Therapist
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Therapist Ch. 05 free porn video
It is early Sunday morning. The ringing phone wakes Detective Stone Phelps from a beautiful dream. A dream in which he was eating the most delicious peach cobbler topped with pure vanilla ice cream he has ever eaten. He rubs his eyes and looks at his bedside clock. It is a few minutes after six. He groans. Before he answers it he halfheartedly hopes that it is a wrong number so that he can have whoever it is arrested for disturbing his peace at this ungodly hour.
‘Hello,’ he mumbles into the receiver.
A pause while he listens.
‘Where at?’ he asks.
Another pause.
‘OK, I’ll be there as soon as possible. I’m just getting out of bed now so it’ll take me a few minutes to get there. Meantime, don’t let anyone fuck with the scene.’
He starts to hang up but brings the receiver back to his ear. He listens. ‘Yeah, call Olivia. Tell her I said to meet me there. She’s going to give you some flack about her vacation starting. But tell her I said her vacation doesn’t officially start till tomorrow morning and I want her there if it is at all possible. I need her.’ Then he hangs up the phone and falls back into the pillow with a sigh. He is lying on his back, his wife is on his right.
‘What is it?’ Darlene asks although she knows the answer. She is leaning up on her left elbow. She touches his hair at his forehead and plays with a lock of it with her fingers.
‘They’ve found another victim. This one’s in a vacant lot in the Lower Ninth Ward. She’s branded just like the one found behind Audubon Park last week. I’ve got to get there. If Olivia calls tell her I said that I want her there because I need her. She’s good at protecting the evidence.’
He throws the covers off himself, sits up, stretches and yawns. Darlene lays back down as he lifts her sheer pink neglige with his left hand and looks her supple breasts, then down to her pubic mound. He cups her right breast and gently squeezes it. He flicks her nipple with his thumb. Then he leans over and pecks her on the mouth. He heads for the bathroom, he is naked.
Darlene watches him walk across the room. She smiles and touches her right nipple. He is middle aged but still has a great physique, every centimeter of him.
Darlene gathers the discarded sheet around herself, covering herself. She knows that he threw the covers off her just so that he could look at her, to see her pussy hair. She smiles at the thought. She is wearing only the top to a sheer neglige tied with a bow at the neck, the bottom having been removed by Stone the night before while they were making love.
‘Want me to fix you some breakfast first Honey?’ Darlene calls to him.
‘I haven’t got the time Babe. Tell you what though. Put a couple of chocolate chip Pop Tarts in the toaster for me and fill my mini-thermos with milk.’
‘That’s no kind of breakfast,’ she complains.
He returns to the bedroom. He is running his portable electric shaver over his chin as he opens his dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of jockey briefs.
‘Yeah, well I ain’t got time for anything else. So be a doll and fix it for me, will you?’ Then he begins to get dressed. Within ten minutes he is out the front door, juggling his thermos and Pop Tarts in his right hand while he slips his left arm through his jacket.
Detective Phelps uses his police siren and he is at the scene in another fifteen minutes.
He parks his car near the vacant lot and downs the last of the milk in his thermos. He gets out of his car and looks around. He sees that his African American partner Detective Olivia Martinique has still not arrived. He doesn’t really expect her to show up, she’s supposed to be going on vacation to Florida with her family. He vainly hopes that she hasn’t left yet.
As he approaches the scene he notices that there are already two television news teams and a reporter from the Times Picayune at the scene. There is also a small crowd of spectators standing across the street. Some are in the street, a little too close to the scene as far as he is concerned.
A petite auburn haired girl, wearing a UNO sweatshirt and short jogging pants, is talking to a police officer. She is holding onto a leash with a dog on the other end of it. The officer is taking notes of what the young woman is saying. Det. Phelps notes that she has great looking legs and a nice curve to her ass cheeks. He assumes that she is the person who found the victim. He will talk to her later.
The brunette reporter from WDSU-TV, the one he thinks has a sexy sounding voice, recognizes him from last week’s victim. She approaches him and sticks a microphone into his face.
‘Can you tell us anything detective? Someone said that the victim was branded across the chest just like the one found in Audubon Park last week. Is that true?’ she asks him.
‘I don’t know, I’ve just arrived here.’ Then to a uniformed police officer standing nearby he says, ‘Could you keep those spectators back? We don’t want anyone mucking up the evidence.’ Then he starts to walk toward the body but is again stopped by a reporter. It is the tall black female reporter from WWL-TV.
‘Was she tortured? Was she sexually assaulted?’ she asks.
‘I’ve got no comment at this time,’ he says as he continues to walk toward the crime scene. Then he stops and turns around to face the three reporters as a van from WVUE FOX news pulls to a stop near his police car.
‘Look, I’ll make a statement later. Right now I need to inspect the scene, the body and everything. I know y’all have a job to do but so do I. Please don’t come any closer. I don’t want anyone screwing up the integrity of the evidence. So, if y’all will excuse me.’ He turns back around and slips under the yellow tape surrounding the scene.
‘Looks like we do have a serial killer on our hands detective,’ a white female officer says to Det. Phelps as he approaches closer to the body.
‘What makes you say that?’ he inquires.
‘She’s branded just like the one found last week in Audubon Park. The word WHORE is burned across her chest just like the other one.’
‘Let’s not jump to any wild conclusions,’ he tells her. ‘This one might be a copycat. Let’s hope so anyway. Mardi Gras is just a few weeks away and New Orleans doesn’t need a serial killer on the loose at this time of year.’
As he stands over the nude body Stone does what he always does at a homicide scene. He says a silent prayer for the victim.
Praying for the victim is something Det. Phelps has done ever since he became a homicide detective, ever since his first case.
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It was eleven years ago, a Monday morning and the day after Christmas. Stone had transferred into the department a few weeks prior, just after making detective. Everyone was on vacation except him and his partner Noah, a Jewish detective who had just come back from spending Hanukah with some relatives in Pittsburg. Someone had to cover the call and he and Noah — a veteran with over twenty years experience in homicide — were the only ones on duty.
The call came in to the department about midmorning, a domestic dispute that had turned sour . . . real sour. A man had beat his girlfriend with the butt of a 12 gauge pump shotgun and then shot her, once in the chest and once in the head. Then he turned the gun on himself.
She was lying on the kitchen floor. Her chest was a mass of blood. Her face was completely obliterated. He was sitting on the sofa. He had obviously put the barrel of the gun in his mouth before pulling the trigger. The top of his head was missing, there was blood and brain tissue on the wall behind him.
There was blood, overturned and broken furniture in both the kitchen and the living room. The small Christmas tree was knocked over with presents and wrapping paper thrown all around the living room. The queen size bed had been shoved up against the wall and the mattress was
askew from the box spring. A bedside lamp was lying on the floor, broken. Even the bathroom mirror was broken with fresh blood on it.
Stone had never seen such carnage in his whole life. It looked as though he must have chased his girlfriend around the small one bedroom apartment before he killed her.
There was one long empty box lying on the floor next to the sofa. An open box of shotgun shells was lying next to it, three shells were missing from the box. It was obvious that the shotgun had been in it Christmas morning. There was also a card lying next to the box with a note, ‘for you baby when you go duck hunting.’
Stone was holding his own until he saw the note. But with the realization that she had given him the instrument of her own death for a Christmas present, Stone broke down. He was a veteran police officer, had seen hundreds of deaths by accident, murder, suicide, you name it. But none of them affected him the way this case did.
He quietly excused himself, told Noah he would be right back and went to his car and just sat for about ten minutes. He didn’t cry, he just grieved. He grieved for her and for every victim he had ever encountered.
Before he went back inside he said a silent prayer for her. He’s done the same for every case he has been on since then. Then he gets to work.
Noah retired about a year later and went to live in with his daughter and her family in the Fillmore subdivision and he got lucky and picked up Olivia for a partner.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Stone takes out his note pad writes that the victim is lying on her back with her head turned to her right. Her right arm is twisted and her right hand is under her, in the small of her back. Her left arm is across her stomach. Just as if she were sleeping. But her legs are splayed wide open almost as if the killer wanted everyone to see her vagina. He wonders if this was on purpose or if she just ended up that way when he dumped her here.
The legs of last week’s victim were closed by the waves of the Mississippi River washing up against the body. He guesses that the opening this one’s legs wide was a purposeful act. He looks for finger prints in the blood stains on her legs, ankles and feet. He doesn’t see any and makes a note to tell the coroner to check for some.
He stoops down and studies the nude body. He particularly studies the word WHORE branded just above her breasts. The first thing Det. Phelps looks at as he inspects the victim is the letter H. He is looking to see if it too has a slight bend in one of the legs, just like the first victim. He tells no one what he is looking for. It is a piece of evidence that only he, his partner Olivia and the coroner know about. The bend is there and Det. Phelps comes to the same conclusion as the female officer.
There is a serial killer on the loose in New Orleans and Fat Tuesday celebrations are just around the corner.
He shakes his head in disbelief. Then he examines her left wrist and her ankles. They too are scarred. There are welt marks and bruises all over her body, just like the one found last week. He does not want to turn the body over just yet. He assumes that her right wrist is also scared. He can see that she was punched in the face several times, her lower lip is split and her nose is broken. Her left cheek is bruised. Stone writes in his pad that the assailant is probably right handed.
He can also see that she has been sexually assaulted. There are several contusions on her vagina. He assumes that there are also bruises on her buttocks. He wonders if she too was ravished with a wooden object, another piece of evidence that only he, Olivia and the coroner know about. The coroner said it was probably a broomstick but he couldn’t be sure.
Her clothes are nowhere in sight. There is only a black stocking tied tightly around her neck and a gag on her mouth.
He gets up from the body and starts to search the tall grass around the body for tire marks. He does not find any. He tells the police photographer to make sure he gets some close up photos of each letter of the word WHORE branded on the victim’s chest as well as some close ups of her wrists, ankles and face.
He approaches the young female officer who spoke to him earlier, she is standing on the sidewalk. ‘Has anyone found her clothes,’ he asks her. His depression over the vicious murder is evident, both in his voice and in his demeanor.
‘No sir.’ She smiles at her superior officer in an attempt to somewhat brighten his gloomy mood.
Stone guesses that she is in her late twenties or early thirties. She has a dimple on her right cheek that makes her smile look genuine. Stone notices that she has a nice round ass, it’s not too big or too small.
He looks back toward the victim ignoring his own thoughts. He knows that Darlene does not mind him looking at other women. She knows that he keeps his ‘wondering’ to merely looking at them, he loves Darlene to too much to get involved with another woman.
Then he looks back at the young officer. ‘OK, I want you to get a couple of officers and I want every dumpster and garbage can within a three block radius searched for her clothing. Who knows maybe we’ll get lucky.’
‘That’s a lot of dumpsters and cans. It’ll probably take us all day,’ she answers him.
‘I don’t care if it takes you all day and half the night. I want those dumpsters searched. Now get some more officers and get on it,’ he orders her.
‘Yes sir,’ she replies. Her smile is gone.
He looks back at the body again and then to another police officer standing nearby.
‘Who found her?’ he asks him.
‘That college kid over there who was talking to O’Malley a few minutes ago,’ he answers and points to the petite auburn haired girl. Det. Phelps notices that she also has nice supple breasts, just like Darlene’s.
‘Thanks.’ Then he walks over to the young coed. She is leaning against a police car across the street from the scene. ‘You found her?’
‘Yes sir. I was out jogging with my dog and noticed her.’
The detective looks from the student to the back of the lot where the dead woman is lying. ‘She’s lying in the tall grass way back there in the back of the lot and you saw her from the street? How’d you do that?’
‘I just saw her. Then I called 9-1-1 on my cell phone. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Look kid, I can’t see her from here in that tall grass and I’m a good ten centimeters taller than you. Now tell me how you found her or I’m going to start thinking you got something to hide. I’m going to start thinking that maybe you did something to the body.’
The young coed looks down at her feet and tugs on her dog’s leash. She frowns. ‘My dog got away from me and I had to chase him. Hey! It wasn’t my fault. I stopped him as soon as I could.’
‘Stopped him. What do you mean?’ The detective asks her.
‘My dog Frisky was licking her face. I’m sorry, it wasn’t my fault. I pulled him away as soon as I got there.’
‘That’s OK. Where on her face did the dog lick her?’
‘I don’t know, just her face that’s all.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Did you tell that to the policeman who took your statement?’
‘No,’ she answers him.
‘Go give that information to him right now. Tell him I said to put that in his report. And don’t worry about it. The only thing you have to worry about is if you’re hiding something from me. You’re not are you?’
‘No sir.’
Stone then gives the petite woman his card and tells her that if she happens to remember anything else to please give him a call. He tells her that she did the right thing. As the coed walks over toward Officer O’Malley Stone writes in his notes that a dog licked the victim’s face.
Next he calls the coroner to give him the bad news. He informs him that this latest victim has the bent leg in the letter H, just like the first victim. He also tells the coroner about the dog lic
king the victim’s face and about checking the blood stains on the victim’s ankles and feet for possible prints.
They discuss the possibility of other victims who haven’t been found, in the Spillway, the bayous, the lake. He makes a note to call the eleven parishes surrounding New Orleans to see if they have any unsolved murders with similar Modus Operandi.
After he finishes talking to the coroner he lists them in his note pad so that he can check each one off after calling them, St. Bernard, Plaquemines, Jefferson, Lafourche, St. Charles, St. James, St. John, Ascension, Livingston, Tangipahoa and St. Tammany.
Finally, he calls his partner on her cell phone. Before she answers he pictures her thirty-seven-year-old perfectly shaped ass in his mind. He smiles.
When she says hello he asks her why she has not reported to the crime scene, although by now he knows the answer. She tells him she cannot come. She’s in Orlando getting ready to order breakfast before going to Disney World with her family.
He jokingly asks her if she would cut her vacation short and return to work tomorrow, he knows she can’t. She says that she would gladly do it but then her breakfast would get cold. He tells her that he understands and for her to enjoy her vacation. He will fill her in when she gets back next week.
Before she hangs up, Olivia tells him to get Det. Falwell to help him out. She reminds him that Det. Falwell is a homosexual and has got a great looking ass. Det. Phelps is amused at her witticism and tries to tell her that Det. Falwell is not his type but she has already hung up. He smiles at the knowledge that she knows that he thinks she has a beautifully shaped set of cheeks, almost as beautiful as Darlene’s ass.
He spends the rest of the morning gathering evidence from the scene and overseeing the preparation of the body for shipment to the coroner’s morgue. He makes sure that the victim’s hands and ankles are securely bagged for protection. He is pretty sure that there won’t be any skin under her fingernails but he figures it may be another long shot that might not prove fruitless.
He gives the news reporters a statement that does not tell them anything they don’t already know. The cute reporter from WDSU again asks him if the word WHORE is burned into her chest. He reluctantly affirms it but tells her not to draw any conclusions as it may be just a copycat murder.
A report from the white female officer later in the afternoon produces no clothing. He wonders how thoroughly a search she and the other officers actually performed. But he immediately dismisses his thoughts, as it was a long shot anyway. He didn’t expect her to find any clothing.
By Sunday afternoon he is exhausted. He meets with the coroner. The coroner’s preliminary report confirms his suspicions that the victim was sexually ravished with a wooden object.
Det. Phelps lack of a substantial breakfast catches up with him. He and the coroner go to Mandina’s Restaurant on Canal Street in Mid City — one of his favorite eateries — for a Po-boy sandwich. Mandina’s Restaurant suffered damage after Hurricane Katrina in 2005 as did much of New Orleans, but the owners have since brought it back to life, as much of New Orleans has done. Today it is again the quintessential neighborhood restaurant. After looking over the menu he decides to have a seafood platter instead, the coroner orders a spaghetti and meatball dinner.
While he waits for his food to arrive his cell phone buzzes, it is his boss. The Captain wants to know about the latest victim. Stone fills him in on what he knows so far about the young victim, he does not tell him about the bent leg of the letter H nor does he tell him about the broomstick.
The Captain issued orders long ago that restricted information was to be given out on a need to know basis. Not even he was to receive it. No one was to receive information about a case unless they needed to know it, the fewer individuals to know about prohibited information the less chance of it getting out to the general public.
After Det. Phelps finishes eating he goes back to his office. There he finds out that both this victim and the one from last week were prostitutes. He knows that he’ll have to visit the French Quarter and several other places that the local ladies of the night frequent, a task he does not relish. He’ll do that tonight after dinner and a hot bath at home.
Barbie
- 25.10.2022
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