Gay Police Officer Comforts Me

“He was stabbed. As to why, we were hoping you could help us out. There was a letter in his pocket written by you and dated just a few weeks ago.” Jason looked suspiciously at me as he said it. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
*****
I had just gotten home, trying to unwind from a trying day, when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to two men. One was tall, suave and polished. He was dressed to perfection, creased and pressed. Not a hair out of place, not a move that wasn’t smooth and efficient. He didn’t do a thing for me. He was too perfect, too practiced, and too straight. But the other guy, well, he gave me an immediate temperature rise, plus a rise in other areas. He was the opposite of his cohort. He had dark hair and was tall, about six-four and muscular, hulking with muscles. He wore a wrinkled jacket over a wrinkled shirt with a crooked and loose tie. His shoes were scuffed and his pants were lived in. His hair was mussed as if he constantly ran his fingers through it. He had a dark, five o’clock shadow and the most intense blue eyes I had ever seen. He exuded a macho, masculine air that just about had me on my knees. I was taking in the whole package when I noticed that he dressed definitely to the left, heavily to the left. My mouth began to water. Then macho, hunky perfection cleared his throat and the two men flashed me their badges. It couldn’t have been better choreographed. If I had had a better day, I would have laughed.
“Are you Zachary Phillips?” from Mr. Macho.
“Yes.”
“This is Detective Martin Anderson and I am Detective Jason Bailey. We need...