by Donna M. Carbone

“I like sex. Not as much as I like Mallomars, but I like it.” Homicide Detective “Cat” Leigh chuckled as she gave her best friend and partner, Marcassy “Marci” Welles, a push through the double steel doors that marked the entrance to what they called “hell on earth.” The women had known each other since their student days at Wellington High School, and the bond they shared was envied by many of their colleagues at the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office. Not even hell… or Marci’s penchant for chocolate… could come between them.

As the heavy steel doors slammed shut, the moans and groans that filled the dungeon-like chamber took on a rhythmic, almost musical, quality. Each guttural note was preceded by the percussion of leather on flesh. There was a sensual… sexual… overtone to the sounds that, when mingled with the odor of perspiration, signaled the release of physical tension and emotional satisfaction. The concrete walls and floors were silent witnesses to the many bodies that writhed in agony and bliss as one master held sway over their rewards and punishments.

Tres Douloureux, a 3,000 square foot facility where only the most hardcore gym rats – those who desired physical perfection – were allowed entry, was ruled over by trainer and world weightlifting champion Terrance Sandefur. Sandefur put his minions through extremely strenuous workouts designed to break them if not make them into human fighting machines. On this particular morning, Cat and Marci were unaware that they would soon be putting the skills Sandefur taught them to good use. Had someone told them that Sandefur’s secret extra-curricular activities would be the focus of their investigation, they would have laughed themselves silly. Hours later, as the sun was sinking below a distant horizon, Sandefur’s body was the last thing they expected to see stripped naked and hogtied like a calf waiting to receive its owner’s mark.

On the floor near where his body lay was a personalized branding iron with removable letters. The message, which had been seared into Sandefur’s back, left no doubt as to the killer’s mindset. MINE!