The Blue Journal (10 page)

“Just busted the main codes this afternoon,” the techie told them proudly.

Walker and Kovacevic watched the screen flash a series of changing images as Blasko tapped on the keyboard.

“I'll run the list of programs for you. I've already printed the directory,” he said, reaching into his pocket and handing Walker a sloppily folded group of pages. “I've only had a quick look at the software she's got loaded in this baby. Some programs are custom. She has different passwords for each of those.”

“Of course,” Walker said. “Goes without saying.”

Blasko ignored the sarcasm.

“She used to work as some sort of software consultant,” Walker said.

“Kovie told me,” Blasko replied without looking up. “Looky here.”

“What is it?”

Blasko pointed to a list of symbols on the screen that Walker found indecipherable. “All the subdirectories seem to be intact,” Blasko said. “That doesn't mean some of the information wasn't erased from within the files themselves. We can cross-check that afterward.”

“Naturally,” Walker said with a grin.

“Right. Anyway, she has a lot of technical data stored here, some of it is for the programs she wrote herself.”

“Is that good?”

“Might make it tougher to get into them.”

“How tough?”

“We'll find out. Haven't cracked that group yet. They might have to do with her work, not necessarily personal. I assume you're after the personal data.”

“The name of her murderer would be nice.”

Blasko frowned.

“You know the drill, Teddy. Anything that might help us identify a suspect. Threatening e-mails. Intimate e-mails. Whatever you computer people write to each other on these things.”

Blasko laughed his goofy laugh, which sounded like he might choke unless he spit out whatever was gagging him. “
Computer people
?” He chuckled again. “What are computer people?”

Walker liked the guy too much to share any of the half dozen clever responses that leapt to mind. “Just show me what you found.”

Blasko went back to the keyboard. “No reason to look at her finances.”

“You know where she lived.”

“Right. Let's have a peek at her e-mails.” Teddy played with various access codes until he entered the program directory.

“Impressive,” Walker said.

“Nothing to it,” Blasko admitted. “It's Microsoft Office, standard stuff once I got the first password.” He hit some more keys and then said, “Here you go. You can read through all of her e-mails, even the ones she sent and the ones she deleted.”

“Good.” Walker turned to Kovacevic. “Hope you didn't have any plans tonight. Looks like you've got some reading to do.”

The young officer nodded. “I'll be on it.”

After Blasko hit a few more keys he said, “This is a list of all the document files she created. You'll have to go through each of these too, see what they're about. I've already been through some, but this is the one you asked about.” Blasko opened and closed a few windows, then brought up a folder titled SEXUAL RITES.

“That's the one.”

In just a few seconds, Teddy had the screen glowing with a directory of files that read:

BVLCO.DOC

CLDTM.DOC

DVFQO.DOC

FINAL.DOC

FVDPD.DOC

FVHFX.DOC

INTRO.DOC

JSDPB.DOC

JWJCR.DOC

LMVCH.DOC

MMWEI.DOC

NIWKF.DOC

PEXNH.DOC

PLBNT.DOC

RIJPB.DOC

RSETU.DOC

SHAKE.DOC

SXQNZ.DOC

TLROT.DOC

“These file names look coded, probably to discourage anyone from having a quick look at them. I got into them. Based on the content, I'm guessing she wanted to hide them from her husband.”

Walker nodded.

“Which one you want me to open first?”

“How about the one that says INTRO? That name doesn't look coded.”

Teddy brought up the file marked INTRO.DOC. At the top of the screen, in the center, flashed the words:

SEXUAL RITES
INTRODUCTION

Walker pulled up a chair and sat down beside Blasko. Kovacevic stood behind them.

Notes for Introduction

Life is a series of experiences to which we assign many different names, a process that begins at birth, reaches a zenith, then follows its inexorable decline, and, ultimately, ends in death.

Infancy. Adolescence. Puberty. Teen-age. Adulthood. Middle-age. Maturity. Old-age.

We grow. We mature. We decay. We die.

Men and women are as susceptible to this inescapable process as every other living thing on earth. Yet we are uniquely empowered with an intellect that causes us to try and comprehend its meaning, to come to terms with the significance of the rites of passage that mark our lives. We learn from them, draw from them in the hope of improving ourselves and, ideally, we seek out every source of gratification they can provide.

Sexuality is woven through the fabric of every stage of this evolution. Scientists tell us that a newborn infant is capable of sexual stimulation. Psychologists tell us that sexual urges can rule the psyche and affect our earliest emotions and deeds. Experience tells us that our yearning for sex can be the source of our most powerful desires, needs, and fears.

So what are these rites of sexual passage that exert such control over our lives? What are the forces that affect us as we mature beyond our pubescent longings and youthful adventures? We are intrigued by our early experiences and the wonderful, mystical unknown that offers a fulfillment of body and spirit. We often use the expression
innocence
to describe that phase, a most interesting choice of words.

So what changes occur along the way to cause the loss of such innocence?

What are the influences of love?

The constraints of marriage?

The demands of trust?

The consequences of infidelity?

The suffering that comes from cruelty?

The unrealistic expectations that lead to disappointment?

The inhibitions that come from insecurity?

The forces that drive us to hatred, violence, degradation, or even depravity?

And, most important of all, what are the rules and regulations we call civilized behavior that ultimately cause most of us to resist the impulses of our basic lust? What compels us to hide, ignore, divert, or struggle against this most primitive, visceral hunger?

Where do these inhibitions begin?

Just imagine if those limitations were removed. Who among us would not crave unrestrained sexual excitement? What passionate discoveries would we welcome if there were no boundaries or social taboos? Why then do most of us deny ourselves, every day, that which is so sublime and so readily available?

What have we done to civilize our most basic urges? And why have we done it? What takes place in our society to create the pretexts that mangle or destroy our sexuality?

Do you want to understand these sexual rites, to find the way to free yourself from their restrictions?

Come with me on my journey of exploration.

“Go back to the list,” Walker said.

Blasko soon had the screen glowing with the column of file names.

“Any way to tell which of these was most recently opened?”

“Sure. They all have an electronic date stamp, every time you edit one.” After checking through them he said, “This one here, this is the last one she worked on.” Blasko opened the file named RSETU.DOC. Walker recognized it.

“We've seen that,” Walker said. “Open another.”

Blasko worked the keys and, once again, the screen was transformed when TLROT.DOC was opened. The heading said:

SEXUAL RITES
NOTES FOR CHAPTER NINE

After scanning the first few lines, Walker asked, “Can you print this for me?”

“Sure thing. This laptop has a wireless connection, I just have to load your printer info.”

“Print all of them then,” Walker told him.

“Right.”

With a proficiency that would be the envy of a concert pianist, Blasko went to work on the keyboard. Walker watched as the screen kept changing images until the printer atop his file cabinet began noisily feeding pages.

“Doesn't appear that anyone has been on this computer since Tuesday afternoon,” Blasko said. “Last entry of any kind seems to be the one you saw.”

“All right. Can you keep printing the other files while we have a look at the one you just opened?”

“Of course,” Blasko said, then hit a series of buttons to return to the file titled TLROT.DOC. On the screen, Elizabeth Knoebel's “Notes for Chapter Nine” reappeared.

The three men leaned forward and read.

SEXUAL RITES
NOTES FOR CHAPTER NINE

T believes he is a great lover. He is certainly a good-looking man. He is also well endowed, which leads most such men to feel they are worthy bedmates. Like most men, T understands far more about the physical dynamics of sex than about its nuances; or about women; or about emotions; or even about himself.

T proved to be an easy seduction. He's the sort of man who needs to feel he's in charge, the easiest sort to manipulate.

T and I had never met, but I knew who he was, a fact which he only discovered after we became lovers. I sought him out at a lounge he frequented, a quiet place not far from a small suburban motel. I stood near him at the bar, looking at my watch, about to order a second drink when he offered to buy it for me.

“Waiting for someone?”

“A friend,” I said. “I guess she's not going to make it.”

“My good fortune,” he said.

We drank together. I allowed him to control the conversation. He obviously thought himself amusing. I smiled at his awkward attempts at cleverness. I reacted with appropriate embarrassment at his increasingly suggestive remarks, but uttered no reprimand. I offered an occasional blush or, even more effective, a gentle tap on his arm. The third time I reached for him, I let my touch linger, giving his bicep a squeeze until he took hold of my hand and brought it to his lips. A short time later he suggested we move to a quiet table in the corner. Not long after, he was kissing me on the neck, then the lips, and I responded.

Too many women simply do not know how to kiss. They withhold their tongues, as if their mouths are something the man should enter and explore. They do not understand how excited a man becomes by a woman who freely offers her warm, wet tongue, fully meeting his as the passion grows.

So it was with T. He was warm with vodka and desire and feeling very sure of himself. He suggested we make our way to the nearby motel.

I feigned sufficient protest to satisfy his need for conquest, then gave in. We stopped at the bar on our way out. He reached into his pocket, took out some bills, and made a show of leaving a tip that was far too generous. Then he took me by the arm and led me into the night.

Once outside, his movements became cautious. He quite literally looked over his shoulder more than once. We drove a few blocks to a small inn where he arranged for the room. I waited in his car. As he stepped inside the office he had another look around—the actions of a married man. When he returned to the car I was amused to see him make a quick and subtle inventory of everything, as if to be sure I hadn't removed something or, worse yet, dropped my lipstick on the floor for his wife to find the next day. I was certain he would make another inspection when he arrived home later that night.

“You seem worried,” I said.

“Do I?”

“Are you married?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

He hesitated, then asked “Does it matter?”

“That depends,” I told him.

“On what?”

“On how the evening goes,” I said.

Once we were inside the motel room he was sure of himself again. We were safe, alone in the darkness, and when he took me in his arms it was a gentle embrace. It was clear he was taking time not to hurry or offend. Our lips met, softly at first, then in a long, moist kiss.

He was patient in ways I knew he would never be with his wife. This was not just sex, it was also a seduction.

We sat on the edge of the bed, and he began to remove my blouse. He acted as if he were unwrapping a gift, yet still not rushing, not wanting this part of the ritual to be done too soon. Next he removed my bra and began caressing my breasts with his hands. Then he lowered his head and sucked at my nipples.

After a few moments I laid back, allowing him to gently pull off my skirt. I had my panties on and remained on my back with my legs crossed in a chaste pose that offered him one last little challenge before claiming his prize.

He stood, and I let him undress himself. Not only did I want to retain an air of indecision, but I also wanted to see if he would persist in his controlled pace or if he might simply tear his clothes away. He did well, moving quickly but without clumsy haste. Then he lay beside me on the bed and we kissed again. I reached for him and began stroking him softly. He made his way back to my breasts, kissing and sucking at my now swollen nipples.

When he reached down to slide off my panties, I lifted my ass slightly as he pulled them off. I parted my legs and he bent over and covered me with his mouth. I began writhing in appreciation, sighing as he alternated deep thrusts of his tongue with a gentle sucking motion on my clitoris. I arched my back and let out a soft cry, then pushed his head away and rolled him over onto his back.

I moved astride his legs and bent forward, taking him in both hands and then into in my mouth, sucking and licking him until I stopped and pulled back, allowing him to grab hold of my ass with one hand and then guide himself inside me with the other. I was wet and hot and he entered me in one smooth motion.

I remained on top, leaning forward so that my breasts brushed against his lips as we rocked back and forth, slowly at first, then faster and harder. And then I stopped. For a moment I did not move. I looked into his dark eyes, then sat up straighter and began riding him with reckless abandon. I cried out, louder this time, as my body shuddered, sounds coming from deeper inside me. His hands kneaded the flesh of my thighs and my ass as we rose and fell together, my hands reaching behind me now, scratching at the soft skin on the underside of his scrotum. I began to shudder, and then tense, and then I felt him give in to his own trembling release.