Holmes: Dear reader, can you figure it out? Who killed John Longbottom and how was it done? How did the murderer piss in his whiskey without anybody noticing? The clues are all before you. Stay tuned and all will be revealed in part three.

**********

A Locked Room Part 3.

Mystery

By

Akkano

**********

Chapter-Seven

We were assembled in the same card room as we were a week ago, in Heather's house. I

looked around and saw all the same faces were there, except Andrew (he, being out of town,

had refused to fly to Salt Lake City just to take part in Cheryl's little get together).

Heather had laid out coffee and pastries for us and Cheryl took a sip of her coffee and started.

"Well, this has been a most peculiar case. Any crime needs motive, means and opportunity.

As to motive, I will consider each person's motivation in detail later on. Means is obvious,

cyanide poisoning. Opportunity: that is where we hit a brick wall."

"Who had the opportunity, who could have done it? Well, apparently nobody had the

opportunity, nobody could have done it."

"Let us consider Heather. She certainly handled the whisky decanter. Could she had slipped

cyanide into the decanter before she took it to John's study?"

"She served drinks to George and Melody, both of whom are very much alive. While she was

pouring the drinks, myself, Jane, Melody and George, all four of us, were watching her. After

that, she immediately replaced the stopper, took the decanter to John's room and left it there. I

would say it is highly unlikely that she was able to slip something in there."

"Then there was Teresa, the maid. She went into John's study twice. So did Monica, Heather's

mother. Did Teresa have any particular reason to be mad at John? Had he perhaps given her

the sack or be about to do so?

Could either of them have slipped anything into the decanter while they were there?"

"Again, highly unlikely. The decanter was near John's bed, well away from the door. For

Teresa or Monica to put cyanide in the decanter, they would have to go past John, remove the

stopper of the decanter, put cyanide in it, replace the stopper, again come back past John and

exit the room. There just wasn't enough time to do that. And John would definitely have

noticed it."

"My God! - begging your pardon, Mrs. Longbottom - now I remember what was out of place

in Mr. Longbottom's study" Teresa burst out.

Cheryl looked at her with an amused expression. "Let me guess, Teresa. When you entered

Mr. Longbottom's study, you happened to glance at the occasional table beside the bed, saw

the decanter and saw that the stopper was not in the decanter."

"That was exactly it, Miss Holmes. I thought of asking Mr. Longbottom about it, but decided

it was none of my business. Besides, I thought that maybe a fine whisky like Blue Label, like

fine wine, needs to breathe for a while before it is drunk. But later when you were talking to

me, it totally slipped my mind."

"That is OK Teresa, I didn't need your clue. But that certainly confirms my suspicions."

"Now, where were we? Oh, yes. So it would have been virtually impossible for Monica or

Teresa to have slipped something into the whisky."

"Now we come to this mythical, mysterious phantom, Ms Marina. What a character! She had

John totally in her clutches. According to Monica, and confirmed by Dr. Peters, John was

about to tell her to take a hike and break off all contact with her."

Here Cheryl briefly described the relationship between Mistress Marina and John while

leaving out the more lurid details; though what she necessarily had to describe was lurid

enough for most tastes.

"Well, it is my belief that Ms Marina somehow got wind of what John was about to do and

killed him before he could break it off with her. If she could not have him, nobody would.

Such a course of action is consistent with her personality profile."

Having read the details of her treatment of the deceased I could only make mental agreement

with my partner.

"So, during the bridge night,” Cheryl continued, “Ms Marina put the cyanide in John's

whisky and also pissed into his whisky. And she did it so nobody noticed her doing it,

including myself."

"As well as also wiping John's computer clean," I reminded her.

"Quite so, Jane. Thanks. When Teresa went into John's room, she saw that the screen saver

was on the desktop screen. Yet when we all entered his room after he was murdered, there

was no screen saver, the screen displayed an error message. So in between Teresa's entry into

the room and John's death, Mistress Marina also wiped his computer clean."

"Are you seriously saying that this Ms Marina did this with all of us here and nobody noticed

it?" George asked.

"In essence, yes."

"If she did all this right in front of me without me noticing it, then I am mad. Personally, I

think you are mad for suggesting such an atrocious theory. I don't know why you are

continuing this charade. I thought you were going to unmask the murderer tonight."

"Patience, George. I am convinced that Ms Marina is the killer, that she put cyanide into the

whisky, pissed in it and also wiped out the desktop. Because you see, one of you is Ms

Marina."

There was a pause and nobody said anything for a while, all but one of them – and just as

Cheryl had intended – stunned by this bombshell.

It was Melody who found her voice first:

"I don't see how that gets us anywhere," she remarked. "Whether or not this Ms Marina is one

of us, others would have surely noticed somebody slipping cyanide into the whisky. The

whole thing does not become any more likely if one of us indeed is Ms Marina"

"Well, we will come to that later,” Cheryl told her with a tolerant smile. “For now, though, let

us look at motive."

When she was sure she had their complete attention, Cheryl began:

"Let us start with his wife, Heather. By her own admission – and confirmed by her mother -

they did not have the happiest of the marriages, their relationship was strained at best. At the

same time, clearly Heather loved her husband. She liked performing small services for him,

like bringing his decanter to his study, which she had been doing ever since they got

married."

"This was clearly similar to the love hate relationship that Ms Marina had with John. So

Heather definitely had a motive."

"But you forget one thing, Cheryl." Heather pointed out. "Our relationship was about to get

much better, with John giving up drinking and as you just said, getting out of the clutches of

this horrible Ms Marina. Why would I want to kill him, when I finally had a chance of a

happy married life?"

"You are perfectly right, Heather. Perhaps that lets you out. Let us leave that aside for now"

Cheryl turned to Monica.

"Now we come to Monica, perhaps the most interesting character in the bunch."

From the older woman’s face I could tell she took my partner’s description as a compliment

and took no small pleasure from hearing it.

"By her own admission, Monica did not like John,” Cheryl began. “But since he was her son-in-

law, she loved him, for the sake of her daughter. Here again is the classic love/hate

relationship."

Being the lover of drama and the stage she was, Cheryl paused for effect before continuing.

"There was, however, one more factor added. Monica knew that John was going to break up

with Ms Marina and was aware of events. Not only the sanitized version explaining her son-in-

law’s behaviour she had told her daughter, that he was going to give up drinking, but the

full story. Though, perhaps not all the lurid details."

Monica’s expression was non-committal.

"Is she perhaps the mysterious Ms Marina?” Cheryl asked the room in general. “But, if she is,

we seem to hit a problem. If she is indeed Ms Marina, John couldn't possibly have told her

that he was going to break it off with her. So where did she learn it from? Did John reveal it

to someone else besides Monica and Monica got it from that someone else?"

"Or did Monica inadvertently reveal it to Ms Marina?"

Cheryl turned to Melody:

"Did your mother inadvertently reveal to you that John was going to break up with you yet

again, Melody? You told me that you broke up with John, but Teresa tells a totally different

story, that John broke up with you and that you were furious about it."

At once Melody launched herself at Cheryl.

"Why, you lying bitch. You promised that you won't reveal my affair with John to Heather."

At once I interposed myself between her and Cheryl. It is my job at these meetings to watch

Cheryl's back, to see to it that no harm comes to her. I do have a fourth degree black belt in

karate, after all.

The young lady was easily restrained.

"Take it easy now, Melody. There is no need for violence."

Easing her away from me, her mother took Melody in her arms and comforted her.

"It's all right, darling. Just take a deep breath and try to calm down."

"How can I calm down mom, look what the bitch did to sis."

We all looked at Heather. She had uttered a cry and fainted in her chair. George and Monica

laid her down on a couch, made her conformable and left a drink by her side as Cheryl

continued.

"Your mother is right, Melody. Calm down and think about it. Histrionics will change

nothing. For one thing, I never promised you not to tell Heather. If you remember, that

promise was made by Sergeant Bob and he is not here today."

"Perhaps,” Melody answered, eyes still blazing. “But you were present, and it was implied

that you and Jane would keep your silence as well."

"Well, that is not how I read the situation, so we must agree to disagree. For now though, let

us continue.”

She spoke to the rest of the group in general.

“So, is Melody our mysterious Ms Marina? It is certainly possible. In this respect, it is

significant that Ms Marina did not use any props, any equipment in her domination games.

Was that because she could not afford to purchase any? If so, it definitely points to Melody.

But there is also a problem. If she indeed is Ms Marina where would she conduct her

sessions? She shared an apartment with another girl, she couldn't very well conduct the

sessions in her apartment.

"If she rented a room in a hotel, how could she afford it? She is a student, I assume she is on

student loan. Where did she get money to rent a hotel room? It is also something that can

easily be checked out. If it turns out that she did indeed rent a hotel room several times in the

past few months here in Salt Lake City, we have nailed her. After all, what other reason could

there be for her to frequently rent hotel rooms when she already has a place to live?"

Cheryl paused to let them take it all in before continuing:

"So Melody is certainly a possibility, as is Monica. But let us now come to someone equally

likely."

I took a sip of Cheryl's coffee, it was stone cold. I emptied it and refilled her cup.

She turned to Linda.

"What about Linda, our dominatrix?” she asked. “After all, she knows the tricks of the trade

and is, supposedly, an expert in dominating men. It would be easiest for her to conduct these

sessions. More so than anybody else here."

Attention had turned from the still blazing Melody to Linda now, but if the dominatrix was

perturbed she hid it well.

"We have only her word that she is not Ms Marina and it would be easy for her to conduct

these sessions. She has the know-how, after all, and she does have the dungeon."

Gauging their reactions, Cheryl continued:

"She also knows enough about female domination of the male to carry out the sessions in

such a way as to make it appear the work of an amateur dominatrix."

Linda’s expression stayed non-committal and seemingly untroubled.

"The problem here is that I cannot see what would motivate Linda to do this. I don't see any

love here, in the love/hate relationship. But again, she cannot be ruled out."

If Lind was relieved it did not show.

"Now we come to somebody who is not present today.”

Again Cheryl allowed a few beats to pass for dramatic effect.

“Andrew,” she said finally, placing air between the end of the word and her next.

“According to Linda, Ms Marina is very likely a woman. But she certainly could not rule out

a man, a man who is very good at dressing like a woman."

"And here we have Linda's protégé, an expert in cross dressing. As to motive, perhaps

George is not the only businessman John swindled; perhaps he swindled Andrew as well."

Again she turned to Linda:

"Or perhaps he did it for his Mistress, his Goddess. Would a sub kill for his dominatrix?”

No answer was forthcoming.

“Highly unlikely, in Dr. Peters' opinion, but by no means impossible. So Andrew cannot be

ruled out."

Again she paused, then:

"Which brings us to our friend, George," she said, turning to the man himself.

I watched the man swallow, obviously uncomfortable to be under scrutiny.

"Now, I don't want to get into details here. But I will say that George had as much of a

motive as anybody else, even apart for the fact that he was swindled by John."

The man’s head shook, as if the simple non-verbal denial itself would be enough to clear any

suspicion from his door.

“And finally,” Cheryl went on, “what about the maid? Teresa.”

Eyes again fell on the person being spoken of.

“I asked her to sit in on this little meeting, because she is certainly not above suspicion.

Again, I won’t go into details, but Teresa does fit the profile of the murderer.”

“But what can Teresa possibly have to do with it?” Monica asked sharply.

“Well, she is a servant, an employee. She may well have had some grudge against John.

Particularly if John found out some secret about her.”

“I hope you believe me Miss Holmes, when I say that I had nothing to do with it.” Teresa

replied. “Mr Longbottom was nothing but kind towards me.”

At this point, I really had to admire Cheryl's discretion in not revealing the homosexuality of

George or transsexual nature of Teresa to the crowd; but then why, I asked myself, had she

dropped her habitual discretion to reveal Melody's affair?

By now Heather had regained consciousness enough to be able to hear what was going on

around her and was sipping the cola drink.

"I’m sorry you have had to hear this, Heather." Cheryl said, considerate and courteous as

ever.

"That is OK, Cheryl,” Heather told her as she maneuvered herself up from the couch into a

sitting position “I need to know and you are not at fault for speaking as you do."

Eyes full of recrimination turned at this point to her sister:

"How could you, Melody?" Heather accused, close to tears. "Does my life, my happiness

mean nothing to you?"

At this it was all too much for her and the sister burst into sobs.

"I am sorry, sis,” Melody cried, rushing to her sister’s side. “I was an utter fool, I didn't mean

to hurt you, honest. Please forgive your idiot little sister. Please?"

To my surprise, a forgiving Heather did just that and took her in her embrace for them both to

have a good cry.

I was not surprised that Cheryl had sense enough to pause in her discourse while they were

sorting themselves out.

Monica looked at Cheryl quizzically:

"Cheryl, you don't want to reveal George's indiscretions and I respect you for that. I am not

interested in knowing why you consider George or Teresa a suspect. But then was it really

necessary to reveal Melody's affair in such a crass and crude manner? I, you might be

interested to learn, was also shocked by the revelation."

Cheryl was unapologetic.

"I had my reasons, Monica. One was that there should be no secrets between sisters."

As she said this I was congratulating myself on the fact there were certainly no secrets

between me and Cheryl.

"I have a feeling,” she told Monica, “that as a result of this revelation the two sisters will

come closer together. Their bond, I suspect, will be stronger."

Cheryl's explanation sounded too pat to me. It did not sound… right. I wondered what she

was hiding.

"And finally, there is a small possibility that John did indeed commit suicide. While his

demeanor on his last day was far from that of a man about to commit suicide, the fact that

apparently nobody had the opportunity to slip the cyanide into the whisky points to suicide."

"He was deeply troubled; that is why he was seeking counseling from a psychiatrist. The

despicable Ms Marina was playing mind games with him and, according to Dr. Peters, he was

ready to crack. If the doctor is to be believed, and I see no reason why he should not, John

was about to become a willing slave of Ms Marina. He may have decided to end it all before

that happened.

"Anyway, so there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Almost everybody had some reason to

kill John."

Cheryl took a sip of her coffee.

"I am waiting for one last piece of evidence, which I will receive tomorrow. That evidence

will tell me beyond any doubt if John committed suicide or if he was murdered, and if so,

who killed him."

To say my partner had the room’s attention as they waited for her to continue would be

something in the way of an understatement.

"But I am a reasonable person, so I am giving the murderer a way out. If John’s murderer

comes forth and confesses, the law is bound to look at him or her leniently. I understand you

have the death penalty here in Utah. By coming forward voluntarily, the murderer may well

be able to escape such a final punishment."

Nobody spoke for a while and I saw Cheryl nod to herself.

"All right," she said. 'Let us do it secretly. Jane dear, Reginald is waiting in the hall. If you

would bring him in?"

I got Reginald and he came in carrying a tray with slips of paper in it.

“All ready, Reginald?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have prepared the slips as per your instructions.”

“Then if you would please do the honors?”

Reginald handed each person two small, folded pieces of paper.

"Each of you has two pieces of paper with your name on them. One says 'guilty', the other

'not guilty'. I would like you to put the appropriate piece in the bowl that Reginald is about to

pass around. Like this."

Cheryl unfolded one of the pieces of paper given to her. On it was written 'Cheryl - not

guilty.' She folded it back and placed it in the bowl. She unfolded the other piece and showed

it to us 'Cheryl - guilty'.

"Pass the bowl around, Reginald. This way the murderer can confess to me in secret, and we

will take it from there."

The bowl was passed around and came back to Cheryl. She unfolded all the slips of paper and

looked at them.

"That does it, ladies and gentlemen. As I said before, the truth goes to Sergeant Bob

tomorrow. Thank you for coming for the little gathering."

"A colossal waste of time, if you ask me," George muttered to a murmur of agreement.

As everybody got up to leave, Cheryl motioned me by hand to wait. Pretty soon, everybody

had left, except the two of us and Heather, our hostess.

**********

Chapter-Eight

“Reginald, would you please wait outside in the hall, until I call you?”

“Certainly, ma’am,”

"Well, what did you think of it all?" Cheryl asked Heather when it was just the three of us.

"Oh, I don't know, Cheryl. Why don't both of you sit down. May I offer you a drink? How

about some Blue Label? There is only one bottle left, and with John gone, it will be wasted

anyway."

"Oh, why not? Thanks, Heather. Neat for me, please. No rocks. A fine whiskey like Blue label

should be savored on its own, without any dilution. "

"The same for me, please." I chimed in.

"Teresa, please bring two glasses of Blue Label for our guests. I really don't know what to

make of the meeting, Cheryl. Was it perhaps a trap for the murderer? If it was then the

murderer did not bite. Or did he confess in one of those slips that you passed around?"

"No, I am afraid he did not. I was hoping for a confession, though."

"So what now? I assume you will complete the case tomorrow?"

"Oh, I am hoping to conclude the case today, Heather. That bit about me being able to decide

tomorrow was just a ruse - though I am indeed getting a crucial piece of evidence tomorrow.

You see, I know who committed the murder and how it was committed."

"Oh? Would you care to share it with me?"

"Certainly. Let us consider this mysterious Ms Marina. Ms Marina is a person who loves

John, at the same time she hates John. She loves him, so she does not want him to come to

any physical harm - the last session John described was purely a figment of his imagination.

She does not want any money from him either - at least in his session there is no mention of

paying her anything. She clearly had some hold over him she could have used to extract

money from him. But she didn't."

"This really lets the men out and narrows it down to you, Monica and Melody - although at

one point I also considered Teresa to be a strong suspect. Now, Melody is financially not well

off and could certainly use some money. Yet we know Ms Marina did not ask John for any.

So Melody may be ruled out."

As may be expected, Heather was listening intently as Cheryl brought her up to speed with

her thoughts.

"Now, would Monica, your mother, love John with such a passion, if she cannot have him,

nobody else can? I somehow doubt it. Melody might, since she had had an affair with him,

but not Monica. That leaves only one person.”

I realized I was holding my breath as Cheryl concluded:

“You, Heather, are Mistress Marina"

Heather looked at Cheryl with a mixture of scorn and puzzlement:

"Really, Cheryl? It is a little late for such games. Finish your tale, so we can all retire for the

night."

"But hold on, Cheryl" I chimed in, unconvinced myself by my partner’s revelation. "I don't

think you can rule out Melody that easily. Sure she is poor, but she has excellent prospects, as

a doctor she has potential to earn huge amounts of money. She may have decided that she

does not need John's few hundreds or few thousands. Besides, she may not have wanted to

deprive Heather of the money. As we just saw, she truly loves her sister."

"True, Jane. But there are indications in John's narrative which would rule Melody out. At

one point, John refers to 'her thick tongue'. Melody is quite svelte; she probably does not have

a thick tongue. Also, at one point John refers to 'pendulous breasts'.'"

My thoughts went to the younger sister’s chest.

"Melody is young, I doubt if her breasts have started sagging. Heather here has started to

spread a bit, same as you or I. John's narrative indicates an older woman, someone older than

Melody. There is one point at which John mentions Ms Marina wearing the reading glasses.

That also lets Melody out ."

So much for my suspicions concerning the sister, I chided myself as Cheryl continued,

addressing her thought to me rather than Heather herself.

“Into the bargain, we have also been assuming that Mistress Marina did not use any

equipment because she could not afford it. But what if it was inconvenient for her to buy it

herself? It is an inconvenience that would not apply to Monica, who lives alone and could

easily have done it; where Heather, on the other hand, has servants under her feet all the time

and would have found doing so incredibly difficult. If she builds a dungeon in her house,

servants, unsurprisingly, will begin to wonder. As for the reason she did not ask John for any

money? Well, that is simple. Heather is that she herself is independently wealthy, she did not

need his money.”

I waited, knowing Cheryl had yet to finish.

Sure enough:

“It was not money Heather wanted,” she told me, “but revenge."

I thought about it for a few seconds as Heather sat silently and Cheryl waited, not quite

convinced, for once, of my partner’s reasoning.

"But revenge for what?" I asked finally, triggering Heather herself.

"And exactly how did I administer the cyanide?” Heather queried.

"Yes, I will return to the motive in a minute. But first, how did indeed Heather introduce

cyanide into the whisky decanter? How did she piss into it?"

I, for one, did not have a clue.

"Well, she did it while all of us were looking. And she did it in such a way that none of us,

including the incomparable Cheryl Holmes, suspected a thing."

"You are talking gibberish, Cheryl," Heather said.

"Not at all. How does the magician fool the audience? He distracts their attention, he

introduces red herrings, he uses props, he employs many tricks so that the spectator notices anything but the

trickery."

"Same way a brilliant trick was played here on eight people. There is a story by

G.K.Chesterton. In it, everybody swears up and down that nobody entered the apartment and

nobody could possibly have killed the victim. Then it turns out that a postman entered the

apartment, he was the killer."

"But nobody notices a postman (or mailman, as they call him here). He flies below the radar, in

a manner of speaking."

"In the same way, Heather did indeed introduce the cyanide into the decanter, but it flew

under the radar."

"I still don't get it, dear." I said thoughtfully.

"We all would swear up and down that Heather or anybody else could not possibly have

introduced anything in the whisky decanter. Yet Heather did put something in the decanter in

front of everybody, and nobody noticed it."

"What could she have slipped in it that would escape everybody's attention?"

"Well, think. Heather did put something in the decanter right in front of everybody."

"No she didn't. The only thing… Oh my God!… The stopper!"

"Exactly. She introduced the stopper in the decanter, everybody noticed it, but nobody

thought anything of it. Like the postman in Chesterton's story, nobody would notice the

stopper. Well, the stopper was not the usual glass stopper, but it was made of cyanide

solution."

"You gave me the idea Jane, when you mentioned the drinks we had at Linda's. She had ice

cubes in the shape of a penis. At that time she told us that there is only one company in USA

which makes ice trays to order."

"So if an ice tray can be made to give cubes shaped like a penis, why not one shaped like a

decanter stopper? It would be easy to do."

"There is another way of looking at it. As my illustrious ancestor once remarked, once you have

eliminated the impossible, the remaining, however improbable, is the likely explanation."

"We have established that cyanide could not have been introduced into the whiskey before Heather

put the stopper in the decanter. We have also established that it could not have been introduced after

putting the stopper in the decanter. The only remaining explanation is that cyanide was introduced into

the whiskey with the stopper."

"And how did she piss into the whisky?"

"That was a stroke of genius, my dear. That really complicated the case many fold. You see,

the stopper was not made from cyanide solution in water, but from cyanide solution in

Heather's urine.

"Heather has already mentioned that she has a study exactly identical to that of John. She has

also said that she has a refrigerator in it. She probably prepared the ice cubes in her study -

away from the servants' inquisitive eyes - the previous day.

"In this respect, it is significant that Heather immediately went to the washroom after coming

out of John's study, if you remember. Why? Maybe she did want to urinate, but probably

because she wanted to wash her hands thoroughly, having touched cyanide. The simple act of

going to the washroom assumes enormous amount of significance.

"There was another significant fact. The way Heather offered drinks to the guests was

peculiar. Normally, the hostess would bring the bottle into the room and then ask if anybody

wanted a drink.

"But Heather did not do that. She wanted to minimize the contact with the cyanide stopper.

She first asked if anybody wanted a drink. Then she asked Teresa to get the glasses. Only

after that, she went to the kitchenette.

"There was the decanter full of whisky, with the glass stopper in it. Heather removed the

glass stopper, palmed it and removed the cyanide stopper from the freezer compartment of

the refrigerator where she had placed it beforehand.

"She came into the card room with the decanter open and the cyanide stopper in her palm.

She poured the two drinks - which took less than a minute - quickly replaced the stopper and

took the bottle to John's study.

"What did she do with the glass stopper? Remember, when we went to John's study after the

murder, we saw the stopper lying beside the decanter. Heather was the first to go in after the

door was broken down; she had a few seconds to herself. She probably placed the stopper on

the table besides the decanter before throwing herself onto John's dead body.

"Also remember what Teresa said. When she entered John's study to ask him if he wanted a

drink, she noticed that the decanter stopper was not in the decanter. That is because the

stopper that Heather placed in the decanter was melted by then and was part of the whisky."

"No, I don't like it." I burst out. "Sorry darling, but I think you are on the wrong track here.

Let us assume that Heather did make a stopper out of her piss. Such a stopper wouldn’t just

slowly melt into the decanter. After it has melted a bit, it will be too loose to stay in the neck

of the decanter. It will fall into the whisky with a plop. If you remember, two drinks had

been poured from the decanter and the stopper would have to fall at least a few centimeters to

reach the whisky.”

Cheryl waited for me to finish.

“It would have made a splash, certainly big enough to attract John's attention. He would have

got up to investigate. When he saw that the stopper had fallen into the whisky, he would have

got suspicious. No way would he have drunk the whisky under that condition."

"Bravo, Jane." Heather applauded.

"Yes, very good, dear," Cheryl said, echoing the sentiments of the hostess. "We will make a

detective out of you yet."

It is safe to say that I felt very proud of myself at that point.

"No doubt that is what normally would happen, Jane. But you forget the peculiar relationship

between Ms Marina or, and more accurately, Heather and John."

She turned to Heather.

"You did this as a regular ritual, didn't you? Every time John's decanter needed to be refilled,

you made a stopper out of your piss and placed it in the decanter. That was your way of

emphasizing your dominance over him, making sure that he would never forget."

"Even when he was drinking his favorite whisky, he would remember that he was your

unwilling slave, he would be drinking a bit of your urine. Each sip of Blue Label he took

would remind him of his submissive status to you."

"So on this occasion, when he saw that the stopper had fallen into the decanter, he didn't think

anything of it as it happened every time. Only he didn't know that this time it wasn't only

Heather's piss - 'golden nectar', as they call it in the femdom jargon - but it also had cyanide

in it. It was an extremely cruel, callous and calculated act."

By this point, I was swiftly rethinking my position.

"But you are right Jane,” Cheryl threw me a bone; “the solution becomes implausible outside

the femdom field. If Heather and John did not have a mistress/slave relationship, such a

murder does not become possible."

"And how did she manage to wipe John's desktop clean?"

With a short laugh Cheryl replied:

"Darling, when we know that she did it, the rest follows logically. It is like looking up the

answer at the end of a book. It probably was a virus. My guess is that she paid a computer

nerd to write a virus program for her, which she installed on John's computer a while ago.

The virus was programmed to click on at a predetermined time, or perhaps she had to press a

combination of keys to trigger it.

“If you remember, she was in the room before anybody else, after the murder. It would be

easy for her to punch in a sequence of two or three keys to trigger the virus. No doubt she

wanted to destroy all the correspondence between her and John."

"An interesting fable, Cheryl. And the motive?" Heather asked.

"Yes, the motive. This was not a murder, this was torture on a systematic scale. Marina wanted

John to suffer, and suffer horribly, to go on suffering for a long time. This was not the fun and games that go

on between a dominatrix and her client, which both enjoy hugely. There was a real hatred in Marina's heart

towards John. This was serious business.'

"That was also the reason why I ruled out men. Financial motive alone would not motivate somebody

to resort to torture on such a grand scale. A man would simply have murdered him and moved on."

"It clearly indicated a touch of a woman, a woman so horribly and shamefully scorned, that she thinks her

life was ruined by John, who wanted John to be as miserable as she was. So she took care to ensure that

John did not get any pleasure out of the sessions, and I doubt she got any pleasure either,

except perhaps revenge."

"Once I knew that you were the killer, such a motive was not hard to find. Your

sister had an affair with your husband four years ago. You suffered a miscarriage three years

ago. I don't think the timing is a coincidence."

For the first time since Cheryl had accused her, Heather seemed unsure of herself.

"My guess is that while you were pregnant, you discovered their affair. The shock probably

caused the miscarriage. Maybe you even fainted when you heard the news. Since then you

have blamed John for your miscarriage, perhaps justifiably. I don't think you ever forgave

him for it and considered him responsible. You wanted him to suffer and killing would have

been too good for him. So you decided to humiliate him as much as possible, without

compromising your position in the society."

At this point Heather burst into tears.

Both Cheryl and I waited until she had recovered enough to speak.

"The bastard,” she began. “I wanted him to suffer. It was a few months into my pregnancy

and my computer had crashed for some reason, so I went into my husband’s study to use his.

He was careless; his E Mail account was open. I was able to read all the disgusting,

humiliating E Mails between Melody and him."

Heather’s eyes were gazing far into the distances as she continued, almost in a monotone:

"I got up to run out of the study, but collapsed in a heap and fainted. I had to be hospitalized.

That resulted in the miscarriage.”

After a pause, her eyes came back to earth and she seemed to notice our presence for the first

time.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I wanted him to suffer, I am glad he suffered. I did not kill him

though."

"Indeed. After you suffered the miscarriage, you decided to take revenge upon him. You

bided your time, you plotted. You waited until you were able to catch John in some shady

transaction, with his hand in the cookie jar. Judging from his dealings with George, John was

not a scrupulous person, and I imagine it wouldn't be too difficult to get some dirt on him."

Heather was unable to prevent herself nodding.

"Possibly you assisted him, gave him enough rope so he could hang himself. Anyway, the

details of what you had on him are not important. Suffice it to say that eventually you were

able to get enough dirt on him to blackmail him into becoming your submissive."

Cheryl went on:

"Your plan to humiliate him in every possible way was working out perfectly. At each

session you came up with new and innovative ways to humiliate him, insisting he see you as

his dominatrix and not his wife, even - if what we read from Dr Peters’ session notes are

correct - going so far as to make him wear a pair of that wife’s soiled panties to your

sessions."

Heather’s shoulders slumped and she eyed the carpet.

"But then John decided to stand up to you,” Cheryl continued. “Your mother told you that he

was going to give up drinking."

"Now a non Mormon may give up drinking for many possible reasons. But for Mormons,

drinking is forbidden in their religion. If a Mormon gives up drinking, it probably means he

had strayed from his religion and now is rediscovering it once again."

Heather gave a tired shrug.

“Monica said that you broke down and cried in her arms.”

The shrug turned to a nod.

“Sure you did. But those tears were not tears of joy and relief as Monica thought. They were

tears of rage, tears of anger that your prey was about to slip away from your grasp.”

"You realized that the jig was up, that John was going to escape your clutches. He was going

to tell you to go to Hell and dare you to expose him."

"But there was a problem. You really could not expose him without also exposing yourself. If

you did publish the recordings of the sessions, John would have told everybody that you are

indeed this Ms Marina Your position as a wealthy socialite in Salt Lake City would have

been compromised."

"But how did she know that John was going to work late on that particular night, so that she

could murder him in front of everybody and thereby escape detection?" I asked.

"That was the clever part of it,” Jane. ”If she had quietly killed him, suspicion almost

certainly would have turned on her from the very beginning. But killing him in front of so

many people naturally raised the question, how was the cyanide administered? She had a

much better chance to escape detection in that case."

Suddenly, Heather sprang back to life, shoulders erect and full of fight, her momentary loss

of vigor a memory.

"I think you are bluffing, Cheryl,” she sneered. “You don't have a shred of evidence and are

simply trying to trap me. Well, it won't work."

"No, it won't. You are not the tender, soft, sentimental, submissive wallflower that you

project to others. In fact you are a cold, calculating, murderous, sadistic bitch. You are also

an over-confident bitch. That is why you asked myself and Jane to investigate. Not only did

you reason that the mere fact of your asking would deflect suspicion from yourself but you

were totally convinced that your plan was beyond the ken of mere mortals such as a simple

detective and her partner."

Heather gazed back, impassive.

"But once I tell the police what I think, there will be plenty of evidence. For instance, I have

asked my detective friend to inquire with the company which makes the ice trays. He will

have his findings by tomorrow. If you approached any company in Europe or North America

to have such an ice tray made, he will find it."

From the suspect there came not a flicker.

"Then there is the company,” Cheryl persisted. “‘Internal System Devices’. That company

asked that the audit be finished in a hurry, causing John to work late in his study that night.

Inquiries will probably find that you have controlling interest in the company and you twisted

a few arms there, so that they would demand a speedy audit."

"I seriously doubt that you wrote the computer virus by yourself. You very likely got a

computer geek to do it for you, and probably paid him a substantial amount for the illegal

activity. It should be easy enough to establish that by looking at your bank accounts, as police

would be able to do."

Cheryl paused before finishing:

"No, once the police start digging, there will be plenty of evidence."

Heather actually yawned.

"So what do you want, Cheryl? Why are you bothering me with your fantasies, why don't

you go to the police?"

"As I said before, the truth goes to Sergeant Bob tomorrow. Wheels of justice will start

revolving at that time and, once they start, it will be impossible to stop them. You are looking

at a possible death penalty or perhaps a life sentence without prospect of parole. Utah is a

very conservative society; the jury here won't be sympathetic to a sadistic and out of control

dominatrix."

Again Cheryl paused.

"I gave you a chance to confess, admit your guilt, throw yourself at the mercy of the law and

thereby perhaps lessen your sentence. But you did not confess. Instead you voted ‘not guilty’

along with everybody else. In fact, that is why I revealed Melody’s affair with John publicly,

while I said nothing about the secrets of John or Teresa, I wanted to rattle you into a

confession. Well, it didn’t work.”

“Obviously not,” Heather’s expression seemed to say.

“Now, for the sake of your sister and your saintly mother, I am giving you an alternative. No doubt

you have some cyanide left over. You may decide to put it to good use during the night.

Otherwise expect to be arrested tomorrow morning."

Shocked at what my partner was proposing I looked on with open mouth.

"Your mother is a devoutly religious woman, a simple soul and she has a high opinion of you, Heather.

She is proud of the fact that you have stayed true to your religion, while her other daughter has

strayed away from it. This will devastate her. She will be heartbroken and it may even lead to

an early grave for her."

Now something that approached emotion flickered upon Heather’s face.

“Do you really want that, Heather?”

Again the shoulders of our hostess went into a slump as Cheryl pushed on:

"If you decide, on the other hand, that you have had enough of the life events have forced you

to lead, nobody needs to know that you are Ms Marina.”

My partner was instructing this woman to, for all intents and purposes, to commit suicide and

I was finding it – as much as I trusted my partner’s motives and judgments in such situations

-hard to accept.

“If you decide to take this route,” Cheryl went on, “I will close my investigation, tell

Sergeant Bob that John committed suicide and that will end the matter. Your mother will

continue to think highly of you up until her dying days."

Cheryl drained her drink, rose from her chair preparatory to leaving and I did likewise.

"I do believe there is nothing more to say on the matter, though I should caution you about

one thing. My paid detectives are watching your house. If you try to leave the house and

attempt to escape, they have instructions to apprehend you and make a citizen's arrest. They

will then take you to the police station and call me and Sergeant Bob to start the legal

proceedings.”

From our hostess came no reply.

"Well, goodnight Heather. And goodbye. Think carefully about what I said."

With that, we left Heather where she was to contemplate her next move and went out to find

Reginald.

“Come on, Reginald,” Cheryl urged. “Let us go.”

“All concluded satisfactorily I trust, ma’am?”

“Yes, very satisfactory, thank you. Let us get going now, it is getting late.”

I was quiet during our drive to our hotel, I was still thinking about what happened and trying

to reconcile myself with my partner’s out-of-character behaviour.

"Why did you try to persuade her to commit suicide, Cheryl?” I asked finally when we were

ensconced in our room and unable to bear my doubts regarding her actions longer. “That is so

unlike you. I know how much you detest violence of any kind."

Before she answered, Cheryl took my hand and looked into my eyes lovingly.

"You are quire right, dear. I do consider all life to be precious. That is why I am totally

opposed to the death penalty, and I am proud of the fact that Canada abolished it a long time

ago."

“Why then?”

"Because if people like Heather decide to kill themselves, I am OK with that. I didn't want

her to hang though. I find the notion of the government killing one of its own citizens totally

abhorrent, no matter how valid the reason or how evil the person to be executed. As well, in this

case, there are the feelings of innocents such as Monica to protect."

Suddenly, her actions began to make sense again and the world seemed right again.

"Do you think she will do it?" I asked.

"We will see.”

She gave it some thought.

“My feeling is that she probably will."

"Well, whatever the outcome,” I told her, “it was certainly a brilliant piece of deduction on

your part. A great example of lateral thinking. Right at the moment when I mentioned

the drinks, you immediately deduced that ice cubes could be made in the shape of decanter

stopper."

"Lateral thinking, my foot,” she scoffed, as suspicious of compliments as ever. “I have been a

fool and was blind all along. There was a huge big clue staring me right in the face, and I

missed it."

“And what clue was that?"

"What name did Heather assume?"

"Ms Marina, of course."

"Does that convey anything to you?"

"No, I am afraid it doesn't."

"It didn't to me either and should have. I’m a huge fan of Agatha Christie. Marina was a

character in one of her books, 'The Mirror Cracked'. Do you remember the plot?"

"I am afraid I don't, I am not such a big fan of her."

"Well, I am and, it would appear, Heather Longbottom was familiar with her work too. There

is a character in that novel called, Marina Gregg. She loses her baby due to miscarriage because

of the actions of another person and commits murder to get even. They even made a movie

based upon this novel, starring Elizabeth Taylor."

The movie rang a bell with me, even if the novel didn’t.

"Whether Heather consciously adopted this name or unwittingly did that, I don't know. I

recall seeing a few Agatha Christie novels in her living room, so it may well have been

deliberate on her part. But it may be that in the end she really wanted to be found out."

I nodded at this last, though I can’t say I thought it likely.

"Anyway, I consider myself a big fan of Christie; I should have been able to figure it out right

away. I am afraid I can't take much credit for this one. Come on, darling. I am feeling horny."

**********

Epilogue

A news item in the Salt Lake Chronicle:

The well known socialite, Mrs. Heather Longbottom died last night by committing suicide.

Reliable sources say that she never quite recovered from her husband's own suicide. She had

been despondent and depressed ever since his death.

She said in her suicide note that she is following her husband into Heaven, since marriage

between husband and wife is not only for life, but for all of eternity (according to Mormon

belief).

We are all going to miss her charity work as well as her love and compassion towards the

poor and the disadvantaged of the society.

The police have officially declared the death of Mr. John Longbottom to be suicide and the

case is now closed.

THE END