(Quick note: Thanks so much for the feedback; I really appreciate the encouragement and hope you continue to enjoy the story!)
In less than an hour, Olivia and Elliot appeared at the doorway of their destination. They immediately saw Melinda Warner leaning over something, her back to the door. Two uniformed officers were standing to the side; one was older, while the other appeared to be green to the job. When they saw the new arrivals, the older officer lightly touched Melinda on the shoulder and pointed towards the door. Wordlessly, Melinda pulled herself upright and stepped back so the detectives could clearly see the victim.
Olivia smirked despite herself, while Elliot turned his head sideways to take in the strange sight.
"Oh, it's another one of these." Olivia said. Elliot stepped forward until he was within reaching distance of the body, then crouched down to get a closer look.
"Yeah, why'd you call us out here for this?" Elliot asked.
The body belonged to a rather corpulent, middle-aged man. He wore red, satin panties and a matching bra, both of which were at least six sizes too small for him, particularly with the inflated party balloons that were stuffed in the bra. He was in a sitting position, leaning forward slightly with a wide leather belt looped around his neck, the end of it caught in a closed closet door. The belt was the only thing keeping him from tipping all the way forward to the floor. In front of him a small mirror propped itself against a stack of porn magazines.
Melinda nodded knowingly.
"His name is Marty Mixon; his wallet is on the table over there, with everything still in it. And I know what you're thinking. This looks like a typical, textbook example of autoerotic asphyxiation." She addressed her next comments to the uniformed officers, particularly the younger one. "Some people find heightened sexual gratification by strangling themselves. They'll usually choose a belt or something that will release the pressure off their neck as soon as they sit up straight. The danger is that if they don't calculate the moment just right, they pass out, and the strangulation continues until they're dead. And then they're found like this, adding insult to injury. They do it to themselves, though."
"So, it's a suicide?" The younger officer asked.
"No. There's no intent to kill themselves, they're just trying to get off. So it's ruled as an accident." Melinda explained.
"Which brings me back to my original question. What are we doing here?" Elliot turned and watched Melinda in anticipation as she nudged him back a half step and motioned for the others to gather around.
"I was just about to dismantle all this and have him taken away when I noticed this."
With the help of the two uniformed cops, Melinda eased the dead man back until she was able to gingerly work her fingers under the belt and pull it away from his neck. There, Olivia and Elliot could see the superficial indentations from the belt, but far more striking was the deep, raw impression of what had to have been a thin rope. The spiral-shaped marks were still visible and in an upward angle, from his Adam's apple to his ears. The detectives grunted with comprehension as Melinda turned to the officers to elaborate on what the rest of them already knew.
"This guy didn't die from autoerotic asphyxiation. He died from hanging by a rope that made this mark here, under the belt. From the angle of the rope mark, the rope was probably hanging from somewhere high. Then someone cut him down, threw out the rope, and probably dressed him like this, moved him into this position, and left him here to be found like this. Someone was trying to cover up the hanging by making us think it was an accidental, albeit embarrassing, death. The building manager found him. Imagine his surprise."
Olivia pondered the situation for a moment, then said, "Whoever did this, it wasn't enough for them to be rid of this guy, they…"
"They had to humiliate him, too." Elliot finished her thought.
The two officers standing behind Elliot exchanged a look of sneering amusement, as though recalling a private joke. Sensing this, Elliot darted around and approached them aggressively, stepping into their personal space. His frame easily towered over the uniformed cops.
"You guys have any information you'd like to share?"
"No."
"No, sir." The younger officer added.
"Then why don't you make yourselves useful and start talking to the neighbors while we go talk to the building manager. See if anybody saw anything unusual in the…" Elliot looked at Melinda.
"I'd say the last few days. This isn't a fresh scene."
"Got that? Then go." Elliot continued to watch the officers as they slowly left the apartment. On their way out, the older cop cast a glance at Olivia for some sympathy, but found no purchase in her icy glare.
----------------------
Waiting in a hallway outside another resident's apartment as the superintendent finished up emergency repairs on a water leak, Elliot and Olivia had a moment alone to contemplate.
"How're you holding up?" Olivia asked.
"I'm fine. Great. Do me a favor and don't ask me how I'm doing."
"Sorry. I can't ask my partner how he's doing anymore?"
"It's not just that. It's… forget it." Elliot turned away and concentrated on some notes he had taken before they left the apartment.
"What? Is this about those two cops back there? Don't pay any attention to them. Those guys are jerks."
"No, Olivia. They're just regular guys." Elliot shook his head. "I might as well get used to it. That's how it's going to be from now on. This stain is never going to wash off of me."
"Come on. It's only been a month. People forget. Just give it some time."
At that moment, the building manager emerged from the apartment where Olivia and Elliot had been waiting. Back to work.
The superintendent was an elderly man, crustily charming and seemingly too old to be doing the kind of manual labor his job demanded. Rubbing his hands on a filthy cloth, the building manager chuckled apologetically.
"I'd shake hands, but trust me when I tell you it would not be a good thing for you."
"That's okay. Now, what's your name?" Olivia asked.
"Delman Friedburg. You can call me Del."
"And you found the deceased this morning?" Elliot's turn.
"Yep. Neighbors were complaining about a smell- these walls aren't the best insulated- so I went to go check things out. When nobody answered, I let myself in."
"You don't seem too shocked. That was quite a scene you stumbled on." Elliot said.
"Yeah, well, I've been looking after rental properties for over 40 years now, so I've seen a lot of crazy stuff." The man grunted lightly. "I could tell you some stories."
"Ditto. Listen, did you know Mr. Mixon very well?" Elliot watched the manager's reaction carefully.
"Just enough to know he was a real scumbag." Upon seeing Olivia and Elliot's surprised reaction, the manager continued, "I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, but this guy was a piece of work. I was married half my life to the same woman, and sure, there were times we didn't always get along. But never in a million years would I have ever hit her. This guy? He didn't have that hangup."
Olivia thought back to the apartment; she didn't recall any pictures, clothing, knick-knacks or anything else indicating that the victim had a wife.
"You're saying he was married?" Olivia wanted to make sure she had understood correctly.
"Oh, yeah. Her name is Martha."
"And you know for a fact that he was beating her up?" Elliot added.
"I knew it. The whole building knew it. A lady can only do so much with makeup and sunglasses."
"Do you know where she is now?"
"No, sorry."
"Did you ever do anything about what was going on?" Olivia asked.
"I used to overhear her friends sometimes telling- no, begging her, to get away from him and she wouldn't do it. I barely knew her; if they couldn't talk sense into her, what could I do?"
"These friends, do you know where can we find them?"
"Ma'am, I don't know the names of my tenants' friends. But I think some of them worked with her. She works at some accounting firm."
Elliot flipped through the notes he had made from the contents of the victim's wallet before it was bagged as evidence.
"Is this the place where she works?" Elliot showed Del his scribblings.
"Sounds like it. I don't know if you'll find her there, though. I haven't seen her for a few days now."