Authors: Jeffrey Walton
Take the Fourth (29 page)
S
he felt excited and hot and sexy. She hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time. There was never any time. She felt naive and dangerous and sporadic and dumb—dumb because she was at home in her own bedroom, her husband’s bedroom, their bedroom for the last twenty-seven years. He could come home any minute but no, his campaigning always, always ran late into the evenings, if people were paying twenty-five thousand a plate for dinner to sit with the future president and his vice president then late into the evening it will be. She wasn’t worried, only but a little. She felt ready and vindicated and scared and felt her knees buckle and she felt as if she were in college again. She felt like time moved in slow motion. She felt butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She felt her blouse unbutton and her skirt unzip. She felt her clothes slip off her body and onto the floor. She felt excited and hot and sexy. She felt his hands, his lips, his breath. She felt his strong hands gliding over her back, her shoulders, through her hair, she felt his lips on her lips and at the nape of the neck and back to the lips, she wanted to feel them in other places as well but all in due time. She felt her hands moving over his body, unbuttoning his shirt, unzipping his pants. She felt her lips kissing his lips, his neck, his chest. She felt her hands moving, gliding over his body, not exactly in command, just moving and gliding, not knowing what to expect next. She felt his hands again on her back and she felt her bra unfastened. She felt her breasts exposed and his strong hands cupping them, then his lips kissing them. She felt the air entering her lungs at a faster pace, releasing light moans as the air exited past her lips. She felt excited and hot and sexy. She felt her hands slip under his boxers, kneading and probing. She felt he was ready. She waited. She felt his lips again on her breast, again on her neck. She felt a slight nibble on her ear. She moved her fingers through his chest hair and to his back. She again felt his strong hands on her back and shoulders. She felt him motion towards the bed. She arched her back. She was ready. She felt her head hit her pillow, her body hit her bed. She felt comfortable. She felt scared. She felt his weight between her thighs and she wrapped her arms around his muscular frame. For a brief moment she gazed into his eyes and noticed they were brown, she quickly closed hers as he went down to kiss between her breasts. She felt his teeth on her nipple and a slight playful tug and she felt the same sensation to her other nipple. She took another moment and inhaled through the nose. She smelled his cologne, she smelled his sweat, she smelled him, his odor, she smelled passion. She was ready. She was moist. She felt his hands move towards her legs. She felt the remaining bit of lingerie gently glide past her thighs and ankles. She lifted one leg to help and then she was completely naked. He immediately leaned in for another kiss on the lips, then moved to the neck, then moved lower to the breasts, and then even lower, this time she felt them on her stomach and then her thighs. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone did this. She knew where he was headed. She felt his lips again on her stomach and to the outer thigh. She let out another slight moan, then the inner thigh was kissed and another moan slightly louder was given as an acceptance. He understood. She felt her thighs spread even wider and his lips against hers. She ran her fingers through his full head of hair and then arched her back and pushed her pelvis forward ever so slightly, forcing her neck to strain against her pillow. She felt his breath, his lips, and then she felt his tongue. A tingle shot up her spine and a whisper of ecstasy protruded her lips as his tongue protruded deeper inside her. She let go of his hair. She gripped the sheets, tighter and tighter, she arched herself even more. Her moans grew louder and louder. She was becoming tense with pleasure. She felt his fingers enter her, she felt his tongue caressing her, her, her spot, yes… . yes… yes, her spot, that spot. She gripped the sheets tighter. Her breath was short and fast. She felt the urge to scream. She felt his tongue, his fingers, his breath. Yes. Almost. Yes. She felt the urge to scream. She clenched her eyelids shut as she tried to take in the moment of sexual intoxication. It didn’t work. She sucked in her stomach and arched forward even more. Almost. She couldn’t catch her breath. Yes. She gulped for air but couldn’t breathe. Yes. She felt his tongue, his fingers, his breath. Her body tensed. Anticipation. She gripped the sheets even tighter. Yes. Yes. She felt the urge to scream. She tried to take in even more air. She felt his tongue, his breath, his tongue, his breath. Yes. She was ready to scream. Yes. She felt. Yes. She felt… she felt… her mind couldn’t grasp the strange sensation at first. It didn’t seem real. It didn’t seem possible. Not at this time. Not in this place. But it was… in an instant. She screamed. She screamed because she felt… she felt… she felt pain… . hot seething pain. Nothing like she ever encountered. Pain. Hot seething pain and before she could take another breath she felt the same pain in her chest and then an instant later her face. She tried to reel her mind around the pain but couldn’t. It was too much for her to comprehend. Her last thoughts were that she was in her bed, her husband’s bed. And then she felt… . she felt… . she felt nothing.
. . .
T
he chauffeured limo, car really, Lincoln Towncar to be exact, pulled towards the gate where it patiently waited. After the passcode was entered via a terminal inside the car, they parted to allow passage on the cobble stone driveway. A short ride to the turnabout and the car was parked right in front of the entrance way to the house. The right side passenger door was unlocked, then opened. Mr. Carson exited the car.
“Thanks Bobby. What time tomorrow?”
“8:30, you have a nine o’clock meeting at the Westinghouse.”
“That’s right, budget meeting, then downtown for lunch, thanks again Bobby, see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow sir, have a pleasant evening.”
With that Bobby waited for the front door to close before he got back into the car and headed back out the way he came in. Floyd was already making his way upstairs to expel some of the liquids he had consumed earlier. Afterwards he returned to his office to finish the evening’s business. He briefly thought about a glass of water but rejected the idea for something a bit stronger. When he entered his finely appointed office, he turned on his computer and decided on that stronger drink. His bar was stocked with some of the finest liquors the world had to offer but that stuff wasn’t for him, only for his guests. He was still feeling some of the effects from tonight’s event, the champagne, the wine, all of it gave him a sense of being light on his feet but still very much in control. He didn’t need any more of the celebratory toasts with drink from the gods. He was a simple man with simple pleasures and his pleasure tonight was for a bit of southern swill. He went straight for the bourbon, Kentucky bourbon, Knob Creek, single barrel and still under forty dollars a bottle, a real bargain, not to mention one of his relatives somewhere owned a piece of the business. He grabbed a snifter, plain, not the crystal ones he served his guests, and placed barely two ounces in the glass. He walked over to his computer sat down in his hand crafted chair, yes, he did splurge on this piece of furniture, but from the moment he sat in it he felt a sense of accomplishment, he felt something good could be done while sitting here. He logged onto the network and wanted to check the night’s take on campaign funds and jot down a few notes. There were a few ideas that were bounced around during the conversations at dinner that were worth saving. This dinner was one of the most expensive of the campaign but it was not for the faint of heart. If someone wanted to bend the ear of a possible future president and vice president, this was the place. The twenty-five grand just got them in the door, the checkbooks really opened once the one-on-one conversations started. There were only about twenty people invited who ranged from CEO’s of computer software companies to bankers and brokers, to billionaires with nothing better to do—it was the elite of the elite. Each guest got to spend some quality time with either of the two famous runners in the room. Most had an idea to pitch but a few just wanted to hob knob and be seen as a player to the others in the room. This place was filled with all sorts of agendas but again there were a few ideas worth noting from educating the poor to illegal aliens and maybe, just maybe one or two of these ideas would make their way to the senate floor. After all, to this crowd it was nothing more than money.
Before he entered his password, he picked up his snifter and took a long deep whiff. This always enhanced the first sip; it prepared his mouth for the taste that was to follow. The first sip always stung his taste buds, even with the sense of smell still lingering in the back of his throat. It was like they never had the pleasure of meeting this bourbon before, which was a down and out lie… they did many, many times but he did enjoy this feeling. Once the first sip was down the memory came back to his taste buds and from there on out it was pure heaven. He took a second sip and let it linger even a little bit longer, the swirl, the swish; he could now taste the south, the oak barrels, the grains, the craftsmanship of his favorite drink. It warmed the throat even more. He placed the snifter on his desk, savored the flavor, and logged into his computer. He went straight to the secured file share and opened a spreadsheet dated for this evening. There, in alphabetical order, was a list of the contributors and more important, their pledge amounts were already entered by some of his coordinators during his ride home. The total was at the bottom—a nice take, a nice take indeed. From just these twenty people the total from this night alone was in the neighborhood of thirty-five million dollars, well over a million dollars per, with the most bang for the buck coming from the CEO of the software company with more than 5.5 million in a-hem, donations. Whatever he was pitching, he sat with Mr. Anderson, there would be many more discussions to come. Within this spreadsheet there was room to jot down a few notes so Floyd opened his little black book. Floyd was a well minded individual and was very attentive to the people giving him charitable donations so he took notes on every conversation be it a single word, a sentence or two, and sometimes a paragraph or two along with a name and time. He did have a good memory but the more people he talked to the more the conversations blended together; this was his tool for keeping things straight. Before proceeding on entering his notes, he glanced at the clock, just after twelve and all things considering, it was an early evening, he then glanced at his book to find his first entry for the evening. He had a hard time finding it as his eye sight was beginning to take its toll from the libations he had consumed throughout the evening. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, that didn’t work, never does, so he got up and decided he’d better have that water now. He made his way over to the mini fridge in the bar of his office and opened a bottled water. He was suddenly parched. He unscrewed the cap and gulped the first quarter of the bottle. The cool water was refreshing to say the least. He made his way back to the desk, with bottle in hand, and sat down in his comfy chair again. He glanced at the screen and this time his eyes seemed worse, another rub, and still no difference. He then closed them for a brief second and that was the finishing touch on his evening.
. . .
I
f it wasn’t for the amount of blood in the bed the scene looked like a set from a porn movie. Camera flashes going off everywhere, clothes strewn across the floor everywhere, and two bodies laid in the bed but not in your typical missionary position. Hell no, nothing like that, let’s just say she was getting the better end of the deal at that moment in time. His bloody head was buried in her thighs. A single gunshot to the back of his head at seemingly close range—it looked like a professional hit. Her chest had a bullet entry as well as her head but the head shot was not a clean one, not as clean as the guy’s, and not nearly as professional. The bullet entered just over the right lip, through the teeth and out the left side just below the ear. It was literally a stomach churning experience even for the not so faint at heart. There was even a gunshot to the left of her face that hit nothing but pillow. They took more pictures before they pulled the bodies off the bed to get them ready to be taken for further investigating at the morgue. They dusted for prints, they measured distances, they looked for anything out of the ordinary, they combed the bed for body fluids, body hairs, as with most crime scene investigators they left no stone unturned, especially one as high as a profile as this one.
“TOD?”
“Between eleven and one from the liver temps.”
“Can’t do any better?”
“Nope, sorry, air conditioning seems to be cranked up a bit, that could have an effect on the outcome”
“COD?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Come on, you know in this line of work, nothing’s obvious, any sense of struggle beforehand, strangulations, erotic asphyxiation, anything?”
“From what I could tell the cougar and her prey were having a good time… more like great time before this happened.”
“Cougar? More like saber.”
“Saber?”
“Yeah, like saber tooth tiger, you know because she’s way older than the typical fortyish cat, fast approaching extinction.”
“Call TBS because that’s funny… . so where was I… . yeah… there was no semen in the, in the condom yet unless this was his second go around but we haven’t found any evidence of the first, usually it’s somewhere close, so again my opinion at the present time is they were in throes of passion.”
“Well he certainly was in the throes of pussy.”
“What a way to go hey?”
“If that was the last thing I saw on the way out… put it this way, that’s a great memory to take with you to the afterlife.”
Yeah, I could see it now, standing at the pearly gates and Saint Peter asking you… what’s the last thing you remember?”
They both had a slight chuckle on that one even though it was twisted and sick, good thing nobody else heard them.
“Hard to say which shot was first,” as they were looking at the crime scene photos on a portable laptop.
“I’d say, pillow, her face, chest, then his head, from top to bottom.”
“Okay, but wouldn’t you hear the bang and move your head out of that position”
“Silencer?”
“I’d buy that but the pain from her face being hit would send her thrashing and even in rapid session, he’d still have time to move some. No, I think the chest shot was first, then his head shot. If he was shot first she would have felt the bullet enter her and that shot would have not been fatal causing even greater momentum from her.”
“Sure, I see that, but what about the face and pillow shots, just to make sure?”
“That’s what I would think, the pillow shot was a miss, then the second to the head as a precautionary measure”
“Any sign of break in?”
“None”
“Murder weapon?”
“None found yet but the bullet dug out from beneath the bed from the pillow shot looks to be from a 9mm, we’ll know more once back at the lab”
Mr. Carson sat motionless and speechless in his office since the police entered the house. The housemaid stumbled upon the two upstairs just around 7 a.m. Usually Mr. and Mrs. Carson were up by now having breakfast in the kitchen but breakfast was already being made and still no sign of either of them. She went upstairs to investigate. She saw no signs of stirring. She knocked, she questioned, she knocked again. She went from room to room and nothing. She remembered no special orders in regarding the morning. She remembers Mrs. Carson dismissing her just before six and she remembers hearing Mr. Carson come home but that was it. So she knocked again, harder this time, and still no answer. The bedroom door was slightly ajar so she entered and again she asked for Mrs. Carson and again no reply. She was in the sitting room just before the bedroom. When she entered the bedroom she found her answer. She didn’t scream. She just stood in disbelief. Shock took over instantly. Her eyes couldn’t focus on the site before her. She didn’t recognize either of the bodies, she didn’t want to, she just stood there in silence, her mind wheeling trying to get a grip but just couldn’t. After a moment or two she picked up the portable phone and dialed 911 unaware Mr. Carson was still asleep in his downstairs office. The cops found her in the bedroom with her eyes closed gripping the receiver not far away from the two bodies.
Mr. Carson awoke with a splitting headache and to sounds of sirens, very loud sirens right outside his window. He peered out to see a few police cars and an ambulance. Before he could do anything two uniformed officers were in his office. He was unable to focus on the situation at hand.
“Sir are you alright?”
“Ummm, excuse me… . what?”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, I think so, why… . why are you here?”
“We got a 911 call from this address.”
“No, no, we’re okay… . what time is it?”
“Seven-fifteen.”
“My wife, my wife should be in the kitchen.”
Then from somewhere upstairs a voice echoed, “up here,” and one officer went in search of the location of the voice.
Mr. Carson jumped from his now uncomfy chair and proceeded to try to make his way upstairs before being detained by the remaining officer.
“It’s best if you stayed here, sir.”
“But…”
“Please, sir, we have no idea… .”
“But I have to see if Grace is okay.”
“Please wait sir.”
Wait he did, and then a pit fell in his stomach and he felt nauseous, like something really bad was about to come. He waited for what seemed like forever with no one talking to him, no one saying a word. It was as though he was waiting for the head of surgery to come in and give him some really bad news of the terminal kind. Another ten minutes had passed when two other cars entered the driveway. That pit in his stomach was very much real now and he was about to vomit for he noticed from his office window that one of the cars was marked coroner. He prayed in silence it was not his Gracie, he hoped it was Robin, his long time housemaid.
A detective was now on the scene and in the office.
“Mr. Carson, Detective Ron Synder, can I ask you a few questions? . . . . Mr. Carson?”
Floyd just sat there wanting to vomit, wanting to scream, wanting to cry, wanting to, to, to do something, but not one of his bottled up feelings could escape. His brain was trying to wrap some sense into this situation, trying to comprehend the unthinkable, trying to imagine his last memory of Grace, her voice, her face… . he couldn’t. He just sat in silence while his emotions froze.
“Mr. Carson, approximately what time did you arrive home last night?”
“I… . I… . I don’t… . can I see her? Is it my Grace? Is it my wife?, Please say no… please.”
“I’m… . I am very… . sorry that I have to be the one to tell you this… . very sorry sir, Mrs. Carson was found upstairs… . shot twice… murdered.”
Those words echoed in his brain but they didn’t make sense, shot? Murdered?
“She was murdered sometime between eleven and one and what time did you say you came home sir?”
No answer. He just sat there with a blank expression as a vivid memory entered his mind as if it were yesterday—a memory of his Gracie walking down the aisle dressed in white, with her hair done up just so, her red lips parted in the biggest of smiles showing her perfectly aligned sparkling set of whites… she was strikingly beautiful. Then he remembered reading her lips, and hearing her voice utter those immortal words “I do.” He started to shake as his emotions were beginning to surface, then the first tear, and that was it, he lost it.
Detective Synder was not one for emotions, yet somehow he felt sympathy when watching this grown man cry. He did not ask any other questions at this time.
Mr. Carson gathered his composure after about fifteen minutes. He grabbed the bottled water that was left out on his desk and drank in the now room temperature water… it was vile but did the trick. Still silent Mr. Carson sat and stared at the spectacle gathering in his driveway. There were more policemen, even the news was on scene, and then he noticed Bobby pulled towards the gate right on time. Then he notice a black body bag being placed into the coroner’s vehicle… he knew it contained his beloved but this time he held back the tears. Then he noticed another black body bag being placed into the same vehicle. Then his mind started spinning.
Blair Anderson watched in horror as the familiar stone facade was shown on the screen of his study’s TV. He himself couldn’t comprehend the scene. There were a ton of speculations from various reports but no true facts as of yet. His wife was upstairs getting ready for the day and oblivious as to what was happening at the Carson’s residence. The phone rang.
“Yes.”
“Blair are you watching this?”
“Yes, anybody try calling Floyd?”
“No answer, what do you suppose is happening?”
“I have no fucking clue but we need to get everyone together and fast… . did you see that?”
“What?”
“This doesn’t look good… not at all, I just saw two body bags being placed into the coroner’s vehicle… . this isn’t good.”
“Do you think it was Floyd and Grace?”
“Jesus, I don’t know what to think… . god no… not them, not now… .”
Although his immediate concern was for the Carsons, He’d be lying if he didn’t think about the elections, with his top notch sidekick who was more popular than he was, his bid for the White House would end here. He had to find out what was going on and do it fast.
“Okay, send Eric to the house and the rest of the gang come here, I want everybody here by ten after, you got that?” and hung up the phone, then he went in search of his wife to fill her in.
At the exact time Blair was trying to piece together what he saw, across town in the President’s study; news was coming in at a rapid pace. The President already had confirmed two deaths, one to Mrs. Carson and the other at the moment is still a John Doe. He gathered his papers, jotted down a few notes, and went directly to the cabinet room just off the Oval Office. In Washington things happen fast, the room was full with only one key member missing… . Scott, but he was in route. The President didn’t wait.
“People, Mrs. Carson and an unknown were found murdered in the master bedroom with what appears to be a torrid affair.”
The room fell silent; none of them had that much detail, and most assumed it was both Carsons.
“The Press is going to have a field day and all sorts of speculations and rumors are going to surface. We need to cover every detail, no stone unturned.”
“Mr. President,” William Briddle, press secretary, spoke “This could go either way for the election, sympathetic ears might sway towards Anderson, that is unless Floyd killed them, but even if he didn’t do it he might be too much of a head case to continue and we all know that Floyd was the main event.”
Just then Scott walked in, sat down in his regular seat and without missing a beat, injected “What if they try to pin this on our presidency?”
“Excuse me?” the President bellowed.
“Exactly what I said, we have to cover all angles which I assumed you already said, well the one angle that scares the shit out of me, is the angle that we had something to do with it.”
“If that rumor somehow escaped this meeting that stone will gather moss quickly, we could forget staffing this office in the next election, and probably any republicans in any following for an awfully long time,” voiced the Press Secretary.
“By the way Scott, it was not angles but stones,” as the President glared in his direction with somewhat of a hidden meaning, “and yes we need to cover our tracks in that direction as well.”
“We need to come up with a statement for you, a sincere condolence, and as soon as possible.”
“True, but the American public doesn’t even know what happened yet.”
“Mr. President, that cat just got out of the bag as we speak, CNN.”
“Start writing Kathy, okay we have seventy-six days until the election, we have a campaign that is on the ropes, we have a lot to do, we’ll meet back in here at eleven, I want a speech, I want as many answers as possible, I want solutions… and Scott, I want you in my office now… and Stacy, cancel everything on my plate for the next three days at least.”