Slick Ch. 10-18 - Conclusion

Note: This is the end of the story Slick. You really need to read parts 1 and 2 before this. Also, it tends to jump around from place to place and timeline to timeline between chapters. I don't tell you and leave it for you to figure it out.

Enjoy! I hope.

*****

Chapter 10

Jude was hung over severely the next day and had little memory of the night's events. I didn't mention anything about her calling me Marcel or her behavior with him at the part. I also didn't ask her about her invitation to become a yoga instructor and manage the studio. I would wait to see when and if she brought it up.

Things were a little different over the next couple of weeks, almost like old times. Jude was home a lot more. Several of her classes were canceled, and the Yogi had little time to spend with her. Maybe, I had been successful in scaring him away, and if I were lucky, things would get back to normal. I didn't push it and gave Jude some space to work things out on her own.

Unfortunately, she seemed moody and temperamental, often snapping at me. When she wasn't angry, she was distant. Midway into the second week, I thought things had gone on long enough. I had made a decision about our future, and on Thursday, I felt it was time to talk to her. I called Jude and let her know I wanted to spend the evening together. To my surprise, she agreed right away without any pushback.

When I got home that evening, Jude was in the kitchen, dishing out bowls of homemade chili.

"Hi honey," she called as I walked into the kitchen. "I figured we'd eat right away so we'd have all evening for whatever comes up." She winked at me as she said it. "So, what's going on?" she asked. "What did you want to talk about?"

Before I could answer her question, she interrupted me, "Because, I have some news too that I want to celebrate with you. Can you grab us a couple of beers?"

I wasn't expecting her to have "news," so I was a little surprised. I had planned to do most of the talking that night. My goal was to finally put this Marcel issue behind us and move on with our lives. The fact that she had something to celebrate sent a chill down my spine. I had a bad feeling about whatever it was.

"Sure," I said and retrieved two longnecks from the refrigerator, popping them open and handing her one. "Here you go." I took the initiative and answered her query.

"As you know, this case I'm working on has been kicking my ass," I told her, taking a sip of the beer. "I feel like the black guy in Lethal Weapon. I'm getting too old for this shit. I'm tired, Jude, tired of the stress, tired of never being home with you. I miss our life the way it was. I want out."

Jude was staring at me with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "What do you mean out? Out of what?"

"I put in for a transfer to a job as an instructor at the police academy," I explained. "At the end of the month, my days solving crimes are done. I want to take some time off and get away from here for a couple of weeks so that we can reconnect. It's long overdue, but I hope we can rekindle our relationship and remember why we fell in love in the first place."

She stared at me for several seconds without reacting. "So, what does that mean, exactly?" she asked.

"It means I'll have a regular 9-to-5 job. No more late nights. No more weekends. I'll be able to spend more time with you and make up for all the years I neglected you, neglected us."

She nodded. I am a great judge of people and can usually read their reactions very well. It comes with the job. However, I was having a hard time telling what she was thinking.

"You don't look happy," I said.

She reacted to my words by forcing on what appeared to be a fake smile. "No! No, of course, I'm happy," she said quickly. "I'm just shocked. Being a detective was everything you ever wanted. I'm surprised you would give it up."

"I'm giving it up for us," I said. "You're more important to me than any job, anything, or any person." I stressed the last part, trying to send a subliminal message.

She looked down, nervously, and seemed deep in thought for a moment. When she didn't speak, I prompted her.

"So, what's your big news?" I asked, dreading what she would tell me.

"Oh, it's really nothing," she said quietly, shaking her head. "We can talk about it another time. Let's eat." I could tell she was trying to change the subject, but I was having none of that. We needed to communicate, not avoid it.

"No, no," I told her, giving her a smile, "I want to hear it. If it is worth celebrating, it must be good news. So, come on, spit it out."

"Ok," she replied. "It's really nothing as dramatic as your news." She hesitated, took a big swig of her beer, then continued, "Marcel has asked me to become certified as a yoga instructor so that I can teach classes at the studio and become his assistant manager. It would be a paying job. I know you think it's probably silly, but it means a lot to me, and I'd really like to do it."

"Cool," I said, then added, "I'm proud of you. I'm sure you'll be great at it."

So Jude finally got around to telling me what Slick had revealed to me at our party. It had taken her long enough. I was hoping that maybe he had rescinded the offer. I'd been thinking about this topic since the night Marcel told me about it. I realized that balking at the idea or trying to dissuade her could only alienate her more. The last thing she would expect was for me to be supportive.

She seemed perplexed. "You're ok with it?" she asked. "I kind of got the impression that you wouldn't be happy about me doing it. It means I have to spend more time with Marcel and less time home."

"I know," I told her.

"And you're ok with that?"

"I am," I lied, "I trust you."

She jumped up and climbed into my lap kissing me all over my face. "I love you, Bill," she said. That's when she completely blew my mind and left me dazed and confused.

"So, then you'll be ok with me taking the certification course? It's a little expensive, five-thousand dollars." She looked like a little girl asking her Daddy for a pony.

I choked, "Five grand? For a class?"

"It's two-weeks long," she explained.

"Yeah, but still, that's twenty-five-hundred bucks a week!"

"Yes, but it's during a retreat at a resort in Costa Rica," she elaborated.

"Woah," I said, waving my hands, putting the brakes on the conversation.

"Two-weeks in Costa Rica?" I asked, flabbergasted.

"Yes, two weeks of intensive training and classes all day, every day. At the end of the retreat, I'll be fully certified by the International Institute of Yoga Studies and can teach accredited classes. In the yoga community, Bill, this is a big deal. There's usually a two-year-long waiting list to attend, but Marcel was able to pull some strings with some of his connections to get us in."

Alarms were going off in my head. I was dumbfounded and had no real response.

"When is it?" I asked. "I just told you I can't go until at least next month." I was struggling to put the pieces together. "I'm tied up with this case until I start my new job."

"Oh, that's fine, honey," she said, "It would just be me going, on my own. I didn't mean that you would go with me."

"But you said 'us,'" I explained to her. "You said Marcel got 'us' in."

"Oh, yes," Jude said, staring at her hands, blushing, "I meant us as in Marcel and me." She glanced up, then back down, either unable or unwilling to look in my eyes.

"Wait, wait, wait," I spit out, trying to remain calm. "You're planning to go to a resort in Costa Rica with Marcel? Alone? For two weeks?" I asked in shock.

"Well, yes," she said nervously. "Marcel is my mentor and sponsor and needs to be there to support me."

"Can't I go with you and support you?"

"Well, no, it's just for yoga people," she explained. "You would be bored out of your mind."

I took a sip of my beer. I guess I hadn't scared Slick enough, after all.

"When is it?" I asked.

"Next month, from the 23rd," she told me. She pulled up the resort's website on her tablet to show me. The place looked incredible, like the perfect lover's getaway dream location. I made a note of the name. I would be doing some research on it as soon as possible.

"I see," I said curtly.

"Are you upset?" she asked.

"Disappointed, really," I said. "I love you, Jude. You know that don't you?"

"I do," she said, sliding off my lap to sit in her own chair. "Disappointed? Why?"

"Why?" I asked with my voice raising an octave. "You're planning to go away to a romantic tropical resort with another man, without me, for two weeks. I'm disappointed that you would think I wouldn't have a problem with that. I'm disappointed that you would ever think it was an acceptable thing to do. I'm disappointed about what that says about our marriage."

"Honey," she began, trying to reassure me, "it's only two weeks, and it is a business trip. You've taken business trips for longer than that before, and I never tried to make you feel guilty for it."

"That was different," I countered. "I wasn't going to a resort for two weeks with a young, attractive woman who clearly was trying to seduce me."

"Bill," she retorted, "Marcel is not trying to seduce me. It's purely platonic. This is business. That's all."

I finished my beer as we both sat in silence, while Jude flipped through photographs of the resort. I noticed most of the pictures showed couples in romantic poses and situations. I didn't see any yoga going on in any of them. Jude had that dreamy look on her face again.

I let out a slow, sad sigh, then asked, "So, when and where do you want to be served?"

"Served? What do you mean?" she asked, "I already put the chili in bowls?"

"Not served dinner," I replied, "Served with divorce papers."

"Divorce?" she shouted, staring at me in disbelief. "What do you mean, divorce?"

"Divorce, you know, the dissolution of a marriage. Usually done when one spouse cheats on the other."

"I know what divorce is!" Jude snapped. "Nobody is cheating on you, Bill! What are you talking about divorce for?"

"I'm talking about you going away for two weeks to a romantic, tropical paradise with your boyfriend, Marcel."

"He's not my boyfriend, dammit!" she exclaimed. "It's a certification class. I'll be there working."

"With Slick," I added. "Were you planning on staying in the same room? I bet he suggested you get one suite instead of two rooms to save money."

The surprised look on her face confirmed my statement. "Well, Marcel is paying for it!" she countered. "So, I should be willing to help save on expenses."

"So it is a suite," I said smirking.

"Yes, but he'll sleep in one part and me in the other. I told you, it's purely platonic."

"It doesn't matter if it is Platonic, Socratic or Pythagorean, I will not be married to a woman who goes on vacation, alone, with another man and sleeps in the same room."

"But you said you wanted me to get certified," she pleaded.

"I do," I agreed. "But, not like that."

"But, Bill," she argued, "this is how it is done. You're not a yoga person; you don't get it. They don't care about things like that. They don't worry about sex and things the way you do."

I noticed she was separating us in that comment, where I was worried, and she must not be.

"Sex? So, you're planning on having sex with him, too?" I asked angrily.

"No!" she shouted, "You're twisting what I'm saying! I never said that. I just meant they don't think about this kind of trip being about sex. It's about yoga and communing with nature and embracing our spirituality. It is not about sex."

"Fine," I told her. "It sounds like a great trip. Since it's next month, I'll have started at my new job, and can take some vacation. I'll go with you. I'll be your suite-mate, instead of Marcel, and pay the extra cost. He can get his own fucking room. I'll be there with you at night, sharing your bed. You can do your classes all fucking day long."

"That won't work!" she protested.

"Why not? Sounds like a perfect win-win to me. You get to do your classes during the day. Marcel gets to be there to support you. Best of all, you and I get to be together at night, like a husband and wife should."

"You'll be bored to death all day long," she explained. "I won't be able to spend any time with you at all."

I laughed. "Jude, it's a tropical paradise. I won't be bored. You won't have to babysit me. I'm a big boy. I said I wanted to take an extended vacation. This works out great. We can combine your certification with our vacation and stay an extra week or two when your training is over. You don't need to worry about me, and this way I won't have to worry about you and Slick."

"Oh never mind!" she shouted. "Forget the whole thing. I had hoped for once you would be mature and accepting of the new me and trust me enough to let me do something like this without your he-man, Neanderthalic ways interfering. I was wrong."

"So, wait, let me get this straight. You would rather cancel the whole thing and not get certified because I come along? I would not be interfering with your classes or your ability to get certified at all. The only thing my presence could possibly interfere with is you and Marcel having a romantic getaway together and sharing a suite. So, being alone with him for two weeks must be more important to you than the certification."

"Of course not," she fired back. "That's ridiculous!"

"Then, the choices are pretty simple. You can get certified with me there and stay married, or you can get certified sharing a suite with Marcel and get divorced. Instead, you're choosing to not get certified at all. You know what that means then, don't you?"

She didn't answer.

"It means the certification is just a pretext to go away with Marcel. If you can't go with him and you have to go with me, you don't want to go at all, and you are willing to give up the certification as a result."

"You're not making any sense!" Jude declared. "I"m sorry I mentioned it. Forget the whole thing."

"I wish I could," I said. "I can't. We have a problem, Jude. We don't spend any time together. When we do, we usually end up fighting. You spend all your time at the studio, with Marcel. I want my wife back. I want my life back. This is not the kind of marriage I signed up for. Maybe we really should get a divorce."

"Are you serious?" she asked her voice breaking. "You want to divorce me because I found something to make me happy, something other than you?"

"No," I replied, "I don't want to divorce you because you found some THING that makes you happy. I want to divorce you because you found some ONE, other than me, who does."

She sat there, hands shaking, mouth open as if she wanted to speak, but no words would come. Finally, she managed to squeak out, "I don't want a divorce; I love you."

"And I want a wife who is faithful in all ways, cleaving only unto me, till death do us part," I replied. "I thought that was you. I'm not so sure anymore."

"It is me," she said as she started to cry. "It's always been me. Nothing has changed."

"You've changed," I corrected her.

My phone buzzed urgently. It was my work phone. If it had been personal, I would have ignored it. Unfortunately, I didn't have that luxury. I was on call 24x7x365. Reluctantly, I picked it up and answered. "Yeah?" I said.

Martinez was on the line. "There's been another rape. This one is bad. She's dead."

"Fuck."

Chapter 11

How is it that in the modern age of DNA, cameras everywhere and CSI, we were chasing a ghost? Eight rapes, the level of violence escalating with each one and almost no clues as to who was behind them. The perp was very careful not to leave much trace evidence, and we had no witnesses. We had two small samples of DNA that came from two different crime scenes. They matched each other, but we'd never been able to connect them to a perp. It was only a matter of time, but how long?

And now, this.

Victim number nine. Murdered. This one hit me hard. I felt like it was my fault for not working harder, not doing a better job to catch this maniac. Had I been letting my preoccupation with my issues at home distract me from my job? I was one of the best investigators on the force, and I had nothing. This poor woman was dead because of me.

I pulled to a stop outside room number 27 at the Dew Drop Inn, a sleazy motel on the outside of town known for hookers, drug dealers and bed rentals by the hour. The forensics team was hard at it by the time I arrived, and the victim's corpse was about to be removed.

I looked in; the room was a bloody mess. This one hadn't gone easily. That was bad for the victim, but maybe, just maybe, it would be a break for us. Someone had to have heard something, maybe seen something. I saw her hair, half of it red and matted with her blood, the remaining strands a similar color to my wife's. She was laying on her side, her naked ass and back facing me.

The tech gently rolled her on her back, and her head lolled to the side. I saw her face. My heart leaped into my throat, and I lost my breath. I stepped back, shook my head and stared at her familiar visage.

"Martinez!" I shouted.

"Yo!" he called back from inside the room.

"You got any ID on the vic?" I called out, but I already knew who she was. He carefully stepped outside. "Yeah, her bag was in the corner. Driver's license says she's Melissa Goodman of Allen." He was looking at me cautiously. "That's your town, Bill. You know her?"

"Yeah, I do."

Chapter 12

It was the hardest thing I've ever hard to do in my career, but I wouldn't let anyone else contact Dave or tell him about his wife. I drove to his house. He was there and answered the door.

"Bill, what are you doing here?" he asked when he saw me. My face must have alerted him to the serious nature of my visit. "Is it Melissa? What's happened? Is she alright?" His questions came flooding out, faster than I could track them.

"Dave, can we sit down?" I asked, gesturing inside. He stepped back and let me in.

"Sure, but where's Melissa? Is she okay?"

We sat down in his formal living room. From its pristine state, I was sure it got as little regular use as ours. I took a deep breath. "Dave, there's no easy way to tell you this. Melissa is dead."

"What?" he fired back. "Don't fuck around, Bill, this is serious."

"I'm sorry, Dave, but it's true. Her body was found a couple of hours ago."

"That's not possible! She went to Girl's Night Out with Jude and the girls from yoga." He jumped up and grabbed his cellphone. "I'll call her. You'll see. She's fine."

"Dave, she was positively ID'd. She had her bag with her, her driver's license, plus," I hesitated to tell him, but I pushed forward, "I saw her. It was Melissa."

"There must be a mistake," he said, dropping back into the chair. I got up and poured him a glass of bourbon. He took it with trembling hands, stared at it, then downed it in one gulp.

"You're sure it was her?" he asked as I refilled his glass.

"Yes."

"I can't believe it. How?" Dave asked, "How did it happen? Was it an accident? Had she been drinking?"

I poured myself a glass and swallowed it, feeling the warmth of its familiar burn. "No," I said, "We believe she was murdered."

"Murdered? What the fuck are you talking about? Why? Who would have done that?" He stood again. I could tell he was about to snap. I put a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him.

"I'm sorry, Dave. You said she was supposed to be out with the girls, did she tell you where?"

Dave was staring into space. "Huh? I don't know. Some new restaurant on the square in McKinney. Ask Jude; She was there."

"Dave, Jude was with me. She said she hasn't spoken to Melissa in weeks. Is there any chance Melissa was seeing someone?"

"No fucking way!" Dave shouted. "Where is she? I want to see her. I need to see my wife."