Sweet Vengeance and Revenge

It didn’t matter that I’ve told him again and again that I am not a Captain, but a detective. He still insists on calling me Cap or Captain. Just like he insisted on being referred to as Dr. Josh. Which is neither his first nor his last name.

His entire demeanor is irritating. Always relaxed and carefree. Like he wasn’t the chief medical examiner currently working a serial killer case. And his job preference wasn’t working with the freshly, and sometime not so freshly, dead.

He took over from Dr. Robbins. The old man ran the morgue and forensics lab for sixty-five years and had an incredible track record for obtaining case breaking information. He specifically appointed Dr. Josh as his successor about three months ago. Right before this case started.

The timing, and his enthusiastic nature while on the job, made him my first suspect. But he was cleared within an hour thanks to his busy schedule. Before his promotion he was fresh out of medical school. Went straight into forensics work and caught the old man’s eye. He worked under Robbins for a little over a year. And it was Robbins’ advocacy that secured his position. He was on record from Robbins himself as being in the lab for hours on end while the first few murders were taking place.

By the time the third couple was found a pattern was established. The first two were a man in middle management and his mistress, a woman he worked with. The second was a man working high up in a corporate office, and his mistress, also his secretary. This third couple is a man in local government, and his mistress, an exotic dancer from a club he frequented in secret. There was no connection of any other kind, except the chain of events before their deaths. And now this fourth couple.

“Here ya go, Cap!” Dr. Josh exclaimed simultaneously opening the two most recently filled drawers. “Twenty-three-year-old female, waitress, seemed to be in good health before her heart stopped. And a fifty-three-year-old male, homicide detective, with arthritis and E.D. Before you ask, I checked their stomachs and it looks like they had a nice dinner and dessert, then retired to his hotel room for some extra dessert.

They were found by hotel security after his wife called the front desk and asked for a well person check. Apparently, he didn’t call her at the usual time. I got to eavesdrop when the officer called his wife. It looked like she didn’t know about the side chick. Woo! She was upset. I could hear her voice all the way out in the hall. Couldn’t hear exactly what she said though, it was all distorted,” he finally takes a breath, looking childishly disappointed.

“So, what I’m hearing is that there’s no drugs in their system, and there is no clear cause of death. Is that right?” I grumble, annoyance was getting the better of me. My medical examiner was a perpetual child with no sense of professionalism.

He gave an exasperated sigh and let the smile drop, but his next words were laced with sarcasm, “If you want to ignore the little blue pill and wine he took with dinner, then yes.” I caught the roll of his eyes as I glanced down to write what I needed to know.

I don’t bother giving a farewell before I make my way back through the maze of hallways and up to my car. I need to talk to the wife, but that can wait until I get to my office at a decent hour. I don’t much feel like going home, so I steer my car in the opposite direction. There was a much warmer bed waiting for me downtown than in the suburbs.

By noon I am ready for retirement. The wife knew nothing of the affair and informed me that if I wanted to go through his things, they could be found on the curb. Best get to it before the garbage truck. I guess she also didn’t get much sleep last night.

My phone buzzed and I give an internal groan. It can be only one of two people. The least likely option was my wife of fifteen years. Despite my family’s warning of marrying into a lower income bracket, I lucked out with Andrea.

She was beautiful with an inborne sense of class. She’s unassuming and quiet, never hesitating to take my lead. She gives me my space and privacy. If something is bothering her, she communicates it calmly, and she is rarely bothered. We almost never disagree and she’s fiscally responsible. When I have a pressing case, she is supportive and doesn’t contact me while I’m at work, barring an emergency. She is an amazing wife. But I grow bored frequently.

Which is why I instinctually know the message is from Jennifer. We’re reaching our third year of our affair and she is getting impatient. Asking when I’m going to leave Andrea and make things official with her. She’ll get the hint sooner or later, but the meantime is beginning to get stressful.

When I left her apartment this morning she had asked if we would have lunch together like usual. I had said yes, but now I think my lunch box is looking very appealing. Andrea always packed the most delicious dessert to compliment the balanced meal. Even when I eat with Jenny, I always still eat the dessert.

“I’ll just tell her I was busy with the case or something,” I grumble to myself, and begin to systematically lay out my meal. The case is leading to a lot of frustration. I have no leads to go on, not even any hunches. The victims have nothing in common except their infidelity. Now a fellow detective is on the slab. I didn’t know him, he worked in a neighboring county. But it still hit close to home.

None of them have any connections to each other in any aspect of their lives, be it personal or business. The mistresses don’t even provide any information to aide in the investigation. This is the first case I have ever felt lost on. Eight couples have been murdered and there was nothing to tell me who could possibly be responsible.

After six more hours of scouring through the newest victim’s lives, and learning nothing helpful, I decide to call it a day and go home. I step through the front door and pause. The house is filled with the most delicious smell. Andrea has always been a phenomenal cook, and I wouldn’t dream of hiring one like my parents always had.

We had kept a maid employed for about a year, the second year we were married. She was the first to relieve my boredom. But then Andrea decided that the two of us weren’t messy enough to spend money on someone to come clean for us.

She started doing everything herself. She cleaned, cooked, handled our finances, even doing our taxes. The only wifely duty she hasn’t fulfilled is producing offspring. I’ve never been fond of the idea of having children, so I’m not complaining. It never even came up in conversation. Which surprises me, as that was a desire of hers when we were dating.

“You’re home,” Andrea’s voice carries from down the hall. I followed it to the back of our modest three-bedroom house. It was supposed to be our starter home, but we just never bothered to find a bigger place. Instead, Andrea did a three-year long renovation. The entire place was redone. Only reaching completion a couple of years ago.

The kitchen is the most immaculate room in the house. As far as I can tell that’s where she spent most of her time. There is always some new baked good laying on the counter.

Tonight, she stands at the stove wearing a twinkling, midnight blue dress. Her dark hair flows free down to her waist. As she turns to look at me over her shoulder, I notice the blue of the dress brings out the blue in her eyes. “You’re just in time. Go wash up for dinner,” she says with a welcoming smile.

With my job we never know when I will be home for dinner, so she cooks for two. If I don’t make it in time my portion is packed away for my lunch the next day. It usually even tastes fresh.

The lights are dim in the dining room. The meal is elaborate and delicious. She looks beautiful and absorbs every word I say as we discuss my frustrations about the case. The atmosphere is similar to a date, and I want to continue it in the bedroom. But she dismisses herself with a migraine and sets about packing my lunch before retiring for the night.

So, I sit in my home office ruing the blasted migraines that have ailed her these past ten years. No doctor could explain them despite checking with dozens of the so-called medical professionals. By the time I crawl into the giant king-sized bed she had insisted on, I have a lot of pent-up desire.

Sleep comes slowly, but my phone’s ringing wake’s me at two a.m. It was Jennifer. I go ahead and answer with a gruff, “Yeah”. “Come over,” comes through in a breathy sigh. I wait a minute as if more were said before I reply, “Yeah, I’m on my way”, with a heavy sigh. I gather my work clothing while the sound of Andrea stirring reaches me. I’m usually quick to get dressed and this time was no different.

“Work again?” Andrea asks as I walk by. “Yeah, another body. I’ll probably be out until quitting time tomorrow.” It is a common story. “Oh, okay. Well, don’t forget to grab some breakfast, and don’t forget your lunch.” Her voice follows me out.

It is a common reminder from her, but it means I always remember to swing through the kitchen for my lunch box. I take a quick peek, and I notice an extra slice of my favorite chocolate cake. It’s going to make a nice surprise for Jenny. Maybe even get her off my back for a couple of days.

The call comes right as I anticipate. My husband’s boss calls to alert me that he is about to appear on my doorstep. A show of respect for the successful detective’s wife. I dig deep for the tears as he explains how my respectable, homicide detective husband was found dead in the arms of his equally dead mistress. I sob as I explain he has cheated before, but I thought we were working it out.

Fifteen years of marriage and he was barely able to stay faithful for one. For so long I was afraid to be alone and penniless. Having been foolish enough to sign a prenup that stated that if we split, even if he cheated, I would get nothing. So, I did my best to both please him and become independent from him.

The oh so talented detective never even realized I knew he was cheating. First the maid, then the waitress, then the teacher, then the lawyer, the list is long, but ending with this most recent nurse. He thought it was ridiculous when I insisted on keeping my minimum wage job after we married.

He made more than enough as he climbed the ranks to detective. While his trust fund paid anything he couldn’t in the beginning. It didn’t take long to realize he was terrible money, so I took on the mental load of the finances. With the bills paid he didn’t even realize that I was using my meager income to put myself through culinary school.

By then I had already found out about the maid. I realized how naïve I had been in signing the prenup. So I fired her under the guise of not needing her. I guess I never told him about going to school, because I wanted to see if he’d notice. He didn’t.

When I quit my minimum wage job, he thought I was finally deciding to be a housewife. He didn’t even realize I had gotten a job at a high-end bakery to learn the trade. Of course, he was always off working “cases”. He was away so much he didn’t notice I had saved up enough money to open my own bakery.

The entire time I was busting my back running my first store, and he thought I was at home cleaning his house and making his meals. He even took no part in the renovations after my store was established. By our fifth anniversary I had four locations and was making a small fortune. And he was sleeping around with a sorority girl.

My plan was to buy him out of his half of the house. And let him keep everything in our joint accounts, including the vehicles. Its not like there wasn’t enough for him to buy another one. I was good at living below our means all these years. Then I realized that if he found out about my business during the divorce, he could claim half ownership. Forcing me to either buy him out or give him half of my locations.

I wanted to think he would be amicable. But his family were sharks. They’d insist on him taking me for everything he could. Why should I have to give anything to a man that had treated me like I was nothing more than a convenience. Then it happened. The tipping point.

I still made rounds to my stores every morning for monitoring, and sometimes to help if they’re busy. One morning I was running the counter when a regular customer came in. The woman with him was not his wife. His wife came in more than he did, but I recognized him from when they would come in together. She was an incredibly sweet woman and always tipped even though we don’t have servers.

Seeing that man flaunt his infidelity, making his and his mistresses’ relationship so obvious. I realized that that was what my husband had been doing to me all those years. Why should they get away with subjecting that kind of humiliation on people who had only been good to them?

A couple of years went by before I figured out how to not get caught. To find the euphoric drug that could be mixed in with no change in taste. It left only a temporary trace in the system, and makes the affected person feel really good right up until their heart stops.

My husband will not be the last victim. But the dessert for the last targets has already been delivered. Then the mysterious serial killer will fade away, never to be found out. All I needed was a very intelligent nephew to cover my tracks.

After they left it was less than an hour before said nephew knocked on my door. Of course, he was family that cared and wanted to check up on me. But as the front door closes behind him, we both drop the ruse. “Only two more reports and its all done.” He breathes with a big smile.

“I can’t believe he never recognized you, Kevin. All the family reunions he went to, and the number of times you’ve visited.” I laughed as I hugged him. “Well, he always called me Josh so how would he. I mean…how is he supposed to recognize me with a white doctor’s coat on?” His sarcasm adds to my laughter as we sit.

“What I can’t figure out is why the big bad detective never noticed all the spyware you had on him. There was no communication he had that you didn’t know about.” He says with his head shaking. “I never gave him a reason to wonder. The man never thought I was anything other than clueless.” My aggravation is apparent in my tone, and he gives me a side hug.

“Ah, don’t worry about it now. You’ll always be my favorite aunt.” I laugh at his statement, “I’m your only aunt.” With a shrug he replies, “Grams is past menopause, so you’ll always be my favorite.” Its marvelous to smile a real smile for the first time in so many years.

After he leaves and the door closes behind him, I let out a deep sigh and allow my shoulders to relax. I’m finally free.