Case of the Murdered Lovers Ch. 05

The chronological order of my stories to read is:

Todd & Melina series, Interludes 1-5, Sperm Wars series 1-4, Russian Roulette series 1-2.

Case of the Murdered Lovers

So.... let's see if soap-opera-police-dramas with sex are of interest to Literotica readers...

This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.

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

Part 18 - ...Hellish Night

"Whaddya got, Perlman?" I asked the cute Detective. Her cheeks were not rosy and she was not smiling. Patrolman Pete Feeley was with her, taking notes.

"The EMTs took Bettina to the hospital 15 minutes ago." Perlman said. "Whoever did this really worked her over. They beat the living shit out of her."

"What time did it happen?" I asked.

"About eleven o'clock, give or take a few minutes." Tanya replied.

"Who called it in?"

"Her cameraman, Scott Turnbull. He'd been tied up, got free and called 9-1-1."

"They didn't take his cell phone?" I asked, surprised.

"Nope, didn't take anything from Wurtzburg or her purse, either. But he did say more." Tanya started, but was interrupted by an overeager Officer Feeley.

"Yeah, he said that--" Feeley started, but Perlman stopped him.

"Shut up and let me talk!" Perlman ordered. Feeley complied, a bit of a hurt look upon his young face as Tanya continued, "Don, I can give you what he said, or let you talk to him yourself to see if the stories line up."

Tanya had just given the young police officer a lesson. I wondered if Feeley had absorbed it; his face looked blank.

"Just give me the bare bones synopsis."

Cameraman Turnbull had said that he and Wurtzburg had come here to talk to an anonymous source, and they'd used this location several times in the past. Several masked men had been hiding among the pallets of goods and had jumped them. Turnbull had been seized, tied up, and thrown to the ground on his stomach with one man sitting on him; the others grabbed Wurtzburg and her source "who he wouldn't name, of course".

They began beating Wurtzburg, then they stripped her, put her on the floor, and took turns raping her. The attackers not raping her at the time would occasionally kick her in the side or legs while shouting at her. The source they were meeting was a man, and another group of masked men carried him several feet away and began raping him in the ass.

"What happened to the source?" I asked. "Oh, never mind, he went here." I was already going to the back door, where I saw the dust was messed up with light footprints. Going out the door, I saw that there was a paved sidewalk that led to the parking lot, and an examination of the area gave no good clues. Officer Feeley had come out with me, and I asked him to examine the sidewalk and parking lot for anything that might be a clue. That would keep him occupied while I conferred with Detective Perlman.

"There's not much in the way of clues." Tanya reported when I came back in. "Some blood where Bettina Wurtzburg was lying; I'm betting that it'll be hers. We'll be wrapping up here soon. We've got another forensics team at the hospital to collect rape evidence."


"Anyone handling that there?" I asked.



"Detective Gayle Tunnin." Tanya replied. "You know her?"

"Barely. She's decent enough?"


"Oh yeah, she's handled a number of rape cases; she's good with the victims. She was a nurse before becoming a cop." Perlman said by way of explanation.

"Well, nothing more to see here. Let's go to the hospital." I said.

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We were in the secure ward of the hospital. It was now 3:00am Wednesday morning, about four hours after the attack.

I quietly entered Bettina Wurtzburg's room, where she had been moved to after being examined and evidence collected with the rape kit. It was a brutal sight.

Both of her eyes were blackened, one nearly shut, deep bruises that would only get worse in the next few hours. She had cuts on her face and head, her upper lip was busted and swollen, as was her nose. Her arms and legs and body had mottled deep bruises in many places, and of course her genitals had been damaged by the gang rape she had endured.

But she was lucky. She was alive, and the only bones broken were a couple of ribs. So far, the doctors had found no internal bleeding.

Detective Tunnin was in the room with her, and she looked exasperated. I did not need to be told why. I spoke to Bettina, telling her that I was sorry about this, then asked Detective Tunnin if I could speak to her in the hall.

"She won't say anything!" Tunnin almost shouted in the hallway once the door to the room closed. "She says she can't. She says she's protecting her source and that she can't say anything about anything!"

"Where's her cameraman?" I asked.

"He's in the waiting room, with one of your MCD detectives." Tunnin said, pointing down the hallway.

"First, take a breath." I said. Tunnin and I breathed a few deep breaths together until she was much calmer. "Okay, I'll speak to her and then leave her to you." I continued. "Don't ask about her source, get what you can about her attackers."

Back in Bettina's room, she looked up at me as I came in.

"Don't ask me anything." she said, her voice weak and broken. "I won't talk about my source."

"I'm not going to ask you about your source." I said, trying to keep my voice smooth and comforting. "But I hope you'll talk to Detective Tunnin about your attackers. You sure don't have any obligation to protect them, and talking about them won't oblige you to talk about your source, okay?"

"No, I can't." Wurtzburg said. 



"Just think about it." I said, then took my leave of them. I headed to the breakroom, where Cameraman Turnbull was talking with Detective Hugh Hewitt.

"Dude, I can't talk about it." Turnbull was saying to Hugh as I came in. Scott Turnbull was short, a bit roly-poly in body and face, and sported a goatee, the stereotype of an artsy painter. He always wore a military-style beret, usually a light blue one. I knew that he was a good chess player.

But he was tough, also; he'd been a combat cameraman and had seen plenty of war action while with Hugh Hewitt's unit, and he and Hugh knew each other very well. I suspect Hugh might have leaked to Turnbull a few things here and there, but Hugh was not stupid enough to give away any really important stuff.

"Hello, Scott." I said as Hugh introduced me to the cameraman.

"He says he can't talk about it, he has to protect their source." Hugh informed me.


"I understand." I said. "Scott, I'll tell you this. I am not going to ask you about your source nor try to trick you into talking about the source. I just want to know about Ms. Wurtzburg's attackers, and there's no reason to protect them. From what you've seen tonight, and what condition she's in, I'm sure she and everyone will understand if you give us some help in getting the bastards that did this to her."

Turnbull hesitated, then agreed to talk to me. Under his questioning, I elicited the story:

They had arrived about 11:00pm to meet the source. Turnbull called the source "him" several times, giving away that it was a male. Turnbull said that he wasn't sure how many men total there were, but at least one man was sitting on him and four men were beating, kicking and raping Wurtzburg in front of him.

"Three of them were black, and one was white." Turnbull said, and said he could tell by the color of their asses and cocks as they fucked Bettina, though the wore masks. "The white guy was young, but seemed to be the leader of it. He raped her first. He was calling her all kinds of filthy names, and then while the other guys were raping her he was the one shouting in her ear and telling her to keep her fucking mouth shut and stop reporting on the Olivets."

"Oh, really?" I said. "Thanks for that clue. The white guy, he sounded young, you said?"

"Yes. He wasn't that big, either. I doubt he was more than 21-22 years old."

"Anything else about him?"



"Oh... yeah. He had a tattoo or birthmark on the small of his back. I don't know why, but I really noticed it. It looked like a big "X" with the center missing."

"That's huge." I said. I knew now that my nephew Ned was one of the attackers!

"So it looks like they were telling her to stop the investigation of the Arruzio-Burke murder case?"

Turnbull hesitated, then said "Yeah, that's what the white guy was saying."

"Okay, Scott, once again I am not asking you to name the source or anything, but I need to know: what happened to him?"

"Three other guys took him towards the back, about 15-20 feet away from us. I couldn't see much of it, but two of the guys raped him in the ass. One was black, fairly light skinned, the other white. The white guy had a lot of hair on his ass and legs and the hair was dark. The black guy was taunting him too, saying a lot of things and calling him a lot of homosexual slurs."


"They didn't do anything to you, though?"

"No. Just tied me up and held me down, but didn't do anything else. They pretty much ignored me and focused on the other two."

Once I had elicited all the information that I could get, and had a reasonably clear picture of the crime, it was time to confirm my suspicions with the last questions. I took out my cellphone and brought up a photograph.

"Is this the white guy with the birthmark?" I asked Turnbull, showing him the picture.

"Uh, looks a lot like him." Turnbull replied, surprise in his face. The picture was of my nephew Ned.

"And they didn't take your cellphone or hers, or anything else?"

"No... no, nothing of Bettina's or mine." Turnbull said, trying to conceal the features of his face that revealed he knew something.

"What about the source?"

"Well-- uh, I really can't say." Turnbull said, shakily. I looked quickly at Hugh, then back to Scott: it was time to hit Turnbull with the bombshell question for this case:

"Scott.... they took his gun, didn't they?"

Cameraman Turnbull's eyes widened like saucers as he stammered.

"You don't need to answer. I already know what I need to know. Thanks, Scott. The patrolman in the hallway will stay with you until you're released. Hewitt, come with me."

In the hallway, I filled in Hugh Hewitt. "The source was a cop and they took his gun. I think I know who it is, and this is our big chance to nail this source. But we've got to be careful about it, so don't say anything for now."

"Roger that, sir. How did you know, though? And whose picture did you show him?"

"Pure luck on the source." I replied. "As to the picture, it was my nephew Ned, who is already a very wanted criminal." I said no more about the source, but remembered how I knew: Teresa Croyle had mentioned to Cindy and then to me a piece of information about Bettina Wurtzburg talking guardedly with a certain police officer earlier that morning...

Going back to Bettina Wurtzburg's room, I showed her the picture of Ned. "Is this one of the perps?" Tears filled the redheaded woman's eyes but she said nothing else. She didn't need to.

I told her to get well soon, took Detective Tunnin outside and told her to get an APB on Ned out, and to add this rape case to the considerable list of charges for which he was wanted by law enforcement authorities.

Part 19 - Finding The Source

7:00am, still Wednesday morning, still felt like a Monday. I had had no sleep since being awakened by the one a.m. phone call, but I was running off 5-Hour-Energy drinks and an excitement I had not felt in some time.

The morning newscasts did not have Bettina Wurtzburg as the reporterette, but a very pretty dark-skinned girl, Arabic or Indian, with long, flowing black hair. She and her colleagues reported that Reporter Wurtzburg had been beaten but omitted details that she'd been raped. The other news stations reported only the beating, as well.

Yep, I thought... the Media loves telling every little detail about the rapes of housewives and businesswomen, revealing their names whenever they can get away with it. But when it came to one of their own, they were all about protection and omission of details.

Did I mention that I am NOT a fan of the Press?

The Chief called the meeting to order. "Where's Ikea?" he growled at Malone.

"Called in sick. He sounded god-awful on the phone when I talked to him." Malone replied.

I'll bet, I thought to myself, but it was a day's respite from the Olivets getting hounded and more bad reporting that would accompany Ikea's antics.

"All right, what do we have?" the Chief asked. "Tunnin?"

"Ms. Wurtzburg finally gave a few details of her attackers, which I've put in the report I gave all of you." Gayle Tunnin replied. I had previously told Hugh Hewitt to give the report of Turnbull's eyewitness report.

"So this is related to the Arruzio-Burke murder?" the Chief asked me. "And your nephew is involved?"

"It appears a related but side issue." I said. "This was a hired hit. I suspect my nephew Ned was the one hired to organize the attack."

"Any leads on who ordered the attack?" the chief asked.

"That sure was an interesting reception that we attended last night, wasn't it Chief?" I asked pointedly. He visibly started as if smacked in the face.

"Then we gotta get moving." the Chief said, breathlessly. "What's our next step?"

"I've got to check with contacts to see if there's any progress, and I've got to talk to my MCD team. I'm hoping we can clean the whole thing up by this time tomorrow."

The chief broke up the meeting without answering Captain Malone's questions of what was being withheld from him and his team.

-------------------------------

I went down to my office in the I.T. Department. I first brought in Cindy Ross. This was going to be delicate.

"Cindy, I'm just going to come right out with this: we are looking for a police officer's stolen gun. I need you to reach your LGBT contacts and see if you can get a lead on who the guys who raped the male source last night were. The source was a cop."

Cindy shifted in her chair uncomfortably. This was the first time I'd openly let on that I knew what we all knew, that Cindy Ross was a lesbian. She wasn't even AC/DC, just plain ol' DC. I did not care who she slept with, but she had kept it very quiet around the "Clubhouse", the colloquialism for the Police Force.

"And yes, we'll keep this behind closed doors and most very private." I continued, reassuring her that I was doing what I could to keep this between just us.

"Okay, I'll check." she replied, not bothering to try to deny that I knew what I knew. "But not from inside this building. I may need to take a long lunch."

"Don't blame you a bit. Go now, take all the time you need. And a near-future lunch will be on me, no matter what you turn up. Thanks, Cindy." I said. She took that as a dismissal, but I stopped her.

"One more thing." I said, then quietened my voice. "Would you be willing to go on a, shall we say, 'extracurricular' mission tonight?" That brought out more of a smile.

"You bet." she said, then headed out.

I contacted Myron, Lt. Britt Maxwell, Dr. Laura Fredricson (for her State-level contacts), and even called FDA Agent Fred Dixon directly. None had any information on Johnny Arugula. The City Police had put out an APB for him at midnight, but so far with no results.

But Myron did report one good tidbit: Marie Arruzio's family had owned a cabin on a lake in "Nextdoor County", the county between ours and the City, and that his sources said she was going to have her lawyer put it in the divorce papers for her to retain it. He gave me the address of the cabin.

Later Lt. Maxwell called. "President Wellman just called me. Joe Arruzio left this morning. He said he had to go back to the City to take care of some business, and execute his wife's will and such matters. Wellman couldn't get him to stay."

"Ah shit." I said. "Oh well, nothing we can do about it. Britt, would you call Robin Ventura with the City Police and see if she can get them to keep tabs on Arruzio for us?" Britt said that she would and hung up.

It was just past 9:00am. I called Melina's house and asked if Todd was still there. She said yes, and I said I'd be over there within half an hour to talk to him.

At the house, Todd and Melina were composed. I suspected they had been naked and fucking hotly when I called, and the phone call simply was to give them time to get dressed and composed.

"Todd, I need a favor." I asked. "Last night a reporter was raped and beaten."

"Yeah, I heard something about it on the radio. Raped, too?"

"Yes. What the Press is also not telling you is that the reporter was meeting a source, a male, and he was raped by a couple of guys, also. One of the reporter's attackers was your brother Ned." I reported.

"That slug..." Todd muttered.

"But more importantly: I think the source was a cop, and the perps took his gun. I'd like you to contact anyone at school you know who might have seen someone in the gay community with a gun or bragging about what happened last night."

"Sure, I can get that." Todd said. "I better get going, then." He kissed Melina on the mouth goodbye and was off in a flash.

"I think he is excited about playing detective." Melina said, a sly grin forming on her pretty face.

"By the way," she added, spreading her luscious legs, "you interrupted us when you called. Since I'm still unsatisfied and it's your fault... you got time to cool my fires?"

My wife's look of lust at me fueled my own fires and my cock became instantly iron hard. I got up, unbuckling my pants as I moved towards my wife. She sucked me long enough to orally unroll the condom fully onto my shaft, then lay back on the sofa. We were both clothed, but I hitched up her shirt and let my pants drop to my knees as I mounted her and drove my meat balls-deep into her scalding hot, sopping wet cunt.

I fucked Melina with long, hard thrusts, really concentrating on delivering the raw power of my manhood to the depths of her well-fucked vagina, and also taking special note of how it felt to have sex with this woman. Even after all those years of marriage and all that had gone on between us, it was still something special to copulate with Melina.

Our coupling was deep and wet, and very sensuous as we moved together like the longtime lovers we were. I saw Melina staring up at me as I fucked her, and I wondered if she was thinking and feeling the same things I was...

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By 4:00pm, I had two key pieces of information.

"Looks like Barry Bounel was part of it last night." Cindy reported in my office. Bounel was a campus drug-runner and big-time loser, and I was familiar with him. He was half-black, half-white, fitting the light-skinned black man that Cameraman Turnbull had described. He was often being talked to by the police for possible involvement with drug distribution, and he was known for having gay sex parties in various places around Town. Nothing ever stuck, though, and I wondered why...

Todd's story confirmed the reports. "There's a guy named Bounel, Barry Bounel." he said. "Some guys in the Tenderloin District saw him with a gun last night, and he was bragging that he'd taken it from a cop he'd worked over." The Tenderloin District was the area of town between the southwest bad areas and the southern tip of the University campus. It was the area where the strip clubs and prostitutes were, and I felt no surprise that my nephew Todd was familiar with it.