Chapter 1 - Ghosts From The Past

The summer's thunderstorm was over, but rain was still dripping from the wings of an angel standing in the cemetery. This particular one, carved in Italy around 1870, was one of the most favorite statues in Charleston, South Carolina. Its marble eyes seemed to be staring at Lee Sullivan from the grounds of St. Phillip's Church tonight. Waiting for a pay phone in a drizzle was not his idea of fun, but observing the woman currently using it was. He had no problem discerning the nature of her telephone call: She was a prostitute - an ensemble of silicone in pumps on a ‘business' call. Two loads of tourists in horse-drawn carriages clomped past her on the cobblestones, and the vermilion-wigged entrepreneur hung up the phone.

"Sorry I took so long, honey, but it's almost closing time, and this girl's tired," she said, with breath confirming her intimate knowledge of Tanquerray before walking down Dock Street with a slight gin-induced limp. Lee snickered to himself as he slipped the coins into the slot above the receiver and punched the numbered buttons.

"Mt. Pleasant Deli, Joan here," said the voice on the other end.

"Hey Joan, it's Lee - Mitch's brother. Is he busy?"

"No, Lee. He's right here at the register signing an invoice…here ya go," she said and passed the phone before he could thank her.

"Hey lil' brother, what's up?" Mitch Sullivan replied in a friendly but hurried tone.

"Mitch, I'm down at Granddaddy's grave. Do you know anything about his headstone? It's gone."

"News to me. Did you ask Father Martin if he knew anything about it?"

"Yup. He said you and I were the only people on the church's record authorized to make any decisions regarding the plot."

"Well nobody's called me concerning it. What do you wanna do?"

"Father Martin said we should go ahead and report it stolen. If this is nothing, it won't hurt. However, if it's stolen, the police will know about it. Mitch, I know it was here yesterday. I have a clear view of it from my office."

"If the two of ya'll think we should call the cops, I'm fine with it. Do you want me to call 'em?"

"No, the King Street station is right around the corner, I'll just stop in there. Let me let you get back to your shop."

"Ok, Lee, but call me tonight and let me know what they say, all right?"

"You got it, Bye," Lee said, before hanging up and looking again to the corner of the cemetery where the grave of his grandfather was missing its marker.

Lee pushed the heavy glass door to the police department open and instantly faced an office behind a glass window. In the center of the wall, at mouth level, was a screened hole to speak through. On the other side of the casement, Lee encountered a very thin black woman with the head the size of a plum, and twenty pounds of hair that was apparently styled by the local power plant. On the glass, separating this living haystack with split ends, and Lee was a decal of the word INFORMATION on the glass.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Father Martin from St. Phillips Church was supposed to have spoken with a Sergeant Aubrey Vaughn, is he here? My name is Lee Sullivan."

She pointed to her right at the man seated next to her. "Das him."

The informally introduced officer stood and pressed a button on the desk. "Come on back Mr. Sullivan," he said, opening the door next to the Sergeant Vaughn's meaty arm directed Lee to sit in the cubicle just inside the office.

"Thank you."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Sullivan. You are here about the missing tombstone, right?"

"Yes, sir. It is my granddaddy's, and as far as I know nobody has asked the family or St. Phillip's about moving it for repair or anything."

"Will you describe this tombstone for me? Father Martin remembered the name on it and said he could look up the rest, but I wanted to speak with you or your brother, I think he said his name is Mitch?"

"Sure. It is black granite with 'Harley James Sullivan' carved in it, along with the dates 'March 08, 1898' and 'September 12, 1961'. That's it, no phrases or anything."

"Good."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh I don't mean it is good that it is missing, it's the on we found."

"Is it cracked or anything?"

Sergeant Vaughn shook his head in a 'no' statement. It's as fine as the day it was put there. In fact I have it right downstairs here in the station."

"Great! Should I call the somebody to come and pick it up and replant it, or how is this kinda thing handled?"

"Well, we have a problem there," the sergeant said, opening a manila folder and removing a photograph. "This is it, you're sure."

"Yes. The name, dates, even the style of writing, and the material looks like granite and is black, I don't think that two identically named men were born and died here on the same dates. What could be the problem?"

"We need to hold it as part of the case."

"If my brother and I don't press any charges then there won't be a case, right? Then we could go ahead and have it put back?"

"The case I'm referring to isn't just the theft of the tombstone, Mr. Sullivan it is part of a murder investigation, and I was hoping you might be able to help me with some information. It was found this morning west of the Ashley River on Birthright Street. Somebody filled in the drainage ditch between two driveways with dirt and put the headstone on it. Here is a picture of the scene." Sergeant Vaughn passed the snapshot. "When we hoisted out the dirt blocking the ditch we discovered a body. Do you know this man?" he asked, showing Lee another picture from the folder. "Do you recognize this man?"

"Nope," he said still trying to tie together why his relative's headstone was placed above the body of the man in the photo. He did not have any friends in this neighborhood nor did his brother, at far as he knew. "Have you spoken with Mitch?"

" Between the time you left St. Phillips and got over here we barely had time to reach him. He said he could be here about 5:30, and that's about ten minutes."

"Can I wait here for him?"

"Sure. There's some coffee over there if you want some."

Lee poured a cup and found a magazine about "Touring Mexico On $10 a Day" on a stand by the coffee machine. Just when he doubted the articles would hold his interest, he saw Mitch entering the building. Sergeant Vaughn buzzed the door and let him in the office.

"Good evening, Mr. Sullivan, your brother Lee is waiting on you, right this way," the detective said, and filled him in. Mitch studied the photographs that Lee had also seen, but the images and odd facts of the case were foreign to him as well. Since the brothers were not going to be able to shed any light on the subject, he sent them home with thanks, and would wait for the autopsy results that were due in about an hour.

He poured over every clue and fact he had, looking at all the names involved: Sullivan, St. Phillips, and Birthright Street. He looked at the dates: March 08, September 12, and today is, June 28. "No connection with the names or the dates," he thought. There were no papers or anything found on or around the body. It was dressed in jeans, plain navy tee shirt, white socks, hiking boots, but no jewelry, tattoos, scars, or other identifying items.

Arranging the information in various anagrams, other languages, letters converted to numbers and vice-versa all rendered useless. Aubrey lost track of time until his fax machine rang, printing out the autopsy report. He studied it for a good twenty before calling a friend to see what he thought.

"Dawson and Lanier Detectives, how may I help you?" a raspy voice answered.

"Detective Ben Dawson, please," Sergeant Vaughn answered, and was put on hold to listen to Muzak do an awful rendering of Cher's 'Believe'.

"Dawson here."

"Ben! How the hell are ya? Aubrey Vaughn here."

"Aub! Whatcha know good?"

"Everything's fine here, personally anyway. How are things with you and Ray?"

"Doin' great, man…what do you mean by 'personally' fine? What's wrong?"

"Honestly, Ben, it's this case I'm working on. I value our friendship, and don't want to impose, but I would really appreciate it if you would take a look at some of the paperwork in this case. Ever since I met you and Ray in Raleigh last year at that murder-suicide in Raleigh last year I knew ya'll had a knack for special cases."

"No problem, Aub. Send me the papers and I'll call you first thing in the morning. Hey, if you need anything, I'm starting vacation in thirty minutes. Two weeks off."

"Rub it in! Never mind then, I don't want you to spend a moment of your vacation mixing business with pleasure. I'd feel awful."

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. I just sold my condo…Ray and I are moving my stuff over to his place. I figure after the past eight months if we haven't killed each other, we never will. I guess it'll be two grumpy old men in rockers on the front porch of the shack."

"Ben, you and Ray are 30 and 35. Ya'll are nowhere near 'geezerhood', and I've seen Ray's 'shack' in a picture he sent me in an e-mail: Three stories, and 4, 000 square feet? It's a Raleigh landmark."

"Leave me some humility, Aub."

"Ok, but seriously, don't waste any of your vacation time on these papers, promise?"

"You got it. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Ok, and tell Ray hi for me."

"Bye."

"Night Ben."

Just as Sergeant Vaughn was opening his eyes the next morning, he was summoned to his telephone by a persistent ring.

"Hello…Vaughn here," he uttered with the excitement of someone awaking from a tree-day drunk.

"Mornin' Aub. I know it's early, did I wake you?"

"No, it's fine. I've been up for a while," he said, lying flat as roadkill.

"Ray's downstairs packing the car. We decided to take the first week of our vacation out of town before shifting gears to 'the move' to Ray's house. Besides, when I told him we talked, he thought it would be fun if we all could get together again. We've heard a lot about a guesthouse on Folly Beach and thought we would give it a try."

"Sounds great. When are ya'll getting here?"

"Check in isn't till 3:00, but the guy we spoke to said the room should be ready by noon."

"Well call me when you two get checked in. I'll be at the office till at least six this evening."

"How far are you from the beach?"

"My house is about twenty or thirty minutes from Folly Beach, and only four blocks from the King Street station."

"Sounds good, buddy. I'll give ya a call when we get settled then. Ray and I want to take you to dinner tonight, and I got a few things I want to talk about concerning the files you faxed over last night."

" I figured this case would catch your eye. I'll talk with you when ya'll get to town then."

"Allrighty bud, we'll call you."

Sergeant Vaughn finished his morning routine of reading several newspapers and drinking lots of coffee before his five-minute walk to the station.

"Mornin'," fell out of the receptionist's mouth. Her hair was a little tamer than the style that held Lee Sullivan's attention in a fixated state the evening before.

"Good morning, Veronda. How you doin' today?"

This was one of Aubrey's favorite things about his job. Everyday when we got in to work, Veronda Jenkins insured him a laugh or just a narration of her previous evening that got his morning off to a good start. She knew the most interesting people and led a life of odd situations and unbelievable occurrences that most people only read about. She resigned the happenings to everyday life.

"Nuttin' much. Me and Horace spent the evenin' at his place. We's still talkin' 'bout getting' married, but I don't know. He's wantin' five or six kids so I told him dat was fine wit me if was plannin' on shootin' 'em out his ass."

"You know, with the advances in cloning and the like, that may be in the not too distant future. You know the male sea-horse is the half of the couple that gets pregnant and carries the babies."

"Yessa, and it is the only animal the does. Bet the rest done killed thayselves."

"Good theory. By the way, I got some friends coming to town today, so if I am out of the office when they call just patch them through to my pocket phone if ya don't mind."

"T'aint no problem"

"Thanks V. I'll be in my cave," Aubrey said, and headed into his cubicle.

About thirty miles before they reached the South Carolina state line, Ben and Ray started seeing them. Few at first, then one every mile they were huge and multi colored with day-glow markings. Drivers were warned of what to expect by a Mexican man named Pedro in an equally stereotypical enormous sombrero. These fluorescent billboards had been a familiar sight for more than half a century. The little Hispanic spoke in cartoon balloons with sayings such as, "Pedro sez you must stop at South of the Border!" or "Kidz, keep yelling…they'll stop at South of the Border!"

'South of the Border' was the ultimate traveler's rest: A Mecca of gas stations, gift shops, and restaurants, even a hotel that had been in a couple movies. It was a redneck Disneyworld. Getting out of the truck, Ben heard a 'crunch' underfoot and looked down to see what had been a pistachio in its shell now reduced to a pale green spot of mush. Ray noticed him stare at the smashed nut for a short while, reach in the truck for a Ziploc bag, then put the pistachio in it. When his partner marked the bag with a red asterisk, Ray Lanier knew this look meant the gears were turning in his mind.

"I won't ask," Ray said.

"Good thing, I don't have an answer. Yet"

A few hours later, the duo pulled into the small parking lot of the bed and breakfast. It was a small, two story guesthouse consisting of eight suites, a large dining room, and a pool/hot tub area outback that was secluded by trees and a high wooden fence covered with Confederate jasmine. This backyard was the perfect answer to the privacy needs of a clothing optional resort.

"We have you in the Middleton Suite, Mr. Dawson, and it is my favorite: Upstairs corner room facing the ocean," said the man who introduced himself as Darryl Riley, the owner of Folly on the Beach. "Here's your key. Just call me if you need anything. Myself or Pete, my partner, are usually here in the lobby or close by during the day, but at night the '0' button on the phone rings to our room."

"Thank you, Darryl," Ben said, while Ray was bringing in the luggage. "We're right up there," he said, pointing to the Middleton Suite and instructing Ray we're the baggage went. He picked trough some brochures and other literature on local pastime activities from a coffee table before joining his partner in the room. Charleston, South Carolina had something to offer everyone.

Chapter 2 - Out on a Limb

The incoming call interrupted the lunch Aubrey was taking in his cube. "Sergeant Vaughn here," he spoke into the receiver.

"Aub? We're here," Ray Lanier chirped. "Got in about an hour ago, I unpacked us, and then rested a lil bit. Ben wanted me to call you up to see when you were going to be getting through so I would know what time to make the reservations for the three of us. He's still getting ready for our afternoon downtown at the old slave market and shops. I'm pretty excited about it. I've never been here before."

"Why don't ya'll finish settling in and then come on down to the station. I want to get any thoughts you and Ben have on the Birthright case and then I'll take you guys to Hyman's…best seafood in Charleston since they opened," Aubrey added.

"Birthright case?"

"Yeah. Remember the ditch? It is to be on Birthright Street"

"Gotcha. Ok, soon as Ben is ready we'll be on over. Just follow the signs to 'Downtown' and that will take me to King Street, and you are at 307 King, right?"

"That's it. You can't get lost. I'll see ya'll then."

Aubrey was right. Ben and Ray pulled up to the police department in less than an hour. Veronda let them through the office door and into Sergeant Vaughn's cube for their reunion. All six feet, two inches of the cop's two hundred and twenty pound body rose to it's feet with the grace of a ballerina.

"So detectives, got my murder solved yet?" Aubrey kidded before giving each of them an extra exuberant handshake.

"I must admit that it is interesting. I have investigated a lot of murders involving shotguns, but never one like this. When you told me the guy was shot in the ass and the fragments pierced his organs, I had no idea you meant literally. Who would stick a gun barrel up a guy's ass and shoot him? The only thing I can think of he thought the body would serve as a silencer. So this photograph of the headstone here," Ben paused, "was taken before anything else was moved?"

"Yup. We didn't even know there was a body in the ditch until we moved it. We just knew that it was stolen property, so we snapped a few shots of it for the evidence file." "That's it," Ben said looking down at the picture. "We stopped at South Of The Border on the way here, and when I got out the truck I stepped on a nut. I knew the site of it on the pavement reminded me of something I saw in the photographs you sent. What are the yellow splotches on the road, around the headstone, really everywhere?"

"When we got to the location there were acorns covering the burial site, and those 'yellow spots' are the one that got trampled" Ben could make out tiny acorns peppering the site where the body had been placed and the police would later find. "Damn, Aub, don't you think it looks kinda odd?"

"Ben, they fell off the trees. The street is lined with them. I know you are itching like mad to go to the site, so why don't you and Ray go check it out. I still have a few hours to go here."

"Well that sounds good to me," Ray piped up. "We'll give it a look over then come back here to take you to dinner."

"I can't think of anything better. I wanted y'all to try Hyman's…best seafood in town. I'll be ready when you two get back. Veronda can give you easy directions to Birthright Street, it isn't that far…. maybe fifteen minutes."

"Ok, see ya in a few."

Ben stopped by Veronda's desk for the directions while Ray went to get the car. Twenty minutes later, they were at the scene.

The majority of the acorns had become buried during the exhumation of the body, but there were squashed ones still on the road. "Ray, look around…this is the only spot where there are any acorns. My favorite uncle teaches horticulture at the University of South Carolina in Columbia, and I remember looking through his books when I visited him growing up. Acorns only grow on oak trees; all the ones on this street are pine. These acorns didn't fall off a tree, they fell out of somebody's hand: They were placed here for a reason."

"So how was the outing?" Aubrey asked when the two got back to the police station.

"Those acorns are a clue, bud," and Ben explained the 'no-oak-tree' theory.

"Something told me you would find something everybody else has overlooked."

"And it has my appetite in high gear. Let's hit that fish house you mentioned."

When the three entered Hyman's Seafood on King Street, he realized this was not a fish house. It was a landmark. The tables and chairs had little placards denoting celebrities that had used that space while dining there. Of course Aubrey had called ahead and reserved the table that bore Elizabeth Taylor's name, knowing Ben and Ray would have an affinity for that one. Halfway through their Low Country crab spread, the shrill ring of a digital phone rang and in a movement that looked almost synchronized, as arms all around the restaurant grabbed their hips to bee if it was their phone. The guilty party was Aubrey.

"Sergeant Vaughn," he answered, and after a few moments, "Get Wilcox and Bonds over there now, Veronda. I'll meet them there. For the record, Dawson and Lanier are on the roster as well. Yep, my two friends. Keep in touch."

"What's up? And when did we join your squad?" Ben jibed.

"We got another one."

Chapter 3 - Love On The Rocks

Just a few blocks east was 'the point' of Charleston known as The Battery. It was a large park once used as a military site, with cannons still facing the waterfront where the Ashley and Cooper rivers meet. There was a promenade between the street and the railing overlooking the rocky shoreline below. Anytime one could see couples walking, painters creating their next masterpieces, but this evening's featured attraction was the young man lying on the rocks. He was face down, and completely nude except for a yellow shirt.

"We haven't moved him Sir, since the coroner hasn't made it yet, but he is obviously dead." A young officer in his crisp blues told Aubrey.

"You think the skull split in two that tipped him off?" Ray whispered to Ben out of the policeman's earshot. "But you have to give him points for how great he makes that uniform look."

"Calm down, Ray," Ben instructed.

"He wears those pants like he's doing them a favor."

Ben gave a sustained glare to his partner, cleared his throat, and then called down to the policeman.

"That is bad head injury, officer, did anyone see him fall from the walkway?"

"He didn't fall from there, Sir, he washed up about 30 minutes ago. That jarhead saw it come up while he and his friend were taking photos," the cop said, pointing to a man with a military haircut talking to another obvious serviceman. "They were looking through the shots they had taken on the digital screen of the camera and found one with him floating about fifty yards out."

"Did his pants wash up? There may be a wallet in them with his ID. I don't think this was anything sexual or he probably would not still have on the shirt," Ben said. "Look Aubrey, the shirt looks brand new, except for the hole on the left chest."

The coroner, Bruce McClanahan, interrupted them. "What do we have, Aubrey?"

"Hey Bruce. We just got here ourselves. This is Ben Dawson and Ray Lanier. They are two good friends of mine from Raleigh. Detectives," he said, introducing the men.

"Pleased to meet you, Bruce," Ben responded.

"Do you mind if I bring them with me to the morgue? There are a few things I wanna check out, but we will probably be here another hour interviewing witnesses and trying to find the guys pants."

"Not a problem at all, Aubrey. I'll get him loaded and will wait for y'all before I do a thing."

Lieutenant Wilcox took several photos from different angles of the corpse, including facial ones, since it looked as if the police would need the pics to show in trying to discover the deceased's identity. Aubrey was busy talking with the cadet from the Citadel Military College who found the body when it washed up.

"Did you hear anything? Maybe a boat motor out in the river?"

"Not a thing, Sir," he said, with his attention diverted by the crew putting the body on the stretcher. His eyes narrowed, then widened, not unnoticed by Sergeant Vaughn.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, Sir," the young man said nervously. "I guess the site just got to me."

"Well call me if anything comes to mind. Here," Vaughn said, passing a card.

The Charleston morgue looked like all the rest: Why spring on a decorator for the employees? Obviously, the 'visitors' are not giving a great big damn. The grayish green tiles were almost the same hue as those on the wall. It seemed as if one thought they were in a dirty cloud. Aubrey guided Ben and Ray to the autopsy room where Bruce was waiting.

"So anything in particular you want to look at, Detective Dawson?" Dr. McClanahan asked.

"Mainly that shirt," Ben said, and was inspecting it intensely as soon as Bruce passed it to him. "It is new, Aub, the collar has no 'beard rub'. And this hole on the chest has been cut, obviously just prior to putting it on: the cut material isn't frayed at all, and just large enough to remove the alligator logo."

"You really wanna see something wild? Aubrey started. "The guy has a tattoo of a flag from some country I don't recognize, just over his cock…shaved pubes and all," He pulled the sheet back to show the tat; six alternating black and blue stripes with one white stripe dividing them, and a red heart in the upper left corner.

"Um, That doesn't represent a country, Aub. That is the Levi/Leather flag. The colors represent the 'safe, sane, consensual' creed of sadomasochism. I guess the first place we need to take those pics is to a men's bar, not a nightclub or any regular gay bar."

"Well, that would fall under y'all's department," Aubrey said to them, "but I do know of a couple. Ben and Ray looked at each other, then Aubrey. "Hey, I do live here…I've never been, guys."

"Sure, Aub. Is Wilcox developing that film tonight? I can pick it up tomorrow and start asking around. I think we are about ready to head on back to the room"

"I'll have him get right on it, I'll have all the shots and the report from the autopsy ready in the morning. When you wanna swing by?"

"How about 10:00? I really won't be able to do much showing of the pics till tomorrow night, but the owner of the bed and breakfast told me about a restaurant that a lot of the Levi/Leather crowd frequent. If this guy was serious enough to have the tattoo, I'm sure he is in the local club. Ray and I can scoot over there for lunch and ask around."

"All set then. Maybe y'all can swing me something from the restaurant by the precinct. I never met a gay guy that couldn't cook."

Chapter 4 - A Night On The Town

"Good morning, Veronda" Ben said with a smile, entering the King Street Police Station.

"Mornin' hell, it's 10:00. I's been here since seven," she said, buzzing the door to let him in to the offices.

"Is that you, Ben?" Aubrey yelled from the back.

"Yup. Where are you?"

"All the way in the back: In the darkroom…drying some copies of Wilcox's photographs. I'll be right out."

By this time, Ben was standing in Aubrey's cubicle. "No hurry, I'll just look over this autopsy report here on your desk."

"Dat was one sick puppy, Detective Dawson," Veronda called out.

Ben read on and found out what she meant. The x-ray of the decedent showed a hand-blown glass dildo in his rectum, and DNA evidence on his penis indicated active anal intercourse. Ben looked up at Veronda and raised his eyebrows.

She looked at him in a blank stare. "Guess he couldn't make up his mind."

"Here ya go, Ben, I made you a folder with a copy of the autopsy and a full set of pictures," Aubrey said, walking from the back and carrying a manila envelope. "Where is Ray?"

"I made the mistake of parking near the Harley-Davidson dealership. He gets a tee shirt from one of them every place he goes. We're going to head on over to that restaurant I told you about, then rest up. I want to hit both of those bars tonight, so we won't be in till the sun comes up."

"To be young again."

"Aub, you are only ten years older than I. Half the guys there tonight will be around your age."

"The problem is there will be no women about my age…or any other age for that matter."

"That is one of the benefits of a men's bar," Ben laughed, and waved good-bye to Veronda on the way out.

Ray was almost to the station when Ben met him and inspected his partner's purchase: The mandatory shirt, and some boxer shorts he bought for Ben.

"Baby, you know I never wear underwear."

"But there is a lock-up party at the bar tonight…boxers of briefs only."

"Well then things are looking up for this evening. Ready for some lunch? I trust you remember the directions."

"I've already seen it, it is only two doors down from the Harley shop."

"Well done." Ben said, and the two enjoyed the short walk to the bistro while Ben filled Ray in on the detail he learned from the report and corresponding photographs. They settled into a corner table and were greeted by a waiter that knew they weren't local, thus pouring on the Charleston charm. Once they had placed their orders, they quickly got their minds back on the case.

"Remember that déjà vu you had when you stepped on the pistachio? There is something similar about that phrase hand-blown glass dildo. They aren't a common item in an adult store, but I know I have heard something about them.

"Probably from some trick," Ben said, dryly. "Here comes the food, and our chance to show the pictures to the waiter."

Once the food was delivered, Ben introduced himself and told the waiter he had a very sensitive photograph that was not the most appetizing to be passed around an eating establishment, but could use his help. One at a time, different employees all visited his table, but none knew the dead man. Ben and Ray were a little disappointed, but did not expect to hit the jackpot at the first place they went for information. The remainder of the day was filled with a little shopping and a lot of resting in preparation for the night ahead.

Around nine that evening they began getting ready to go out, which entailed more than a quick shower. Leathermen are meticulously clean, and their clothes are always in perfect order, the leather cleaned, the silver trim work polished, and a strict necessity is that their boots be in new condition. In all most every Dominant/submissive relationship, this cleaning ritual falls upon the latter, so Ray was busy at these tasks the 'subs' describe as joy in pleasing their Master, rather than a chore. By ten they were ready to leave, looking similar is black leather from head to toe, with only minor differences: Ben in a Master's motorcycle cap and his wristband on the left, while Ray donned a leather baseball cap and his cuff on the right arm.

"Good evening, gentlemen, you must be from out of town," the doorman said. "Welcome to The Fort. Glad to have you here!" The coat check was not used for jackets, but like most Leather bars, it was a place to leave a bag with your boxers or briefs that were changed into when the bar closed. At that time, the doors would be locked and nobody else would be allowed in, and when one left, they were not readmitted. Normally these are 'flashlight events', where all the lights were shut off and little pocket lights were given out for aid in finding your way when walking to the bar or restroom. There was a good reason for having the lights out, for after awhile the boxers or briefs were non-existent, and the sole piece of clothing was a pair of pristine boots. After a few drinks, Ben spotted somebody: A great looking guy, but he was also a familiar looking guy. After tracing his mind, he remembered him as the witness from The Battery, and Ben decided he deserved another talk.

"Good evening," Ben said to the Marine-looking guy also wearing the telltale signs of a Dominant. This would make the conversation easier for business talk, plus the fact that showing the Old Guard signs meant the man would follow all of the tenants, one of them being he couldn't lie, especially to a fellow Leatherman.

"Hey. Did you ditch that guy?" he said while pointing with a nod of his head to Ray.

"No. He is my partner…in life and work. I am Detective Ben Dawson and that is Detective Ray Lanier. We are here in Charleston working the case you were interviewed about today. I'm sure you noticed the tattoo over the stiff's goodies. You sure you can't tell me anything about that?"

"Let's go out back." As he led Ben through the bar, the Detective motioned Ray to join them. Once on the patio Ben asked if the young man felt comfortable talking with Ray there as well. "Sure, he will find out in the records, and probably in the sheets as well," he said with a sly grin. "My name is Manuel Castillo. I have been torn between the meanings of honor all day. I know it against all I believe in to lie to you, but are you familiar with the Citadel? We have what we call a 'Code of Honor'. Just as with the Old Guard Leather rules, this is a pledge with that set of brothers. Detective, that dead guy is a fellow cadet."

"And if word got out he was gay it would look bad on his family and the school, I get it," Dawson said.

"Sir, he wasn't just gay, and he wasn't just into the SM scene. I know men in the scene never tell anyone about another brother being in the scene… Sir," the cadet paused looking up at blankness, "he was a prostitute."

"I know how hard this is for you, and out of respect for our type of honor, I will not use your name in any report. I will need it and a number to contact you, but will keep it in my wallet, and not in any file. I respect you for this,"

"Thank you, Sir. I don't see how those guys take it for so long, a life of no love. Thanks again, Sir."

"Hey, Manuel, you're a Master, too. You can drop the 'Sir',"

"Not when I respect a man as much as I do you after our conversation."

Ben turned to Ray and with a comical, pleading look asked, " Can we take him home, puleeze?" he laughed. "Seriously, if there is anything I can do to help you I will, and hope that works the other way as well."

"You can bet it does," he said reaching in his jacket for a pen and one of his own personal business size cards. "Here is his name, and my dorm room number on the back. If you call and I'm not there, just tell my roommate you are from Blockbuster. I never use them so I know it will be one of you."

"You've got a deal, Manuel. Now, let us buy you a drink," Ben said and spent the rest of the evening with Manuel and Ray, as they all three enjoyed the lights out policy the club had for the night.

Chapter 5 - Swinging In The Rain

"Sergeant Vaughn, line one is for you, it's Detective Dawson."

"Ben, it's 8:00 in the morning. If I know you, then you are just getting in from the bar, certainly not waking up."

"Actually, Aub, we've been up for a while. I'm calling from the car just around the block and wanted to see if you were in before we stopped. Looks like Charleston had quite a little storm last night. I hope this remaining drizzle slacks off soon. Really, we weren't out that late: We got what we needed fairly early in the evening."

"Spare me the details about him and what the three of y'all did."

"That's not what I meant, smart ass. I mean we got some information we needed." Ben joked, "

"I'm pulling up now. Is the lamppost out front broken?"

"I guess. There was a large sheet over it when I came in this morning."

Veranda looked up when she saw Ben walking in the front and turning off his digital phone, said hi to Ray, and buzzed them in.

"We got in early because we got the ID of the dead guy from The Battery."

"Damn Ben, How did you do it?"

"It was an anonymous tip, Aub. We passed out photocopies of the guys picture and one guy pave us a paper with the deceased's name on it." Ben felt that he did not lie; they did pass out pictures, and the name was on the paper. Mostly, Ben had promised to keep Manuel's name out of it. "The guy's name is Justin Ross. He was a cadet at the Citadel."

"Damn. We can get better information there than from an employer," Aubrey sighed.

"This guy had was his own boss, bud: he was a hustler."

"He probably had a pimp though."

"MPs, male prostitutes, usually don't, Aub."

"Then I guess it's worth saying his co-workers or clientele won't be coming in to talk to us about him. The only thing we have on our side is if the DNA we got from the body matches anyone we have on file, but that is along shot. Did your anonymous tipster think this guy got most of his business from the bar, or did it come from one of the rich young guy gyms?"

"No, Aubrey, every john that used Ross' services was a student or professor at the Citadel."

"Well ain't that the shit. Ben, you're not from here. If word gets out that our Castle of the All American Male, and military school at that, do you know what will happen?"

Ben starred at his friend, waiting for the follow up answer.

"I'm fuckin' asking, I don't have clue! How are we gonna question thousands of guys and not let word get out that when are looking for which one them killed a guy that just fucked them? I mean no offense, but in your case you don't mind anyone knowing, and it is not a hindrance to your job."

All three looked toward the front of the offices when they heard the buzzer opening the grated door.

"Sergeant Vaughn," Lieutenant Wilcox said, "excuse me, but you need to come out front."

"Wilcox, it's raining out there. If it's about the lamppost, I saw the sheet on it earlier,"

"It is about the post, Sir, but there isn't a sheet hanging on it, Sir, there is a body."

Aubrey turned to Ben and Ray, "Glad you guys got here early," then tuned and led the group out front.

As soon as the men hit the door, they were amazed that so many people had gathered so quickly.

"Nobody kills by hanging anymore," Wilcox said, "and who would be crazy enough to murder a guy right in front of a police station?"

"A serial killer. One that is trying to leave clues and tease the cops," Ben said. "We better hang on to those other two bodies and look for similarities."

"Go inside and see if Dr. McClanahan has been called to come over yet, Wilcox, and tell him I said to keep those bodies in the drawer."

"Yes Sir, Sergeant."

Aubrey, Ben, and Ray took turns staring at each other, none wanting to be the first to speak, for none knew what to say. Their dilemma soon ended when the lieutenant came back out: "He's already on the way, Sergeant, so I gave his assistant your instructions."

"Thanks, Wilcox."

"I don't like it Aub, not one bit."

"Bet the dead guys hate it more," Ray added, though his comment was met with a condescending look from Ben. "Sorry, Sir."

"I meant I don't like serial killers. They only leave clues that won't reveal their true identity, only a fantasy. They know to wear gloves, not leave any hairs, all the things we use for evidence. They do however follow the same M.O., but this perp has killed a different way every time and left riddle-clues."

"There's Bruce heading up the street. We might as well tell him to look at this one like it is tied in with the others, and we can look through the all the files when we get back from the morgue."

"I believe we will have a full day then, bud."

" Go tell Veronda where we are going, Wilcox, and bring your camera."

Walking through the now-familiar greenish gray cloud of the morgue made Ben and Ray glad they were not morticians. Three visits in three days was a record for them, and one they did not want to break.

Entering the examination room they saw the body of what appeared to me a man of about twenty, no more than twenty five, and very muscular: the epitome of 'butch'.

"As far as what you said about not following the same patterns, one constant the killer does have is his taste in attractive men.

"Guys," Bruce began, "we have a strange one here. He's not a regular guy," and rolled back the sheet that had only exposed him from the waist up. All eyes went to the crotch, and that is the only way to describe what the man possessed.

"Looks like a damn Ken doll," Wilcox said. "What the hell happened?"

Dr. McClanahan switched to the tone of his medical professors. "He was turned into a eunuch: his testicles, scrotum, and entire penis was removed, the orifice sewed shut. Something was used to burn a hole into the area to cauterized the veins and vessels, keeping the man from bleeding to death and giving him a source of urination…and God knows what else." The statement and appearance had all the men 'holding their own' as if to guard their jewels. "He definitely died from the hanging: the veins in his eyes have burst."

"So we should be looking for somebody with medical training"

"Not necessarily, Aubrey." Ray informed. "Believe it or not there are several men that want to be a eunuch. They are only interested in making their Master happy, to bring him pleasure. They don't want to be bothered or distracted by being aroused. They feel that if receive an erection or ejaculate during any act, they are taking away pleasure that they should only be giving. These slaves usually have their testicles removed by their Master. The procedure can be performed with a variety of items anyone can purchase from a farm supply store."

With that, Aubrey peered at Ray, then at Ray's crotch, briefly.

"No, Aub, my boy's got his original equipment," Ben said with a smile.

"No shit," is the way Wilcox summed it up…and Aubrey's face mirrored the same opinion.

"Well, the only thing good about this for the deceased is there may be semen inside his…whatever you call his 'hole'," the sergeant suggested.

Wilcox had more trouble with taking this series of photographs than he had in quite some time. "Do you think whoever did this at least gave him something for pain?"

"Lieutenant Wilcox, a guy that would do something like this to another man hardly has the victim's comfort in mind. And if you notice, his wrists and ankles were bound, with rope." Dr. McClanahan reported. "I don't see why the perp didn't use handcuffs or those plastic cable ties: both are much more secure."

"I see what you mean, Sergeant Vaughn," Ray said. "Everything that was used on him or done to him is very simple: no use of modern-day items…in fact all three of the corpses we've seen have been slaughtered, not just killed, and all in 'primitive' ways. This psycho is enjoying the way he is killing, not just wanting their victims to die."

When his partner said this, Ben noticed the look on Ray's face that Lanier described as 'the gears-are-turning'. That was just about the most Ray had commented on this case, after being so instrumental in the Raleigh case when they met. Before meeting Ray, Ben did not even know a homosexual on a first name basis. He almost laughed aloud at this when a phrase pertaining to this entered his mind: All good things in time.

"Looks like we all have a full plate, now. Ray and I will head back to beach then hit the clubs tonight for more information. We'll see you at your office in the morning, Aub. Call us if you need to."

"Ben," Ray said on their way home, "will you stop by that Barnes and Noble we pass on the way to the bed and breakfast? I want to check a couple things and get some reading."

"Sure, baby, but don't you think we are busy enough helping Aub with this case?"

"Ben," Ray said on their way home, "will you stop by that Barnes and Noble we pass on the way to the bed and breakfast? I want to check a couple things and get some reading."

"Sure, baby, but don't you think we are busy enough helping Aub with this case?"

"I think we can help Sergeant Vaughn and the case if I can figure something out. They should have something that will help. There, on the right, and there's a parking space in front." Ray smiled like a child on Christmas, the same way that attracted Ben to him in the first place.

As soon as they entered the store Ray had gone straight to the Starbucks counter for their coffees, and brought Ben's to him in the history section. "I got what I need Ben," he smiled, with five books in the other hand. "Do you need anything?"

"Nope…let's roll." Fifteen minutes they later they back at the B&B where they had planned to spend a week of R&R, but they where doing the same old job in a new city.

"I'm done in the shower, Ray, it's ready for you if you can peel away from those books." Ben switched on some light jazz. "Good nap music. And hurry up, we need some sleep before we go out tonight." He said, while throwing the robe off and crawling in the oversized four-poster bed. He was snoring before the first song was over.

Four hours later, when he woke up and saw Ray in the Lay-Z-Boy, he new this was not a sign that his partner had showered, napped, and was up before him.

"I know, I have been here the whole time, but you know I get when I have a new book, I was too excited to sleep."

"O.k., but if you get tired tonight, I'm switching you from Budweiser to No-Doz!"

Chapter 6 - A Rose By Any Other Name

Ben and Ray arrived at the police station right at 8:00 as promised, carrying coffee for everyone.

"I didn't know how everyone takes theirs, so I got a ton of cream, sugars, Sweet N' Lows, Equals, and stirrers," Ray said through a beaming smile.

"Sweetie, does you take any thing like a pill for these problems?" Veronda asked.

"I live with this everyday," Ben answered. "If you ever come to our house for hamburgers you have more choice of toppings than you do at Burger King."

"I thanks you baby," she said with a pat to his back, and leaned over near his ear. "Get help," she added with a laugh.

"So what did y'all find out at the bar last night?" Aubrey asked.

"That I can make a better Jack and Coke than that queen behind the bar," Ben stated. "And I like my drinks served with a napkin, not attitude."

Aubrey turned to Ray. "Did he wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

"No. We were riding in and listening to the local talk radio station. The topic was the murder we are working on, and a caller suggested getting a profiler." Ray answered.

All they are is a detective that wants a title making them sound like a damn psychic. They want to go to the site at the time of day the crime took place…what good detective doesn't? They say they look at the crime through the killer's eyes…DUH! But what really kills me, is every time you hear their profile of the killer, it is identical; He is killing within his own race, he has problems holding down a job, he has bad relations with women, may have a speech impediment or something else that makes him think he is unattractive. Dammit they are a bigger pain in the ass than a grapefruit size hemorrhoid."

"I really don't think he cares for them," Ray said, with a sarcastic look. "But back to last night, nobody had any recollection of knowing Justin Ross, or if they did they weren't telling. I think we are going to have trouble getting information out of those guys, too."

"They may have already given it to us," Ben added.

"Excuse me?" Aubrey asked, while Ray and Veronda looked in question.

"Well if that guy's johns were solely Citadel students," Ben paused, "and the Citadel is a military academy, any DNA we find we can identify in his medical records at the school's infirmary."

"I never thought of that, but you're right." the sergeant admitted.

"Help!" screamed a woman bursting through the front doors. "There is a dead man at my booth!"

The squad followed the manic lady across the street to The Market, a covered outdoor flea market that is on the historical registry, being built as a slave market. When arriving at her section they found a body covered in stripes, which Ben and Ray recognized as scourge marks from assorted whip marks. A driver's license and a palm size piece of tapestry with a rose on it were stabbed through over his heart.

"Oh my god," Ray said, loudly.

"Ray, um, we've seen marks close to this before, even being administered," Ben said, close enough that only his partner would hear.

"It's not that. If y'all don't need me, I need to go back to the station. I think the books I was reading yesterday have given me an idea."

"By all means. Any help is great!" Vaughn said.

Ray hurried across the street and wasted no time when he got inside. "Veronda, which computer in this place has the fastest modem and highest processor?"

Looking like she was in shock, she raised her eyebrows, stuck out her bottom lip, and with her thumb pointed to the system at her left.

He quickly logged into the Internet and been typing and reading screens and printing downloads for two hours before he realized it. "When did y'all get back?" he asked his partner.

"About thirty minutes after you did," Vaughn answered. "I didn't say anything. Ben told me that whenever you are reading or on the computer that you are in another world. Have you ever noticed that when you type it sounds like the nails of rats running across a tile floor?"

"No, but thanks for that visual. We need to all sit a big table. I have some stuff here that will tie this all together."

Lieutenant Wilcox motioned to a table behind him and the all four of them eagerly took a seat. "Let me guess," Lanier began, "the last name on the ID is Keller, right?" The entire table looked stunned, and nodded in agreement. "On April 3, 1768, a woman charged a man with torture by means of being whipped with branches, leather whips, cat-o-nine-tails, riding crops, and other items. The significance of the ID and the tapestry is that her name was Rose Keller. In 1814 on December 2 the man she accused of the heinous crime died. His request was, and I quote, 'Once the pit is filled, it will be sown over with acorns, so that in the future the ground of the said pit will again be overgrown, and the corpse will once again be wooded as it had been before…'.

"Well that explains the Birthright Street case," Aubrey smiled, "go on."

"The accused, and author of the quote, was named Donatien Alphonse Francois, better known as the Marquis de Sade. Remember the body we found at The Battery? Everyone calls the shirt with the missing logo an Izod, but that company makes other items. If you look in the label, it is called a La Coste, which happens to be the name of a villa owned by de Sade, and as far as what was found in the guy's rectum, the Marquis' wife brought him hand-blown dildoes while he was imprisoned in an insane asylum called Charenton. Finally, as far as the victim that was turned into a eunuch and then had some searing poker create a new hole? That is straight out of de Sade's mind. In his book, 120 Days of Sodom, the eunuch was strangled, but the rope he was hanged with kills in the same manner."

"Very good!" Ben said, with the proudest grin he had ever shown in 'straight' public. "I'll never fuss about you reading so much again! But how can we use this to help us catch our killer?"

"Today is July 13, and the 14th is Bastille Day. Sade was imprisoned in the Bastille during the revolution and was taken out of the prison during the night, on the eve of the jail being stormed. France's Bastille Day is something like our Fourth of July, but only bigger. I noticed a sign at the bar the last night about a Bastille Day costume ball that is being held on the 14th. I'm sure the killer will be in attendance tomorrow night."

"I think you are right about this guy carrying out the crimes in the guise of the Marquis de Sade, but if he is, and he is at a costume ball, how will we know who he is when we don't have a physical description of him?" Sergeant Vaughn asked.

"I don't know. I'm a reader/researcher. Y'all pick it up from here," Ray laughed. "But, if we had the name of the anonymous informant that Ben and I talked with at the bar, we could ask him some questions."

Chapter 7 - Send In The Clowns

Ben spent most of the afternoon walking through the downtown antique shops and other stores, though spending most of the time at the Charleston Museum of Local Art and found a Spirit Jug for Ray. Most of the art consisted of water colors depicting local birds and wildlife, or paintings of the famous Rainbow Row: a street of houses built together, only distinguished as separate buildings by a different architectural style or pastel colored paint. He selected a painting of the houses along The Battery being hard hit by rain in a dark storm.

Ray, as usual, was on his laptop or in a book. He had purchased a thriller along with his research material, but could not keep his mind off how the case had turned now that he had figured out where the killer had gotten the ideas for his acts. Around four he decided he would take Ben's prescription for great afternoon: a hot bath and a nap. When the phone rang, he was glad there was such a thing as the portable type he had set by the tub.

"Hello…no it isn't, this is Detective Lanier, his partner. May I help you or take a message?"

"This is Manuel Castillo, we met at a couple nights ago and the two of you said to call I thought of anything, and I may have."

"Right. I remember you, and the information you gave us helped a great deal. What else do you think might be of use?"

"Every afternoon my best friend calls me to see if I want to go out to dinner or anything, and he hasn't called in two. Detective Lanier, I know he was a friend of Justin Ross, the guy from The Battery."

"Manuel," Ray began as he was getting out of the tub and trying to hold the phone to his ear by the use of his shoulder while he dried of his body, "do you have a picture of him?"

"Yes, in fact I have one from last week taken at a frat party."

"I know this sounds awful, and probably premature, but there have been other murders, and all around the same age as Justin. Do you want to come to the morgue to look at them?"

"I knew you were going to ask that so I waited all day till I had the nerve to say yes."

"So you will?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Great, and thank you so much. I have about three hours till I have to pick Ben up for dinner. He's roaming around downtown. I'll be there in about thirty minutes to pick you up."

"Thirty minutes. Got it. I'll call down to the front desk guard and give him your name and expected time so he will let you up. See you then, Detective. Thanks."

"No, thank you."

Ray hurried into a pair of 501's and his new Harley shirt. He passed himself in the mirror and thought he looked pretty good. He did not want to cheat behind Ben's back, but like everybody, he wanted to impress and show what he had to offer. He stopped by the front desk and asked Darryl, the owner, for directions to the Citadel, and got them along with a smile as if he were going there for fun.

"Oh, and Mister Lanier, this letter came for you," Darryl said on Ray's way out.

Ray found the school with no problem at all. It looked like a huge, working fort, complete with checkerboard courtyard that Ray crossed, enjoying the clomping noise that his boots made as each foot hit the paved surface. As soon as he noticed another set of shoes, he heard his name being called from behind. Turning around he saw the usually smiling face of Aubrey Vaughn disguised by a worried expression.

"Where are you going, Ray?"

"Over to building number…what's going on?" Ben asked, seeing more police rounding the corner and sensing tenseness in Aubrey's voice. "What the hell is going on!" he repeated nervously loud.

"Are you going to see a Cadet Manuel Castillo?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"The was a note left in his room for you. It said 'Tell Detective Lanier 'hi' for me.' It was Scotch taped to Manuel's forehead. His telephone was duct taped across his mouth and all the way up to his hairline. The tape covered his mouth and nose, Ray. He suffocated. There was a large magazine cut-out of a clown's mouth over the phone and his own mouth."

"He was our anonymous source, Sergeant Vaughn. I got a call about thirty minutes ago that he had more information. Our Marquis reincarnate must have been listening in on another line."

"Ray, this guy was fully clothed and no torture."

"Exactly. In Sade's time, the punishment fit the crime: if you stole, you lost your hands. Manuel talked, so his mouth was sealed, and the phone was just a little twist sick enough to be his work. The duct tape covering his face was a forced symbol that he was ashamed for squealing and was hiding his face. Damn."

"Do you have any idea what this information he had was?"

"Something about his best friend that he hasn't seen in a couple days. We need to go to his room and look for a picture. He said he had one of him and his best friend, a recent picture taken at a frat party. Just the two of them. I remember college, and I know there are frat parties all the time. He may have pictures from dozens of them, but it's a start."

"Let's do it."

"Two hours of searching, and no pictures of him with anyone, let alone at a frat party," Sergeant Vaughn exclaimed.

"I'm thinking of two reasons. Reason Number 1: Whomever overheard him knew he had the pic and Manuel had it here on his desk, where the killer saw and took it, or Reason Number 2: There never was a picture, the guy that called wasn't Manuel but he was the killer luring me here to find the body and think of Reason Number 1."

"But Ray, why would he do Reason Number 2?"

"From my research yesterday I remember another quote of the Marquis- 'Happiness is a god of our own construction, He who would seize it finds only an illusion'. If the killer constructed happiness with that clown's mouth, maybe we found an illusion."

Chapter 8 - Going Out With A Bang

Ray left the campus not only upset over the death of Manuel, but also from the lack of understanding it. He did not quite know to break the news to Ben but called him from their car phone anyway. He answered on the third ring.

"Hey baby," his 'better' half answered. Out of all the options Ray had put on Ben's digital phone when he got it for him, the one he liked best was the Caller ID. "What's my man up to?"

"Ben, is Aubrey joining us for dinner?"

"I haven't asked him yet, what time will you be ready and I'll let him know."

"I'm ready now, but I want to talk more than eat, I'd really like it to just be us."

"What's wrong, what did I do?"

"It's nothing like that. Don't worry. I know how you hate it when I tell you I want to talk but you have to wait, but I really want to tell you in person."

"I'm on the way there now, it's just a few blocks. I'll get us a table and a couple-long neck Buds, OK? Please be careful…you sound shook-up."

"I am, but I'll be all-right. Try to get a table in the corner."

Ray swung the Cherokee around the corner onto King Street just in time to pull into a space being vacated by another car. Hope the next hour goes as smooth as finding a parking space.

"I am looking for Ben Dawson's table, please," He told the man at the door.

Ray was taken to the table where Ben was waiting with the most troubled eyes he had ever seen on his partner's face. "Ben," he began, as he started tearing up, "I love you so much, and am so thankful for every minute we have together." He looked into Ben's eyes that had to begin to tear as well.

"Baby I am going to ask you one more time, what is wrong? My brain is about to explode thinking of the millions of things you could say that will wreck my or your or our lives."

"Manuel Castillo is dead. He was murdered. He was stuck in a world that would not let him celebrate his life with the man he loved the way we do. He was just as much imprisoned in this world as Sade was in Charenton or the Bastille or any of the other places his family tried to hide him or cure him. Kinda like the way Manuel's family thought that college would do the same thing to him…the way all the gay guys in that school have been closed up behind walls that try to change their way of free thinking and closeting their true selves in the bedroom."

"What are you saying baby, that Manuel was the Marquis Killer?"

"No. He phoned me today and said he had a photograph of himself and his best friend who has been missing for two days." Ray slid the open envelope to Ben, who opened it and recognized Manuel standing next to a young man with his head back chugging a can of beer. Around the two of them somebody had a drawn a heart with a magic marker. "This is the picture. His 'best friend' was his boyfriend. After he called, I took maybe ten minutes to get ready and Darryl handed me this on the way out and said a guy dropped it off about 10 minutes before I picked it up. I didn't open it till I was on the way over here, and it all came together."

"How did the killer know Manuel talked?"

"He didn't. Manuel killed himself." His hands were not bound. He wrapped up his face and the phone with the duct tape, placed the note to me on his head, and then placed a final piece over his nose to suffocate himself. There were no bruises, scratches, marks of restraint, nothing. No signs of struggle. There wasn't one. He just couldn't take it anymore. Remember on the club's patio when Manuel told us he didn't see how those guys took it so long, a life with out love? We thought he was referring to prostitutes, and was referring to the guys he new that had to remain closeted, like him. Ben we have to find this guy in the picture with him. I know he is our killer."

"I believe you, and I have never loved you more. And I am so proud that we don't have to live that way." Ben finished his sentence just as the waiter brought their food. "Add a bottle of champagne," he concluded, and smiled at Ray.

Ray cocked his head a little to the right, and a tad forward.

"And a Budweiser for my better half," he added, very dryly.

Ray smiled back. He loved his Budweiser.

The view of the beach from the balcony of the Middleton Suite at the Folly Beach Bed and Breakfast was different this evening. There was beauty in the sunset, yet the sadness of the end of a day. It was the bitter dessert to the dinner Ben and Ray had shared: the talk of the lovers who lived in pain.

Startled, they turned around to see fireworks going off from the other side of the beach house, or more beach mansion that had been converted into a B&B. The aerial display began with small Roman candles and built to a spectacular flower bursts over the whole beach.

"Ray," Ben said, "I have been doing a lot of thinking. I know I am your Master, and you are a willing submissive to me, but I have to tell you something. You have done a remarkable job on this case, from finding clues to putting together this scenario. I love you, and I don't think I have given you the respect you deserve. I have spoken for you and over you. This may be fine in our personal relationship and one in our club life, but in our professional life you will be my partner from now on." The couple began walking toward the stairs that led down onto the beach.

"I love you, Sir, and I don't want to take anything away from you. Everything that I do, I do for your pleasure and to ease your work." The foam of the waves rolled across their feet as they walked along the line that separated the wet sand from the dry.

"And I appreciate it, and I want everyone to know what you do and let them know of your abilities. I don't want to take anything from you either," Ben said as he stretched his long arm and pointed to the stand from where the fireworks were being shot.

"Do you think they take requests? I like deep red bursts. You know the ones that end in purple?" Ray asked.

"I'll find out, just for you, baby."

Ray stood on the beach with the water rippling over his feet while his lover went to go see what type of fireworks were planned for the evening, when the next display was shot directly at Ben. Two more shots of flaming color were undoubtedly aimed in Ben's way, not mistakes. Ray darted toward the staircase leading to the pier from where the fireworks were being launched and was met by a man than stared for one or two seconds before jumping to the beach and running off.

"Can you see him Ray?" Ben called out into the dark.

"No! He went into the trees!"

"Damn," Ben exclaimed.

"Ben, you'd better come over here.

"Where are you?"

"Up here, where the guy was launching the fireworks." Ben found Ray as he came into the light. In front of him was another face down nude body, with the burned out remains of an aerial firework display wedged in its buttocks. Ben pulled out a Maglite and inspected the section of the body mentioned. "What the hell was he thinking?" Ray took Ben's flashlight and leaned over the body.

"Damn this is one sick fucker," Ben said in a heavy exhale.

"Yeah, he has been through a lot."

"He has been through a lot? What about all these guys he's killed, Ray"

"What about all the people that have killed him. I know he's a criminal, but I still feel for sorry for him…for anybody that has to put up with the kind of shit he did all his life. All the stuff we talked about at the restaurant. You know I'm just a caring person. When I see somebody that has problems, they are crying out for help. This guy really needs help, and really needs care." The couple stared at each other for a few silent moments before Ray resumed his examination of the corpse.

He did not need to do much inspecting before he had reached a conclusion. "The killer used this guys ass as a launching pad to shoot off the fireworks. It's been burnt to a crisp Ben, and at least one had been launched inwards. I guess it was fired first to kill him so he wouldn't need to be tied down while being used like he was. Must have gone deep and burned some organs: There is no bleeding in the rectum, so he was dead before the anus was stretched to accommodate the size of the fireworks used. And in one of Sade's books somebody did kill once by shooting fireworks up the victim's butt."

Ben stared at Ray for a bit before taking out his digital phone. "I'm calling Aub. And you…promise me you will find another genre to start reading!"

"But if hadn't read these books and known these things we wouldn't be this far along."

"I know. We would be on vacation here instead of working 24 hours a day on our vacation."

Chapter 9 - The Monarch and The Butterfly

"Good morning baby." Ben whispered, when Ray opened his eyes.

"Yes, it is," he whispered back with a smile as he started getting out of the bed.

"Stay right there. I've got breakfast started, so just lie there till it's done. Then we can scoot over to the station and take Aub our file on the body from last night."

"And I want to go back to the Barnes & Noble. I want a copy of that bell book you are always talking about.

"For Whom The Bell Tolls? Hemmingway? He's my favorite!"

"I know. You said I should try a new genre, and this way we will have something else to share and talk about."

"I hope this doesn't mean I have to read your library of the complete works of the Marquis de Sade and anything written about him."

"No. Not in one day," Ray laughed.

"Speaking of our conversation at Hyman's, I want to make a change too. I don't give you the respect you deserve. I don't mean just the Master/slave type, but common courtesy, especially in public. You deserve much more professional courtesy on the job. As far as the SM roles we live, and love, you are worthy of much more there as well. I remember the first thing you taught about the Leather lifestyle. A man is not a Master if he doesn't have a slave or his slave's respect, nor is a man a slave without a Master. They have to be equals. I don't think I have treated you as one, and I apologize."

"No man is an island," Ray smiled.

"As soon as we get through here I am taking you on a real vacation... someplace where neither of us knows anybody on the force to drag us into a case. I love you, and you deserve that." Ben said as he sat on the bed next to Ray.

"I have a good idea. How about breakfast in bed?"

"Ok baby, I'll go get it."

"We can eat later."

"I think we need to change the CD, Ben, that one has played twice since we started. I bought one before we left home; it's still in the wrapper." As he reached into the nightstand's drawer, the phone on Ben's side of the bed rang.

"Hello. No, Ray and I are just having breakfast and are bringing the case report over in an hour or so. What do you mean? No, we didn't know. Ok, fill us in when we get there." He hung up the phone and turned to Ray. "There were two murders last night. They found another body about a block away from the one we found."

Aubrey ran though the file he had on the second body with Ben and Ray. "He wasn't mutilated or killed in some weird way like the other ones though. Plus, this is the only one where there is a wallet full of forms of identification. Guy's name was Wes Tippin, lived here in town. There are no wounds, either. I don't think it's related. I'm heading to the morgue if y'all want to come, but like I said, there really isn't anything strange."

"We've got some running around to do, but will stop by there a little later. Just take some good pictures for us," Ben said, then turned to Ray with a smile, "if you agree."

"Sounds good to me," he smiled back.

"Great. I'll let them know at the desk to expect you."

Ray's head popped to Ben's direction. "Let's go."

Once in the car, Ray explained his wanting to go right then. "We need to take a trip to the Citadel. When Detective Sullivan said he would let the desk at the morgue know we were coming, that reminded me of something. Manuel told me that to be allowed up to the rooms, the desk had to be notified of their guest's name and expected time. Maybe if we show him the pictures of all the guys he might recognize one or more of them."

They arrived at the college that had a completely different feel than the last time Ray was there. This time he was expecting a tip or clue from a stranger, and not the smiling face of Manuel.

"Do you recognize any of the men in these pictures, Sir?" Ray asked the guard.

After spending about a half minute per picture, the guard stopped at the picture of Manuel and his boyfriend. "This guy here. He used to come almost every day to see Manuel. He missed a few this week, but came by yesterday. I gave him the bad news and offered him a visit to one of the chaplains, but he said he was ok. I gave him my card and told him he could call for any more information and funeral details. Once he was out the doors, I saw him put it in the trash.

"We thank you, Sir. Please call us if you remember anything else about Manuel or visitors he had that might seem odd now. Have a good afternoon," Ray said, and he followed Ben out the door.

"What kind of guy would throw out the card that would give information on his lover's funeral?"

"One that didn't plan on attending."

Moments later, Ben and Ray were pulling up to a familiar curb.

"Aub? Ben here. We're arriving at the morgue now and were just checking to see if you were still there."

"I sure am, in fact I was waiting here for you two."

"We'll be right there."

"Hello, we are Detectives Dawson and Lanier. Sergeant Vaughn is expecting us."

"Yes sir, he said to send you back to the cutting room, and that you know the way."

"Thank you ma'am," Ray replied, and walked the hallway with Ben till they reached the back.

"So what's the news on this one, Aub?"

"Ben, this one is different: cyanide. It was ingested. I searched the body for needle marks but none showed up. This guy was impeccably clean."

"And I know why," Ray calmly stated. "Look here." The men stared into Wes Tippin's lifeless face. "See the inside corner of his left eye? That is a red teardrop, drawn with a magic marker. When De Sade died, he was rumored to have cried blood. That's why he didn't need funeral information: he was going to kill himself before the service."

*****

By sundown, Sergeant Vaughn and Lieutenant Wilcox had searched Wes Tippin's house that had plenty of evidence linking him as Manuel's lover, and even more literature on Sade than Ray owned. They found a journal, which, in true Sade style, documented the tracking and killing of all the victims in complete detail. That evening Ray decided he wanted to go to Manuel's memorial service, and Ben wanted to join him. After the last speaker, when the remaining time was set-aside for guests to say anything on their mind, Ray walked to the stand.

"Good evening. I'm sure I don't know any of y'all, nor you me, and honestly," Ray paused, "I didn't really know Manuel. In fact, I only met him this week. In the short time I knew him, I found him to be an exceptional young man suffering from exceptional circumstances. While getting to know him I found several similarities between him and an author that he emulated to the end, and in closing I would like to read the epitaph from that writer's own grave, as it fits Manuel's disposition and how I reflect on his life. They include feelings, times of death, and respect. With this, I leave you:

"Traveler,
Stay and bend your knee to pray
Near the most ill fated of men.
He was born in the last century
And died in the current one.
Despotism, with frightful mien,
Against him waged unending strife.
Under Monarchs, this hateful fiend
Stole away the rest of his life.
Under the Terror it lived once more,
Set this man on the abyss's rim.
Under the Consulate it was reborn
And still he is its victim."