. . .
Chapter 43
The 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.
. . .
Chapter 44
If 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.
Take the Fourth Page 27