Case of the Murdered Chessplayer Ch. 01

The order of my stories to read is:

Todd & Melina series, Interludes 1-5, Sperm Wars series, Russian Roulette series,

Case of the Murdered Lovers series,

Case of the Murdered Chessplayer series

Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.

Part 1 - Prologue

The only light in the room were the candles he had lit, punctuated at times with flashes of lightning in the distance. The room was dark and quiet, except for the couple's heavy breathing, the squeaks of the bed, and the delicious staccato slaps of flesh on flesh as they mated with lust-filled abandoned.

Todd held the woman's hips as he pumped his huge meat in and out of her hot, sopping wet twat. They were fucking dogstyle. He looked down at the woman beneath him. Her body was incredibly fine, he thought as he admired her shapely back, her body tapering to a smaller waist before her hips expanded back into her marvelous, mouth-watering asscheeks. What a wonderfully magnificent hourglass shape... and what a fantastic, truly great ass! Todd thought as he vigorously buried his cockmeat to the hilt in eagerly receptive cunt, withdrew quickly and slammed forward again. He'd rarely felt asscheeks as sweet as this woman's against his taut, muscular groin.

And she was an incredibly hot fuck, too... she was pushing back to meet each deep thrust of his huge cock as he shoved it into her, her cunt greedily swallowing his thick, throbbing inches of hard male meat. No wonder Jack was tapping her for a year, Todd thought as he steadily and powerfully pumped her, fucking her tight wet cunt into a creamy lather.

The thought of Jack, who he now knew was his brother, saddened the young stud. We could've been a great team, Jack! Todd thought to the spirit of his brother in the Universe. I would've been your wingman any day, Jack. God, think of all the women we would've fucked! And to think I never knew... and grew up with that piece of dog shit Ned. God! what a waste! he thought as he began fucking the lovely woman beneath him harder. God, what an ass this babe has. I'll bet Uncle Don would love to fuck this ass, but she's giving it to me instead. Damn, Jack, you were tapping this every night...

She was taking every stroke of Todd's huge meat, pushing those magnificent asscheeks back to meet each of the teen stud's powerful thrusts, enjoying the feel of every inch of that huge cock invading her womanly depths to the hilt. She was comparing Todd, his cock, and his fucking, to her memories of the boy's brother Jack. Oh, those wonderful memories...

The woman was Police Detective Teresa Croyle, a.k.a. "Teresa Cunt".

As she took Todd's thrusts from behind, her head in the pillows on the bed, she was having her own conversation with Jack in her head. Oh Jack, why didn't you let me know you were in town? Why didn't you come to me instead of those other women? Jack, I would've loved you, loved you like I did when you were living with me and my husband... oh Jack, now you're gone and I can't even try to have your baby anymore, oh oh oh....

"I'm close, baby." Todd warned. "Do you want me to come inside you?"

"Oh yesss..... come inside me, stud! Shoot it up into me, all of it!" Teresa ordered. It only took a few strokes for Todd to comply.

"Oh yeah, oh YEAH!!! Unh, I'm coming baby." Todd gasped. "Oh.... OH GOD! UNNH! UUUUH!!!!" the young stud gasped as sank balls-deep into Teresa and his big load of hot, sticky semen jetted from his cock and into her deep, spasming cunt. She moaned as her orgasm overtook her, one of a wave of climaxes that Todd's huge cock and her memories of Jack had provided during this intense coupling with this young stud.. with Jack's younger brother...

As they collapsed to the bed, Todd took Teresa into his arms. She snuggled into him, her ass gently pressing into his groin, but beginning to return to the cold, aloof, unfeeling bitch she had been for so long.

"How was it, babe?" Todd asked.

Teresa turned around to face him, trying to make the uncaring attitude go away. She caressed Todd's youngish, handsome face. "It was good, babe... but I've got to be honest with you... you're not him. You're a great fuck and I really enjoy being with you, but you're not him and never will be."

"That's okay," Todd said, understanding, and feeling compassion for her. He could feel Teresa's loneliness, wondering what had caused it. "But I'm here when you need me. He'd want me to take care of you."

"And you do take care of me, in bed anyway." Teresa said, attempting a smile. Todd kissed her mouth, deeply and slid his body onto hers, hungry for another deeply passionate fuck, but he was remembering those shocking, life-changing moments from such a short time ago... unaware that his uncle was having the same thoughts of the same events at the same time in the middle of the night...

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Earlier that evening... as if denoting the time, at exactly 11:30pm a crack of lightning exploded nearby, followed by the sound of a transformer blowing echoing in the air. The power to the neighborhood went out, throwing the street into near-total darkness.

The rain poured down in sheets, heavy and unrelenting. Waves of rain and water moved sideways, pushed by the winds. Bursts of lightning lit up the sky with an eerie bluish light for the briefest of instants, followed by the loud claps of thunder.

The rain did not let up at all as the four men took advantage of the darkness to scurry to out of the apartment and to their cars. As three drove off, one man sat alone in his car, watching the apartment... and waiting.

Inside the apartment, candles illuminated the room, throwing eerie light and shadows across the two people still present.

"Yes, we have an agreement on that." said Kurchikov, his English good but his accent thick. He was a hard young Russian with black hair, sitting on the sofa. Already a promising chess master in Russia, he was also representing his Russian drug mob masters at this meeting. "Mr. Sergei Molotov wants revenge on him as much as you do. He will be well taken care of, I assure you."

"I'm glad to hear that." said the woman, standing on the other side of the coffee table in front of the sofa. Kurchikov admired the woman's legs, made more shapely by her high heel pumps. He felt the first stirrings of desire in his loins.

"It's very wet outside." Kurchikov said. "Why don't you stay here with me until the rain passes. Vodka?" He poured a shot from the bottle into one of two shot glasses on the table. Next to the glasses was Kurchikov's chess set, the pieces and board made of elegant, expensive woods.

"No thank you. And I'll just have to endure the rain. It's getting late and I must go." said the woman, tightening the belt of her raincoat. "I'll leave by the back door." With that, she turned and disappeared into the kitchen as Kurchikov downed a shot of premium Grey Goose vodka. French, not the Russian swill that he hated. He poured and drank another shot, looking at the chessboard and thinking of a sequence of moves from a recent game.

Suddenly, his head went up; he'd heard a sound in the kitchen of the door being opened and shut. Thinking that his recently departed guest had returned, he called out. There was no reply, but was that the faint sound of a drawer being opened?

"Who is there?" Kurchikov demanded as he got up and strode to the kitchen. "Why it's you-- UHHH!... AAAUGH!" The knife flashed out and took Kurchikov in the abdomen. It was quickly withdrawn and stabbed at him again, this time striking him in the chest, penetrating his lung. A third blow, savagely delivered, sliced into his aorta. Kurchikov was a dead man walking.

"AAAUGH! Ughglglgl" the Russian mobster gurgled, blood seeping out of his mouth as he turned and ran back into the living room. He had only seconds to act. His back shielded his movements from his attacker as he moved two chess pawns on the chess set.

That final act drained the last of his strength and he collapsed face down onto the floor next to the table and the chess set. He did not feel the killer grab his hair, lift his head, and slice his throat.

Part 2 - The Crime Scene

12:30am.

"Ohhhh, God." I gasped, sliding my hands under Tanya Perlman's shoulder blades and deeply kissing her. "That was incredible, babe." My cock was still pulsing, pumping the last vestiges of my full climax deep inside Tanya's wet, clutching cunt. I felt the aching tiredness and the pleasing lassitude as my body relaxed and wound down after our deep, hard fuck, which culminated our date for the evening.

We were in my bed in The Cabin. Laura had said she had to go to a meeting that was called on very short notice. She gave no details, but I saw the airline ticket she printed off the computer screen; she was flying to Washington, DC. Meanwhile, Melina had told me that she would be having a visitor at her house on the hill. I no longer lived there, so I wondered why she felt the need to tell me, but I didn't dwell on it. Melina and I were divorcing, she could do what she wanted -- and see whoever she wanted.

But it was all good for me, as Tanya Perlman had been aggressively flirting with me and coming on to me. So I told her my evening was free and asked (more like told) her to have dinner and drinks with me. She accepted, with both of us knowing full well where our evening would end up: in bed, fucking each others brains out.

"Mmm, that was great." Tanya said dreamily, her voice and eyes filled with pure lust as she wrapped her arms around my neck. "Not bad for a younger woman, eh?"

"Damn good for a woman of any age." I replied, kissing her again. Our tongues twined for a long moment. She tasted so good.

"I'm glad I was able to get your attention." Tanya said, her eyes gleaming with flirtatious, playful amusement. "From what I'm hearing, you've been showing a preference for tapping those older trophy wives out there. Not to mention your beautiful future wife."

"Well, you're the luscious exception, babe." I said, and to shut her up I began kissing her again. For some time I lay on top of her, cuddling with her and sharing deep kisses with her, my cock softening but still buried inside her sloppy, sperm-filled slot. "I'm just glad I could get you away from Dr. Wellman for an evening."

Tanya giggled. "It's nice to get some fresh... meat.. every once in a while." she said, her eyes flashing brilliant merriment. I shut her up with another deep kiss, feeling my loins beginning to stir for a second round, which would be a long, slow, luxurious fu--

Brrrrrrinnnggg!!!!!

Damn. The cellphone on the bedside rang loudly a second time.

"Oh well," Tanya said, grinning, "At least they let you get your rocks off this time." I laughed, knowing what she meant: on a few occasions the call had come during sex or during the foreplay as I was with a woman. Still lying fully on Tanya, I reached for the phone and answered it.

"It's murder, sir. Looks like someone butchered this guy." said the voice on the other end of the line, and somewhat unprofessionally. It was Officer Pete Feeley, giving the address of an apartment in the industrial sector of the city. Lower middle class, some students.

"Don't let CSI move anything until we get there." I said. Feeley didn't catch the "we", as he didn't know I had Tanya Perlman in my bed and was fucking her. Feeley had something of a crush on Perlman since she'd given him a couple of blowjobs in past weeks.

"Er, I haven't called them yet, sir." Feeley reported. "I wanted to give you the first look at the scene."

"You need to call them right away." I said, trying to keep my patience. Feeley was a good kid, but just trying too hard to please. As I hung up, I told Tanya what was going on.

"Looks like I get to investigate a scene with your cum dripping out of me." Tanya said obscenely, her face a big smile of malicious playfulness. I was long since used to her, so there was no longer any shock effect. Keeping my weight on her and not letting her up, I deeply kissed her mouth again, feeling her hotly return it and twine her tongue with mine...

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We got there right at the same time the CSI people did, and Tanya took charge of them, holding them back so I could look at the scene.

"Patrolman Hicks, have you touched anything?" I asked.

"No sir, other than checking the body to make sure he was dead." Hicks replied. He had light brown hair, looked good in a police uniform, and was a competent but unimaginative officer.

"Feeley?"

"No sir, except for clearing the apartment and then checking the body. We couldn't see his slit throat until we lifted his head." Feeley replied as I put on latex gloves.

I examined the body. I understood what the officers were saying as I gently lifted the head. Only by lifting the head could I see the huge wound. A wallet was quickly found in the dead man's back pocket.

"Kurchikov." I said. "Vladimir Kurchikov. This is an international visitor's drivers license. We need to look for a passport, gentlemen."

"Did you wear gloves when you cleared the place?" I said. Clearing the place meant making sure someone, possibly armed, wasn't hiding inside the place the police officers had entered.

"Yes sir."

"Officer Feeley, evidence collection is time-sensitive. Never delay calling in a Crime Lab unit, even with the best of intentions, is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Okay, let me look around very quickly so we can let you CSI guys in." I said. I examined the room, noting that large splashes of blood were on the floor between the kitchen door and the body. It was lying next to the sofa and table in front of that sofa, feet facing the kitchen, head towards the front window. I got down on my knees and lowered my head to carpet level in several places, but saw no small objects and could discern no footprints.

The dining room table was to the left of the kitchen. I observed that a game of cards had been in progress, and the game and scorekeeping suggested it had been contract bridge. Several people had been smoking: the ashtray was full of cigarette butts.

"Perlman!" I said. "Make sure the CSI guys thoroughly check out these cigarettes. Brands, number of each brand, then bag 'em for DNA testing. There should be prints all over this table and the cards. Okay, I'm done here, the CSI can work with the body and in here. I'll look at the kitchen and bathroom now. And bring the dog in."

The dog was a drug sniffing dog. CSI teams had recently been bringing them to scenes to quickly check for drugs or bombs. I always liked meeting the K-9 Corps sergeants.

"Who is this?" I asked as the dog came into the living room.

"Sergeant Stonewall, sir." his handler said.

"Named after Stonewall Jackson?" I asked.

"Yes sir. General Jackson was an ancestor of mine." the man replied. Why was everyone calling me "sir", I suddenly wondered to myself.

"I see. Hi Stonewall! Ready to help us out?" I said, petting the dog, a handsome German Shepherd. He panted happily, looking eager to please and to get started. The trainer gave a command and the dog started sniffing. During his search of the house, Sergeant Stonewall found one small bag of cocaine in the heater outlet of the bedroom, a small stash of marijuana between the mattresses of the bed, probably for personal use. The dog really got excited in the kitchen, sniffing all around the table, though there were no drugs on it.

"Traces, sir." the handler said. "I'd suggest that there were drugs in appreciable quantity on this table in the recent past."

"Thanks." I said, continuing my own examination. The kitchen had yielded some items of interest. The backdoor was locked. A drawer under the countertop was half open, it was a drawer full of knives. The kitchen table's ashtray was also full of cigarettes and also a cigar butt.

Entering the bathroom, I saw only toilet items that made the deduction obvious that a man lived in this apartment. I saw nothing else, but inhaled-- and detected a distinct odor of perfume. I sniffed around, and the odor was a bit stronger, though faint, on the far wall.

"Perlman!" I yelled out. She hurried in. "Do you smell perfume?"

"Yes." she said, sniffing. I pointed at the far wall and she smelled it there, also. She immediately yelled for a Crime Scene team member to bring a dry cloth kit, and had the man wipe down the walls and bag the samples, hoping to get something.

"Okay, we have a woman's presence, and recently." I said. Just then the CSI team leader, a guy I called "Labcoat", called for us. We returned to the main room.

"We're about to turn over the body." he said. As he knelt near the head, I stopped him.

"Hold on." I said. "Let me look at this table more closely. Did you touch anything on it?"

"Not yet. I'm going to have a man dust those glasses and the bottle for fingerprints, so don't touch them." Labcoat said.

"What about the chess set? Did you touch it?" I asked, excitement growing inside me.

"No sir."

"Anyone in here touch this chess set? I really need to know!" I said loudly. Everyone looked at me funny, but all of them said they hadn't touched it.

"Feeley! Hicks!" the two officers came up from the front door. "Did either of you touch this chess set?" Both of them said no.

I called the CSI photographer over and instructed her to take pictures of that chess set being sure the photos clearly showed where every piece was. Then I told Labcoat and Perlman to note the square each piece was on, then dust the set for fingerprints.

"What do you see here, Feeley?" I asked the young officer. He wanted to be a Detective; it was time to see if he had what it took.

"Uh, a chess set, sir." Feeley replied. "Is there something in particular?"

"Look at it man, look at it!" I replied. Feeley looked, and Tanya also peered at it, knowing that my attention to it meant something.

There was blood on a couple of the pieces and drops on the board. Spatters of blood from wounds were on the edge of the board. The pieces were arranged as at the start of the game, but with one white pawn moved to the square "c4" and one black pawn moved to the square "b6", as so:

I had to work hard to hide my disappointment that Feeley didn't seem to catch on at all. Tanya's eyes gleamed a bit and she took a picture of the set with her iPhone camera as I looked around the front of the room and out the front window.

I strode to the back, where the CSI team had dusted the door for fingerprints. When they were done, I opened the door. Metal stairs descended to the ground from the left side of a metal landing. Everything was wet from the falling rain. I used a strong light to see if any traces were left, but there were none in the rain, and no footprints in the grass around the gravel walkway that led to where a car was parked.

Once inside, I found that they had turned the body over. A huge pool of blood was soaked into the carpet, and for the first time we could see several stab wounds.

"One of them got the aorta, from what I can see here." the Medical Examiner said. He had just arrived. I trusted his word; he was an expert, with years of training and experience in wounds, which included combat medicine during his stint in the military. He wore his Combat Medical Badge on his hat in a similar way that I wore my Airborne wings on mine.

"Okay, I'm done here." I said to Perlman after one last brief look around.

"Already?" said Tanya Perlman.

"Yep."

"Anything you can point out to us, sir? Feeley asked. He listened intently, but it was too late now; he had not done well in this opportunity.