Death in Eden Ch. 06

Returning to Leesburg from the prep school in Syria shortly before 5 pm, I went to the county office building and to find Peter Blair in his police department office. I decided not to tell him that his "rape" victim in the Wallace case lacked just a tad bit of credibility as a victim of molestation—and probably wouldn't half try to lie about it on the stand. First, that case was just about as dead as Wallace was, and, more important, Jason Dabney's testimony to me erased Peter's own alibi for the time of the murder. I was still bothered that Peter had let Warren Dabney spin that lie for me, so I decided to keep whatever cards I could get close to my chest for a while.

After I'd checked in at the reception desk in the county office and before Peter sent down for me, I decided to check another thing that had bothered me one more time and, showing my credentials and the letter that assigned me to the Wallace case, asked to be admitted to the basement morgue again to take another look at Wallace's body.

Peter found me there in the morgue and gave me a funny look when he walked in. That I was standing next to the gurney with Wallace's body on it and putting my shirt back on probably had something to do with that. What had bothered me earlier hadn't been dispelled upon a second look.

"Don't worry, Peter," I said to his questioning look. "Wallace and I haven't been having the sex of the dead. I just wanted to recheck something."

Blair didn't pursue the point, and I didn't fill him in on anything either.

"Glad you're back," he said. "Just in time to stop for a drink and then to my place for dinner and a little—"

"No thanks, I'll pass for tonight, I'm afraid," I cut him off, knowing what he was going to suggest for later. "I'm bushed and it's a long drive back to Rosslyn."

"You know you can stay at my—"

"Thanks," I cut him off again. "But I need some separation while I process, and for the very reason you brought me down here, appearances require that we not be in bed together—in either the literal or literary sense. Not the least is because you're still a suspect."

"Still a suspect?" Peter blustered. "This afternoon, we—"

"Yes, well that was this afternoon, Peter. The Dabney kid tossed out your alibi. He said he was with his father on the evening of the murder and that you weren't. What's the truth of that, Peter?"

He stood there, dumbfounded. I'd surprised him with the question, which was exactly what I had intended to do. He didn't think fast enough on his feet. He just stood there, his jaw working, but no sound coming out.

"That's what I thought, Peter. The kid sounded like he was giving an honest answer. So, do you want to tell me why you let Dabney give you a false alibi here, sort of informal, or should we go back to your office for a more formal deposition?"

"Dabney calls the shots around here," Peter finally said. "He said he wanted to keep it all simple—and he didn't want to own up to his son being anywhere near this part of the state that evening. So, I just went with it. He calls the shots."

"Yes, I got that impression—about him calling the shots," I said. "You weren't such a pushover in New York, Peter. You had more balls there. But it's pretty cushy here in the rich Eden for Washington, D.C., isn't it? It's so easy to sell out down here, isn't it."

"Fuck you," Blair said with some heat, his fists balled up and his face getting a little red.

"Not tonight, thanks," I answered. "So, do you want to tell me where you were between 10 p.m. and midnight the night before last, Peter? I can't write a half-assed report, or the feds will be all over this case. You're the one who brought me down here to do this."

"I was home, alone, in bed. Where I am almost every night. That's been my late evening ever since you left me, Clint. Nice alibi, right?"

"It will have to do for now," I answered. "If you come up with anything that will strengthen that claim, I'm sure you'll tell me. In the meantime, I guess you know we'd better cool it and not be seen as too chummy—for your own good."

"Yeah, I guess so," Peter said. And the regret in his voice was palpable.

"That doesn't mean you can't visit me one of these evenings at the Marriott in Rosslyn, of course," I then said, softening up a bit. "Just to compare notes or something."

"Yes, I'd like that," Blair said in a quiet voice.

"But not tonight, OK?" I said. "I really do need to do some thinking and sleeping tonight. Whatever comes out of this investigation, I'll only have a couple of days to do what it is I've got to do."

And that was that for Peter and me for that evening.

* * * *

I was beat when I opened the door of my room at the Marriott. It was pitch black in there. When the room attendant had turned down the bed, she'd closed the curtains. That was a little irritating. I checked in here to get the panorama of the Mall from the Washington Monument to the Capitol building, which was as impressive at night as it was during the day, and, besides, it made me grope for the light switch. I had no idea which side of the door it was on.

It wasn't to the right. When I turned to run my hands on the wall to the left, I gasped as a fist of steel wrapped itself around my wrist. This was followed by a pull on my arm that turned me and slammed me down into an armed desk chair, taking me completely by surprise and knocking the wind out of me.

I had little time to react. My assailant was far stronger than I was. He also was stark naked, and soon I was as good as naked too. Holding me in a choke hold with one massive hand gripping my neck in a way that had me concentrating foremost in getting the next breath, he was ripping my shirt open and pulling my trousers off.

Letting go of the chokehold, he spread and lifted my thighs over the arms of the chair, and his mouth possessed my mouth in yet another breath-taking maneuver. He had thick, lubricated fingers at my ass while he gripped the hair at the back of my head with the other hand and arched me back on the chair back.

And then he was coming down onto the seat of the chair on his knees between my spread legs and was forcing a plump bulb of a thick cock at my hole—and thrusting inside me and spreading my channel walls wide and heading far up into me.

By the time his lips and teeth and gone down my neck and he was snuffling up into one of my pits and I felt him licking and nipping me hard there, I realized that I was being fucked by Jentel Huff, the starting fullback. After that I just relaxed and went with the fuck. When he got tired of taking me from the front, spread over the arms of the desk chair, he turned me, with my knees pushing into the back of the chair seat and him covering me from behind, my legs close together now, and his cock churning ever deeper inside my tightened hole. His fingernails were digging into the aureoles of my nipples and his face was buried in my other pit, biting and sucking me there in my tender underarm when I ejaculated and felt him jerk and fill the bulb of his condom as well.

Later, while he was side-splitting me languidly on the bed, taking his time now after his initial full-field assault, he started quizzing me on my day. He told me about his—a day of hard hitting and pattern running at the Redskins' practice field in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, D.C., and then he wanted an equally detailed description of my day.

I gave him a general gist of it, but I didn't tell him that Peter Blair had fucked me or that a prep school youth had wanted me to fuck him. I gave him enough detail to let him know I'd been busy, but I didn't tell him everything by any means. But there were other things I wanted to know myself.

"How'd you get in here, Jentel? And should I expect a reception like this every night?" I barely managed to get that out, though, because he was stroking me deep and strong now. "Oh, god, oh, god," I murmured with a gasp. "Oh, yes, there. Just like that. Oh, GOD!"

"I can get . . . uh, uh . . . that's soooo sweet . . . into just about anywhere I want. As long as I'm recognized. And it's hard not being recognized in this town. Oh, no you don't . . ."

I had rolled away from him, wanting to turn on the light on the nightstand, but he gathered me back in his strong arms and sent his cock deep up my channel.

"I just wanted to turn on the light," I said. "I want to see you stroking inside me. God, it's beautiful."

That had impressed him. He let me reach over and turn on the light and then he raised my leg so I could get a good view of his long, thick cock moving in and out of my hole.

"Oh, God, Oh GOD!" I cried out and shuddered. As I watched, he fisted my cock, and I spouted off for him within a matter of a few seconds.

We lay there, spent, and then I asked the zinger. "Didn't I see you in a Hummer leaving the Spring Hill Prep School grounds down in Syria this afternoon?"

I heard him suck in air and his grip on me tighten, from behind, his body stretched along my back. Then he relaxed, and I knew he had decided what he wanted to say.

"Yeah, I was there. My brother, Devin, recently transferred from there down to another school further south. I still had some financial business to clear up with them at Spring Hill. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no particular reason," I answered as nonchalantly as I could. "I just thought I saw you and wondered why."

At least he hadn't made up an elaborate lie, I thought. Awfully peculiar that coincidence of meeting up with him and winding up in bed with him when his younger brother had some connection to the case I'm working on. Just a little worrying.

Jentel let me take a shower then. Or at least he let me get into the shower and turn the water on. As I was soaping up, the shower curtain was being jerked aside and he had my belly to the slick, wet wall tiles and my feet off the ground, as he got his thighs between and under mine and was pushing my belly and chest up and down on the tiles with the strength of the plowing of his cock, while he got his face into one of my pits, raising my arm over my head, and attacked my tender flesh with his teeth.