The shutter rasped open. Light reflecting from my targets in the throes of their ecstasy pounded the sensor for 1/300th of a second until the shutter slammed home. Cutting them off as finally as the divorce papers were likely to cut off that man when his wife saw what he was doing 'on business.' I hated running divorce cases. Made me feel gross. But they paid the bills, and with more than forty detective agencies in town, one couldn't particularly afford to be picky about the cases they took. Especially not a one woman operation like mine. They weren't even cases, really. Find the guy, and it was almost always a guy, snap some photos of the indiscretion, drop them off to the client and her lawyer. It was the bread and butter of the detective business, but it was boring. Tedious. And surprisingly difficult for me to get. Despite being the most common kind of case for private detectives, when the client heard a woman answer the phone their minds always spun lurid tales for them of their husband's magical penis boning the detective she hired. Other agencies had it easy. Big gruff manly man answers, and the client's mind is spinning lurid tales of getting boned by the grizzled detective. But I digress. Job to finish. I plugged my camera into my laptop, and transferred the images to a thumb drive. Then slid that, along with the paper copy of my reports and expense sheet into a manila envelope. I had been paid in advance, so I left the envelope at the lawyer's office with our mutual client's name on it. I had learned the hard way to get paid in advance for jobs like this. No one wanted a bill after receiving bad news; and worse yet, for me, no one wanted to pay a bill after bad news. With my job out of the way, it was time to head home. My turn to cook tonight, which meant pre-cooked chicken and potato salad from the grocery store around the block from our apartment. Bless Tess’ patience with my culinary shortcomings. Juggling my work bag, and the grocery bag, I managed to free my keys without dropping anything.

“I’m home,” I called as I toed the door to the apartment open.

“Here, let me take that,” Tess freed the grocery bag from grasp, and planted a quick kiss on my cheek, “how was work?”

Letting my work bag drop by the door, I hung my hat and coat, “it was certainly work. Saw a dick today.” 

“Another divorce case?”

“Yeah. At least this one paid well. A week up front, and it took that long to catch him in the act."

"Any other cases on your docket? I know how much you hate those kinds of jobs."

"Nope. Just gonna hang out at the office tomorrow and hope good news comes rolling through my door." I retrieved plates from the cupboard and placed them around the table, “I hope your day had fewer dicks than mine.”

Tess freed the chicken from its plastic shell,“Afraid not, love.” She slid the knife into the flesh of the bird, shearing off equal portions onto each of our plates, “we arranged to have the Michelangelo exhibit at our museum. It was marble, but a dick nonetheless.”

I snorted a laugh, and Tess smiled at me. God, she was beautiful, “that’s a pretty big deal! Congrats, hun!”

Tess flourished the knife in a small bow, “thank you, thank you. Still months of work yet to make preparations, but it's happening!"

"Can't wait to visit you at work and see the artwork," I winked, "I guess the exhibit will be pretty okay, too." It was Tess' turn to laugh. 

"Jane Farrier," she said, "you are a sap!"

"Guilty! I am well and truly smitten."

As dinner neared its end, Tess leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands, and stared into my eyes, "you know. It seems like just yesterday that that disheveled detective solved the mystery of the purloined parchment."

I grinned at the memory. The day I had first met Tess, and the highlight of my career with a proper mystery worthy of a radio drama. She and a colleague were both working under a mentor curator. Her colleague had tried to frame her for the theft of a museum piece. Cops fell for the obvious set up, I didn't. Tess treated me to dinner as thanks. I ran a thumb along the simple silver band on my left hand. The rest was history. We had celebrated our 11th anniversary just a couple months prior. Well, eleven years since we had made a promise to each other. Wasn't until '14 that we could make that promise official in the eyes of the government. Tess reached across the table and took my hand, pulling me back to the present. 

"You're cute when you get that goofy grin," she told me. After we ate, she stood, and pulled me to my feet. Walking backwards, she led me down the hall towards the bedroom. She was beautiful, and I was in love. 

 

—*—

 

The lights in my office hummed, and the ancient coffee pot in the corner burbled. Probably my last few months here. With rent on the rise it was getting less and less worth it to keep the office. Gave an air of legitimacy to my business that meeting clients at Starbucks just wouldn’t match. Well, this day and age most folk were okay with a digital meet. With not a whole lot to actually do, I refreshed my email repeatedly hoping for a request of service. As the day drew ever closer to lunch, I was weighing my takeout options when someone knocked. The door was unlocked, and it was an office but you could get a good idea of the person if they knocked rather than letting themselves in. 

"Unlocked," I called, "c'mon in!" The man who entered reminded me of what's his face from Atlantis. The nerd. Built, but tall enough he still looked scrawny. He wrung his hands like a man out of his element. I put on my best customer service grin, "Welcome to Farrier Investigations! I'm Jane Farrier. How can I help?"

"You're, uh, not what I expected."

I nodded solemnly, "truly, detective work is a male dominated field."

"No! No, please don't misunderstand. I'm glad you're— I'm— it's a delicate situation. In need of a woman's touch."

I quirked an eyebrow at him and gestured to the empty chair, “please, have a seat. Take a breath and tell me why you’re looking for a private investigator.”

The man followed direction and sat. After a moment catching his breath he spoke, “It’s my wife. She’s—”

When he showed no sign of continuing I broke in, “Mr., ah, didn’t catch your name—”

“Renfrue.”

“Mr. Renfrue. I have my suspicions as to why you’ve come in today. I understand it’s not much of a reassurance, but this kind of thing happens quite frequently, and people like me, detectives, are often in the middle. We understand it’s an emotionally charged time, and know how to handle it delicately.”

The man nodded, but continued to avoid answering my question by asking one of his own, “are you married, Miss Farrier?”

While I’d rather get down to business, these kinds of pleasantries were sometimes necessary to get a job. I showed my ring finger, “I am. My wife and I have been married for over ten years.”

Mr. Renfrue whistled, “Wow. Ten years. How’d you manage?”

I leaned forward in my chair, and rested my arms on my desk, “Mr. Renfrue, I’m a detective, not a marriage counselor. At the risk of shooing away a job, just talk to her. We made it ten years through open and honest communication. Talk to your wife. Listen to what she has to say. And don’t hire a detective. When people like me get involved, the trust is already broken, and there's no getting that back.”

The man was silent for a full minute. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, “Miss Farrier, I’m afraid I’ve already tried talking to her. I’ve come to you because I have no other option.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Renfrue. As I said, I can be delicate where necessary. Unfortunately there is an amount of paperwork we need to get in order. Contract of service, your expectations, fee, and all that.”

 

—*—

 

I sat in my car, and tried to sip my coffee. It had been unbearably hot upon receipt, and even holding off on transferring it to my insulated mug it was still too hot several hours later. Annoying. I needed caffeine now. This was the third day I had been following Mrs. Renfrue. Her spouse and my client was under the impression she was having an affair. He just wanted confirmation rather than ammunition for legal proceedings. And this might be my break. I stopped trying to drink my coffee and transferred it to the cup holder as Mrs. Renfrue turned left rather than right leaving her work like she had done the two days prior. Downtown. Opposite direction to the white picket fence suburbs where she lived. Tailing was an art. A few cars back. Not too close, but not so far back as to lose her at a light. Unfortunately an art wasted on most. People these days were oblivious to, well, a lot. Outside their phones, and the space three feet right in front of their faces. If Mrs. Renfrue was indeed on her way to a secret liaison as her husband suspected, she made no attempt to hide that. She drove without deviation to a motel, pulling into the parking lot, cutting off another driver as she crossed oncoming traffic. Surefire way to draw attention to yourself. Trying to be more discreet than my target, I pulled into the alley next to the building across from the motel. A quick peek around the corner showed Mrs. Renfrue still in her car touching up her makeup in the rear view mirror. I pulled up Google maps, and used the street view to quickly scout the back of the motel. No rear access points. She'd be going somewhere in the front, then. Stepping a little deeper into the alley, I jumped and grabbed the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder. It was one of those that was latched in the upper position to keep people from climbing onto it from below, but enough pull ups on a regular basis can get a detective into many areas that may be otherwise inaccessible. Besides, a little elevation would give me a view of the motel's front unimpeded by traffic. Keeping my head below the lip of the roof's ledge, I used my camera's adjustable screen to watch the parking lot. There, Mrs. Renfrue was walking directly towards a room, bypassing registration. Either she or whoever she was meant to meet had rented the room ahead of time. I snapped a couple pics of her entering the room. She used a key. Likely anyone she was due to meet hadn't arrived then. With one hand on the camera, I used the other to set up my tripod and slotted the camera into it. Mrs. Renfrue had a room on the second floor. She had left the curtains wide open so I could see her pacing, and talking animatedly on the phone. Her conversation was brief. After she hung up, she moved over to the bed, and flicked on the TV. Curious. That typically wasn't the MO of secret lovers. Might be here a while. I pulled out my phone and texted Tess to let her know I'd probably be home late. She replied with the kissing face, and sleeping emojis. I smiled. I had married a dork. Returning my focus to the task at hand, I waited. A whole lot of nothing. For over an hour. My calves were cramping, and stretching only helped so much. As much as I loved my particular career choice, times like this made me question it sometimes. At least it wasn’t raining. As though summoned, thunder rumbled in the distance. Well fuck. The minutes continued to tick by and the rains came along with dusk and a white Bently. The man who stepped from it seemed unbothered by the coming rains, as he spread his arms wide and lifted his face to the droplets. I pressed the shutter on my remote in case this guy was Mrs. Renfrue’s liaison. His head snapped around to look up at my roof.  No way the guy could see me. I held my breath anyway. I glanced at the camera’s screen. The guy was turning towards the building. He walked directly towards the room Mrs. Renfrue occupied. He let himself in. He walked to the window, looking up at my perch. Mrs. Renfrue visible on the bed behind. He grasped the curtains, and pulled them shut. Well. That was that. I reviewed the pictures I had taken leading up to curtain pull. Easily enough evidence for Mr. Renfrue, but I am nothing if not thorough. I slipped the protective plastic over my camera to keep the rain off. Even with the curtain closed, I could still catch one or both on the way out. I hunkered down against the rain to wait. It was possible they’d both sleep through the night there, but Mr. Renfrue had said his wife returned home each night, despite his suspicions. An hour passed. Two. I was considering packing up and making due with the evidence I had when the light in the room clicked on, then off. The door opened, and the guy exited, stretching languidly. He sauntered back to his car. I snapped pics of him leaving, and driving off. I waited for Mrs. Renfrue to follow. And waited some more. My gut told me something was wrong. Outside the scope of the job to get face to face with the mark, but—I learned to trust my gut a long time ago. I quickly packed up my camera and made my way down the fire escape. I crossed the road. Traffic was light at this hour. I listened at the door. Silence. I knocked. 

“Mrs. Renfrue?” I called. Nothing. I tried the handle. Unlocked. The room was dark. I slid my hand along the wall to find the lightswitch. I found it. Along with a wet patch. The fuck? Oh fuck. The light flickered to life and revealed a horror scene. Blood coated the walls, the ceiling. Everything. I let out a gasp. Mrs. Renfrue lay on the bed. A limb tied to each corner, and her torso split wide open. Her organs were nailed to the wall over the head of the bed. Blood dripped from them, leaving red streaks down the wall. What the fuck? What the FUCK? I backed out of the room. Tripped over my own feet, and fell onto my ass. I scrambled down the stairs into the parking lot. What the fucking fuck? No shame in admitting I spilled my guts right there. After what I saw in that room? Only natural. After catching my breath, and washing the bile out of my mouth from my water bottle I pulled out my phone. I had 9 and 1 dialed before I reconsidered. Street cops weren’t known for thinking things through. Didn’t want some asshole fresh out of boot thinking I had done this. Switching to my contacts I scrolled down to the S section. Sharpe, Juliet. She answered on the 5th ring.

“Jane? Been a while. How’s things?”

“Bad. You on duty tonight?”

Her voice suddenly adopted a serious tone, “yeah. Why?”

I gave the address of the motel, “and bring a coroner. I stumbled on something bad.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t leave the scene. I’ll need a statement.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

—*—

 

Juliet found me standing in the parking lot. I was soaked through from the rain. But I didn’t really care. 

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks. I feel like it. Lucky you, the rain washed away my upchuck.”

She looked towards the motel, now lit by a dozen sets of red and blue lights, “Coroner says they haven’t seen anything that brutal before,” she pulled a recording device from a pocket, gesturing with it she asked, "ready?" I nodded.  Juliet activated it and continued, “This is Detective Juliet Sharpe, badge number 8026, taking the statement of witness Jane Farrier, mind telling me how you came across the scene?”

“On a job. Mrs. Renfrue, uh, the victim. Her husband suspected an affair. He hired me to tail his wife to prove it.” I pulled out my notebook, and held my hat over it to protect the pages from the rain, “At 1746 hours, Mrs. Renfrue parked at the motel. She entered the room in question and made a phone call. She watched TV until 1922 hours when a white Bently parked. Uh, license plate alpha gamma echo eight two six. The driver,  late forties, caucasian male, six foot even, dress pants, and a white button down. No jacket. Black hair, bit of gray. He entered the room with Mrs. Renfrue. He left at 2134 hours. Had a bad feeling when Mrs. Renfrue didn’t follow. 2200 hours I checked the room and found—that. And called you.”

"And you have pictures?"

"Of both parties arriving, and one leaving. The curtains were closed after the man arrived." 

“Thank you. Anything else?”

“No ma’am.”

“This concludes the statement from witness Jane Farrier.” She clicked off the recorder, “how are you holding up?” 

“I’m tough.”

“Yeah. But the coroner lost his lunch, too. Whatever happened in there—fuck. Brutal shit.”

“You gonna be the one to break the news to the husband?”

“That unfortunate duty does indeed fall on me.”

“Sorry.”

“Jane, we can set you up with counseling through victim’s services. You found the scene first. You’d qualify.”

“I’ll be fine. Just need to—sleep on it.”

Juliet nodded, “just try not to drink on it, yeah? I know you struggled with that before.”

I sighed, Juliet was right. I had been thinking of the bottle in the freezer since I made the call, “Fine. You got me, Jules. What’s the number for your stupid counselor?” 

Juliet passed over a card with a name and number on it. I tucked it into my notebook, and slipped both into my pocket. She put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze, “talk to them Jane. You don’t have to put on the tough girl facade. Let yourself be vulnerable for two seconds.” She gestured back towards the motel, “bottling up shit like that? That’ll come back to haunt you. Trust me.”

“Speaking from experience, Jules?”

She just nodded, and didn’t elaborate that point, “I’ve got your statement. Go home, Jane. Tell Tess I say hi.”

Nodding myself, I simply turned and walked towards my car. I drove home in a trance. Recalling nothing of the trip. I climbed the stairs, and let myself into the apartment. Without thinking I walked over to the fridge. I opened the freezer. A bottle of brown liquid was tucked in the back. I thought about the counselor Jules had suggested. Fuck it. That would be a problem for the morning. Tonight, I needed a different kind of therapy. I pulled the bottle free, and removed the stopper. Lacking the wherewithal to make it to the couch, I simply sat on the kitchen floor and drank. I don’t know how long I was on the floor before Tess came out, and sat next to me. She took the bottle. Wasn’t there a lot more in there before? 

She rested her head on my shoulder. She spoke softly, “rough day?”

“Shittiest one in a while.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really, but—” I relived the events of the day, saving her the goriest details. I choked back a sob. I hadn’t even known the woman, but no one deserves to go out like that. 

Tess gently pressed my cheek, and turned my face to look at her’s. “Jane. It’s not your fault.”

“I was there. The whole time. I could’ve—should’ve done something. Anything.”

“Like what? There was no way for you to have known. From what you told me there was nothing out of the ordinary until the end. After it was too late.”

I reached for the bottle, but she pressed her forehead against mine. “Let's go to bed. It’s late. You need rest. If you still feel like you need it in the morning, I’ll help you finish the bottle.”

I let her lead me to the bedroom. I really was tired. It was well past midnight. Long day with a rough end. Well, I ran my thumb over the back of Tess’ hand where she held mine, maybe a soft end after a rough evening. I didn’t deserve the compassion she showed. Her love.