The Elegant Corpse

When Roger and Marian arrived at the police station, FBI Special Agent Clark Miller already had a separate case analysis room and a team of firepower.A profiler arrived overnight, and all available homicide detectives sat in the conference room to listen to his profile analysis.

The profiler only supported the inferences that Roger and Marianne had already made: white males, sexually dyslexic, long engaged in highly ritualized environments, and still are.

"Why mummified, sir?" asked Marianne.

"Perhaps because he saw it as a link between the Egyptian practice of dismembering corpses and his own eating of flesh."

"No teeth marks," another detective pointed out.

"But the penis and all the viscera are gone," the profiler said.It's so common for serial killers to chew, eat, or keep parts of their victims' remains that any homicide detective these days anticipates and pays special attention to evidence of this.

The similarities between the mummified remains of Gary Williams and Marchant have been analyzed and profilers explain them.

"Probably the same man did it. His methods were more refined. On the second victim we found obvious signs of violent beatings, which may have been the cause of death, which was the same as the coroner's deduction of the first victim's cause of death." Consistent. No signs of sexual assault, or at least no signs of penetration."

"Sir, about the device in the victim's hands." Roger said, holding up his hand.Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Marianne sitting up in her seat, as if...ready to go to war.The conscience of heaven and earth, this is completely unnecessary.

"It's all admonitional props," said the profiler, "but we haven't found blood or any DNA to suggest that these were murder weapons. Maybe they're just a symbol of punishment for the victim. We tentatively think the killer may have grown up in a foreign culture." Yes, and this kind of behavior is still very common in the local area..."

Roger held his breath and waited for him to finish.Since the conversation with Marianne, he has been thinking about how to organize the next language so that he can express the meaning clearly without causing unnecessary complications.

"About the scatter-tail whip," he said.

"How?" said Marianne.

"Both Adam Marchant and Gary Williams had initial contact with the leather culture circle."

Marianne said nothing.Roger had noticed before that as long as the gay circle was involved, Marianne would take an evasive attitude, and even directly refused to express any opinions, which made him a little uncomfortable.Being able to effectively brainstorm together is an important indicator of evaluating a pair, so he feels that this is not a good thing for both of them.

"BDSM is still illegal," he said.

Marianne looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"I happen to know quite a few men who have adopted this kind of lifestyle," he explained.

There it was again, damn it, that look of concern and sympathy. "Really?" said Marianne.

"Shit," Roger sighed softly.Given that he never swears, Marianne was surprised by the use of such words. "Aren't you a little worried about why I know this?" he asked her.

"Roger, there's a fugitive in my guest room. As for how you'll meet a leather daddy, you think I'd be worried?"

Roger stared sullenly at a form on his desk.

"If you think there is a connection, report it to Miller."

"That's what I should have done."

"If you think there's a connection and you don't tell Miller, then I'd be worried." Marianne's voice was a little stern, with a hint of gunpowder.

Roger laughed. "Thanks."

"What's the matter, Inspector?"

"We've found a connection between the victim and a private BDSM club in West Hollywood. There's a, um, photo of two victims at a party at the same time."

"Do you have this picture?"

"No, sir, the owner is resolutely unwilling to reveal his identity. However, the criminal we are looking for may have crossed paths with members of the 'Avatar Club'."

Clark Miller sized Roger up, not seeming to care how the detective got the information. "Thanks. That's a good lead."

"You're welcome." Roger rarely had mood swings because of work, but now his face was flushed.He could feel the heat all over his body.

Miller's penetrating, seemingly relentless eyes continued to stare at him. "It would be even better if you could find some more information about the members of the organization within the scope of their system."

"As ordered, sir."

Roger was sweating, and when he returned to his desk, his relaxed limbs trembled slightly.Marianne gave him a smug look, as if some point of hers had been confirmed.

He immediately called Jay. "The situation has changed," he told the other party. "I suspect that someone is targeting the 'Avatar' members. If you cooperate with me, I will take measures to keep the identities of those who have nothing to do with this case confidential."

There was a silence.Then came Jay's thoughtful and strenuous voice: "You can come over this afternoon."

As soon as Roger put down the phone, Marianne threw a stack of bound documents across the "Hadrian's Wall". "Here comes the call log," she said.

As Roger scrolls through the minutes, it's no surprise that Adam Marchant is still struggling with the "evil forces" of the gay scene.Several call records were made to the male publicist and some clubs with a bad reputation.

"Murder doesn't need a valid reason," Marianne said with a smug smirk, "unless you're a member of some wife-beating, homophobic, misogynistic society."

Roger frowned. "Your mouth can accumulate some virtue."

Marianne returns to the case analysis room to discuss the newly acquired information with Agent Miller and his staff.

Roger had noticed a number on Marchant's cell phone, which was Avatar's BDSM dungeon number.He called Pete.

"Not very familiar with the name," Pete said. "Do you know when he was here?"

Roger told him the time and date on the phone transcript.After leaving for a while, Pete came back and said to him: "Almost all the performances that day can be entered by paying cash at the door, and you don't need to leave your last name. How about you describe his appearance?"

Roger described it.Pete is good at remembering people's looks.It was a necessary skill in his line of work, and since many of the people who came here did not want to be named, he had to remember his customers, at least recognize them at a glance. "We do have a few of these guys here," Pete said. "I'll have to see the pictures."

"I'll fax you a copy."

"Roger," he hesitated, "is this man married? Besides, before you ask me to keep it secret, can I say that the information I'm going to give you now can't be leaked?"

"I understand, Pete," said Roger. "I am beyond grateful."

Roger faxed the photo over.There was still a large pile of suicide files on his desk, and he was processing these files while waiting for Pete to call back.Pairs of young men's eyes stared at him.

Pete's name danced on the screen of Roger's phone. "My God," Pete said eagerly as soon as he answered the phone, "that picture! Roger, we've known him before."

"Ah, yes. Exactly."

"My God." Pete's tone was panicked.He continued after a while: "Well, even if he came, I didn't see him. My God, this face shocked me. What's his name?"

"Adam Marchant."

"Adam," Pete breathed out, "yes, I couldn't remember just now. God, that was a long time ago, and now he's dead..."

"I'm sorry to make it hard for you to hear," Roger said sincerely.Why is it still like this until now, those days shrouded in the haze of the great plague are gone forever, and the topic of his friends is still inseparable from gossip and death news?

"No, no, it's okay. It's just that this face is too surprising."

After a few polite words, they hung up the phone.

Looking up, Marianne was crossing the table with her feet up, talking and wrapping her fingers around the phone cord.Both Agent Miller and the profiler applauded Marchant's next steps in response to revelations about her private life.Therefore, members of the church to which Marchant belonged were brought in one by one and questioned carefully.

"Marchant's church is a collection of perverts," Marianne said.She was pleased to find that most of them had criminal records.

However, only three people fit the profile.

"Anthony Clarke, 52, intentional injury. Oh look, violent rape. Restraining order. No DNA taken."

"An ex-wife?"

"Yes."

"He has an alibi."

"The testimony came from his overly terrified spouse," Marianne said.Roger, who was reading the report, looked up at her across the table.

"That's an interesting description."

"Shut up, Corso. Can you tell you're not getting all kinds of irritated by this man?"

Of course he has.But even if he admitted it, it would not please Marianne.As a predator at the top of the food chain, Roger will never mistake an evenly matched opponent.But he suppressed his instinct well, hoping to resolve it through more positive channels that are beneficial to the case, which didn't make him feel that he had lost any "magnificence".

"Why don't you call the police officer who made the arrest in the rape case?" he suggested to Marianne.

"You're the roundworm in my stomach." Marianne said and carried out his words.

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But when Marianne explained the case at hand, he seemed skeptical. "Clark does hit women, Stelter," he said, "but I don't think he's a long way from being a serial killer."

Marianne thought so too.She hung up the phone, looking deflated.

The next church member to fit the profile was out of town on business the night Marchant was killed.Marianne checked with the airport for his flight.

The next member who fits the profile looks suspicious.

"Theodore Vincent, known as 'Teddy', 54 years old, single. He was charged with assault, but both were dropped. Once he was charged with rape and violence, and then reversed, and the victim was hospitalized. Another time It was the call girl's complaint against him."

"Do you have any previous convictions for same-sex entanglements?"

"Well, look, that's where it gets interesting, Corso. There was an unproved case against him for pimping. It involved the Santa Monica Police Department fishing at a gay bar on Venice Boulevard. action."

At Marchant's house they questioned many distraught parishioners, but this one was not among them, so it was necessary to go to Moorpark and ask him face to face.

Teddy Vincent was five feet ten with a bald head and a clean white T-shirt, and Roger noticed a streak of pinhole scars on the side of one ear, probably from a healed piercing.When Roger and Marianne identified him, he folded his muscular shaved arms across his chest and said, "What's the matter?"

Teddy was unmarried, so there wasn't a cowering person in the kitchen behind him who could pass by as an alibi.Like the previous two, he also claimed to have no knowledge of what Adam Marchant was up to the night he was killed.And then he stood there, thick arms folded across his chest, staring down at Roger as he told him about taking the DNA sample.

"Well, some lawyers tried to use this trick on me before," he said. "No way."

He told them he had been home that night, watching a rented movie and going to bed early when the incident happened.No one has seen or spoken to him.

"How well do you know Adam Marchant?"

"Too familiar," spat Teddy. "He and his nosy wife are always preaching to me and trying to get me married."

"Ah," said Roger.

"Indeed," said Marianne. "Why do married people always try to drag others into their boat?"

Teddy grinned. "That's what I told him too."

"Murder of spouses accounts for the highest proportion of homicides. What does that tell you?" Marianne went on in a cheerful tone.

"This." Teddy said, hiding his smile.

"But you used to be part of Father Marchant's parish?" Roger asked.

"Of course." Teddy shrugged. "Why not? You have to do it everywhere you move, right? Join a church or something?"

"Oh," said Roger, "how long have you been here?"

Teddy regretted being outspoken just now, and Roger could see it from his annoyed expression. "Just a month," he said.

They checked other information on the man, told him they might come back to talk to him, and kept him in touch.This request didn't seem to bother Teddy at all.

On the highway back, Marianne said, "So, Corso, do you have what they call a Kedar?"

"I sure hope I don't," Roger said. "I shower every morning and use deodorant."

"It's funny." Marianne lowered the visor in front of her and tossed her knotted bangs in front of the mirror. "Our Mr. Vincent never looked at my breasts."

"Ah," said Roger, "it may be that he has such high respect for you that he keeps his eyes on you."

Marianne snorted. "It doesn't make sense, huh?"

"It doesn't make sense," Roger agreed.

"Why would a gay man join a homophobic church?" Marianne said, tapping her fingers on one side of her face in a deliberate look. "Oh, a bold idea. Perhaps the parish priest is his lover?"

Roger frowned, thinking.

"Your frown negates my point." Marianne pointed out.

"I think we should pay more attention to Mr. Vincent," said Roger.

"Well, we agree on that."

***

"Jay, have you ever heard of Teddy Vincent?" Roger asked.He sat in the "front room" of Jay's house, watching the man carefully steer his wheelchair through a pile of boxes, cabinets and furniture.

"No impression," Jay said.He parked his wheelchair and turned to look at Roger.

"Did you hear George and Flora moved to Washington State?" he said, pulling the mask over his face and watching Roger over the edge.

"No. Is he really 'Flora' now? Or are they still saving money for surgery?"

Jay took off his mask. "I don't know." He reached into a cabinet and took out a dusty and crumpled loose-leaf book. "it's here."

Jay had already given half a dozen such folders, none of which led to Roger's case, and Roger didn't expect much from this new find.

Roger's eyes wandered to the back wall as Jay drove the wheelchair across the room.The wall decorations are memorabilia—from handmade postcards, amateur photography to priceless erotic drawings by "Tom of Finland."Jay claimed to have modeled for Tom in his early years.When Roger first met him, Jay did have the iconic muscles and huge genitals that Tom painted.

①Tom of Finland (1920-1991), a famous male illustrator.

The paintings of "Tom of Finland" represented the world Roger loved, the kind of fantasy created by "Villager Group": cops, cowboys, soldiers and construction workers; men full of masculinity; sweaty, dirty, Unleash yourself at some secret meeting place, or something as unmasculine as a YMCA; rough, leather-clad, motorcycle-riding men.

②VillagePeople, founded in 1977, is an American gay singing group.

The tall, lanky, sensitive "performance poet" doesn't belong in that world.

He still smelled of Sean in his throat.

With his orderly and restrained way of doing things, Roger has managed to keep last night's events to himself all day today; but sitting in Jay's house, surrounded by the glorious history of the underground gay world here , Sean suddenly appeared in Roger's mind.

He is responsible for that man.He is very clear.Sean had pushed him, challenged him, and Roger had accepted instinctively, without a moment's hesitation.

He couldn't think of a reason for it.Over the past few years, Pete had introduced him to quite a few men, lovely and sweet, several of whom were hungry for what Roger had to offer, and Roger had turned them all down, unmoved.

But from the moment they met, Sean made him feel challenged.On an instinctive, pre-rational level, Sean tugged at every chord in Roger.The man needs to be passive, Roger needs to be active.While he was brooding over this, Jay steered the wheelchair carefully around the various boxes and stopped beside Roger, laying out the heavy loose-leaf book on the chair.

"Let's go. Where's your list?" Jay's hands weren't working very well today, and Roger noticed some blue bruises in his skin.He wondered what was going on with Jay's condition.He's about to lose another friend?Accompanied by this thought, a panic-like emotion suddenly rushed into his mind.

"Jay, I met a young man, I want you to meet him," he said suddenly.

Jay gave him a sharp look, which was almost exactly the same as before, and Roger immediately felt better. "Are you sure he'll meet me?" Jay panted, and then he laughed so hard that he had to wear a mask to breathe for a while.

Roger searched the list and saw the name. "That's right." He nodded firmly with his thumb.

Jay, still wearing the mask, glanced at the name. "A gelcoat party list," he gasped. "Leather Comrade's 'Crisper Party'."

"1990" was written on the binder cover.

“These parties weren’t the usual kind of gatherings in the industry,” Jay said as he browsed. “It was around the time when there was a public curiosity about fetish activities.”

"I thought the craze was still going on," Roger commented, taking care to note the name. "Thomas Stone," he said, checking off his list again, "suicide."

Jay clicked his tongue sadly.

"Do you have any impression of him?"

"No," Jay said.He turned a few pages, his eyes were much gentler, memories made his eyes red.

For the next time, they kept browsing Jay's book, but couldn't find any other names, until Jay looked extremely tired, his skin was gray, and the bags under his eyes had turned dark brown.

"Are you feeling all right?" Roger asked.

Jay nodded. "My nurse will be here at six o'clock in the afternoon."

When Roger was about to leave, Jay saw his "nurse" coming, and suddenly became a lot easier.It was a young Latino man with slender and beautiful black eyes, a diamond stud earring on one earlobe, and a naughty and sexy smile on his mouth.

Roger looked back at Jay.He put on his mask, his eyes wide with a smile.

"Liam," Jay called, and the young man gently put his hand on Jay's shoulder, close to his neck, in an intimate gesture.

"You're tired," he said, casting a reproachful look at Roger.

Comrade Old Leather didn't die, he just let the nurse replace the slave.

"I hope to bring that friend of mine over soon," Roger reminded Jay as he packed up his belongings.

Jay nodded, his eyes had long been glued to his "attendant", and Roger left on his own.

***

"What do you mean, you have a 'responsibility' to me?" Sean was furious, walking around the room like a trapped animal, expressing his dissatisfaction while talking and dancing.A few hours earlier, he had managed to find a room not far from where he worked.But as soon as he told Roger the address, he was denied.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Sean asked.

"I'm responsible to you, and that area is not safe."

Sean didn't understand the point of Roger's words at all.

"You have no responsibility whatsoever for me Mr. Perfect. I am a fully free adult white male. I have the right to vote. I can drive. I have the right to make my own decisions. I choose where I live. It is me Chosen to investigate your leather circle. I chose to fuck you."

"There's no need to swear."

"'Fuck' isn't a swear word, it's just a verb for something I want to do, you want to do it, and we do it together. No big deal."

Unfortunately, Roger believes, this is a big deal for him.

"You can't start making decisions for me just by saying you're going to make them for me," Sean said, facing the gable window above the desk, arms folded.The light sculpted the lines and corners of his face, and Roger felt a very strong and strange desire to draw those lights and shadows with his fingers.

"So you regret it?" he asked.

Sean was taken aback by the question. "What? No. No, that's great, I...hey..." he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Roger, the anger on his face turned to concern.Before Roger could adjust to the change, Sean wrapped his arms around him.

To be honest, the atmosphere in the room was changing rapidly and erratically, which made Roger a little dizzy.

Sean looked at him seriously. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

Roger is feeling the same way he did when the storm hit the Florida Keys.Water and newspapers swirled around Roger's ankles; a lady's yellow umbrella flipped back and forth, almost hitting his head; and there was the howling of the wind and the wailing of the blown houses.Sean is like a hurricane.

"I'm fine," he said, and Sean kissed him.

hurricane.rainstorm.tsunami. "Better close the door," Sean gasped under Roger's lips.

Roger did so.As he slipped the lock carefully, he heard a soft curse and turned away.Sean was lying across the coverlet in the same position Roger had pushed him down, his shirt was wrinkled and loosely open.He stared at Roger and said, "Shit, you should look at yourself."

Roger's shirt was halfway down his shoulders and caught in the cuffs.His belt was gone too, and his trousers had slid down and hung over his narrow hips.If it wasn't for his cock stiffening against the zipper, the pants would have slid down his feet.

"It's every little gay's dream girl," Sean said.

Roger felt an unusual smile appear on his face.He moved to the bed, but Sean held up a hand. "Wait. Just for a moment. Will you satisfy me?"

"Anything," said Roger under his breath.

Sean's chest rose and fell. "Take off your clothes and let me see you?"

Roger raised an eyebrow and did as he did.He unbuttoned the cuffs and let the shirt slip off his arm.While every cleanliness in him was clamoring for him to pick it up, he kicked the shirt aside as he unbuttoned his trousers and slowly pulled the zipper down.

Sean licked his lips and rubbed the bulge under his boxers.

Roger took off his trousers, tore off his gartered socks, and shot Sean like a slingshot.Sean returned his wheezing laughter.Then he took off his panties and let his cock pop out.

He is indeed big.Roger still remembers the surprise and envy on the faces of his boys when he compared his nakedness with other boys in his teenage years.By the time he realized he felt more sexually aroused than his mates, those little comparison sessions hadn't happened again, but the confidence and pride had stuck with him, as would any man.

He reached down to support his heavy scrotum; Sean moaned and hooked the elastic of his panties to pull it off and took hold of his own cock.

At this point, Roger was strolling towards the bed - more of a strut than a walk - standing in front of Sean looking down at him, slowly pumping his cock.

"You're going to poke that thing in?" Sean said. "Because I thought it might kill me."

"Undress," said Roger.It was a gentle, deep, commanding tone.

Sean obediently complied.

"Anything?" Roger asked, eyeing Sean hungrily.

Sean smiled. "I'll take it as if you're sure you're going to stab it." He said, kicking his underwear to the ground.

"As long as you obediently beg me." Roger grunted contentedly in his throat.

Sean opened his mouth in surprise.He laughed afterwards.But it was a short, timid chuckle. "Good," he said. "There's a box in the drawer. Also, if you do fuck me, I want you to use lube, too, in the drawer."

Roger opened the drawer as he was told, and found the box and the half-filled tube of lubricant.He took it out and put it on the bedside table.

So far they have not touched each other.But both were naked, erect, and panting.Sean was sprawled flat on the bed, his penis protruding and leaning slightly to the left.Roger knelt at his feet, continued to rub his scrotum, almost pensively rubbing his cock.

Then he slid out of bed and straightened up. "Show your body," he said.

"What?" Sean yelled strangely.

"Don't you want to look at me, I am satisfying you. Now you kneel on your hands and knees, bow your head. Show your body."

Sean did so immediately.

"Let's start with the spanking," Roger said. "But I still need you to give me a safe word."

"An, safe word."

Roger waited patiently.

"Okay. Margarita."

Roger repeated the word and touched Sean.He hadn't touched Sean since he stood at the door, and that was the beginning.He caressed Sean's buttocks with one hand.

Sean sighed and trembled toward the touch.

Clap!Roger deliberately hit the tender flesh of Sean's thigh, watching him startled.Roger put his fingers together, and with his left hand without a ring, imprinted a red mottled mark on Sean's buttocks.

Sean's cock showed no signs of flagging.He whimpered, but his other hand reached for his cock and jerked.

"Don't touch yourself yet," said Roger, "or I'll tie you up."

Sean put his hands obediently in front of him.

He was swinging to the clap now, his breathing and body getting into a rhythm.Roger could feel his own body finding and following the beat, his shoulder muscles tensing and heaving as his palms took turns hitting Sean's buttocks, his arms shaped very much like a line in the air. Dancing whip.

Then, Sean's reactions began to change.His breathing was getting harder, so Roger stopped, palms on the hot skin.

Sean pressed his forehead against the mattress.Eyes closed.

"Talk to me," said Roger.

"I'm fine," panted Sean, "it just feels too strong."

Roger's hand wandered over Sean's hip, then on his back.He felt the muscles in Sean's back, and his hand went back to the back of his head, running his hand through the curls.

"That's it," he said.

"What? No, no, I'm fine."

"There must be absolute honesty between master and slave, Sean. I can explain it to you thoroughly in a moment, but let me take care of you for now. Lie down."

Sean protested incoherently, lying on his side.Roger put on a robe to fetch water.He came back and sat next to Sean, giving him water, still massaging the tense muscles in his back and neck.

Sean lay down again after drinking the water, Roger's massaging hand slid down and landed on Sean's penis, stroking rhythmically.It's getting up there and getting wet with pre-cum.

Sean's hips began to move to Roger's rhythm, and then Sean's hand groped Roger's hard penis, and they slowly rubbed each other, gradually returning to the intense sexy atmosphere before the spanking.

Sean looked into Roger's eyes questioningly as he leaned in to kiss him.His mouth was as hot, hungry and fearful as Roger felt it from his body.Roger should have been on the alert, should have refused his request, but for some reason he hadn't.

"Please," Sean leaned toward him eagerly, fingers digging into Roger's shoulders, hips swinging, demanding, "I beg you if you want me, you big bastard. Please. "

"Lie down," said Roger, his voice crisp and calm, his hands comforting. "This is not a confrontation, Sean. Let me take care of you."

He took a condom and put it on Sean, licking his balls as he rubbed the hardness.Sean arched his body on the bed, his ass obviously still hurting him a lot.Roger slid out of bed so Sean could enjoy his blowjob on his side.

Sean's hands stroked Roger's head, pulled his hair, his fingers scratched Roger's cheeks, the calluses on his hands rubbed against Roger's stubble making a rough sound.Roger had to grab his wrist to stop Sean from scrambling, lest he goug out an eye.Then he sucked hard and rhythmically, drawing Sean's cock deep in his throat, he held his breath while deep throating and sucking, Sean cried and cum inside the condom.

Then Roger gasped and came on the oak floor of Marianne's house.

He took the condoms and came back with some towels, a damp rag, and some Eucerin body lotion.

When Roger came back to the room, Sean was lying there.He looked up from between his arms, shocked. "Lie still," said Roger, putting a hand on his back.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Sean said.

Roger placed a cloth soaked in cold water on Sean's hip and rubbed his back as Sean gasped. "I can see why you got Pete so excited," he said.

"Yeah, I'm a freak. That's what my last boyfriend said."

"Want to talk to me about him?"

"Jerry? I don't really think so." Sean rested his chin on his fist and stared at the head of the bed.

Roger took the damp cloth, helped Sean dry, and very carefully applied body lotion to the edges of the hot skin. "If you want to be a slave, you must first figure out what you want, whether it is for yourself or for me, otherwise I will never let the other party stand in front of me."

Sean said nothing.

Roger rubbed the lotion into Sean's skin.He could feel the undercurrent stirring in the body under his hands, but all he could do was wait.

"I feel like I'm pushing myself," Sean said. "Jerry said I was pushing him too. It scared him."

"You understand you're after something. You know you need another person to guide you. Your instincts are right, but not everyone is a safe bet. Your friend may be right in rejecting you, he's a layman .”

Sean lay obediently under him, maybe thinking, maybe not.Roger continued to massage him, feeling those muscles rolling with thoughts and emotions.

"Why don't you fuck me?" Sean asked softly.

Roger's hand stopped.

"Isn't this what both parties are clearly willing to do?" Sean asked.

Luo