The Frustrated Detective (part 2 of the story that started with The Girl in the club)

The frustrated detective.

“This is such fucking bullshit!”

Aoife St Claire’s pale skin flushed red as was unusual when she experienced intense emotion.

The day had started auspiciously, she had been assigned her first lead investigation as a newly promoted Detective Inspector in Homicide and had been feeling exhilaration and excitement.

This was going to be her big chance to prove herself as a detective and commanding officer, that she wasn’t just a token box ticking promotion to keep the HR department happy or merely a pretty face so that the tabloid editors would give more attention to Scotland Yard’s press conferences.

The case was going to make waves too.

James Fleet, a top city trader found dead in his penthouse apartment. Word was that his murder looked brutal, death by massive trauma to his neck and upper chest.

He’d been found on his bed in a state of undress by his cleaner who had called it in. Aoife had received the call from DCI Reynolds and headed straight to the scene, flashed her badge at the uniform in the lobby and headed up after donning the necessary scene of crime gear.

Reynolds and the forensic team were in his swish apartment already. The older man greeted her with a respectful nod and let her take in the scene: the victim was in his early thirties and his body was pale and had entered rigor mortis.

A decent guess for time of death was sometime between ten and midnight the evening before. He was wearing only a white designer shirt that had been tugged open, Aoife noted several buttons strewn on his bedsheets. His trousers and boxer shorts were at the foot of the bed. His penis was shrivelled and dried semen was visible at the tip.

“He looked like he died having a good time. What do you think? Some sort of Basic Instinct type scenario?” Reynolds asked her with a wry eyebrow raise.

“Looks like the death was immediately post coital” she replied.

“Juicy first case for you DI St Claire. You’ll be making the big decisions, I’ll be taking a back seat on this one. Too many murders in town that I’ve got to juggle at the moment”

She smiled despite the situation. This is the moment she’d been waiting for after a decade on the force. Important not to forget that a man died here though, a life full of experiences and social interconnections just snuffed out way before his time, even if he was some rich playboy bastard.

She started jotting down her observations and making polite enquires of the forensics team, mindful not to be too impatient or get in their way. On a case like this, good forensics and a good relationship with their department was crucial.

She had started to put get to grips with the crime scene when Reynolds’ phone rang. He had been about to depart, handing the scene officially to her when his irritating Lone Ranger theme ringtone trilled out. His expression changed from mildly irked to alarmed as he saw who was calling him.

“Sir?” He answered decorously before leaving the room.

He was gone for several minutes, the victim’s Penthouse was large enough, and so effective was the sound proofing between rooms, that Aoife was unable to hear the tone of the conversation.

When he returned his demeanour seemed equal parts embarrassed, embittered and scared. He ushered her speak with him out of earshot of the forensic team.

“Listen St Claire” he said softly “you’re off the case”

“What?!” She spluttered, flushing red.

“Not just you. All of us. This case is being taken off homicide. Taken away from the police entirely if I understand it correctly”

“Taken away? Who by?”

“That was Superintendent Young on the phone, the smug big-nosed bastard. Someone higher up the food chain than him has been leaning on him and they are taking the case away from us due to special circumstances”

“Special circumstances? Why does that mean when it’s at home. This is a murder case!”

Reynolds sighed slowly and rubbed his closed eyelids, he suddenly looked very old and sad. “When you’ve been in the job as long as me Aoife, you’ll see this happen sometimes. The powers that be are mysterious and opaque. There are questions that it’s not worth our jobs asking, and those who are stubborn and ask those questions anyway come to regret it”

“What do you mean?”

He raised his hand to her pleadingly. “Aoife, you are the most stubborn detective I have ever met. That’s a compliment. Usually that is a good trait for a police officer to have, but please let this one drop. Don’t make waves. Don’t ask questions. Just go back to the station and wait for the next case to drop”

Seething she followed his instruction and drove back to the station. On the car journey she kept turning the questions over on her head. What was different about this murder? Who was putting pressure on Supt Young? Was it political? Was it a spy thing? MI5? MI6? She decided that she wouldn’t go against Reynolds’ advice just yet, but she also knew that it was impossible for her to forget the case. Giving up was not in her nature.

She pulled into the car park and was surprised to see a familiar figure leaning casually against a fancy customised Range Rover that was definitely not police issue. Momentarily her ire was forgotten so pleasing and unexpected was his appearance. She smiled broadly as she approached him and he smirked back cheerily.

“Charlie boy! What are you doing back in merry London?”

Charles Aldenreich’s smirk grew more wicked as he replied in the privately educated stentorian baritone that matched his strapping and immaculately turned out appearance.

“Do you want the truth? Or to tell you what you want to hear?”
She sniggered in familiar amusement at this witticism. A catchphrase from their past together that she had no doubt he told to every girl he had become close to.

Charles and Aoife had become fast friends during police training and lovers on and off for a year. He was quick with a joke and had the supreme confidence that a privileged upbringing can provide, but could be serious when the situation required and was probably one of the most competent men Aoife had ever met.

“I’m not really in the mood for bullshit today to be honest” she smiled wanly.

He paused thoughtfully and gazed into her emerald green eyes with compassion. He smiled a different smile to before, kinder and more serious. She had forgotten how handsome he he looked when the sun highlighted his thick blonde hair and made his deep ocean-blue eyes twinkle.

“I’m still with Interpol in Holland, but I’m on temporary secondment to Scotland Yard. Liaising on a big case. International drug ring”

She nodded, satisfied with his answer. It had been more than five years since she’d heard from him. After their on/off hook ups became less frequent for increasingly complicated reasons: other more serious relationships, gossip in the force and the realisation that there were increasingly heavy consequences to their capricious fun, they had settled into an amicable friendship.

However Charles was, Aoife had realised, the kind of man who did not do long distance relationships of any kind: romantic or platonic. For him it was definitely out of sight, out of mind. So when he took the offer of a big promotion and lateral move to the European base of Interpol, they had quickly lost touch.

They both smiled at each other, content in the moment and both simultaneously revisiting shared times:

“So?” She asked touching her curly red hair coquettishly. “What’s new with you Sergeant St Claire?”

“That’s Detective Inspector St Claire I’ll have you know” she relied snarkily. “I was about to get stuck into my first lead murder case, but I’ve been overuled by some political bullshit”

“What was the problem? Superintendent Young got tired of trying to spell your name and gave it to someone else?”

She rolled her eyes at this. Jests about her name had been commonplace since she moved over from Ireland as a schoolgirl.
One of Charles’ irritating features had always been that he didn’t know when a joke had outstayed it’s welcome.

“Still the king of wit I see” she retorted then touched his arm lightly so he was clear that it wasn’t a rebuff. “ Look I’ve things to be dealing with, but I knock off at six. Drinks?”

He grinned warmly. “Yeah I’ll be up for a couple of pints. Then a couple more after that”

“Great! You’re buying with the big Interpol paycheques you must be bringing in!”
She leaned towards him and gave him an affectionate peck on his cheek and inhaled his luxurious aftershave which was rich and evoked sandalwood and cinnamon.
It brought back memories of them clinched in a passionate fuck at a five star Paris hotel, him clasping the ornate headboard for leverage and her ankles crossed behind his arse pulling his urgent thrusts in close and then shuddering with muscle cramping tension as they came within seconds of each other and her refusing to release him from the leggy embrace until he tickled her into paroxysms of relaxing laughter.

That night they met at the Black Stag, an old haunt of theirs, close enough to Scotland Yard to be convenient, but not close that it was full of cops.

That afternoon Aoife had busied herself with mundane work: chasing up routine calls, filling in paperwork, everything she could to keep busy and distract her from the investigation that had been snatched away from her.

If it hadn’t been for the exhilarating surprise of Charles resurfacing in her life, she would have been unable to resist continuing to chase down leads behind Reynold’s back, but meeting him and the potential for rekindling something had taken the sharp edge off her frustration.

When she arrived Charles had already secured a comfortable snug and a pint of lager. He was dressed in the same Saville row suit he’d been wearing earlier, but had removed his jacket and tie, unbuttoning his collar and rolling up his sleeves exposing the thick forearms covered with light golden hairs she had recalled from years before.
One feature that was new however was the scars; the remnants of deep cuts on both arms and hands which she had not seen before.

Over the first couple of drinks and some average pub food they covered the usual catching up chit chat; mutual friends, police gossip, London life versus Amsterdam and ascertained that neither of them were currently entangled with a significant other. After six pints of strong lager, Aoife was feeling less guarded and her native Irish brogue was becoming more pronounced.

“Today was looking so fecking good for me, and I know obviously that your man there looked like he’d died a horrible death by all accounts, and even though he was probable some posh wee gobshite, no offence to you intended of course Charlie boy….” Charles guffawed and waved her on facilitating her rant, he had always enjoyed getting her drunk and venting her displeasure.

“…yes anyhow the case looked to be the kind of thing that could of like…” she gestured expansively with the half full pint glass sloshing the contents as she searched for the right turn of phrase.

“That could have cemented your reputation” he offered incisively.

“Yes! You understand my frustration today! Cos I’ve been battling the chauvinist man bullshit for ten years now. Look at this little red haired Irish girl here with the funny gaelic name! Isn’t she cute, won’t she play well with the press! But don’t let her make any big decisions though or let her take the credit at the end. She needs a big dick and balls to do the real policework!”

“You’ve painted a clear and compelling picture” Charles said with calm understanding.

“And then cos it turns out that this James Fleet is probably involved with some dodgy political money laundering or whatever the case can’t be worked by proper police it has to go to the spooks at MI5 or wherever”

Charles sipped from his pint glass “Is that what you think happened today?”

Aoife gulped does the remaining third of lager in her glass and stifled a belch- “ well I’m speculating obviously, but it’s clear that there must be some diplomatic or high level intelligence aspect to the case. Am I right?”

Charles’ expression remained Sphinx-like. “Aoife, did you tell me you done some time undercover with vice or narcotics?”

“Yes Charles” she replied impatiently, “ but that was about three conversations ago. What I’m talking about now is that smug big-nosed bastard superintendent Young and….”

“Yes.,,but what if I told you that you could be reassigned to the case Aoife?”

She stopped and raised her eyebrows quizzically then laughed. “For god’s sake Charles you are the king of bullshit. Don’t forget I’ve heard you promise all kinds of shite to girls if it’ll get your leg over! Do you remember when we were cadets and I used to wingman you when we were on the pull?”

Charles laughed his deep baritone laugh again and grinned making her feel a deep warmth for him.

“ Yes! I remember you convincing that Italian girl that I was a Premier league footballer and that you were my Coach! That was a good night!”

“Yes, especially cos I copped off with her brother who was also quite skilled” she chuckled.

“Seriously though” he said, his tone sobering, “what if I could pull some strings for you? Fill me in a bit about the credentials you’ve accrued since we parted ways…”

She snorted in amusement and raised her foot between his thighs flirtatiously. “Do you want me to prep for a job interview Charles?”

He leaned over the table and grasped her wrist pulling her gently towards him. “No need to prep, the interview started when you sat down”.
He was kissing her before she could push him further on the issue.

She kissed him back enthusiastically, enjoying the slight roughness of his stubble and it’s contrast to her smoother skin and the sour lager taste of his mouth. She ran her fingers through his thick soft hair and felt her body responding, tingles of familiar yearning starting in her stomach and moving downwards between her legs.

“Let’s go back to my place” she said “I’ve drunk enough to fall for your charms”

They got through the front door of her small flat and stripped off between urgent kisses as they made their way to her bedroom, depositing coats, shoes and jackets on the way.

She pulled him close to her and he kissed the side of her neck finding a very sensitive area while he slid his hand up the back of her blouse and unclasped her bra deftly then snaked the hand round to the front to cup one of her breasts and tease her nipple with his fingertips.

Aoife moaned low and gripped his muscular arse pulling him into towards her and feeling his hardness against her.
“Let’s get the rest off” she suggested impatiently tugging at his belt and undoing his flies as he slipped out of his shirt.

He left his bursting underwear on while he assisted her in getting the blouse and tangled bra from over her head and she unzipped her skirt and let it drop until she was naked too save for her sheer black panties.

She put her palm against his muscular stomach admiring its hard flatness for a moment then reached down into his boxers to grip his thick cock. He was fully hard and she enjoyed the feel of its thick trunk between her narrow fingers.

She squeezed his length gently and tugged up and down sliding his silky soft foreskin back from the bulging head.

He slipped his fingers into her underwear, reaching down beneath her and curling them back up teasing her wet opening, she smiled and him laschiviously and still holding onto his cock pulled him down with her other hand while she sat back on the bed and spread her legs for him.

He lowered his mouth to hers again and continued to tease her slippery pussy with his skilled fingers while she worked his cock with her palm.

He stroked his fingertips over her lips and lightly touched the hood over her clit periodically applying more pressure to her most responsive spot and gradually working his fingers in and out of her.

She bucked her hips in pleasure and knew she needed more. The alcohol made her feel impatient and crave deeper sensation. She wanted to be filled, stretched and fucked hard.

“Put your dick inside me now” she hissed urgently. He grunted in animalistic ascent and pulled her panties down letting her kick them off, then he spread her legs firmly but paused for a moment to admire her lithe pale body and neatly groomed bush, as red as the curls on tumbling onto her pillow.

“What?” She asked teasingly. He brushed the head of his cock over her lips stroking her clit once with his tip, then surged inside her. She was so wet that he slid on without any resistance and they moaned in unison.

She gripped his broad muscular shoulders as he pumped his hips into her, building a slow powerful rhythm. His thick length felt wondrous inside her and her pussy became ablaze with pleasure. She panted and wrapped her legs around him matching his thrusts.

He reached beneath her and grasped her soft cheeks digging his fingers in firmly and spreading them stretching her and pulling her deeper onto his cock.

He went faster and harder building momentum then with one more powerful surge he cried out and exploded into her.

He lay on top of her panting, still hard inside her and she reached between their bodies and rubbed her clit giving it the final stimulation to push her body over the edge to her own powerful climax, then they lay together sweaty and silent enjoying the closeness.

Afterwards they lay together, him tracing her familiar galaxy of freckles and her exploring the numerous scars that adorned his chest and arms that were new to her.
“Just like the old days he murmured”

“When are we going to talk about these war wounds?” she said.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/fvy6z2/the_frustrated_detective_part_2_of_the_story_that