Second Hand Susan

"To make a long story short, I interviewed the wife again and told her we thought the lover was the killer. She sort of smiled, just for half a second, but that was enough to tell me she wasn't telling the truth about what happened. If she'd really been a grieving wife, she'd have done anything except smile.

"I asked her if she knew where the hatchet came from. She said it was her husband's and that he used on camping trips. I'm allowed to lie when I question a suspect in order to get them to tell me the truth. The techs had told me the handle and hatchet head had been wiped clean with some sort of solvent that removed everything, and if she was the killer, the woman would have known that. I said we'd found DNA on the handle of the hatchet that matched the DNA from hairs we'd taken from her hairbrush.

The wife said that wasn't possible because she'd never touched the hatchet. I just shrugged and said it was nearly impossible to remove all the DNA on an object and that DNA didn't lie, so she must have. I then said we'd found fingerprints on the hatchet head as well, but couldn't match them to the lover. I asked if she'd ever been fingerprinted and she said she hadn't. I told her I'd have to take her to get her fingerprints taken and started to stand up. She started to cry then, and after a few minutes told me what had really happened.

"She wanted to kill her husband but couldn't figure out a way to do it without implicating herself. She really wanted the lover and she wanted the insurance her husband carried so they'd have some money. She'd come home from shopping earlier that day in order to make sure the lover was there.

He was there just like she'd hoped. She drove on by the house and went to the store she'd told me about, then waited until the time she usually came home from shopping. The lover had gone by then.

She walked into the bedroom and saw the messed up bed just like she figured she would. Then she told her husband she'd tell his boss about his boyfriend if he didn't start having sex with her instead of another man. Apparently he agreed to do it. She told him she wanted to start right then. He started for the bedroom but she said she wanted it there on the living room floor and told him to lay down on his back in front of the couch. Once he did, she straddled him. While she was playing cowgirl, she pulled the hatchet out from under the couch cushion where she'd hidden it and hit him in the forehead with it."

Veronica grinned.

"Like they say, 'Hell hath no fury'."

"Yeah, but it doesn't happen that way often and when it does it's usually not that gory. Women don't like causing a mess when they kill someone. I could sort of understand though. That woman was raving by the time she finished telling me her story. When I was married, if my wife had liked another woman more than she liked me, I'd have been pretty upset too."

"I take it you're not still married."

"No, and it was my job, not another person. She got tired of waiting to see if I was going to come home every night."

Veronica put her hand on my arm.

"I'm sorry for asking that. It was none of my business."

"That's OK. I got over it a long time ago."

"Ever thought of finding another woman?"

"Sure, but when I was young enough, I'd have had the same problem. Now, well, most women want a younger man, or so I've heard from the women at the station."

The gentle squeeze on my arm sent a tingle down my spine. What Veronica said then made that tingle spread to my thoughts.

"Not all women want a young man. Some of us like older men."

She was smiling again, but the smile was different and I wasn't sure what to make of it.

"I've yet to meet one of those women."

"Maybe you're not looking hard enough."

"Well, I guess I don't know where to look then."

Veronica stroked my arm.

"You might try looking at me. I like older men."

It felt really weird to have Veronica sitting in my car when I drove us to my apartment. I consider myself a good judge of people, and it seemed like she was serious when she said she'd like to show me how much she liked older men, but she was young enough to be my daughter. I'd tried to brush off the invitation because of the age difference, but she wouldn't let me. She just said it was the person who mattered to her and not age.

It felt more weird when I closed the door, turned around, and saw Veronica smiling at me. She draped her arms around my neck, pressed her breasts into my chest and whispered.

"I'm not like the woman in your case. I like having sex on a bed. I like it when a man undresses me too. Think you could do that for me?"

Veronica was sexy in her shorts and tank top. She started getting sensuous and desirable as I undressed her. I'd been right about her not wearing much of a bra. The only bra was the one built into the tank top. Her breasts slipped out of it and flattened a little against her chest when I eased it over her head. She scratched under the left one and then started taking off my tie.

I couldn't do much more until she got my tie and shirt off except cup those breasts. Veronica shivered at that first touch, but then murmured, 'Mmm...I like your hands", as she worked on my shirt buttons.

She pulled it off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then put her arms around my neck. I felt her nipples lightly brushing the hair on my chest just before she kissed me. She moaned in my mouth when I cupped her ass cheeks, then eased away and started undoing my belt buckle.

When my pants fell down around my ankles, I felt her hand on my cock, just slowly stroking my shaft.

It wasn't easy unzipping her shorts with her stroking my cock through my underwear. It was harder getting them off her ass. Veronica helped by doing that hip rocking thing my wife used to do, and when they fell to the floor she slipped off her shoes and stepped out of the shorts.

The thong panty wasn't really even there. It was just a little wedge of lace over her mound with strings that went over her hips. It caught in the space between her thighs just as I saw the neatly trimmed dark brown curls over her sex. Veronica opened her thighs a little and the thong fell to the floor.

It was hard getting my shoes off with Veronica pressing her breasts into my chest and rubbing that little bush against my thigh, but I managed. Once I'd stepped out of my pants, Veronica pulled the waistband out over my stiff cock and then pulled my underwear down to my feet. She stood up then, grinned, and pulled me down on the bed with her.

I'd forgotten how soft and wonderful a woman's body can be. Veronica's breasts were firm, but yielded to my soft squeezes. Her nipples weren't soft after a few caresses. They were swollen, stiff, and covered with little taut ridges. She moaned quietly when I kissed the dimpled tip of her right nipple, and when I closed my lips around it, I felt her nipple bed tighten into a mass of little ridges and bumps.

When I slipped my hand down her tight belly, it contracted a little. Veronica opened her thighs before I felt the hair on her mound, and as my finger parted her lips, she moaned again. Inside them, I felt small inner lips wet and slippery with arousal. The detective in me said she couldn't fake that. The man in me said I wanted her, wanted to feel my cock sliding though those wet, slippery lips until our bellies touched.

Veronica's whispered, "I want you, Jerry. I want you inside me", told me she wanted the same thing. So did the way she gently pulled on my cock until I was kneeling between her upraised thighs.

Veronica was snug, wonderfully snug and wonderfully slippery at the same time. When I entered her, the ripples of her lips and passage massaged my cock enough to take me to the edge, but not fast enough I'd get there too soon. With every stroke, she'd rock her hips up and my cock would slip a little deeper into those ripples. When I pulled back out, something inside her seemed to be sucking at my cock head. It was the most unbelievable sensation I'd ever had with a woman.

She was helping a lot too. Her hands stroked my back as she made little murmured sounds to tell me she liked what I was doing. After a while, the rocking of her hips got a little more forceful, and once in a while I'd feel her nails raking my back. I thought I'd lose control when those hands grabbed my ass and pulled me into her tight. A second later I did, but that was because Veronica gasped, then dug her heels into the mattress and started to lift us both off the bed.

My cock went deep enough my balls brushed her ass cheeks and I groaned. Veronica pushed up a little higher, moaned, "now, Jerry", and then began rocking her hips so fast she was stroking herself over my cock rather than the other way around. I felt her passage contract and let myself go.

Veronica was still shaking when I'd shot my last, and I kept feeling little contractions around my cock. She eased back down on the bed, then gasped as another wave swept through her and lifted us both up again. After two more of these, she put her arms around my back, pulled me down on top of her, and locked her mouth to mine.

I'm not sure how long we stayed that way. I remember she kept me cradled between her thighs for a while after my cock slipped out of her. I remember her stroking my back and saying it was everything she'd thought it would be.

I woke up the next morning at five like I always do and rolled over thinking Veronica would still be there. She wasn't. There was a note on the pillow instead.

"Jerry, I wasn't lying about liking older men, and I wasn't faking anything last night. I really wanted to stay with you this morning, but I couldn't. I'll find you again as soon as I take care of some things. Until then, just remember me as a woman who found what she's looking for. I hope you might have found what you're looking for as well. Veronica."

If it hadn't been for the note, I'd probably have chalked it up to one too many beers and a vivid dream. I knew it wasn't a dream though. Her perfume still lingered on the pillow, and when I got up, her black lace thong panties were there on the floor right where Veronica had stepped out of them. I supposed she left them so I'd remember her.

Remembering Veronica wasn't a problem, but going to work was hell what with all the thoughts running around in my head. Thankfully, both the FBI fingerprint identification and the results of the DA's subpoena were in my inbox so I had something to take my mind off Veronica a little.

The FBI had identified the fingerprint as belonging to one Sally Ketterman. That's all they had, just a name with no picture and no past record or any residence. The subpoena had gotten the DA the name and address of Marjorie Wilson. The address was a used car lot. There were three Marjorie Wilson's in Nashville listed on the credit reports I ran, but two were over sixty and the other was nineteen. I ran that name through NCIS and came up with nothing.

I was sitting there staring at my notes when a young guy in a suit and tie walked up to my desk. "Detective Donovan", he asked.

"Yes, I'm Jerry Donovan."

The guy stuck out his hand. In the other was a badge case with a badge and an ID.

"Mark James, FBI. Pleased to meet you."

I shook his hand and smiled, but I wasn't happy. The FBI usually gets involved only when they think the local police can't handle something, and they're more than happy to tell you that. I didn't know what Mark was looking to do, but it probably was going to piss me off. It was department policy to play nice with any Feds, so I tried.

"Pleased to meet you too, Mark. What can I do for you?"

He smiled.

"It's more what I can do for you. It's a nice day outside and I saw a park about a block from here. Care for a walk?"

We walked to the park and Mark picked out a park bench set apart from the others. He sad down and smiled.

"You're probably getting ready to tell me to go fuck myself aren't you? I don't blame you. I'd be pissed if somebody from DEA or some other agency horned in one of my cases."

I frowned.

"That depends upon what you have to say."

"You'll like what I say and you won't like it, so we'll see which one wins. You're working on the murder of Alfred Justice aren't you? I can solve that case for you."

"Oh, and what makes you think you can do that?"

"I know who the killer is. You'll never figure it out by yourself, not because you're not a good enough cop, but because she's so much smarter than any of us are."

"She?"

"Yeah. Her name is Susan Winslow. Does that ring any bells?"

"Maybe. Alfred's girlfriend was Julia Winslow."

"Julia is Susan's sister. We've been watching for inquiries about Alfred Justice since he got out of prison. She called me and asked where he was living a month after he was released. We knew she'd get to him sooner or later and we'd have to keep her out of trouble when she did."

"You're protecting a murderer? What the hell for?"

"From what Susan told us, you'd be protecting her too if you knew."

I was starting to lose patience.

"What the hell does that mean? I've never protected a criminal in my whole career."

He smiled.

"I believe you know a woman named Veronica Masters? That's a name she uses sometimes. She wanted to meet the detective working on Alfred's murder to see if you'd be able to solve it. We called your captain and got your name. She followed you yesterday until you stopped off at that bar.

From what I gather, she was impressed but didn't think you'd figure it out. I don't know what else happened because she just said you two had talked and she thought she was safe. Knowing her psychological profile like I do, I suspect you did more than talk. Veronica's taste in men tends toward the older side of the spectrum, no offence intended to you. The psychiatrists at the Bureau say it has something to do with losing her father when she was young."

"Veronica is my killer?"

"Well, yes, but we'd rather it didn't show that on your report. That would potentially reveal some things the Bureau would rather stayed out of the public view. I have an alternative for you that will solve your case and keep the Bureau happy at the same time.

"There was an accident this morning on I-65 involving a truck and a semi. The truck is the same truck that someone might have seen going into the alley where Alfred was killed.

"The woman driver of the truck was killed and by now is in your morgue. The semi ran right over the driver's side of the truck, so your coroner is going to have a hard time determining the cause of death. He will be able to get a set of prints. I'm pretty certain if your coroner sends them to the FBI for identification, they'll come back as belonging to Sally Ketterman.

"Your techs will also find some clothes in the back of that truck. When they do a DNA analysis, they'll find the DNA is a match to Alfred. They won't need the condom that's there, but they can test it if they want. They'll get the same results -- inside will be Alfred's DNA, the DNA on the outside will match the DNA your coroner takes from Sally's body.

"Sally has a long history with the FBI. If it wasn't for your murder, we'd never have caught up with her. She's almost completely insane, but she's not stupid. Sally's mother was a prostitute who catered to the rough side of sex, if you know what I mean. She was beaten up pretty bad by one of her johns who got a little too rough. Sally sort of snapped when she found that out, and she decided all johns and pimps needed killing. She's been doing a dozen a year for the last five years.

"Did I say she has a black belt in Karate? No? Well she does. Got it after her mom was beat up. Her MO is to entice the guy into her truck and then drive somewhere private. She strips naked and tells the guy he has to do the same. While he's doing his thing with her she punches him in the belly and then the throat to kill him, then dumps him out of the truck and leaves him there. Does that sound like your scenario with Alfred?"

"Yes, but it's all bullshit. We already ran the fingerprint from Alfred's neck. It came back as Sally Ketterman, but with no picture and no record."

Mark grinned. I was beginning to hate that grin and smile.

"Ah, yes, but that was yesterday. When your coroner sends in the full set of prints, they'll come back as Sally Ketterman, and you'll get a different set of data. That data will be what I just told you. You'll have your killer, a motive, and you won't have to go to trial. That'll wrap your case up a couple days before you retire if your Captain was right about that."

"The FBI caused the accident and faked the files to match my murder?"

Mark shrugged.

"All I can tell you is what I know for certain. The clerk who was supposed to update the file on Sally Ketterman forgot to do it. As for the accident, what I think is the woman was dead before the accident. She probably had a heart attack and turned into the path of the semi. I'd bet that's what your coroner is going to say too."

"What makes Veronica or Susan or whoever she is so important you'd go to all that trouble?"

Mark smiled.

"Again, I'm not saying we did anything, but if we did, I can't tell you that because I don't know. All I can say is that Susan is a special person in a lot of ways. Her IQ is extremely high, higher than mine and I'm a member of Mensa. She also has a unique history.

"Her father was doing all right in oil back in the day. He and his wife had two daughters, Susan and Julia. Susan wasn't the girly girl that Julia was, so her father sort of treated her like a son in some ways. When Susan was in college and Julia was still in high school, someone tried to buy her father's oil interests. He wasn't interested in selling.

"The local LEO's found him shot inside his office when they were investigating how one of his holding tanks caught fire and burned. It was made to look like a suicide, but Susan figured out it wasn't. She called her Congressman and he got the FBI involved. We found the killer along with a pistol that matched the bullet that killed Susan's father in an abandoned warehouse in Houston. He'd had his larynx crushed by a single punch to the throat.

Susan and Julia were both suspects since they lived in the area and had a possible motive, but when we started putting two and two together, we narrowed it down to Susan. She'd finished college by then with degrees in mechanical engineering and biology, and had earned a third dan black belt in her spare time.

"When we questioned Susan, she didn't try to deny killing the guy. She just said any man who would do something like that deserved to die, and that her father would understand why she'd done it.

"We were ready to charge her when we got a call from the Director. He said he wanted to talk to Susan before we charged her, so we took her to his office. An hour later, he escorted her out of the building and let her go. We were instructed to give him all our case files and notes.

"I don't know what they talked about and I don't think I want to. What I do know is that from time to time, we see a case like Alfred's. The victims are all men we know are dirty. Many are in the drug trade. A few have been into sex trafficking, and several have been contract killers hired by the drug cartels.

"We'd never been able to get deep enough into their organizations to get enough evidence to arrest them. Either that or they'd leave the country so we couldn't touch them. I can't say Susan has anything to do with those murders, but they all were killed in the same way, and it started about six months after she talked with the director."

I shook my head.

"Alfred wasn't into any of that as far as I can tell. He'd gone straight."

"Yes, he had, but he's the reason Julia went to prison. We recorded a phone call between Julia and Susan while she was there. Susan told Julia she wouldn't regret Alfred breaking it off, and that she'd never see him again. We took that as a threat and started watching Alfred's file. I know Susan killed him because she told me so yesterday."