If You'll Believe In Me

This I would like to thank Francois101 for the editing. It is a tremendous help.

For newcomers, this is the 7th installment of what I'm calling the Criminal Affair Series, which started with the ten-part Criminal Affair. Order of stories for continuity is as follows.

Criminal Affair (ten-part series)

The Sorority

The Irishman at the End of the Bar

A Shoulder to Cry On

A Perfect Match

The Second Booth at Horseshoe Diner

If You'll Believe In Me

--

Friday -- September 25, 2026

-Chase Kramner-

It was never difficult to avoid my sister all these years. Until recently I had never visited my father, and Quinten knew full well my animosity so never dared arrange something behind my back. He also never spoke ill of her in front of me. We have a different relationship with Nicole, and I respect that. My relationship with Nicole was abusive, and it started after our mother died.

Our separation was so abrupt because I remember us being close. I never had any significant friends in school, but I had Nicole. Her alleviating the devastation of no one coming to my seventh birthday party by playing with me. Building pillow forts in the living room. Embarrassing dad when he had formal company over. Quinten was already being groomed as the eldest son and that created the space for Nicole and me to be hell raisers. I think it helped us get through mom's episodes. Quinten was already sent away to boarding school, so he had a completely different picture of her than we did. He was only permitted to come home during her lucid periods.

Then mom died, and Nicole changed for the worst. Everyone did. How couldn't we? It started with distance, and I never felt more alone in my life. Suddenly my fiery sister became a stereotypical mean girl. I was suddenly the stupid annoying little brother, and I didn't know why.

When I was twelve, I advanced beyond my math lessons, and started to read Nicole's calculus textbook. After discovering I could competently do it, she blackmailed me into doing her homework for her by threatening to spread rumors of me at school. Junior high is bad enough as it is, the last thing I wanted was my older sister telling people she found me stealing her underwear and all other weird stuff.

Our father saw me doing her homework once, and I thought it may be some relief, but it turned to be the opposite. His investment into Quinten wasn't paying out. Quinten was not the shining example to exemplify the Kramner name. Now dad had a twelve-year-old who taught himself calculus. From that point, my life was planned.

I needed to have all the right clubs in school. Be athletic to have Rhode Scholar as a possibility. Attend Georgetown Prep and graduate Valedictorian, and then of course Ivy League, preferably his legacy of Princeton, followed by JD at Yale. Even my playdates were planned to mingle with the right kids.

My first taste of independence was Dartmouth, but even that was regulated to some extent. He picked my classes, my fraternity -- I absolutely would be in one, I was told -- and my extra curriculars. All for the legal track. He likely had my first job lined up.

In the middle of that, Nicole's abusive blackmail didn't stop. Every chance she had to force me to do her schoolwork, she acted on. She'd tell my Fraternity I was a pedophile. All kinds of bad stuff. I wrote her entrance exam into Columbia, then three years later wrote her thesis for graduation.

After all my father's effort to mold me into him, I was the only kid to not become a lawyer. I was the one who pushed back. His disappointment was so thick, he never pursued me when I left. I just stopped being his son.

I'm getting too old for these grudges with my family. My father and I are finally on the path of reconnection. At a bare minimum, understanding. This was helped by my stepmother Carrie, who is gentle and sensible. Two traits she has that I appreciate more as an adult than I ever did when I was a child. She tried hard to be our mom, but I think we all were too far gone. Nicole especially.

I haven't spoken to Nicole since my third year of college. I had to arrange something through Carrie because I didn't know how to contact her. All I knew, was that she lived someone near D.C. Carrie told me Nicole was taken aback by my offer. Nicole had accepted we would never speak again. Then suddenly, I was willing to meet her halfway.

Today is the day I talk to my sister. I lean against a waist high wall across the street from the steps of the Supreme Court where Nicole works as a Clerk for Associate Justice Samuel Alito. There is a disposable coffee cup in both my hands, and I sip the one in my left. Nicole and I agreed to three in the afternoon, and it is currently five after the hour. When it starts to annoy me, I see someone that matches her form trotting down the stairs like they're late for something. She zigzags her way through a group of teenagers protesting the issue of the day. Nicole looks both ways and crosses the street, and this is the first time I can positively see it is her.

Nicole weirdly looks more like dad than mom, but she isn't mannish in any way. Her facial structure is nothing but dad, and she inherited his height like I did. The same dark Kramner hair, though she has the rougher texture from mom's side, unlike my fine feather softness. Like a Kramner she is lean without effort. Her fashion is Nordstrom Rack suits combined with designer shoes and jackets.

Nicole makes it to me and is surprised when I hand her a coffee. Call it a peace offering. She nervously thanks me and takes a drink. Her face expresses curiosity when it's the way she likes it.

"I asked Carrie what you liked," I explain, and she nods. She is scared, I can tell. Of what I don't know. "Care for a walk?"

"Sure," Nicole says, and I gesture for her to lead. "So...how's...how's it going?"

"Well enough," I reply. "You?"

"Great...excellent...this is horrible," Nicole says, and stops to groan while rubbing her forehead. "Are we really pretending the last ten years didn't happen?"

"They happened. The years before that happened too," I say, to make her aware I remember the way she treated me.

"I was a cunt," Nicole says, lowing her hand. "I had a mental moment a few years ago. Not full on mom, thank god, but pretty close. My doctor helped me sort it out."

"What happened?" I ask. My bullshit meter is on now. Instantly I think this is a manipulation. Make me sympathize.

"I hate my job. I never really wanted to be a lawyer," she says. Weird effort to manipulate me. "You know, dad."

"Dad didn't force that on you," I say.

"He didn't have to. You got the raw end of that. I'm not saying you didn't. But I was starved for approval. Quin just couldn't live up to it, but then he jumps straight to you. Bypasses me entirely, like I didn't exist. What made that so much worse, was that it looked easy for you."

"It wasn't easy," I say, and she says she understood that far too late.

Nicole resented me because of dad. I never once thought about how all his attention on me, could have affected them. Quin likely never cared. Nicole on the other hand, did want his approval. She likely could have lived up to it but was never given the chance. Then realized she never wanted it after she lived up to it.

"Mom dies, after trying to kill us, and dad remarries less than two years later. I found out they were engaged before I knew they were even a thing. I was a sixteen-year-old with a stepmother, not proud of how I treated her either," Nicole says

"She's a sweetheart," I say.

"Goddamn is she diabetes sweet," she says, while trying to find her train of thought. "I tried sabotaging you to help me, so maybe he'd lose interest like he did with Quin and maybe I get a parent who isn't ignoring me or trying to kill me." Nicole nearly rambles herself out of breath.

"You know what I want to remember?" I ask, and she shakes her head. "Pillow forts in the living room. We'd make tea and read books by flashlight. That's what I want to remember."

"Your favorite book was Through the Looking-Glass. I'd read it in a posh British accent, and you memorized every time in the first chapter Alice would say..."

"...let's pretend!" I say jovially, making her laugh. "Still my favorite book."

I haven't read that book in such a long time. I couldn't read it without thinking of Nicole, so I let it collect dust. Sometimes we need to pick up our favorites things and remember why we loved them to begin with.

Nicole doesn't say she's sorry, but I know she is. I don't have to say I forgive her because she knows I do. Coffees in hand, the March Hare and the Hatter strolled through the forest to give testimony before the King of Hearts on who stole the tarts.

--

Monday -- October 12, 2026

-Chase Kramner-

Some moments of life feel like hours but are seconds. The time it takes for Marlene's body to land in the entryway of the courthouse I measure in days. Marlene's blood sprays onto my face, and I drop my coffee in shock. The cup and her body impact the ground at the same time.

"Down!" I shout. Time has now sped up.

Henry Silverlake and Hugh Willard collide in a scramble of self-preservation. A second round goes off and Hugh drops dead next to Marlene. Silverlake stumbles over the bodies, likely saving his life, as a third round misses, shattering the glass wall which Silverlake then sprints through. A fourth bullet hits the building just above the frame of the wall.

Summer Pillsbury screams as I pull her and Zillah Calvin to the ground. I instruct them to crawl toward a bench for something resembling cover. I crawl with them to cover, and the shooting appears to have stopped. I call the dispatch desk sergeant and put the phone to my ear.

"Dispatch, Sergeant Collins."

"This is Sergeant Kramner. I'm under fire!" I shout into the phone, taking a quick look over the hedge.

"Shit, where are you?" Collins asks.

"Outside of the courthouse," I say.

"North or south?"

"Uh...south," I say after thinking for a moment. "Send ambulance. Two civilians down. Shooter likely has a long rifle."

"Are you hit?"

"Negative," I say, and peek over again. I don't see a shooter, but I feel the heat from a bullet zip over my head before it thuds against the building. "Shit!"

"How many people are with you?"

"Four, including the victims," I say.

"Stay down, three nearby units are coming up fast. They'll jump the curb to form cover. Stay on the line with me until you see them," he says. Now we are back to the world going by in slow-motion. I take the chance of looking, but still do not see a sniper. My best guess is the third or second floor above a restaurant across the street.

"They're here," I say, and end the call as I see three squad cars jump the curb at the intersection. It felt like forever, but it was only a minute. The officers drive up bumper to bumper and stop in front of the building. I pull Summer and Zillah to their feet and hold their heads down as we move to the cars. "Stay low."

Officers jump out of the cars and aim toward the opposite side of the street. I secure Summer in a vehicle while another officer takes care of Zillah. An officer and I check Marlene and Hugh, but they're both gone.

"Leave them, this is a crime scene. Get the civilians out and make a call to get this place cordoned off," I say. The officer nods and gets to the car.

"You coming?"

"Keep me covered until I get across," I say, then draw my weapon and sprint to the other side of the street. No shots. This shooter might already be gone. I run around a parked car and put my back to the left of the windows. A female officer sprints across as well. Once with me, she spins her finger above her head, and the officers mount up and leave.

"You got an idea where it came from?" she asks. Her sleeve has Sergeant chevrons on it, and her name plate says Sergeant Donner.

"No, happened too fast," I say, then lean over while looking up. "I'm thinking straight shot. This building."

"We kicking?" she asks, looking around me and at the restaurant's windows.

"I don't think the shooter is going out of the front door," I say, and look down both sides of the street, looking for the shortest route to the next intersection. "We'll head around back."

Sergeant Donner and I keep low past the windows. The alley is a short distance, and we turn into it.

"Third building," she says to remind me as we run. We both hear a thud above us and see someone jumping onto the third floor of the fire escape. "Don't move!" The suspect fires at us with a handgun. Donner and I duck down behind a dumpster. She then leans out and fires a round up, but the suspect jumps into a window.

"Suspect is in building immediately across the street from courthouse," Donner says into the radio. "You get the building number?" she asks me. "Requesting additional units."

We both hear a metallic ting against the concrete, and something roll toward us. I see a stun-grenade and try to throw myself and Donner away from it.

"Grenade!" I shout as I squeeze my eyes shut. I am instantly deaf as I pull us to the corner where the dumpster meets the wall. I open my eyes and Donner is muttering something, but I cannot hear her. She looks dazed and is trying to find her radio. I look up to the fire escape and see the suspect on the second floor. I fire a round to force them back inside.

"Don't you fucking move!" I think I shout. I can't hear myself. I stumble away from Donner with my gun up. I put my shoulder to the wall directly under the escape. I see a shadow and fire.

Something touches my shoulder, and I reflexively turn, but stop when I see some reinforcements have arrived. I point at my eyes with two fingers, and then point up. He nods and I try the door just ahead of me, finding it unlocked. Before I enter, I open my mouth wide, trying to pop my ears. The silence is gone, but it has been replaced by that deafening ring. My head is throbbing so much I feel ready to puke. I try my best to shake myself loose, then enter the building.

I walk into a kitchen area, and see the staff crouched low to the floor. Two chefs in white coats, and a waiter in a green shirt and black vest with his back to a door and a bag lying in front of him. They must have heard the firefight outside. I move my jacket to show them my shield.

"Stairs?" I ask, and I see the lips move on the waiter. "Point." He points to a door directly across from himself. "Stay down." I nearly trip over his bag and kick it out of my way to reach the door.

The door is unlocked, and I aim up the narrow stairwell. How did the shooter get up here without anyone seeing them? They likely entered through the fire escape too. I try popping my ears again, then slowly begin to ascend the stairs. To the right are two doors on opposite sides of the hallway that ends at a broken window. The left door has been left ajar.

I quickly look down the opposite end of the hall and see it leads to a large open room with tall windows facing the courthouse. Could be the sniper's nest.

"Police, surrender now!" I shout and wait for the response I likely still can't hear. I hate clearing rooms.

I maneuver to the open door and put my shoulder to the wall. I push it open with my non-dominant hand and aim inside. Right side clear. I ram the door fully open as I step in and aim left, and behind the door. All clear. I see a shadow join mine too late. I could not hear the steps.

I aim back, but the suspect grabs my hand, then chops me in the throat. My wrists are held as I stumble back, so I squeeze off a round, but the suspect pushes up and the bullet hits the ceiling. Before I can do anything else, I am kicked in the groin then flipped over their shoulder. I crash to the ground but manage to control my gun. Before I can fire, my gun is punted out of my hand and across the room. I roll backwards and connect a mule kick square to their chest, knocking them back several feet into the frame of the window and breaking it.

I scramble to my feet, still dazed from the throw and the dick kick. This is the first moment I can really look at this person. Full black tactical clothing complete with a black mask with side respirators. I can see their eyes are blue, and that their blonde hair is wrapped into a bun. I felt an armor plate when I kicked. On the chest I see the curve of a bust. This is a woman.

The assassin draws her knife and holds it properly. Solid stance. She knows how to use that thing. My training helps me react without thinking, and I pivot to grab her wrist. I watch as she drops the knife intentionally and moves to attack high. She slides under my arm, jumps onto my back, and locks a choke hold. She predicted I would guard low and leave myself open.

My fingers try to dig under her arms, but I cannot wiggle them to my own neck. Last ditch effort, I jump and fall straight to my back. My hearing is coming back because I hear her grunt, but she keeps the hold. I reach over my shoulder and find her head. I grab her hair and punch straight back onto the top of her dome. She is not giving up.

I roll us to my stomach and buck forward with everything I have left. She flips over me, releasing the hold. I push myself to my knees and cough. She tries to kick me in the face, but I catch her foot and push straight back to get some separation so I can get back to my feet. She draws a handgun from her ankle but is shot a moment later by Donner at the door.

The woman falls to the floor and her gun slides into the corner. Donner and I secure her on the ground. Her plate caught the round, but a shot will still mess you up. I know that from experience. We cuff her, and Donner holds her down with a knee to her back.

I remove her mask, and see I am correct. It is a woman. Young, Caucasian female with blue eyes and blonde hair. No freckles or blemishes. Sharp and lean features.

Donner gives her Miranda, but the woman just stares at me intensely. "Do you understand!" Donner shouts.

"She understands," I say, and Donner drags her away. A few more officers arrive to escort her out, and I advise keeping a gun on her with six feet of standoff.

--

Monday -- October 12, 2026

-Midge Appletree-

I never imagined I would have to investigate the murder of the person who I investigated for murder on the day of opening statements. Should be a short investigation, considering Chase caught the likely shooter. I am joined by Sergeant Jeffrey McCants from the formerly independent Missing Persons department. I must work with Jeff because my partner William Kaiser cannot touch the case, and neither can Lieutenant Ito because Chase was involved. This is why I don't date cops.

Jeff is a big lovable oaf. He stopped caring about his health ten years ago and is a decidedly rotund man. Two divorces, three kids he doesn't see, and he is a functional alcoholic. Temporarily quit the force to join the Army after 9/11 and did one tour in Afghanistan. Has floated around every department in the Investigations Division but spent most of his career in Violent Crime. Not ambitious for command and has been on the force for thirty years.

"Goddamn," Jeff says as he watches CSI take pictures. I look across the street and see people in the windows on every floor, looking for the sniper's position. Jill is in the courthouse trying to find the angle while Heath is trying to pull a slug intact out of the wall. At the corner I see Chief Whitaker talking to press while other officers are holding onlookers back.

"Officers," we all hear Mayor Maxwell say as he approaches us. They say being the DA is just an audition for being the mayor. He has the worst qualities of both a politician and a lawyer. And after one bad Tribune article, a 15% approval rating going into the election next month. His only saving grace is that his challenger is embroiled in a sex scandal with his daughter's high school friends. The only thing worse than being a corrupt prosecutor twenty years ago is screwing teenagers last week.