JimKerryPI
Member
The Investigation
Original story written in German by mc67kenzie
Interpreted and edited in English by JimKerryPI
Part 1: The New Assignment
It was raining now for the sixth day straight. Jim Kerry sat alone in his private investigation office in an aging commercial building downtown. Business was good, though he only worked routine cases recently. Insurance fraud cases of laughably small scale, robberies, infidelity investigations. The usual.
Although it was going on 10:00 p.m., he was still at work typing up the final report on his last case: a jealous husband suspected his wife was cheating on him. He turned out to be wrong. It was actually working overtime that kept the good woman away from her man. All should be well. At least Jim didn't have to give his client bad news. He naturally collected his payment nevertheless.
Jim only wanted to finish his report and then crash on the old sofa. He was planning to spend the night once again in his office. Jim had no desire to go out in the chilly, rainy weather just to sleep in his crummy little apartment. He was able to do that just as well here.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Who the hell could it be at this hour?
"Come in!" he told the late-night visitor who kept knocking so impatiently. A thin, pale woman of about 40 entered his office. Water dripped off her expensive but not exactly fashionable raincoat.
"Mr. Kerry?" she said. "I'm sorry to disturb you so late."
"No problem. Please have a seat," he said to her. She leaned her expensive umbrella with an elegant wooden handle against the desk and sat facing Jim. He suspected what type of assignment this tired-looking blonde lady had for him. She was surely being cheated on by her husband, and wanted him to gather the proof. A routine case like he had settled a hundred times before.
"My husband is cheating on me!" the woman said before Jim was could ask. Just as he had suspected. Nevertheless, he felt a slight disappointment. A little professional challenge would bring back a little variety into his unexciting life. The blonde lit herself a cigarette despite the sign that forbid smoking in his office. It had stood on his desk ever since he had quit smoking himself years ago.
Even though his new client at first glance looked tired and beaten down by life, she put forth an astonishing self-confidence and sense of purpose once she began speaking. This pleased Jim. He examined her more closely. Ten, fifteen years when she was perhaps more satisfied with her life, she was probably very attractive, Jim imagined. Then he refocused on listening to her statement and accepted the assignment.
Ten minutes later Mrs. Cohen left the office. Jim stood up and went to the window. After a short look down the wet street he went over his notes for his new case. Mrs. Cohen's unfaithful spouse had just turned 40 and was a big executive at an insurance company. The photo that she had left showed an average-looking man with short, dark brown hair and grey-green eyes. If Mrs. Cohen was correct, for months now he had no longer participated at his weekly card game with the guys. Jim felt that Mrs. Cohen's suspicions were probably justified. She did not look like a hysterical and bored wife who would so easily imagine something. Mrs. Cohen had described her husband's routine to Jim, in as much detail as she knew. Jim now also knew Mr. Cohen's home address and business address, car model and license plate. It would not be difficult to stick to Mr. Cohen's heels and uncover his secrets.
Jim put his notes aside. For now the Cohen file was fairly thin. But starting tomorrow he would gather the evidence that would shed light on Mr. Cohen's life.
The next morning shortly before 7 a.m., Jim stood astride his old Honda motorcycle in front of the Cohens' villa in a posh neighborhood. The bike was not perhaps the most inconspicuous vehicle for stakeouts, but it had the advantage of speed and maneuverability.
Punctually at 7 o'clock Mr. Cohen left the house and climbed into his Jaguar. He threw his briefcase on the passenger seat, started the engine and went on his way. Jim followed.
Until noon, Mr. Cohen spent his day inside a hyper-modern office building of glass and steel. Jim hadn't expected anything else. Then at noon things became somewhat more exciting. Around 12, Cohen steered his Jaguar out of the underground garage and went speedily toward the outskirts of town. After a ten-minute trip he parked his luxury car in front of a restaurant. Mr. Cohen had just left his Jaguar when an extremely attractive young woman fell around his neck and gave him a kiss on the lips that went went far beyond any innocent greeting. Mr. Cohen laughed and the young lady was beaming with joy. Holding hands, they entered the restaurant.
So Mrs. Cohen had been right, thought Jim. A trace of sympathy for his client moved him. But on the other hand he could sympathize with Mr. Cohen too. His lover was blooming with life and overshadowed the wife in radiance, vitality and beauty by light years! Even from a relatively far distance Jim was able to see the luster in her long, dark hair and how she moved with the elegance of a ballerina.
And wow, she had curves! Her buttocks were luscious, stout and round. Her long legs clad in sheer stockings looked not at all thin, but breathtakingly shapely. Her generous hips and narrow waist formed very distinct curves. Her snug outfit didn't accommodate these sensational slopes quite right, Jim assessed, looking a bit too tight. But then he was no fashion expert. Perhaps her outfit was perfect in its fit. Jim noted a trace too much flesh filling out the young lady's belly. But in his book this was no flaw, because he preferred women who were more than skin and bones. The imposing bustline of this beauty diverted attention from her bulging tummy anyway. This woman was a stunner! Such curves, such abundance, such poetry in motion! Jim could understand Mr. Cohen's desires.
Jim entered the restaurant, took a table at a safe distance and strove to act like a guest studying the menu. His only real interest, of course, was the enamored couple who gave other diners and their surroundings not the slightest attention as they kanoodled together most intimately.
About an hour later Jim had indeed gained some insights, but not necessarily ones that would somehow help in his investigation. For example he knew now that the brunette beauty who had captured Mr. Cohen's fancy had good reason to display a certain sumptuousness. Jim had observed that the young lady demonstrated one healthy appetite.
She stuffed herself dauntlessly through an extensive menu, which began with a shrimp cocktail appetizer and a large salad drenched in creamy dressing. This led to a massive platter of fettuccine alfredo that she wolfed down along with a full basket of buttery yeast rolls. The feast was concluded with a kind of sponge cake with hot fudge sauce plentifully poured over it. In addition she nibbled extensively from the plate of her companion. These stolen bites seemed particularly to please her, Jim noticed, judging by her blissful expression.
After the lunch, Jim shadowed Cohen's mistress. Since Cohen would most likely spend the afternoon back at the insurance office, Jim took the opportunity to learn more about the mystery woman.
She got into a Porsche convertible and left the parking lot squealing tires in front of the restaurant. Jim grinned. She drove as spirited as she looked. What might she be like in bed? Jim tried to repress these thoughts and made his pursuit. The trip ended twenty minutes later at the other end of the city before an inconspicuous, two-story house of older vintage. Somehow this old place didn't seem to suit her, much less than the sporty Porsche. But evidently the well-built young woman lived here, since she had a key for the front door.
The house stood in an older part of town at 28 Spencer Street. Single family dwellings with little gardens, a couple of blocks of flats, little shops and a run-down hotel dotted the landscape. Next to the garden door of the young lady's house, a sign was mounted.
"Liz Cooper Studio," it read.
Jim jotted down her license plate number, the address and the name. Then he sat down on his Honda intending to head back to his office for some internet investigation. Would he perhaps uncover a couple of hits if he typed Liz Cooper into Google?
Jim already had started his motorcycle when he noticed that a room on the uppermost floor of the seedy hotel must have a perfect view of Liz Cooper's house. He turned off the engine and entered the hotel. "Do you have a room with a view of Spencer Street?" he asked the old gentleman at the reception desk.
Sullenly he looked up from his newspaper. "You really want a room?" the attendant asked, unbelieving. "I got just the thing for you!" he said and shortly gave Jim a key.
Was it really necessary to station himself here in order to solve this case? And thus drive up the expenses that Mrs. Cohen had to cover? Probably not, Jim had to admit. Yet his instincts told him otherwise. After paying for two nights in advance, he took off to his office, without even going up to the room.
Jim's internet investigation was a success. The identity of the mistress was unambiguously certain now. The young lady in question was named Liz Cooper. She worked as a freelance artist and was even somewhat successful from what Jim assessed. Her paintings were exhibited across the country and she had regular exhibitions. Jim found reviews in newspapers and magazines. She also taught a course at the university and organized weekend workshops for ambitious amateur painters. The paintings that were shown on her studio's web site did not especially interest Jim. Abstract modern art junk that didn't look like anything real.
The photos that he found interested him much more. Miss Cooper at the opening of an exhibition in a figure-accentuating evening dress, with elaborately high-stacked hair and a glass of champagne in her hand. Miss Cooper in tight, painted-on designer jeans and her blouse knotted together under her breasts at her easel. Miss Cooper and her workshop students painting landscape portraits. One thing immediately grabbed Jim's attention -- in these photos there no visible sign of Liz's plump behind or her little tummy. Her legs were thin, almost like stilts. Her hips were narrow, and so was her face.
No question, in these photos Liz Cooper certainly weighed many pounds less than today at lunch! She was very attractive in the photos, but nowhere close to radiating such beauty as now. Then Jim noticed that the photo of the exhibition opening was not even a year old. And in the photo, Liz Cooper looked yet considerably thinner -- therefore she had to have packed on her incredible curves only in the past few months. How long had Mr. Cohen been seeing her? Mrs. Cohen spoke of some six months, maybe seven. Jim believed the poor woman, since she seemed to be accurate in her other assessments. It almost seemed that Liz had begun to gain weight after she became involved with Mr. Cohen. Strange. But was it really? Jim remembered Liz's lunch earlier. If she let herself go like that often, her rapid weight gain was not so mysterious. Could she be pregnant? Jim found this idea rather plausible. Further investigation would surely shed light on this potentially scandalous matter.
Jim considered whether he should inform Mrs. Cohen of his discoveries so far. But he decided against it. What was he able to tell her at this point with certainty? That her husband had lunch with a pretty young artist, who had gained lots of weight in the last nine months?
Jim packed his video equipment and night vision binoculars, then went by his apartment. There he packed his things for the hotel. He felt like someone going on vacation, it went through his head as he stowed his razor in a side pocket of his duffel bag. Then he drove his old Beetle to the hotel. It was raining again, so he left his Honda behind. On the way to the hotel, he briefly stopped at a newsstand to buy himself his favorite porn magazine as well as a trashy science-fiction novel. He was thinking it would probably be pretty boring in that hotel room. But Jim was mistaken.
Dusk had fallen already when Jim entered his room on the top floor of the hotel. It reeked of disinfectant and old carpeting. Jim closed the door, unpacked his things and opened the windows to let fresh air into the room. From the way the window creaked, it had last been opened years ago. With surprise Jim assessed how perfectly one could see Liz Cooper's plot of land from here. First there were strange sculptures that stood everywhere around the garden, apparently some kind of works of art. In the garden, a cheap pavilion stood. This was apparently also for artistic activities, with various easels and supplies strewn around under it.
More importantly, the home's interior could be easily observed. Halfway drawn shades allowed a restricted view into the kitchen and living room. On the far side of the house, out of his view, sat a bedroom and bathroom facing toward the garden kitchen and living room. The upper floor served as a studio. Recently constructed larger windows -- the masonry all around the window was still freshly plastered -- let plenty of light in. Jim could see that on the upper story all non-structural walls were torn down -- the studio covered the room, above the kitchen and living room. Paints, brushes, paper, wood frame, portfolios and numerous utensils were stashed around. There was an old sofa, which reminded Jim of the one at his office, and a coffee maker. He was not able to recognize further details in the darkness. Liz was not home. No lights were on, and the Porsche was nowhere to be seen.
So Jim had time to make himself comfortable in his room. Then he mounted the video camera on the tripod, and got the camera and binoculars ready. Perhaps Mr. Cohen would come over. If a little amorous rendezvous was forthcoming, perhaps Jim would already be able to gather enough evidence today and complete the assignment? To catch Liz Cooper and James Cohen in flagranti would clear all doubts. Jim had learned that many deceived spouses were more likely to believe the truth if he was able to produce more than unambiguous evidence. And even then many refused to acknowledge facts.
Jim lay down on the bed and leafed listlessly through his nudie magazine in the light of the night table lamp. Cool air streamed through the open window into his room. Then the roar of the approaching Porsche directly under the window alerted him that Liz Cooper was home. In a split-second Jim turned the light off. The hotel was barely inhabited, so an attentive neighbor would notice a light in one of the rooms immediately. He didn't believe that Liz Cooper was the sort of person who paid attention to such things, but you never know. Cautiously Jim approached the window. Liz unloaded two large grocery bags out of the absurdly small trunk of her sports car and disappeared shortly through the front door, which he was not able to see from his position. Shortly the lights came on in the house. But not in the kitchen or living room. Both rooms became dimly illuminated and only indirectly from another light source. It was probably the light in the entrance hall that shone through open doors in the two other rooms. Unfortunately Jim was not able to see in Liz's bedroom.
For a few minutes nothing happened. Then the light in the kitchen came on. Liz carried her purchases into the kitchen and stowed the groceries. Apparently Liz had showered. Her hair was still wet. She wore a thick, burgundy pullover sweater that was so long that it covered her hips and behind. When she placed a package of sugar into one of the upper cabinets and the sweater rode up a little, Jim was able to see that she wore a dark pair of panties under it. For a fraction of a second, Jim was able to see Liz's fleshy rear. His occupation had so many bright sides, he thought with amusement.
Then Liz began to cook. That pleased Jim not at all, because his own supper would consist of a sandwich that already spent hours in his pocket. Liz Cooper on the other hand was conjuring up a full display of the culinary arts. Did she expect guests tonight? She had already abundantly slammed herself full at noon. Jim couldn't tell for sure, but it was possibly a paella Liz was preparing over there. She also put together a whole tray of little finger sandwiches. Then she filled small bowls with pistachios, peanuts, pretzels and chips and carried them out of the kitchen. Where she took it all was a riddle to Jim. Not into the living room, certainly, because he would have seen. She didn't bring the snacks into the studio either. That left only the bathroom and bedroom. What the devil did that mean?
The real excitement of the evening began when suddenly a Jaguar pulled up. Right model, right license plate -- no question, it was Mr. Cohen. A minute later he stood in the kitchen and attended to the paella for Liz, who had disappeared. It was well over ten minutes until she emerged again. The entrance that she then made for her guest -- and without knowing, also for the peeping private investigator -- was breathtaking. Now she wore a dark bustier that was quite transparent!
"Wow!" Jim gasped and double-checked the "Record" button on his running video camera. Liz also wore black pants made of thin, shiny rayon. On her hips, a thin chain with a little pendant sat. The outfit was incredibly sexy, above all because it was much too small for its wearer!
Today at noon it had been noticeable to Jim that Liz's clothes were a trace too small for her. Of course it was possible that his ignorance in fashion trends led him to a false estimation -- perhaps this was the way current styles are worn? But now he had not the slightest doubt. These garments were clearly too tight for Liz -- she blurted quite out of them! The soft material of her pants was supposed to fall loosely, but there was no room to spare. Her thighs obviously took up too much volume for the narrow pant legs and demanded stretching properties beyond the fabric's design. The pants sat rather low across her imposingly broad hips, and they were too tight. So the waistband notched significantly into the beautiful artist's soft flesh and forced her thoroughly defined love handles to present themselves as little bulges. The flesh on her abdomen was even softer and and more luxuriously padded than her hips. Her round little tummy looked sexy, Jim thought. Liz's heaving breasts in the skimpy, see-through top rounded off the picture.
James Cohen was at least as thrilled as himself, Jim had no doubt. The adulterer put the cooking utensils aside and said something to Liz -- both laughed, then he grasped her by the hips and held her close. How did it feel to press those zaftig curves against oneself, Jim wondered? Then James let go of Liz, got a wooden spoon and scooped up a sample of the paella. He led this to Liz's lips, which carefully surrounded the little morsel in order to suck it all at once off the spoon.
Jim nearly dropped his binoculars, so indescribably sensual was this scene! Even as Liz chewed, she kissed Cohen on the neck, on the shoulder. Next with abandon Cohen dedicated himself to the fulsome cleavage the plump brunette was flashing. Liz evidently enjoyed the tenderness and slowly backed away until she sat with her ass on the dresser. She stretched her arms back in order to support herself as she continued to arch her back further. In this manner she stuck out her sensual tummy as if presenting it to her lover. He appeared to take this as a request to work her belly flesh with his hands and lips. Jim regretted her position since he was unable to see every detail of this foreplay. What he did see, however, was extremely exciting!
Suddenly Cohen interrupted his caress for a brief moment -- Liz seemed to say something. Then he rushed to the stove, got the paella pot and wooden spoon and pampered his mistress with a further spoonful of rice. Now he unfastened her pants and began to kiss her again. A few moments later he began to remove the tight pants slowly from the young woman's hips. It was anything but easy, as tightly as the trousers gripped her soft body. Liz began to assist her lover by grinding her hips like a belly dancer back and forth. Soon she managed with his help to squirm her way out of her pants. Both were amused and at the same time excited, Jim noted, and he envied Cohen endlessly.
Another spoonful of paella landed in Liz's mouth. She seemed to be insatiable. And all this after that lunch. "Good lord, girl, you better watch your figure!" said Jim in warning, although no one was there to hear. Yet Liz's figure appeared to be of no concern from the way she let herself relish her lover's feeding. In the meantime he had freed her out of her see-through bustier, and also slipped out of his shirt with Liz's assistance. Liz's breasts reminded Jim of juicy, ripe fruits that demanded to be handled carefully. Cohen performed the task quite capably, Jim saw. Then Cohen began to work his right hand into even more intimate zones between Liz's thighs. Jim photographed like a world champion. These were unambiguous photos that would open the eyes of even the most unbelieving wife, Jim thought. Suddenly the couple interrupted their intensive passion. Entwined they stumbled out of the kitchen, apparently toward the bedroom. For the next two hours, there was no more to be seen of them.
As much as Jim regretted being unable to observe the further intimacy no longer, he was actually relieved to take a break. He was hungry and thirsty, with the lengthy surveillance through the binoculars giving him shoulder and neck pain. Shortly he checked the quality of the video footage, reviewing how Liz shimmied herself out of those breathtaking tight pants -- like a snake shedding its skin. Simply amazing how nicely her love handles bulged and folded in those contortions!
Around 10:30, Jim was awakened by the sound of a slamming car door. It was James Cohen, who had already started the engine. Jim had not heard the evening news on the radio, so he must have dozed off. Not much could not have happened in the meantime, he thought. In the house, Liz -- unfortunately now covered up in a bathrobe -- rushed back and forth between bedroom and kitchen. She cleared the now empty bowls into the dishwasher, and put an open bottle of champagne in the refrigerator. The couple must have had a hell of a great time, in both sexual and culinary pleasures, Jim assessed. Once she finished tidying up, Liz went in the fridge again and pulled out some final snack to nibble on. Then the light went out first in the kitchen, and a moment later in the living room.
