Private Dick Chapter 2: The Interrogation free porn video

“Dani, you know I love you,” Shirley bleated out, leaning over me to reach down to my crotch, to rub Big Girl that stood harnessed to my groin. 

The curvy girl rubbed and pressed her breasts tight to my arm, hoping to entice me into sex. Shirley often tried that, and often it worked but I wasn't in the mood for that.

“Not today, Shirley.” 

I pushed her away, staring at the tumbler in front of her on the aging mahogany bar. There was only one woman on my mind, her name was Liz, and that morning she'd promised she'd spend her American stay with me. Only today, the Englishwoman was nowhere to be found. I lifted the glass, swirled around the golden liquid then tossed it to the back of my throat. A waste of good scotch, but I really didn't give a damn at that moment. 

That Liz woman could have kept her mouth shut. Should have kept her damned mouth shut. Yes, it was an epic night of passionate sex, but it had been a hookup. She'd gotten to me, taken me somewhere I hadn't been to in years. She could have just said “ta ta” and walked out the door. I would have gotten that. But no, she had to blubber out that she'd stay with me when our bodies were both wet from sweat and recovering. She'd been tender, and Liz wasn't the tender romantic type. I had been stupid! I ought to know better than to accept post-coital murmurs as gospel, but dammit, I'd wanted it to be real! Finding it was all just post-sex blather stung. 

Ruby set another scotch in front of me, her aging face neutral but her eyes narrowed. Ruby served, but she also watched out. “Don't get all screwed up, Dani. That woman looked like trouble the moment she walked in.”

“Dani,” whined Shirley. “Forget that bitch. I would never just run out on you.” Shirley wasn't giving up but was rubbing her tits on my shoulder and her fingertips on my boobs. 

I slapped her hands away to glare at her. “I told you, Shirley, I'm not in the mood! When I'm not in the mood, I'm not in the fucking mood.”

Shirley looked hurt, and with her fair cheeks, she had a pretty good pout. But I felt rotten for being cold. I had never pushed her away like that before. It was a game, and Shirley didn't quite get why I didn't want to play. But I didn't feel much like an explanation anyway. Yeah, Shirley'd been grabby but usually, I didn't mind grabby with Shirley. 

Without thinking, I pulled out my phone. I stopped, realizing what I was doing. It would be so easy to call. So fucking easy. So fucking stupid. I set it down on the bar and picked the tumbler, to sip some more of the strong, warm liquor. The phone sat there. Another sip, another long look at the phone.

It might have been the liquor but I didn't feel like I had been drinking that long. I had run down a deadbeat husband for Tracey and found his new apartment on the east side. It had been a productive day. But eventually, I picked up the phone, clicked it on, and dialed Liz, ready to tell the no-good slut that it wasn't right to make promises you had no intention of keeping. 

It went right to voicemail. That figured. I thought about calling Shirley back over. Maybe I could fuck away the pain and anger, make up for my rudeness. My brain disagreed with that hypothesis, but I hadn't been listening to it much since Liz had kissed me out behind Ruby's back door.

I was mulling over going on the prowl for some relief when the phone rang again. “Dani,” said a clipped male voice with military precision. 

It was McIlhenny, a cop I'd served beside in Afghanistan. He was a reserve captain in intelligence, and normally that made me shiver. But McIlhenny was good and cared about nothing but getting the job done. He'd never once pretended to know something he didn't know, and that was a pretty big thing when your ass was on the line. He'd known Carolyn, was there for me after she was killed. He was good people.

“What do you want, Mac?”

“We need you to come downtown.”

“When?”

“Now would be good.”

“I'm not exactly in shape for that at the moment.”

“Fine. Get yourself together, but I'm serious. Sooner is better than later. Come see us before we come for you.”

What the fuck is this about? That conversation had come as a total surprise. McIlhenny wouldn't have called me if he wasn't serious. I had absolutely no idea why the cops would want to talk to me. PI’s sometimes made enemies, but they didn't usually go to the cops. He didn't work that kind of case anyway. And when a cop was serious, it meant something. I debated calling Tracey, the lawyer I sometimes worked with, but it didn't seem necessary. I'd done nothing! I couldn't think of anything I might even be accused of doing unless it was thinking bad thoughts about lying, evil English bitches. 

No, that favor should be saved for another day. I waved off Ruby from pouring another scotch, paid my tab, and headed out the door, wondering what the heck was up. McIlhenny wouldn't have called if it wasn't serious, and the first rule of dealing with cops is you don't ignore cops when they're serious. They won't go away, and you'll only piss them off. The second rule of dealing with cops was don't show up at the police station drunk. The third rule was that most cops are straight men. When a pretty girl sought some advantage, it paid to show up looking hot.

I know I'm pretty. Back in high school, the boys were all over me and I could still wear the same clothes. Sure I wore my hair military short, but makeup, eye shadow, lipstick, and the right earrings could femme up anyone. I looked good in tight clothes. Not good enough for a bikini model, but more than enough to turn a man's head. A bra with a bit of padding and some push combined with a tight low-cut blouse would draw almost any eye. A short skirt, plus stockings and heels to shape up my calves completed the package. I looked in the mirror and grinned with pleasure. I was proof that a girl doesn't need long hair to be sexy. I checked in the mirror, polished off another cup of coffee then headed downtown. 

Heads did turn as I sashayed into the station. Cops everywhere looked up from the desks, including a cute woman sergeant with skin the color of a Hershey bar and pretty eyes and lips. I smiled back and filed her away for later and walked across the room with a bit of extra sway to my hips, which had cops scrambling to help. They were polite and friendly as could be, and a young blonde lad led me to an examination room, which was like every other examination room on earth. Dull green walls, a long table with a few moderately comfortable chairs, and a two-way mirror in the back so unseen cops could observe my interrogation. And not much else. 

They left me there for a while, probably wanting to make me sweat. Giving guilty people time to think was a good tactic, only I wasn't guilty of a thing except for romantic stupidity. I couldn't see the cameras but knew they had to be there. So I stretched in the most obvious way possible, shoulders back to show off my bust and a leg out to show the gams weren't so bad either. It often helped to get men thinking with their little heads because the little one often kept them from using their big one.

Finally, two cops appeared, and to me, they appeared almost like stock characters from Hollywood's central casting. They gave their names, but I put them down as Frumpy and Fancy. Frumpy looked like the tired veteran cop he was, with a cheap, ill-fitting suit, a beer belly, and a balding head with a dark droopy mustache to divide his round face. Fancy was young, his suit clearly tailored, with perfect skin, broad shoulders, and cheekbones you could crack ice on. He looked like a model straight out of GQ. But he wasn't so bad on the eyes, even for me, so there were pluses. Maybe the cops had learned how to distract people too. Still, the pair of characters told me to look out for the traditional good cop/bad cop routine. 

They set out their notebooks, and Frumpy gave me a long look and an up-and-down with a not insignificant linger on my boobs then got to business. Fancy didn't ogle, and he was so pretty I began to wonder if he was gay. But he opened the talking. 

“So what do you know about Elizabeth Bathory?”

Liz? This was about Liz? Now that was interesting. Why were they interested in her? “I met her yesterday. So not so much.”

“Where did you and Miss Bathory meet?”

An obvious opening question. “Ruby's down in the flats at the corner of Cedar and Vine.” 

It was the truth, though telling them they met at Ruby's had probably just blown plan femme. Cops knew what Ruby's was and who went there. On the other hand, I looked hot and their eyes weren't going anywhere.

Frumpy decided to make it obvious.“Ruby's is a dyke bar.” He added a bit of sneer to it, which would have meant more if he hadn't had his eyes on my chest.

“So Ruby's is a bar frequented by lesbians,” continued Fancy, perfectly correct.“Are you a lesbian, Ms. Donatelli?”

I laughed. “I don't go there to meet men.” So much for plan femme. If I'd worn my normal outfit they wouldn't have bothered asking. 

“What time did you meet Miss Bathory?”

“A little after seven.”

“Can you be more precise?”

I smiled sweetly at the kid, who looked like he was fresh out of school. “I don't go to Ruby's to watch the clock. Probably sometime around seven-fifteen, but don't hold me to that.”

“Was anyone else there?”

“Yeah. Ruby was there of course, along with Shirley, Red Brandy, and a few other regulars. All of whom will back me up.”

“Bunch of dykes,” said Frumpy. Clearly a bigot. Likely conflicted as well, but not too smart. Or maybe he didn't want me to think he was smart.

I decided to push back. If Frumpy had meant to intimidate me, shooting his mouth off put him on the bad side of the law. 

“Last I heard lesbianism was completely legal in the United States with all rights and privileges protected. It's not my fault I didn't grow up loving dick.”

Frumpy didn't say a damned thing, but he turned a bit red. Maybe he really was stupid. He'd just given me reason for a complaint if I chose to pursue it. Seemed smarter to keep that chestnut in my pocket though. It was time to take the offense.

“What the hell is going on here? Why are you even interviewing me?”

Fancy answered in his calm pleasant voice. “You’re here because you may be a witness to an important investigation.”

“A murder investigation,” Frumpy chimed in. 

I felt my heart and stomach shoot up above my lungs. Murder? Whose murder? Was Liz dead? 

“Is Liz okay?” I blurted out. 

The cops didn't say a thing, but the thought of Liz dead made my stomach lurch. I regretted all the terrible things I'd thought and said about her earlier. And then I took a deep breath. I’d had friends die before, including my Carolyn. Think now, panic later, I reminded myself.

“Well is she dead? And if not, whose murder am I suspected of witnessing?”

Right then I really wished I’d called Tracey.

“You like the bitch, don't you?” said Frump. “Don't you worry sweet cheeks! Your girlfriend is just fine.” He had a wicked smile on his face. Stupid was again confirmed.

Fancy let the room pause before speaking again. “No one has suggested you personally witnessed a murder, Miss Donatelli. We're simply establishing the facts. This is for background only. How long was Miss Bathory in your company?”

Cripes, they think Liz did it? That did not make sense. Yes, we had just met, but that made no sense? Everything about Liz put her above all the mundane reasons for killing  She probably was capable of violence, but the most obvious reason for murder was jealousy and Liz wouldn't kill for such a prosaic reason. Nor was there any point in hiding anything.

“Liz, as I call her, was with me until about eight-thirty this morning.” She recalled their parting kiss, which had made Dani eager to get the Englishwoman back in her bed. 

“What were you and Miss Bathory doing all that time?”

I leaned forward and made sure to look Frumpy directly in the eyes and made sure to grin wide so he could see me smile.

“We were fucking. Over and over, with lots of moaning and pleading and wet spots everywhere. Yeah, we slept some. But mostly we fucked.” 

I spat out the word, wanting it to feel dirty and obscene for these two jokers.

Frump's mouth turned into a big O, and his face turned bright red, but moron or not he wouldn't have made detective without something on the ball. Then he smiled and licked his lips.

“Any witnesses to your...fucking?” he asked with a squint and a grin. I could just picture the dirty images rolling around behind his eyeballs.

Don't you wish! “Not unless the neighbors heard Liz screaming,” I said, grinning right back at him. 

Might as well piss him off a bit. I guessed that, like a lot of men, he was turned on by lesbians, and probably felt ashamed of it. Or maybe he was into it but didn't want anyone to know. 

“She's a loud one, you know. Plenty of spirit. I like a woman who loves being fucked really hard.”

Frumpy cop scowled at me and said something inaudible under his breath. Fancy seemed unperturbed.

“What time did you leave Ruby's? Or did you have sex at the bar?”

“Ruby doesn't like people doing it at her bar.”

Actually, that wasn't strictly true, getting fingered or going down on someone in the powder room was sort of a rite of passage. But it wouldn't help Ruby to tell cops that. They likely already knew, but so long as they didn't really 'know' things could be ignored.

“We left sometime between nine and ten.”

“Will your friends vouch for that?”

“Ask them yourself. And I know you will because that's what cops do. Everything I told you will check out.”

There was a pause before the two cops leaned together to exchange whispers. Fancy pushed forward a picture of a man. It was a still, posed actually, possibly for a passport. The man in the picture was handsome with a nice smile, strong chin, and pretty long lashes.

“Ever see this guy?”

“Nope. Who is he?”

“His name was Eric Wyatt. He was a former lover of Ms. Bathory.” 

Fancy was at least respectful enough not to mention the obvious, that Wyatt was dead.

So that's what this is about? This Eric was the 'jilted lover' who had appeared to stand Liz up. Liz wasn't missing, she was likely in the police station, kept in another room just like this one. She was a suspect, maybe on the run, but more likely in police custody. Other cops likely were interviewing her, or already had, and they would compare what she said to what I said. Which was good, so long as everyone told the truth, no problem. 

No way Liz had actually done it. People do weird stuff when they're in love, but not Liz. The signs were all wrong.  Liz was too damned confident to get that upset over a simple dumping. Being dumped was part of the human experience. Going out and getting laid right afterward was the best therapy ever. That story fit and it didn't bug me that I might have been. used as human Tylenol.  But if Liz hadn't done it, who had? It was time for me to play the detective.

“What's the time of death?” Knowing that would tell me something.

“We're still establishing that,” said Fancy, which was bullshit. 

The cops would have a rough time of death before they ever moved the body. The fix would get better after the Medical Examiner did his thing, but they already knew enough to rule a lot out. Likely Liz had used me as an alibi and the cops were checking it out. Which is what cops did. It also explained why Liz hadn't shown up or called. Unlikely that she'd use her One Phone Call to call a woman she'd met the night before. 

It was a relief, but at the same time what if Liz really had killed her ex? Our world is a place where nothing is truly impossible. Never rule anything completely out until you've checked. I began to think I'd made a mistake in not calling Tracey.

“Did Miss Bathory ever mention her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Wyatt?”

“Yes, she did. She got a call from him at the bar, telling her he wasn't going to show. He'd suggested they meet there.”

“At Ruby's.” now it was Frumpy's turn to laugh. “Oh, that's rich. First place I'd go to meet a date.”

“Maybe he pranked her,” I said. “Think about it officer, if you wanted to leave the average straight girl embarrassed and uncomfortable, Ruby's is the perfect spot. But you gotta know she didn't come to Ruby's looking for an alibi. You've seen Liz. How long do you think it would take her to pick up a guy at any straight bar in town? Five minutes, fifteen tops? No reason to go to Ruby's, unless it was for a prank. Her odds of a hookup are a lot less with women. We're a lot pickier than you are.”

“She found you,” observed Frump, quite correctly. “Did you hear Wyatt say they were to meet at Ruby's?”

“No, she was speaking to him on the phone when I approached her.”

“Are you sure the call was from Mr. Wyatt,” asked Fancy, quite reasonably. “Did you speak with him?”

“No.”

Literally anyone might have been on the other end of Liz's phone. Or no one at all. Liz could have faked the conversation. The jukebox made it impossible to hear if someone else was on the line. Liz's voice was the only one I had heard. But again, I didn't buy that. Liz might not be totally truthful, but she seemed truly put out when she hung up. Maybe she was a future Oscar candidate, but it felt wrong. No detective gets far without being good at catching lies.

“But don't give me that crap about you not having a time of death. You do, even if the Medical Examiner hasn't finished yet. So what is your window for the death?”

Frump glared at me but Fancy leaned in and the two cops talked privately. Realizing it was past time to lawyer up, I took the moment to text Tracey. Which is exactly when McIlhenny pushed open the door to the interview room.

“Fischer, Johnson, you two head down to Ruby's and interview the women there. Politely,” he added with a glare at Frump.

I smiled at him. “Nice seeing you Mac.”

“You too Dani, but these are the wrong circumstances. You really got yourself into it this time. You say this Bathory woman just walked into Ruby's and sat down at the bar?”

“Yep.”

“So what got you interested in her.”

“She didn't fit. And Red Brandy was giving her the eye. Brandy’s a regular. I like Red but she isn't too stable. I figured approaching the posh lady first was her safest course.”

“Didn't hurt that she was gorgeous, did it?”

“God no!” I was not ashamed to admit my admiration for female beauty. 

“Dani, having spent some time in a room with Elizabeth Bathory, I wouldn't bet on your friend Red Brandy if things got ugly. Not one red cent.”

McIlhenny too was a good judge of character. Good cops had to be. Which meant Liz was likely not actually a prime suspect.

“Fair enough. What the fuck is going on?”

McIlhenny pushed me a picture. It was a man, middle-aged, sharply dressed in a tailored gray suit, balding, narrow chin, big cheekbones. In shape. Looked Eastern-European. 

“Recognize this guy?”

“Nope.”

“His name is Artemi Filatov. He's Russian.”

“No shit.” Of course, he was Russian. They had an embassy and a whole lot of mobsters around the Chesapeake. “What about him?”

“He's a pimp. Not the kind of pimp who runs around in a flamboyant suit with a dressed-up Caddy. He's part of a prostitution ring that runs throughout the Beltway. His ring specializes in providing very important customers with extraordinarily beautiful women. Or boys if they prefer. Very important clientele. I'm not naming names, but there are a few you would recognize instantly from around Washington. And New York. The rich and powerful. We were closing in on him once, trying to make a case to put him away. We asked the FBI about him and the feds shut us down. Hard.”

Oh really? “Why'd you show me his picture?” And why did the Feds shut the local cops down? 

McIlhenny showed her a second picture. It was Filatov and dead Eric, with Liz's ex holding his arm around a tall, stunning, and elegantly dressed blonde woman having a drink at a very nice bar. They looked happy. They looked like they were about to fuck. Could she be one of Filatov's hookers? She looked a little old for that role, but her beauty was undeniable. 

After a brief but very pregnant pause, he added. “Eric Wyatt carried a British diplomatic passport.”

That set all kinds of alarms! A British diplomat had been murdered. And not a peep of it in the news! Maybe they were covering it up, but the Brits would likely be deeply pissed that one of their own had been murdered. But there was something else. McIlhenny was probably limited in what he could say, yet he'd just told me Eric Wyatt was deep into it.

Back in the 'Stan two kinds of people carried diplomatic passports. Actual diplomats, and spooks. Important spooks too, they didn't cover the grunts. So he'd really just told me that this Eric Wyatt was also a spy. And Liz knew him and had fucked him, only if he was a spy, maybe she was as well. Maybe nothing she'd said was true. But what was a spook doing talking to a Russian pimp? Or coming into Ruby's? Unless Filatov wasn't just a pimp. I started to whistle but held up. It might not be smart to let anyone besides McIlhenny know what she was thinking.

“How did Wyatt die?”

“Execution style. Bullet to the back of the head.”

He handed over another picture, this one of Wyatt's dead body. The bullet had exited through the mouth. Ugly, as murders almost always are. Exactly what a professional hit looked like.

“The Russians are all business when it comes to murder.”

An execution-style murder of a diplomat was a very big deal. The sort of thing that might start a war in some places. This was big news, so the media silence was hard to explain. Britain and the US were allies, so maybe things were getting hushed up so the two countries could get their stories lined up, but that wouldn't hold for long. Something didn't make sense.

“I want to talk to her.”

McIlhenny nodded. Likely he was hoping I would make that request. It would change the game, and tell him something he wanted to know. But he'd told me a lot with very few words. There was something here that stunk to high heaven. I grabbed my phone and called Tracey, who bitched me out for going in without her. 

McIlhenny stopped on the way out, to say, “Dani, if I were you the first thing I'd ask that woman is who she actually is.”

Over the phone, Tracey told me to keep my mouth shut, that she was on her way.

A uniform came in and led me to a waiting area, which wasn't very full. I'd just gotten actual legal advice to keep my mouth shut. Out in the real world where ordinary people lived, that was solid advice. It's hard to learn with your mouth open. Cops made their living by tripping people up and they can't trip you up if you clam up. But keeping too quiet also can keep you from learning stuff, because you have to talk to get talking started. Still, it was easy to keep quiet in a waiting room full of anxious wives, parents, and siblings. 

The cops came to get me before Tracey arrived, which probably wasn't an accident, and led me to another interview room complete with the ubiquitous two-way mirror. Liz was tall, slender, and very fit, seated at the table in tight leather pants and a long-sleeved white knit shirt that hugged her body. She had dark brown hair, green eyes, and ruby red lipstick on her full lips. She looked tired and harried and utterly beautiful.

Liz ought to have been grateful to see a friendly face. But she wasn't.

“What are you doing here? Liz practically spat out the words, surprise, anger, and contempt flooding her face as she turned up her very well-shaped nose. 

“I could ask the same of you,” I said, mind racing, pissed at the rude greeting. But not too pissed to think. The grilling I’d gotten was minor-league in comparison to what Liz had just suffered. Liz should have been really, really happy to see me but she wasn't. At least she didn't seem that way. Why?

“Of course I don't need to ask, do I? Somebody wasted your ex. Was it you?”

Liz laughed. “Is that what they told you, that I'm a cold-blooded murderer?”

“Actually they just asked me a bunch of questions. Probably trying to firm up you using me as your alibi.”

“Are you denying what happened between us yesterday?”

It was my turn to laugh. “Not in the least. I told them we fucked all night long.”

“So why are you here?” Liz asked. “You're free to go.”

“Maybe I thought I'd offer you a rematch.”

Liz broke out laughing remembering the wrestling match they'd had last night for who would wear Big Girl and who would take the strap on deep. She smiled at me, tenderly, just like in the morning before she left. In a flash, it was gone as Liz hardened.

“Look, you're a great shag. Epic actually. But that was then. Right now Shirley is back at the bar waiting for a good pounding. If you're smart you'll go give it to her and forget I exist.”

That stung! Why was she pushing me away? Was I nothing to her, or was she afraid? I had already figured the Englishwoman was not the sort to show fear.

“Planning on staying here for a while then? You'd look good in orange. Contrasts nicely with your green eyes.”

“What can I say? I just can't resist American hospitality.”

I realized simple banter wasn't going to get me anywhere. Liz wasn't going to open up without getting hit in the teeth. Maybe that was what McIlhenny intended.

“We're known for our hospitality. We even host Russian pimps.”

Liz didn't bat an eye, which kind of surprised me as for most people that would have been a shot between the eyes.

“A Russian pimp you say? Was Eric hanging with someone horrible? Did he roll me over for a ten-thousand-dollar whore? If so. I hope she cost at least that much. More, actually.”

“Cost him his life, likely.” 

For just a second, Liz blinked. 

“Get out of here and leave me alone.”

Why did Liz start at ten thousand dollars? That was the high end. Russians ran plenty of streetwalkers you could pick up for a couple of tenners. The local pimps bitched about them too. Might be a coincidence, but then it might not. I had to know.

“Yeah, it seems he was a bit of cad. But I still can't see why he stood you up.”

“Obviously. You're still here. You may be a bit prejudiced.”

“I am,” I said, “and I keep my word.”

There was a scuffle outside, a man calling “Ma'am, you can’t go in there” and a higher-pitched female voice telling some cop where to go. The door pushed open and a tall, broad-shouldered woman with long brunette hair and an obviously pregnant belly pushed her way inside. She was carrying a folder of papers and a briefcase. 

“I'm her goddamn lawyer. Officer, if you are going to tell me I cannot consult with my client---in private---I will need your name and badge number so I can bring you up on charges.”

I enjoyed watching the cop wilt and step aside. The woman pushed herself inside and set her stuff on the table. 

“And I mean it, all recording devices off until I tell you I'm ready. Clear the secret room. You damned well know I have every right to privacy with my client. Don't make me get angry, because you won't like me when I'm angry.”

“Hi Tracey,” I said. “Meet Elizabeth Bathory.” 

“Hello spud,” she replied. “Looking femme today are we?” 

Tracey smirked and turned to Liz. “And this gorgeous creature must be Liz. No wonder you're infatuated.”

“I am not infatuated.”

“And I'm not pregnant. I've seen how most girls follow you around. Yet here you are with the prime suspect to a murder investigation,” she turned to glare at Liz, “whom I'm told just told you to fuck off!”

Tracey was tough. But she didn't know Liz.

“Elizabeth Bathory.” Liz smiled politely and offered her hand. “I assume you are to be my solicitor?”

“I am, and Barrister too in your terms. We do things a bit differently here.” Then she glared at Liz to let her know she wasn't enchanted. “Right now what I'm going to do is read this file, so both of you shut up for a while so I can do my job.” 

Tracey sat and she read. Liz and I sort of stared at each other. Finally, Tracey set down her glasses to look directly at Liz

“So where you yesterday from five to nine PM?”  Which established the rough time of death.

“At five I was in my room bathing and preparing for a date with the recently deceased Eric. I was engaged in feminine ablutions in my room from there until about six-thirty. From that point, I was in a cab over to Ruby's, where I met Ms. Donatelli there sometime after seven. About nine I was likely pinned beneath Dani sweating and squealing.”

Tracey chucked while paging through the documents.

“Colorfully put. Okay, that makes everything clear now. The preliminary time of death was between five and nine. Dani is your alibi for about half that time.”

“Actually I spoke to Eric about seven-fifteen. Which Dani here witnessed while we were at Ruby's.”

Tracey wasn't impressed. “Did she hear his voice? Ruby's isn't terribly quiet. And if she did hear him would she recognize his voice?”

“I rather doubt that as they've likely never met.”

Tracey sighed as if she were about to lecture disappointing children.

“In other words, no one can vouch for this time when Mr. Wyatt might already be dead. You have no alibi before the time the cabbie picked you up, but there is travel-time between the location of your hotel and the site of the murder. It's theoretically possible you killed him, but given the logistics, it's a stretch. On the other hand, you have a motive.”

“Do you really think I would kill Eric because he stood me up?”

Tracey turned to Liz and leaned in. “What I think isn't what matters. People have died for a lot less. Jilted love is a classic motive, and the cops would like to solve this one fast because of the late Mr. Wyatt's diplomatic status. That and you are, conveniently enough, also a Brit, which makes this a foreign affair. In fact, an affair solely for the Queen's justice. Checks a lot of the right boxes Ms. Bathory.”

Tracey took a long pause to let what she'd said sink in. She was a good lawyer and good lawyers do that.

Ms. Bathory, the fact is, they already have enough to make your life hell, but likely not enough to convict unless they get a very special jury. As Mr. Wyatt was also a British citizen, it's likely they'll extradite you to England, which is still a friendly country to whom we willingly extradite suspects. That allows your own courts to handle the whole mess. Saves us a lot of money for one thing. Headaches too.”

“But, what if she's innocent?” I asked.

If looks could kill, Tracey would have filleted me. “Guilt, or innocence, is now a thing for a court to decide if this goes to trial, which I doubt. As a foreign citizen, she enjoys the protection of American law, but if the Feds decide to boot her they can keep her from ever coming back.”

“How horrible,” Liz observed as if bored. 

No one said anything for a moment. Tracey looked at me and shook her head. Then she got up and went to the door. 

“Okay, I'm ready now.” She ran into the same cop who had tried to stop her from going in.

“Officer, are you planning to charge my client or not?”

The cop at the door shrugged. “I'll get someone,” he said then disappeared. 

A few minutes later McIlhenny appeared. Tracey didn't waste any time. “Lieutenant, are you planning to charge Miss Bathory?”

“That's still being decided.” McIlhenny was a good hedger. 

“Lieutenant, I respect your position, but it's time to decide. Charge her or let her go. I'll file the writ immediately if necessary and you know it will be upheld.”

McIlhenny took his time responding but I was pretty sure he'd made up his mind long before coming into the room. He wanted certain things.

“Your client is not to leave town in case we need to talk to her again. I'm keeping her passport for now. It will stay with us until decisions are made.”

“I'm fine with that,” Tracey said. 

“She can stay with me,” I said.

“What!” Tracey practically screamed.

“That's not smart Dani,” said McIlhenny. “You don't know diddly about this woman.”

“No, it's a totally stupid thing to do,” added Tracey. “You're under no obligation to this woman, and frankly I have a lot of questions about her. Also, it damages you as an alibi. It's not good for her and may place you under suspicion.” 

“Advice noted. From both of you. But you need her not to leave. I'll babysit.”

McIlhenny shrugged and turned away. Tracey looked over at him, wondering. By now she'd likely figured I knew he was on my side, or at least neutral. She didn't know we'd served together. She also didn't know he had known Carolyn. Been there for me after the explosion. He may even have thought I was taking risks to get back with Carolyn. But I wasn't. I felt alive with Liz and wanted to hang onto that, at least while English was here. I had been a soldier and could look after myself. 

“You ready English?”

Liz stared at me for a long second then shrugged.

“I most certainly am. Barrister, I thank you for your services. And Lieutenant, for your hospitality.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said. “Don't give me a reason to show you more of it.”

“I will be as quiet as a church mouse,” Liz said with a dry voice. 

Likely no one believed her. 

I certainly did not. I grabbed her and yanked her out the door, “Now, listen you're in a lot of trouble…”

Liz was not one to back down either. “I'm in a lot of trouble? You do know that Eric was murdered don't you?”

“Saw the pictures.”

“Well, detective, try putting on your thinking cap. The people who didn't like Eric murdered him. Did it enter your provincial brain that I too might be a target? And that by hanging with me you might become one yourself?”

“Yep. Mind telling me why you might be a target?”

“There are things you should not be part of.”

“I've been to war. Shouldn't have been part of that too, but I was. I survived that. I'll survive this. And they didn't tell me shit then either. Now let’s get going.” 

I glared at her until Liz moved and I led her into the public parking garage, and to my truck. 

The look on Liz's face when she saw Amy Ray was worth it. Amy was full-sized lifted Dodge Power Wagon with roll bar, winch, and big mudder tires.  I sometimes took her fishing, when I needed to get away from it all.

“Oh my God,” Liz said, covering her mouth when she saw Amy, her eyes wide. “You’re kidding me. A genuine piece of Americana.”

I opened the door and pointed at the handle. “Swing on up there pardner,” I added in a fake western accent, grinning all the while.

“I feel like I should be wearing cowboy boots and one of those big hats,” Liz commented. "No guns though. I should be disappointed."

The motor turned over with a rumble and started forward with a lurch when I pressed the gas. Nothing subtle about Amy Ray, she rode like a truck, looked like a truck, and was truck in every possible way. 

“Well, this is even more butch than I imagined,” said Liz. 

“Suits me. Do we need to go to the hotel to get your clothes?”

“The police have everything. My room is likely sealed. Tomorrow I shall have to go shopping.”

“We,” I said, “shall have to go shopping.”

“I'm not a child. Do you have any idea how completely stupid you're being? Your Lieutenant is not an idiot. Eric had enemies willing to kill. I may have inherited a few. You're placing yourself at risk being near me. Let me go, I can fend for myself.”

I slammed on the brakes and stopped right in the middle of the street, setting off a cascade of car horns. I looked English right in the eye. 

“Listen here, I don't break promises. And you better not break any either, English. You promised you'd stay with me and you're damned well going to.” 

After a minute or so of angry honks and insults, Liz nodded. I pressed the gas and got going.

“Death is a high price to pay for a shag,” she replied. “Even if I am absolutely marvelous,” she added with a grin. “and I am. Do you have any weapons as your gun rack is empty?”

“Rack came with the truck. I have a pistol back home.”

“Get it out, load it, and keep it close,” she said, looking out the window. “You really are an idiot. Cute, but an idiot.” Liz's eyes dropped to my legs, and there was some appreciation there. “Never expected to see you in a skirt.”

“I don't wear one often.”

“You wear it well. I'd keep wearing one for the time being. It's best if they don't know what sort of person you really are. The man you mentioned, Filatov, is not exactly feminist. Bits of fluff tend to get underestimated. Being underestimated may save your life.”

“I think you just like my legs.”

“Oh, I do. I like all of you,” she added with a lick of the lips.

“Are you a spook like your late buddy Eric?”

Liz paused before answering. “I” she began, “am in exports. Here on a business trip with some pleasure tossed in. You'd be wise to remember that.”

“Does any of this business include Artemi Filitov?”

Liz dodged the question, which meant it hit. If I was going to get anything out of Liz, it would come out in dribbles, and only when she had complete trust. Maybe not even then.  Need to know, was a big thing for both spooks and soldiers

Finally, she spoke. “I'm hungry. Is there a place on the way where we can pick up some food?”

“There's an Indian place near the harbor.”

“Probably rubbish, but it will do. Order to go. You want to be seen with me as little as possible. We don't want to be found or followed. Do you know how to spot a tail? It won't help if they have enough people, but no point in making it easy for the baddies.”

“I've tailed people before, and yes I can spot a tail. I survived Afghanistan.” 

I fished out my cell phone at the next light, found the number, and hit dial before handing it over to Liz. “Order what you want. You're buying.”

“I am?”

“Might as well enjoy some sweet expense account money while I can,” I said.

Liz chuckled then called while I checked six. If we had been tailed, I couldn't see it. If Filatov, and he was the most likely killer, had a big enough crew, or a drone, no one could detect a tail. But that wasn't very likely. I was careful driving home. After stopping to pick up the food Liz had ordered, I took an oblique route. Instead of the usual, I slid my truck into a spot behind Morrison's garage. One tit flash and Old Man Morrison would let me hide Amy there for a week, and while it didn't make my truck invisible, you couldn't see it from the street and that was half the battle. 

They climbed the back stairs. Once inside I went to the kitchen to put out food. I could hear Liz inspecting my apartment.

“This place is terribly insecure, the windows are unlocked for one…”

“And on the third frickin' floor. Besides I like fresh air.”

“Like your breeze a little less for a while. The people who killed Eric aren't above pretending to paint a house to break-in. Common thieves won't get on an extension ladder to pilfer your place, but Eric was killed by professionals. Professionals do what they have to.” 

“Do you know who killed your ex?”

“I have a guess and from what you've said, so do you. The Russians don't mess around; whether they're the FSB, the GRU, or the mob.”

“Sit down and eat.” 

I took a piece of onion kulcha before passing the food over. The Russian mob was bad news, the Russian secret service and their army intelligence were not known for bearing sweetness and light. Liz had just told me she was a spook in a way she couldn’t deny. I took a bite then went and got my gun from the safe, along with the three magazines. 

Liz picked it up and immediately checked the weapon like a trained professional might. 

“A Colt Army Commander? Now there's a classic! Of course, the 1911 in the DOD model number is not there for style. Your pistol is big, heavy, and only carries eight rounds per mag.”

“It's a .45. One hit will knock you flat even if you're big and on major drugs. And I like it.”

“Fits right in with your truck although one of those six-shooters might be more in its milieu.”

Liz took a bit of hot, rich vindaloo. She was clearly famished and the vindaloo and korma went down well. I stayed quiet. I'd have to coax everything out of her. She had a lot on her mind, and frankly, it didn't seem the time to push. 

Afterward, she asked to take a shower. I got her towels and such while Liz undressed. She had draped her clothes across the back of the wicker chair in the corner of my bedroom. Her panties were laid out, silk, and pink, thin, and imbued with the scent of her sex, familiar and enticing.

It wasn't unusual for me to have another woman's clothing laid out in my bedroom. Shirley, Red Brandy, Isis, and more had all left their clothing en route to my bed. Big Girl stood there on the nightstand, pointing upwards as she rested upon her base, leather harness spread out around her. I wondered if Liz's scent was still upon her, her taste as well. Of course, I'd washed her in the morning, but Big Girl had been inside Liz for a long time. 

The dildo had been my calling card for so long, a toy I had bought while sorting through the loss of Carolyn. With Carolyn, lovemaking had been different, driven more by love than raw physical need. Not that the hunger did not burn inside me, but rather that it was wedded to tenderness towards the woman who had shown me my true self and reveled in making me more than I already was. 

I took a deep breath, catching the slightest whiff of Liz's scent in the air as the sound of the shower poured down. I laid my pistol down on the chest of drawers. I began undoing my blouse slowly, watching myself in the long mirror. I pulled it off and set it in the laundry hamper, staring at myself in the mirror, made up, feminine, more like I'd been when Carolyn and I had met, in my red padded bra. I felt like someone new as I unsnapped my bra and pulled it off, releasing my breasts. As it too went into the hamper I realized that making this commitment to Liz, especially in these circumstances, had changed everything. Off came the skirt, leaving me in red satin panties. I took another look in the mirror then went for the cold cream, to take off the makeup, to become myself again, the plain detective who ran down cheating husbands for a living.

The water shut off. I peeled off my panties as I heard Liz's ablutions from the bathroom. I looked in the mirror one more time to see myself, bare, shapely, sex framed only by a small patch of hair, my pussy pink and exposed. I gathered herself, pulled my shoulders back in a military way, and smiled, wondering where this all was going.

The door clicked open and Liz stepped through, bare, lean, and toned, so firm and lovely, little droplets of water still upon her skin with the towel wrapped about her head. She looked like Venus without the half shell, and it made me want to just take her into my arms and kiss her, to press her bare flesh to mine. But I stood there in the nude, staring back at the woman who for some reason I could not resist.

Liz looked at me. “Ready to wrestle, I see.”

She reached over and ran her fingertips along the length of Big Girl, like a sweet caress for the dildo she had so recently taken so deeply.

“Wasn't sure you'd be ready. Often takes a girl a couple of days to recover from what I gave you. But you deserve your rematch.”

“Where's your pistol. You need to keep it at hand. It won't do you any good if you can't get to it in time.”

I turned to point it out.

That was a mistake. Liz moved like greased lightning, grabbed me, and threw me down on the bed. In seconds she had me in an armbar, pinning my wrist and elbow against each other. Liz forced the arm straight and with her weight on me she had total control of my body. I couldn't reach enough of Liz to fight the hold. Liz could break my arm or pull it out of its socket. I was mad for being suckered but there was something else. I'd misjudged Liz earlier. Liz had used a judo move, one she'd been trained in, one I hadn't expected. The Englishwoman had trained for unarmed combat, possibly undergone even more training than I. 

I writhed and twisted, but every time she really pushed it was painful. But there was more, something else, the pressure of Liz's cunt on my thigh sliding and pressing down, with each move leaving a trail of slippery juice upon me. She was wet, she was horny and she wanted to fuck me. 

“You win,” I conceded. “You get to wear Big Girl tonight.”

“And I shall fuck you until you scream.”

Liz released me, and I rolled on my back, rubbing my sore arm but my legs open, more than aware of the tingling in my own cunt. Liz climbed onto the bed, to lay at my side, running her fingertips across my belly. Then she raised up and sat on me. Liz was wet, very wet and from not from her shower, but from the match, and my surrender. She took the same soft ropes I had bound her with the previous day. My eyes locked on hers, I raised my arms to offer them and make it easy to bind me to my own headboard.

“Here's what you have gotten yourself into. You are generous but foolish. The people I deal with cheat. Like I just did. If you lose the cost is not getting fucked with a strap-on, which I am about to do to you with considerable delight.”

“Do your worst.” 

The hypnotic grind of Liz upon my belly was getting to me. The feel of her juices covering me made my cunt tingle. Sex was different with Liz. Like the old days. Long ago with Carolyn, lovemaking had been spontaneous, trading places, trading roles as equals. I had gotten too used to being on top, to wearing the harness, the one who gave out the fucking but never received. It was time to change my role. 

I had bought Big Girl after my return from Afghanistan, alone, needing to find a new role, that of the tough angry soldier. Today I would not be the woman giving, but the woman receiving. My cunt twitched, tingling in anticipation of this long-lost but not unfamiliar place and it brought back sweet memories of my sex stretched out, taken and used. I rolled my hips in anticipation even as Liz's sweet juices were pressed upon my belly and ground in as she slid upward toward my face.

Liz moved slowly, eyes shining, as she bound my wrists, pressing her pussy tight, leaving a trail of cunt slime as she rose higher, rising to a destination I knew was my mouth. And I craved it, craved not having to be in charge, craved not having to make the decisions, to yield the initiative. And it made me wet, made my hips move and sway. I smiled up at Liz as her thighs enclosed my head. Her bare pussy glistened above my lips, and I liked them, realizing that a woman lowering herself upon her mouth was a thing I had truly missed. 

Liz tasted, if anything, sweeter than the night before, her taste more subtle as she pressed down upon my mouth. There was a hunger to her that the pressure and weight upon my lips and tongue pressed onto me. I slipped my tongue upward, sweeping up and down, pressing it deeply, as Liz dripped down upon my face, wetting me with delicious juice, taking my fill as she ground down upon my willing mouth.

Liz gripped the headboard, head thrown back, her long brown hair whipping back and forth as she rode my mouth and lips. She was moaning now, moaning with each breath, grinding hard onto my face. “Oh, you have a sweet mouth,” she cried out, eyes like slits. “Lick me, you naughty slut.”

Nobody had ever called me a slut before, at least no one who didn't want a bruising. But this time it was my lips taking the bruising, and I liked it, no I loved it. It was different this time, it fired me, made me feel nasty and needy as I swabbed my tongue tip across Liz's clitoris before pushing it into her urethra. Liz wasn't like any woman I'd known before and somehow that made it special, made me want to be Liz's whore at that moment. The Brit was moaning now, head bent back, her breasts in her hands pulling upon her hard nipples, flushed as she pinched them hard enough to make it hurt, which in turn drove her hips down upon my mouth. Liz's body began to glisten with fresh sweat as her moans deepened.

I could taste a change as Liz grew hotter, taste a tightening in the lips that went right to my wet cunt. Liz then changed her grind, pressing her pearl down upon my flatted tongue, using me solely for her own pleasure. My cunt was beginning to spasm, a tender feeling I had known for years, a hunger as I knew Liz approached her release.

Liz bucked and her cunt began to contract frantically. Fresh juice poured down upon my lips as Liz began to scream, loud enough to echo off the walls. I licked frantically, hungrily, and tasted Liz in orgasm again. My lover bucked like a bull rider upon my mouth, Liz's skin red and now sweaty with fresh exertion. I kept licking, for with women often one orgasm would flow into another and I needed the flow to continue, wanted my face and chest to shine with Liz's sweet juice.

“Enough!” Liz cried out, grabbing the headboard. 

I pouted as she lifted her cunt from my mouth.

“Oh you magnificent slut, what a wonderful, wonderful mouth you have. I could sit here all night and I suspect you would not let up. But I promised you a fucking and I will keep my promise.”

Liz stretched and rose up, stepping off the bed, and reached for Big Girl, still standing tall in her harness, big and blue and beautiful. I watched with open eyes and mouth as Liz seized it, eyes flashing and a wicked smile upon her lips as she pulled the harness around her long coltish legs to draw it tight about her waist. Liz cinched it and adjusted it.

“That's right, soldier girl, watch me get ready. I'm going to fuck you right into the ground!”

“Don't talk, just fuck,” I hissed, opening my legs, drawing them back, rotating my mound upward for Liz. I could feel how empty my cunt was, and how she needed to be filled. “Shove Big Girl in me! I'm damned well ready to be ridden.”

Liz smiled and mounted the bed, taking her place, her thighs between my opened thighs. Like I had for her, Liz rubbed the shaft upon my slit, coating it, teasing me with the promise of what would come.

I rocked and shifted, trying to guide Big Girl into me. “You fucking tease, put it in me,” I snarled out, surprised at the vehemence of my own words. “Fill me up if you fucking dare!”

“Oh, I dare,” Liz snapped, while giving me a smile that showed off her perfect white teeth. 

She grabbed Big Girl by the base and took aim. I whimpered as the big dildo pressed into the opening in my pussy lips. I screamed when Liz shoved it deep.

Oh, she's so big! So big! I felt my cunt stretched like never before, finally knowing how Shirley and the others had felt, why they craved Big Girl so much. It hurt, but it was a good hurt, a hurt that soon gave way to sheer joy as Big Girl battered down my defenses and made me squeal with delight. I liked to fuck. In fact, I don't think there is a woman alive who doesn't love being fucked, particularly with a beautiful shiny woman looking down at you with the biggest imaginable grin. Liz was beautiful, her breasts bobbed with every thrust, and oh what thrusts, deep, hard, and inevitable. Liz had meant it when she promised to fuck me into the ground. Our hips synchronized, pressing tight and back, in and back, I soon found myself whimpering, even begging for more, so delighted to finally receive what I had given so many others. 

My voice rose as my chest rose and fell, hips pumping and grinding, the pace picking up as our need overcame our minds. I leaned up and caught Liz's right nipple between my teeth, biting just a bit, holding her nipple, making Liz moan and shove Big Girl even harder. The room reeked of our juices, the bed squeaked in an allegro beat, and above all was the squishing sound my cunt made as Big Girl plowed her. 

I began to lose it, my sex and bottom lost in convulsions, lost in the white heat and hunger of being fucked with such animal passion. I was screaming and Liz joined me, our voices merging into a harmony of ecstasy, rising in range and volume. 

Juice poured from my cunt like a river. I had never been a squirter, soaking, yes, but it was as if Liz had broken the dam inside of me. Juice poured from me, down over my star, down to soak the bed beneath us as I careened from orgasm to orgasm, body white with pleasure, blind to everything but the intense stare in Liz's eyes until the Englishwoman found her own release and covered me.

We lay there breathing for a while, night birds singing outside my bedroom window. Liz collapsed upon me, pressing her skin tight to me, kissing me so tenderly as our cunts tingled as one. She untied me and once freed I pulled her tight to kiss her with hunger and need.

“You truly are a supreme shag,” Liz said. “Absolutely addicting.” She bent to lick along the line of my jaw before rising to strip Big Girl off. “I could get used to sleeping with you.” 

“I could get used to you in my bed.” My voice was soft, eyes tender.  I was pleading my case.

I couldn't keep my eyes from my lover as Liz slid Big Girl off and climbed back into the bed. She laid her head upon my breast, fingertips across my belly, both of us breathing deeply, touching softly. And that's the way we stayed until the morning songbirds began their wake-up song.