A Shoulder to Cry On

I'm disoriented again, and that allows him to rip my shorts down to my knees. I feel his hand start to violate me, and my fight comes alive again. I press my knees and legs together, and when he tries to pry them open, my door thuds.

"Police!" the door is hit hard enough to break, but the chain stops it. The second hit tears the chain off the wall. A plain clothed police officer comes in, gun at the ready and points it at Ian. "Get the fuck off her!"

The cop takes a step forward, and Ian quickly pushes the gun away and gut punches the cop. The cop is disarmed with a second hit and thrown out the door, colliding with the female detective who stumbles inside. Before she can raise her gun, he grabs her by the collar. She gets a few punches in but is flung like a rag doll over my kitchen island counter. Ian reaches for the first cop's gun, but the female detective somehow managed to keep a hold of her gun and takes aim from the other side of the cabinet.

"Don't even think about it!" the detective shouts. I scramble to stand up but can't, so start crawling toward her. The second cop rams him, but he keeps his balance and tosses him over my couch and crushes my coffee table. "Get on your..." The man bolts out the door.

"Shit, Graham, you okay?" the female detective asks.

"Go, go," the cop grunts out.

The female cop covered in trash from my kitchen floor runs out the door in pursuit.

–

Wednesday – March 11, 2026

-William Kaiser-

Graham lets us know Ian Tyler escaped and could be heading our way. If we had more time we would have gotten a few unmarked cars, but we have to make due with a few squad cars who were in the area. Hopefully they don't spook him.

Ian Tyler clearly had tried to rape her and was close to finishing the job before they showed up and stopped him. Midge got banged up but was on his heels last update I received. I told her to back off a little and let him think he's in the clear.

The fucker had put a camera in her apartment. The apartment I searched, and I didn't see it.

"I missed the camera," I say to Chase, who looks at me while we wait in the car.

"Maybe he's tapped into home security," Chase says.

"No, I would have saw that, and asked for video. He hid it. Probably the smoke alarm or something," I say, thinking about where he could have placed it. "And I missed it."

"So did the entire CSI team. You were looking for evidence of poisoning, not stalking to a shocking degree," Chase says, and he's right, but it's still disheartening.

"It becomes clearer by the minute, I'm not ready for this promotion," I say, and Chase slaps my arm.

"Bullshit, you got this..."

"...I'm not running this case right. I got three detectives in one room with an active crime scene ongoing. I missed a fucking camera in a suspect's house. I'm not digging the way you would and seeing the bigger picture. You saw right through this guy's alibi and I never gave it a second glance. Once it was all laid out, it was obvious," I say, Chase thinking about my response a moment.

"Then file this case under lessons learned, and attack the next one, the right way. I called the Chief's wife a cunt, and I'm still here," Chase says, and I laugh. "We'll get this guy."

"We're getting him alright," I say as I see his car flying down the street. It makes a screeching sound as it whips into his driveway and nearly collides with the side of the car port. "All units on standby, suspect just pulled in." I radio in. "Let's go."

Ian Tyler slams his car door shut and is about to move toward his house but notices something about the backyard. He must be wondering why his shed hasn't burned down. Ian jogs down the driveway and into his backyard, and Chase and I maneuver on him. We look around the corner and see he's in the shed. I nod to Chase, and together we enter his backyard and get to the shed with our guns raised.

"Ian Tyler! You are under arrest! Step out with your hands above you head!" I shout. He struggled and got away from two police officers earlier, so I'm not sure how he'll react with guns directly on him with adequate standoff. "Step out with your hands above your..." I start to repeat before he sprints out and cuts to the right. The guy is athletic and jumps the fence. "Shit. Suspect moving through backyards, traveling east!"

One of the most important reasons to have Chase as a partner, is because he can run a guy down. Chase is over the fence just as fast and I struggle to keep up. I need to work on the cardio Abigail keeps teasing me about.

Ian cuts through four backyards until he hits the sidewalk. I hear other officers yelling for him to surrender. Chase flings himself over the last fence and I'm ten feet behind him.

"Suspect traveling north on MLK!" I hear on the radio.

I drop down off the fence and see Chase is getting close. As the street MLK crosses into the intersection, another cop appears from the hedges and nearly tackles him. Ian tries jumping over them, but his legs are clipped, so he flips face first as a cop car slides to halt in front of him. Ian recovers shockingly fast for someone whose face was just on the concrete, but the moment he's on his feet, Chase's shoulder is in his hip and his arms are wrapped around his thighs. Chase lifts him up in the air and then slams him down on the hood of the car.

Ian Tyler is not going without a fight. Ian punches Chase flush in the nose, but Chase holds on and drags him to the ground as the cop who clipped him and the other driving the car all dogpile to control him. I finally arrive, out of breath, my body hunched over with my hands on my knees. I see the cop who clipped his legs is Midge who is now holding his face to the ground as the other two try to keep him down and manage to cuff him.

"Get him in the car," Chase says, fresh blood already on his lips and chin. Ian headbutts the patrol officer then spartan kicks Chase into the side of the car. "Mother fucker!"

Midge has had enough and shots him with a taser as he runs. Ian flops like a fish to the ground and spasms from the electricity running through his body. Midge lets off the taser, and his body relaxes. He groans from the ground, and Chase has to stop the patrol officer for kicking him in the ribs. Chase pulls him back to his feet and is finally able to put him in the back of the patrol car.

–

Wednesday – March 11, 2026

-Midge Appletree-

Will is insistent I have an EMT have a look at me while the CSI team combs over Ian Tyler's treasure trove of a shed. That guy threw me clear across the room like I was a football. I hit the top of the counter, slid off, and crashed into the cabinets. Into a pile of trash, no less. My back is going to be bruised. I can't describe how good it felt to sweep his legs out from under him. It hurt like a bitch though. Taser I enjoyed even more.

"You know the expression, it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog?" I ask Will, him sitting with me on the bumper of the ambulance. Will nods to say he was familiar. "Whoever said that, clearly wasn't a five foot four one-hundred-and-ten-pound lesbian."

Will laughs as Chase walks over from the backyard with a bruise already forming on his face. The blood already stopped and was cleaned off, but the top of his white shirt is stained. I overheard the EMT tell him his nose wasn't broken. The guy can take a hell of a punch, I'll give him that. That tackle onto the patrol car was spectacular.

"What do they have so far?" Will asks.

"The plant, the peas, printed instructions on how to cultivate it. Notes of Omar and Laurel's schedules going back several months. The camera in the apartment, a second team is trying to find it right now. Digging through his search history, we'll get more on that tomorrow when they're done scrubbing here. Definitely our guy," Chase says.

I turn my eyes to Will who exhales while looking down for a moment. Will spent so much of his energy going after Laurel while dismissing Ian as a suspect early on. So did I, but I can at least say Ian set off warning bells when I first interacted with him. Chase didn't even have to dig that deep to destroy Ian's alibi, and Will's failure to do so is partially responsible for Laurel getting attacked. I can tell this revelation is hitting him hard.

Jill was right about Chase; His instincts are on point. He's still a douche, but when it's time to throw down, I'm glad he's on our side. He certainly isn't the lazy desk chump I assumed he was.

"You guys can clear out for now. CSI will be working for a few more hours by the looks of it. I'll keep tabs here and call if anything significant changes," Will says, and I step off the ambulance. I stretch my back out a little by holding my arms above my head. My right shoulder pinches and put my arms down quickly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll ice it later," I say, rotating it a little. "If you need me, I'll be at the station."

–

We don't get a preliminary report from the CSI lab by the end of the day, but with our primary suspect in custody, Will is alright with calling it and going home for the night. At around nine I pack up and leave.

The house is quiet except for the television being played on low volume by Wesley in the living room. I put my toes to my heels to pry my shoes off my feet. I put my badge on the counter and my gun in another safe I have on the fridge after removing the magazine. I wobble over to the couch and sit next to him.

"What are you still doing up?" I ask, talking a pillow from the couch and placing it on the coffee table to prop my feet up.

"Wanted to wait for you," Wesley says, and I smile at his gesture. "Catch any bad guys today?"

"As a matter of fact, yes I did," I say proudly, and he bolts up in excitement.

"Did you shoot him?" he asks.

"No, and what did I say about that?" I ask. Technically I did taser him.

"Shooting people isn't good," Wesley says, and I say that's correct. "Are the guns bad then?"

"No, guns are objects," I say, then look him dead in the eye. "The decision to hurt people, comes before the method. People can be bad, because people can make bad choices. Do you understand?"

"I think," he says, then looks at the television again, then sniffs. "Why do you smell funny?"

"Don't worry about it," I say.

"Can I use my bad word now?" Wesley asks. I love how my son is asking for permission to swear. I did say he gets one.

"Hit me," I say.

"You smell like shit."

I've never been more insulted, and proud, at the same time. Perfect context.

"I love you, have I told you that recently?" I ask.

"Just this morning. Do I have to go to bed?"

"You can finish the show at least," I say, and snuggle up next to my little man.

Wesley is out by the time the credits roll, so I carry him to his bed and tuck him in. I softly close his door then walk down the hall to my room where Gianna is asleep. I try not to wake her, but the lights of the bathroom are enough.

"How's the case?" Gianna says, groggy but sitting up against the headboard.

"Suspect in custody, fuck load of evidence," I say then start brushing my teeth. I spit and continue. "Caught him in the act of attempted rape, fled police, Unabomber shed, the works." I finish and then shed my pants. I peel my shirt off and hear Gianna audibly gasp.

"Holy shit," Gianna says, leaving the bed and walking over to me. The bruise must be worse than I thought. "What happened?"

"Suspect threw me across the room. I'm fine though," I say, then start running the water for a shower.

"Why do you smell like garbage?"

"I landed in garbage," I say, then turn my neck to look at the bruise in the mirror. Damn, that's nasty. "I'm sleeping on my stomach for the next week."

"Midge, this really bad. I want you to get it looked at," Gianna says. One downside of having a nurse for a wife is that every paper cut is a crisis.

"I said I'm fine. I shoulder checked the mother fucker and he flipped over me. Then I tasered him, so I got my shots in too," I say, and she touches my back. I tense a little because I didn't see her doing it.

"I'm not going to stop bugging you until you get it looked at," Gianna says, and I sigh. "Midge."

"Fine, I'll get it checked," I relent and step into the shower. Gianna strips and joins me a moment later. It starts with her kissing my back and ends in the bedroom with her fingers in my pussy and her tongue on my clit.

–

Thursday – March 12, 2026

I arrive at work the next morning feeling completely refreshed. A morning orgasm and a cup of coffee where my six-year-old doesn't overdue the creamer helps. I drop my bag next to my desk and see my inbox is filled with both the lab report of the shed and the cyber report from his electronic devices. I see a sticky note on my desk from Will saying him and Chase are interrogating Ian Tyler and for me to start reading through the reports. I want the interrogation so bad, but I'll gladly take the paperwork today.

I thumb through the inventory found in his shed, and that alone is enough to convict him ten times over for the murder of Omar. That's not even including the attempted rape, stalking, illegal surveillance, etc. Under the cyber report I find a thinner report from a basic background check on him. Nothing of interest, but if we had bothered to check him, we would have known he was a three-letter athlete in high school and a decathlete in college. No surprise that I was a shot put to him.

Next, I pull open his cyber report. Clear evidence of searches for Abrin, transmissions for a remote camera, and other incriminating results. The techs did a search for anytime the word Abrin was ever used on his computer, and the results were extensive. The first utterance was in a message forum where someone suggested it to him. Then I dig a little, and I don't like what I'm seeing.

On an anonymous forum, someone encouraged him to kill Omar and even went as far as suggesting the method. The motive was what stood out the most. Kill her husband, and you can be the person to make her feel better.

"It's perfect. Take him out and when she's sad, that's your moment. You get to be the shoulder she gets to cry on," the anonymous messenger suggested. Why does that sound familiar? I try to grasp it, but I can't. It's a common enough expression I suppose.

"Poison him in a place without cameras, like a gym locker room. She might look guilty, but she'll be fine and even more distraught when it's your moment. No one will ever suspect a man of doing it. After she's released, burn the evidence, you might even get a good insurance policy out of it," the poster continued.

I can't believe what I'm reading. It's literally the exact playbook Ian used. To a tee. Someone coached him at every turn. Almost like they were also invested in Omar's demise.

"Anything good in there?" I hear Will ask as him and Chase return from the interrogation room. Will sits at his desk while Chase sits on the corner of it. Chase has a solid shiner on his right eye.

"Yeah, we have a slight issue," I say, and tell him to open the cyber report.

Will reads it silently for a few minutes before slapping it down on his desk and saying, "Dammit."

"You get to be the shoulder she gets to cry on," Chase reads aloud, placing it back down on the desk. For some reason him saying it causes me to remember where I heard that recently.

"Hold on," I say, then pull up the report from Laurel's warrants on her phone. "If you need a shoulder to cry on, I'm right here."

"Where's that from?" Will asks.

"A text from her ex-boyfriend," I say, then hand the report to Chase who hands it to Will after reading it.

"Besides being an ex, does he have any other motive?" Will asks.

"Rival comedian who didn't get a comedy special Omar was in talks for, according to the club owner Andre Reed," I say, opening my book and handing it off to show him my notes. I have it typed up on the computer for the record but handing him the book is easier.

"The use of a common phrase isn't all that compelling," Will says.

"You ever heard of James Fitzgerald?" I ask, and Will shakes his head.

"Can't say I have. I'm sure Chase has though," he says, and looks up at Chase on the corner of his desk.

"Why do you always assume I know something?" Chase asks.

"Because you normally do," Will replies.

After a long delay, Chase finally says, "FBI profiler who helped catch Ted Kaczynski," Chase says, and notices Will doesn't know who the latter is. "The Unabomber." I can't believe I brought up the Unabomber in casual conversation with Gianna last night.

"How is he relevant?" Will asks.

"I think I know where she's going with this," Chase says, and I look over at him. "You want to use forensic linguistics to see if Joey is the anonymous poster."

"Yes, I do," I say, smiling a little. I hate to say it, but I'm starting to like this guy.

"Hoping that, shoulder to cry on, is our eat your cake and have it too?" Chase asks, and I nod. "It's worth looking into," Chase says then looks at Will to make a call. It's his case, it's his lead, and Chase is taking an active effort to not step on his feet.

"Okay, let's do it. Chase, get in touch with Laurel and ask for any other correspondence she has with Joey. Texts, emails, you know what. Midge, scan though the internet looking for YouTube videos, media interviews, public statements, Twitter, Facebook, etcetera. Graham, help her out."

I turn and see Graham in his corner. When the hell did he get here?

"I'll submit for IP traces on these posts, and depending what we find, I'll ask for a linguistics expert to collaborate," Will says, and we all get to the work.

–

We've been digging into Joey Kristoff's social media and his texts from Laurel and others for nearly twelve hours. Andre Reed also willingly sent us his correspondence when requested. After twelve hours of it, we have found more correlation than just a shoulder to cry on.

One of his comedy routines has him talking about putting a security camera in a girl's house.

"...when you watch that much porn, you're already creepy enough. I'm one step removed from just installing cameras in a chicks bedroom..." Cringy awkward laughing followed.

Another about poisoning. "...This guy is like 'you wanna go bro?' Look at me, I never want to go. I've never been in a fight and you can probably tell. I apologized, offered to buy him a beer like an adult. I spiked it, because I'm petty, but you get it..."

From an interview on a podcast. "...bro, I'm beta as hell. I cry watching the Notebook, and I need a good shoulder to cry on. And these alpha guys, the roided assholes who call me a cuck and ask me what's pegging is like, I say, awesome, try it sometime..." I take minor pleasure in a comment on the video asking if criticism of any kind hurts his pussy and one person saying anytime a man says he's a feminist, start the timer before he accused of rape.

When compared with the anonymous poster, it's shockingly similar. IP address couldn't get us a person because it was used on public access Wi-Fi, and it's outside of the city. Will hits his hand on the table in frustration, until Chase tells him look closer. He doesn't just tell him the answer, and Will seems to both appreciate his trust that he will see it but also resents the slight condescension.

"Sent from a Chicago IP address. Then from St. Louis. Cleveland. Indianapolis," Will says aloud, then I realize the obvious link. Joey Kristoff is a traveling comedian. I pull up his tour schedule from his website and compare it. Perfect match.

We got him.

"When is he coming back?" I ask Chase, hoping he'll know.