by J. L. Hickey
That’s when he saw the email sent earlier in the day from forensics. Somehow, he’d missed the incoming notification. This was big. He’d been waiting for the clearance, and the entire murder may have been filmed. If not, it had the potential of getting inside the mind of the killer. What was on those videos? Suddenly, the achy, tired body of the forty-nine-year-old Detective was refueled with adrenaline. One more night on the dusty old love seat wouldn’t kill him. Waiting until tomorrow to watch the video would.
He texted Clent and Vanessa immediately, asking them both if they’d like to join him in the viewing. Vanessa was quick to pass, it was her night off, and she didn’t care to see the potential gruesome scene. He didn’t blame her. Clent was more curious. Texted simply “OMW.” That was a half-hour ago. Pike waited eagerly, like a young kid on Christmas morning waiting for his lazy parents to wake up. He already plugged the USB drive into his computer. He wasted no time in checking it out of evidence.
Ten minutes came and went before Clent finally knocked on his office door.
“C’mon in,” Pike waved, not moving from his desk chair. “I got it loaded already, did you bring the popcorn?”
“Funny,” Clent let out a forced chuckle. “Midnight viewing, huh? Just the two of us?” Clent entered the Office. Again, he was dressed in his street clothes. Off duty meant on duty under the right circumstances. He didn’t need to be geared up to watch alongside Detective Pike. He was honored just to get the text. This was his case too. He saw firsthand what the mad man was capable of doing.
“Vanessa passed. I think she is still adjusting to the crime scene, and if what I think is on these tapes, she probably wasn’t ready for it anyway.” Pike stood up, firmly shook Clent’s hand.
“Fair enough, why so late?”
“I got the email earlier in the day, just didn’t get a chance to check it before now. Took them long enough to clear it,” Pike responded. “Pull up a chair, and brace yourself, this could get messy.”
Clent nodded, pulled up a small metal folding chair from the opposite side of Pike’s office that was leaned up against the side of the Love Seat. He unfolded it and took a seat. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“All right,” Pike took the mouse in his hand, hovered over the play button, clicked it. He then maximized the Media Player window and sat back, clearing his voice.
The video feed was high quality, shot in 4k ultra high definition from two angles. They were watching just one video. It was shot from a tripod, focused directly on the pulley machine that Dennis Simmons used as a sexual device to restrain himself or his partners. Before any sexual acts occurred, the two men sat together on two-fold out chairs in front of the pulley set up. It was easy to tell who the two men were, Dennis Simmons, who wore a one-piece latex suit that covered his torso and bottom half. Gary Thom was the second man in the scene. He was only wearing a single white linen robe.
“Dennis and Gary, first time together. Gary’s first time being a sub. We’ve already discussed our safe word, Gary, do you mind?” Dennis asked.
“Trump,” Gary gave a nervous smile. “Because, when is enough, enough?”
They both chuckled.
“So, as always, we signed a contract,” Dennis lifted a clipboard from his side, attached to it was a legal document. “My personal lawyer printed this up. Standard, I always use them. It’s a contract that states this is a consensual act between two adults. That the filming of said acts is for my personal enjoyment, and that under no means, will this video be distributed or ever recreated outside of its source material. If, in doing so, well, I would owe Mr. Thom here a handsome sum of money. Everything is signed and dotted. But, before we begin, and knowing that it is your first time,” Dennis placed his hand on Gary’s thigh gently. “You can still opt-out, and we can have the boring stuff outside of the film.”
“No, I’m nervous but excited,” Gary replied. He smiled wide, nervously rubbing his hands on his thighs.
The film continued. It was an awkward watch for Clent and Pike. Definitely a homemade movie, very raw, authentic. They watched, Pike taking notes per usual. The video showed two men engaged in sexually explicit bondage for roughly twenty-five minutes. Detective Pike had seen Gay porn in his life, not by choice, but it’s something that everyone at some point stumbles upon. He was very much a man rooted in his conservative mindset. He didn’t quite care for homosexuality; in fact, he quite despised it after it reared its ugly head into his family. He worked with only a few of “their kind” in his career. Made it a point to stay out of their personal lives. He kept it professional. But that didn’t mean that when all was said and done (sitting there awkwardly with Clent watching these two men do disturbing and graphic things to one another) that he felt comfortable or okay with what was happening.
The video neared its end running time when the sexual fantasy and bondage finally stopped. Pike paused the video. He swallowed hard. The two hadn’t spoken; they sat in silence as they watched the video. There were only a few minutes left of the recorded tape.
“What did we just watch,” Pike stomach soured.
“Well,” Clent rubbed his eyes. “No killing.”
“That was difficult to watch.”
“I mean, I don’t watch gay porn personally, but all I saw were two men hooking up. Yeah, they had some weird kinks, pretty intense for me. But, hey, we all have our desires when the lights turn out, right? Who am I to judge as long as it was consensual?”
“Is that so?” Pike stroked his salt and peppered stubble on his chin. It had been days since he shaved, he was in the itchy phase of a beard growing in. He found himself rubbing it often in the last few days.
“Let’s not fool ourselves,” Clent cracked his knuckles, cleared his voice. “You don’t have to be a gay man to practice BDSM, bondage, whatever it is we just saw. I have gone to strip clubs, lots of times before I was married. I saw some shit, weird shit, chicks poppin’ grapes out their pussies into guys mouths, backroom specials, clown night. You name it, and there’s someone out there into it. This right here? What’s on this tape, it isn’t that crazy. Crazy to you and me? Sure. Because it’s not us, we’re not into it. But this was just a sexual encounter with toys and some dude who went to long lengths to build a pulley system allowing him control over his partner. This isn’t a crime, there was nothing even there, to me at least, that would leave me to believe that Gary Thom was capable of murdering those two people. He looked nervous, he looked like he was the one that wasn’t in control, and obviously, he wasn’t. Not in this video, it was easy to tell who was the sub and dom.”
“Are you suggesting that what we just saw wasn’t abnormal? Those men doing sadistic and abusive things to one another? You saw the same thing, right? That was violent, that looked very much to me like they both had some sort of mental illness. Normal people don’t do that,” Pike retorted.
“Agree to disagree, Detective. Normal people do that; normal people do a lot of weird stuff. Shit Pike, I have a thing for my wife’s feet. Turns me on. Am I weird or crazy? Am I more likely to be a murderer because I find my wife’s feet sexy? This is not a mental issue, not in the larger sense of the word, at least. I promise you that. If people saw this, people in this town, yeah, you’re damn right, they would probably vilify them both. Because you and I both know, our county here is closed-minded. We’re not progressive. You’re not gay in Emmet County. You move far from here before you come out of the closet. Or you live a double life like Mr. Simmons here.”
“Yeah, okay…” Pike shook his head. The video made him feel sick, dirty, it was disgusting. Clent made a good point, though. It didn’t matter how it made him feel; the video they watched didn’t show a murder or even a motive. It showed consensual adults engaging in sexual activities in the privacy of Mr. Simmons’s
home.
“This doesn’t help us much, does it?” Clent stood up, folding the chair.
“Look, we know some new things. It tells us stuff either we didn’t know or presumed. For starters, the wife wasn’t a part of this. Not with the sexual stuff. We know, from the timestamp of the video, this was filmed the first night Gary made it to Dennis’ home. We know that this was filmed in the late evening. I think it was around six pm, maybe seven. That being said, the film was what? A half-hour long, give or take? We’re pretty sure both Simmons were dead for two days before we found them. That leaves the rest of the night after the filming until the following evening that the murder would have had to occur. That gives him the window of two days before you and Vanessa knock on their door.”
“We have a rough timeline,” Clent added. “That’s good.”
“Yep,” Pike was jotting down more notes. “So, what happened in the next twenty-four hours that turned Gary here in a psycho killer? That’s still speculation. However, we know it wasn’t an accident during the sexual act.”
“You stopped the video before it ended?”
“I did,” Pike nodded. He clicked play.
The two men walked out of the frame for roughly 90 seconds before returning on-screen wearing terry cloth bathrobes. They brought with them folding chairs; they both set them up, taking a seat in front of the camera. Dennis spoke first.
“That was fun,” he was slightly out of breath. “I very much enjoyed that; I hope you did too.”
“Yes, I wasn’t sure what to expect, very anxious going in, but,” Gary nervously laughed, almost embarrassed to talk about it, “I would do it again. I’m glad I tried it.”
“So am I,” Dennis smiled, he reached his hand out, rubbing Gary’s shoulder.
“I have a few more days, so I am sure we can find some more fun things to experiment with while I’m here,” he spoke into the camera.
“And we have another little adventure tonight, this one won’t be as physically pleasing, but it should be fun” Dennis raised his eyebrows like an evil scientist from a cheesy eighty’s horror movie “Scaaaaary,” he joked.
“I’m just as excited!” Gary smiled; he rubbed his hands together playfully. “We’re going to the infamous Leveille Murder House to look around,” he exclaimed.
“That we are,” Dennis smiled, still breathing a bit heavy. He wiped some perspiration from his forehead away with the back of his forearm. He stood up and walked towards the camera. “Let’s clean up, and we’ll head over. Remember,” he looked into the camera with a devilish grin, “Don’t tell my wife.”
Both men chuckled as the video feed was cut.
“Well,” Pike nodded. He clicked his pen, buried his face back into his legal pad.
“That was interesting,” Clent added. “The Murder House?” he mused aloud.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Pike smiled.
“I think I am,” Clent added. “But I don’t understand why.”
SIXTEEN
Gary Thom was twenty-six years old, fresh out of college, living at his parents’ home, still trying to find his place in the world. He graduated from Saginaw Valley State University with a Nursing Degree and had been applying for jobs all summer, unable to land anything worthwhile.
Frustrating.
He had the degree, yet he lacked real-world experience—a proverbial catch-22. So, there he sat, wasting away the prime years of his life in his parent’s basement. Closer to thirty than twenty, working a shit job as a receptionist for a local hair salon. His life was sad, depression set in.
Loser.
It was supposed to get better outside of High School.
That’s what everyone told him. It was at first, his college years turned out great. Partying, finding himself, making dumb mistakes as all college kids did. Gary never liked girls sexually growing up. He understood this at a very young age. Middle and High School proved tough. He was picked on a lot due to his feminine nature, his soft voice, his frail figure. He cared little for sports, even less about cars and hunting as his father had hoped. He found interest in fashion, technology, and a passion for music.
Gary made the drive across state to visit the man he befriended over the internet. He was nervous, excited. He’d kissed his mother and hugged his father before he left. They’d never be comfortable with him going for a week to spend time with a man he’d met online. Instead, he told them this trip was for a business opportunity and mini-vacation wrapped into one.
They were excited for him.
Gary met the man on a website called ‘Scruff.’ Gary was curious, adventurous. He was still learning about his sexual nature and was willing to try new things. He had put off signing up but bookmarked the site. One very dull and equally depressing night, he stumbled across the old favorited website from years back. Bored and curious, he browsed its contents.
His interest was piqued. Gary quickly made a profile, added a few photos of himself. One was an upper-body shot. He’d try to take care of himself, watched what he ate, was proud of his body. He’d chosen selfies for the remaining two photos, showing off his personal best feature, his million-dollar smile.
It only took a few days before an interesting man had sent him a message. His name was Dennis, some fancy businessman from up north. The site allowed users to rate the person’s profile based on experiences with the user on the site and IRL, a fancy internet term for In Real Life. Dennis had glowing reviews from many men, a user on the website for over five years. It was like an amazon site for gay men, with a strong subculture into bondage and BDSM, which this Dennis character played in a large part of.
This had Gary feeling, probably a bit more comfortable than he should have been, speaking with a stranger over the internet. Basically, because of the high ranking on the site for Dennis, he realized this guy was probably not a lunatic, wasn’t catfishing people, and seemed like a nice guy looking to meet up with other men to experiment with. Of course, he’d heard the horror stories about the Craigslist killings, the Grindr murders, like that guy in Canada who killed that poor Asian kid, chopped up his body and mailed it all over the country. But he would be smart, careful, have a plan in place. You can never be too cautious these days–crazies lived everywhere, hiding in plain sight.
It was two months ago when Dennis first messaged Gary. They chatted almost daily through the site. After a month, they exchanged phone numbers, began texting, talking multiple times a week. They built up a relationship, a friendship, slowly getting to know each other. Dennis was forthcoming. He was a married man, who had a child in college, loved his family, but favored the attention of men. If his wife found out, he’d be ruined, and he made sure everyone he met with understood his intentions, and he was cautious of who he invited into his life.
Gary exited off the highway. He was now in Emmett County. His GPS gave him another twenty minutes before he would pull up into Dennis’s driveway. There were rules. He studied them to heart.
He was to play the role of an out of town business partner.
He was staying for a week for a convention in town they would both be going to.
Dennis made sure Gary understood that although he might not be faithful to his wife, that he still loved her and his son. Very open, very truthful. Gary respected that. He’d also showed Gary photos of his playroom, was open about his taste for BDSM as a dom. This thrilled Gary. The thought of being sexually at this man’s disposal was more of a turn-on than anything.
There on the right-hand side of the road. A large beautiful two-story home, very modern, expensive. He saw Dennis’ BMW in the driveway. This was the place. A lump in his throat formed, his stomach knotted with anxiety.
He pulled up, and
the front door opened. Dennis came out with a broad smile, followed by his wife, drink in hand, also with a smile. She was pretty, petite, in her early fifties. Her hair was done up cute with lovely blonde curls—the picture-perfect happily married couple.
“Welcome! How was the trip!” Dennis met Gary at his car, grabbing his bags for him.
“Hello,” Gary exited the vehicle. He shook Dennis’ hand, firm, warm. His wife offered a hug, careful not to spill her drink.
“I always get so excited when Dennis has friends come to visit,” Nora sipped her drink. Gary couldn’t tell what it was, but it was definitely mixed, and it was only noon. “He’s been so lonely since Brandon went off to college. Nobody to play with.”
“Nora, dear, please,” Dennis looked somewhat embarrassed.
“I’m very grateful to you both for hosting me,” Gary was slightly guilt-ridden, lying to this man’s wife, but he did so anyway, and he did it convincingly well. “I’m excited to get my hands dirty with that Camaro,” he smiled playfully at Dennis.
“As am I,” Dennis laughed. “Plenty of time for that later, though, please come in. Let’s get comfortable. A drink or two?” Dennis was cute. Older than Gary by at least twenty years, but kept in good shape, rugged, handsome look of an early two-thousands George Clooney. Gary didn’t mind that at all. Salt and pepper hair, strong thick shoulders.
“No offense, I didn’t know you had friends so young,” Nora waived the men into the home. “You look like a baby,” she said, smiling.
“That’s kind,” Gary smiled. “I’m not that young, but I get that a lot. It’s my babyface,” he joked. The lies came easy now.
“You can’t be a day over twenty-five?” Nora walked carefully up the front porch.