The Naked and the Dead

Gail laughed. "You've done your homework too. I like solving puzzles. Piecing information together to figure out who did what appeals to me. There are some awfully bad people out there. Getting them sequestered from society seems worthwhile. I also think I can help do law enforcement more humanely."

Gail paused, then said, "you were fifth in the Big Ten at 185 pounds your senior year of wrestling. Why wrestling? Why did you want to be that intimate with another guy?"

"We didn't think of it as being 'intimate,'" I replied. "Wrestling is a combat sport. You're trying to impose your will on another person, they're trying to impose their will on you. It is tough sport that requires strength, agility, tremendous endurance, and a high tolerance for pain."

"You don't think physically dominating someone can be intimate?" Gail asked.

"I suppose it could be, depending upon your intent and the other person's," I said. "The body contact wasn't the source of the gratification." Changing the subject, I asked, "why did someone who was one of the top high school tennis players in the state become a cheerleader?"

"What's wrong with being a cheerleader?" Gail asked.

"What's wrong with being a wrestler?" I countered.

"Point," Gail said. "I wasn't that good at tennis. I made the state semis by luck. Three girls who were better than me were injured that year and couldn't play the tournament. The best player in the state had already signed with an agent and was ineligible. Some other girls who probably would have beaten me were upset so I didn't play them."

"Why cheerleader?" I asked.

"I like sports," Gail replied. "It's tough to get Florida football tickets, even for students. Being a cheerleader guaranteed I got into the games. It's a lot of work, with a fair amount of gymnastics involved, so it kept me in shape." Gail paused, giggled, and added, "and I enjoyed being in front of tens of thousands of people."

I wasn't sure whether, or how, to follow up on Gail's last comment. Instead, I asked, "any siblings?"

Gail laughed again. "You didn't find that out? Yeah, I've got an older brother. He's in the Navy up in Norfolk. You've got a sister, don't you?"

"Yeah," I said. "Amy's ten years older than me. Mom and Dad had me relatively late in life. Amy does something in advertising in New York."

Once we were off the freeway, we went east through the center of Ocala and made a series of turns to go generally northeast until we were on a secondary road on the east side of a lake. Gail's GPS said the Danners lived on that road.

The entrance to the Danners' property was just a sandy track surrounded by untended brush. No house was visible. A quarter mile up the track was a gate with an intercom box on a post. Gail identified us and the gate opened. Inside the gate, the track became a black-top drive surrounded by careful, and no doubt expensive, landscaping. Another quarter mile ahead, we saw a large house of a mock antebellum design.

Carrie Danner answered the door. "Any trouble finding us?" she asked. "We're a little isolated here, which we like. We leave the area out by the road grungy, so no one drives by and thinks there's anything of value back here."

Mrs. Danner appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. She had blonde hair with no visible dark roots and a round, cute face. Her terrycloth robe did not disguise an ample figure. I assumed she had a swimsuit on underneath. "Jason is out by the pool," she said. "Follow me." She turned and led us through the house. As we approached a sliding glass door through a breakfast alcove, Mrs. Danner took off her robe and slung it over a chair. She had nothing on underneath. Gail glanced at me and smiled.

We followed Mrs. Danner's tan ass onto a patio. A slender nude man sat at a table under an umbrella. Beyond the table was a large pool. The man stood and faced us as we approached. He was very tan, but what you noticed was that he had an extraordinarily long dick. When we reached the table, Mrs. Danner turned to face us, displaying two unnaturally large breasts and a blonde landing strip between her thighs. "This is my husband Jason," she said.

We introduced ourselves and the four of us sat at the table. "You want to talk about Brett and Rita," Jason said. "We knew them, well, I think. When we abruptly quit hearing from them a couple of years ago, I did some research online and found out they had been murdered. We were sad. Brett and Rita were vibrant, fun people. But, I'm not sure how we can help you."

"You interacted with them at Citrus Cove," Gail said, "that is a different environment from their lives in Ohio. Did anything happen or did either of them say anything there that might help us find the person who killed them?"

Jason sat silently for a couple of minutes before a slight smile crossed his face. "Well," he said, "if we're going to talk about what happened at a nude resort, it seems to me you should take your clothes off too."

"Mr. Danner," I said, "that is not necessary or appropriate. Ms. MacDonald and I are law enforcement officers. As a citizen, you have a duty to tell us what you know that may help us catch a murderer. You cannot expect us to strip naked to interview you!"

"Mr. Mueller," Jason said in an even voice, "you're from Ohio. You have zero authority here. Ms. MacDonald, you're the Florida officer. Can you compel force us to talk to you?"

"We can get a court order," Gail replied.

"To investigate an Ohio murder when you have nothing to show that I or my wife have any relevant information?" Jason retorted. "I don't think so. But, if you want to try, I have lawyers in Miami on retainer who can deal with that. It's your choice. You can spend months and thousands of tax dollars trying to force us to talk or you can get your clothes off and we'll gladly tell you everything we know today."

"It's only fair," Carrie added. "We're nude."

Danner pissed me off. I started to respond more forcefully when I felt Gail's hand on my forearm. To the Danners, she said, "let me talk with my colleague a moment."

Gail led me a few feet away from the Danners. Just above a whisper, Gail said, "Ian, he's messing with us, but I think he wins this one. You know we can't force them to talk. We drove all the way up here. These people may know something valuable. I don't think we have any choice but to grin and bare it."

Gail had valid points. I was also intrigued that she hadn't objected to Jason Danner's request that we strip naked. And, to be honest, the opportunity to see Gail MacDonald in the nude was too good to pass up. I agreed.

We went back to the table. "In the interest of securing your cooperation with a minimum of formalities, we will agree to your condition," Gail told the Danners. Gail and I were both wearing knit polo shirts with the logos of our agencies embroidered on them, khaki pants, and shoes. Gail used one foot to push the back of her shoe off her heel and slipped her foot out, the repeated the process with the other shoe. She undid the belt on her pants and pulled her shirt out of her pants and off over her head.

I was transfixed watching Gail start to strip. Gail stopped, looked at me, and said, "uh, Ian?" I got the hint. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks, and pulled my shirt off over my head. "That's better," Gail said. She unzipped her pants, let them drop to her feet, and stepped out of them. She put her shirt and pants over the back of a chair. There was nothing special about her underwear, but, in only a bra and panties, Gail MacDonald looked fantastic.

I was undoing to hook in the waistband of my pants when Gail took her bra off. I never have learned bra sizes, but Gail's breasts were gorgeous: firm, upturned, and proportional to her body. I think it was the realization that Gail's nipples were hard that started getting me hard. I looked away from Gail and tried to focus on my annoyance at Jason Danner for putting us through this. Only, I wasn't that annoyed at him.

There was some tenting in my boxers as I took my pants off. I looked at Gail. She was standing in her panties waiting for me, I guessed, so we'd get fully nude together. Gail put her hands on the waistband of her panties, smiled at me, and began to push her panties down. I looked away, pushed my boxers off, picked up my clothes, and tossed them on a chair. I heard Gail say "Ian." I turned and looked at her. I had thought Had seen beautiful women. Looking at Gail MacDonald in the nude was the first time I had ever seen true beauty. Gail smiled again.

Carrie Danner broke the silence. "You two both look great nude."

"Carrie is right," Jason said. "Now that we're all on a level playing field, what can we tell you?" Gail and I sat down at the table. Gail opened her notebook computer to take notes.

Jason and Carrie knew what Brett and Rita did in Ohio. To protect them, Jason and Carrie had never visited Brett and Rita in Ohio. In addition to their stays at Citrus Cove, Brett and Rita had visited the Danners' home several times. The home visits were so that the two couples could swap partners for sex, which they didn't want to do at Citrus Cove. Brett and Rita were both described as energetic, enthusiastic, and creative sex partners.

As the interview went on, it dawned on me that it actually felt nice to be sitting on the Danners' patio with no clothes on. It had grown warmer as the afternoon progressed, but the occasional breeze felt good on my bare skin. Fortunately, my partial erection had subsided.

Late in the interview, we got to something of more than prurient interest. "There was something strange," Jason said. "The last three times Brett and Rita came to Citrus Cove, there was also this strange dude there. We go to Citrus Cove a lot and those are the only times we've seen him there. Brett and Rita both knew the dude, they called him 'Mark,' but they weren't friends with him. I'm sure neither of them talked to him. The first time they saw him at Citrus Cove, Brett and Rita were surprised. When they saw him the second and third times, they were annoyed. I think they thought the dude was stalking them."

"Did any of you report the man to the resort?" I asked.

"There was nothing to report," Jason replied. "He kept his distance and didn't do anything. We all thought he was watching Brett and Rita, but we couldn't prove it."

"What did this man look like?" Gail asked.

"Older," Jason said, "I'd guess 50 or so. Big guy, about six feet. Big shoulders, big chest, big arms, bit of a beer gut. Grey hair in a crew cut and a lot of grey body hair."

"He had a small dick," Carrie added.

"And," Jason said, "he had a large tattoo of the Marine Corps logo on his left forearm."

"Why do you think the tattoo was the Marine emblem?" I asked.

Jason laughed. "My dad was in for 25 years. I grew up around Marine bases. I know that logo."

"Is there anything else you can tell us about this man?" I asked.

"Each time he was there, he was with this short, fat woman," Jason said. "They were with each other but didn't look like they were together, if you know what I mean. I figured the dude needed her to get in the front door."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Citrus Cove doesn't allow unaccompanied single males," Jason said. "If the dude showed up by himself, he wouldn't get in."

It had gotten warmer during the interview. I could feel sweat on myself and could see perspiration between Gail's breasts. As we finished, Carrie Danner said, "you both look hot. I mean that both ways. Take a dip in the pool before you get dressed."

Gail stood up, an inspiring sight, and said, "thank you. That's kind and we'll take you up on that." To me, Gail said "come on Ian." I followed Gail's tight, sweat ass to the edge of the pool, where she gracefully dove in. I followed somewhat less gracefully. Thankfully, Gail was still under water and didn't see me.

Gail swam across the pool and stood in water about chest deep along the far wall. I swam over to her and stopped about two feet away. We stood facing each other. "This is nice," Gail said. We looked at each other for a moment before Gail giggled and said, "we'd better go. If traffic's like it was coming up, we'll get back late." Gail swam back to where we had dived in. I followed. I had a complete, and very beautiful, view of Gail as she boosted herself out of the pool. Once she was on the pool deck, she turned and smiled at me again.

As we drove back towards Ocala, Gail asked, "what did you think?"

"The guy with the Marine tattoo is definitely interesting," I replied.

"He is," Gail replied. "What did you think about doing the interview in the nude?"

"Honestly," I said, "it was much more pleasant than I expected. What did you think?

"I enjoyed it," Gail said. "Did you like what you saw?"

"Well," I said, "you're a beautiful woman clothed and even more beautiful nude."

"Thank you," Gail said, "that's sweet. You look great nude too." Gail giggled. "You have a very attractive dick." That was a new one, but I liked it.

After a few minutes' silence, Gail said "we need to get naked together again."

"Definitely," I replied.

It was almost 7:00 p.m. as we approached Orlando. "You want to get dinner?" Gail asked.

"Sure," I said, "but it is Saturday night. I'm sure you have other things to do. Don't think you have to disrupt your life to entertain me."

"No, I don't have anything planned tonight," Gail replied. After a moment, she added, "I'm not seeing anyone these days."

We had dinner at an Italian restaurant by a small lake. We talked for almost three hours. Little was shop talk. The more I learned about Gail MacDonald, the better I liked her. I hoped she felt the same way.

As we reached the street from the restaurant parking lot, Gail paused for a moment. Finally, she turned back the way we had come. "Ian," Gail said, "I thought about inviting you home. I've only known you about a day. I like you, but that's way too fast. I hope you're not disappointed. Please keep in touch and let's see if this goes somewhere."

"Gail, I'm not disappointed because I have no expectations," I said. "I like you too. I will stay in touch."

"Thank you," Gail said.

On the drive back from Eureka, I had called Bob Williams at Citrus Cove. I told him about "Mark" and asked whether he could find any information to identify him. Gail drove me back to Citrus Cove about mid-day Sunday. Williams met us in the lobby. "I remember this guy," Williams said, "because he always paid cash. No one pays cash anymore. I think the information he gave us is crap though."

William handed us a small file. The man had given his name as "Siddiq Obama," and listed an address in Santa Claus, Indiana. There was a photocopy of probably the worst fake ID I had ever seen. It purported to be an Indiana driver's license, but Indiana was spelled "Indana." I showed it to Williams. He shrugged and said, "he paid cash up front."

"Is the picture our guy?" I asked.

"Yeah," Williams said, "that's a fair picture."

"May I have a copy of this?" I asked.

"Take it," Williams said. "That old, I'm surprised we hadn't tossed it already."

The rest of Sunday afternoon was Gail's tour of Orlando. Thankfully, that didn't include any theme parks. We had pizza at a small place that night and another long conversation. I didn't know whether I could solve the case, but I'd do everything I could to stay in touch with Gail MacDonald.

Back in Ohio, I met with Bennett Charlton. Charlton had chaired the county political party while Brett Stoltz had been auditor and when Brett and Rita were murdered. I wanted to see if Charlton knew our mystery man.

I showed Charlton the fake ID from Citrus Cove. "That's Mark Anwell," he said without hesitation. I waited. "Mark is a Marine vet. I think he was in Afghanistan and Iraq. He showed up here about seven years ago. He was working at a gun store and got involved with the party. He lived way out in the northwest corner of the county. He was a ward chair for us for a while, but we had to remove him."

"Why?" I asked.

"Mark changed jobs. He went to work as a salesman and instructor at the gun store Ezekiel Stone runs beside his 'Church of the Rock' and became a follower of Stone. We're very conservative in the Party but, according to Stone, we're all totally debauched. According to him, you only marry once, for life. He doesn't recognize divorce and even widows and widowers are supposed to remain completely faithful to their deceased spouses. Stone got into it with Brett early in Brett's first term. Stone was claiming his strip center with the gun store, coffee shop, and clothing shop was tax exempt religious property. The school district protested that, and Brett determined the stores were not exempt. Stone took it all the way to the Ohio Supreme Court, which upheld Brett's decision. Brett was on Stone's shitlist from that point on. Stone kept sending me letters and e-mail saying that Brett and Rita were defiling the party by being unfaithful to their spouses. They were both divorced!"

"How did Anwell tie into that?" I asked.

"That's what got Mark removed," Charlton answered. "He sent things on Party letterhead to folks in his ward repeating what Stone said about Brett and Rita, making it look like that was the Party's position which it definitely was not."

"Do you know where Anwell is now?" I asked.

"I do not," Charlton responded. "I haven't seen him since, well, right around the time Brett and Rita were killed. I heard he left the area, but I don't know that. It's ok with me if he did. I always thought Mark was a bomb waiting to explode."

"Do you remember what he drove?" I asked.

"When I knew him, he drove an old grey Ford pick-up," Charlton said.

I didn't have enough for a warrant, but I had a strong suspicion Mark Anwell was involved in the Stoltz/Martin murders. I wanted to talk to him, but didn't know where he was.

I talked to Gail by phone at least every other day. I reported what I'd learned about Anwell and that I couldn't find him. "Maybe he decided he likes Florida," Gail said. "Give me a day or two to see if I can find him down here."

With the Stoltz/Martin investigation in limbo, my boss made me lead investigator on another potential hot potato in Northwest Ohio. A County Engineer had been using county employees, equipment, and money to install swimming pools, build patios, and pave driveways at the homes of other county officials, including the prosecutor and the county's only trial court judge. I was in rural northwest Ohio when Gail called my cellphone.

"I found Anwell," she said excitedly. "He lives near a place called Cross City in Dixie County. That's on the Gulf side of the State up near the top of the peninsula. It's really the middle of nowhere. It looks like he showed up there about a month after your murders."

"Any idea what he does?" I asked. "I wonder whether he'd talk to us if we just showed up unannounced."

"No idea what he does," Gail said. "I'll drive up there and look at his place. That might indicate what sort of reception we'd get."

"Be careful," I said. "If I'm right, he's already killed two people."

Gail called a couple of days later. Anwell lived on a small piece of dry land surrounded by swamp. He had a barbed wire gate across the track leading to his shack. "I looked at the house through binoculars," Gail said. "According to the deputy who went with me, it used to have windows. Anwell covered the whole shack with metal. Instead of windows, there are now small slits."

Later in our conversation, Gail asked, "you have a webcam, don't you?" I answered that I did. "Let's start using Skype," Gail said, "I want to see you." Of course, I wanted to see Gail and mentally kicked myself for not suggesting Skype.

My Skype calls with Gail became a nightly event. On Saturday nights, we'd each have a drink, or two, and talk for hours. The second Saturday we did that, I risked asking Gail, "Don't you have a date on a Saturday?"