The Second Booth at Horseshoe Diner

Jesse shakes his head, and we leave to get some breakfast.

-

Thursday - August 6, 2026

-Chase Kramner-

Yvonne follows me straight to my office and I can tell she had already been here. Doll must have let her in after she called the FBI to let them know about our investigation. She had been busy, because my previously clean floor is now covered in case files some poor uniformed officer likely was shuttling from records for her all night. Yvonne does not address me before placing her air pods into her ears and starting her music again. She sits on the floor like a schoolgirl, her body swaying side to side as she listens.

"Doll!" I shout as I sit at my desk, and I hear her coming. When her head pokes around my door, I direct my eyes to Yvonne.

"You know I had to," she says.

"I know, but give me a heads up," I say.

"You don't say anything about this, and I don't say anything about you fucking Jenn," she says, and I try to maintain a poker face in case she was phishing. Something on my face gave it away. "Jenn told me she had a crush on you. Did she show up in pajama's shorts with no bra?"

"Message received, thank you," I say, and she snickers as her face ducks out of my door.

I open the first of seven folders Jennifer gave me on Hank Silverlake. Technically six, the first one is just his service record.

Henry Silverlake. Goes by Hank. Born in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1964. Associates degree at a community college before the academy. Graduated in 1985, assigned to the city, fourth precinct. First IA investigation is 1988. Cited for excessive force, IA ruled the complaint valid, one-month suspension, transfer to second precinct. In the folder is a picture of bruises on the face of a man he allegedly beat with a baton.

Promoted to Patrolman First Grade, three times in four years because of demotions from 1988 to 1991. Two of those have correlating IA investigations and the third demotion was for general poor performance. IA investigation two was for his ex-wife filling domestic assault charges, ultimately unfounded, but it was enough pressure to demote him. IA investigation three was for alcohol abuse and drunk on duty. He was forced to enroll in counseling.

"How the hell did this guy become a lieutenant?" I ask aloud, then remember I have a guest. I turn my eyes to Yvonne, who is still doing her thing.

Finally promoted to Patrol Sergeant in 1993. In 1999 he passes the detectives exam and is assigned to Narcotics. IA investigation number four is 2001 for allegedly planting evidence. Unfounded, but the drugs missing from evidence were never recovered. IA investigation number five is in 2002, violating scope of warrant. IA report substantiated the accusation, and he was suspended for a week. The case he was pursuing was thrown out, with prejudice. IA report number six was in 2005 for witness intimidation. Substantiated, suspended for a month.

His record reflects a hot heated, short fused loudmouth. Several citations for actions not enough to generate an IA investigation, but does not reflect positively on him. Harassing statements to female officers. Multiple sexual harassment inquiries. Racially insensitive remarks. He is the living embodiment of why people hate cops. His record began to clean up in 2005 after the last investigation, so someone finally got through to him. Promoted to Sergeant in 2006 for Homicide, then lieutenant in 2011, before retiring in 2017.

I set a phone alarm to remind me of my meeting with him in case I got distracted, which goes off just as I am wrapping up the second to last page of his record. I close the folder and turn off my alarm. When I stand up Yvonne lifts her hair and pulls her air pod out.

"Interviewing the old homicide LT. You coming?" I ask.

"Why?"

"Some of these guys went to jail because he suppressed evidence. You coming or not?" I ask.

"I have these cases to look over, so you have fun with that," she says.

"Suit yourself."

I leave without another word and stop by Doll's office. She is at her desk and looks up from her keyboard.

"Interviewing Silverlake," I say.

"I asked around to some of the veterans. He was a polarizing officer. People either loved or hated him. Careful with him, I heard he has a temper," she warns.

"Thanks," I say and turn around, nearly running into Yvonne. I flinch back a little because she honestly startled me. "What?"

"I'm coming," she says. I stare at her, trying to figure out why she changed her mind. "Problem?"

"No," I say, and she grins. "Let's go."

-

"Welcome Detective, please have a seat and he will be with you shortly," the secretary from the buzzer and the phone says to me upon entrance to Silverlake Investigations. Which is an apartment, the living room being his office space. I am not entirely sure this is even legal.

Yvonne and I have a seat on separate chairs you would find for thirty dollars at Walmart or Target. I check my phone for the time and see my meeting should be happening right now.

"Ma'am..."

"...he'll be with you shortly," she says, and I look at Yvonne, who is in her own musically created world.

Ten minutes pass before I say something again.

"He'll be with you..." she starts to say before I stand up. "Sir, please have a seat."

"This is a powerplay," I say, and she tilts her head. "Establish that I am on his time, build him up as this uber important person whose time is critical. It's not. His office is a fucking apartment. Tell him to get his dick out of his hand," I say, and I hear a door open down the hall to my right.

"He's ready to see you now," she says, and I look at Yvonne who is already standing and ready to proceed. "Have a nice day."

"Chase?" Hank asks as I walk down the hall. He does not move, and I have to walk the full distance for the handshake. It is firm, but parts of it are exaggerated. He pulls me toward him, nearly taking me off balance. His other hand slaps your shoulder. That smile is an unholy combination of a used car salesman, a politician, a Baptist minister, and Patrick Bateman.

"Good shake there, nice solid shake," Hank says and gestures for me to enter his office. I just want the conversation to start, so enter, not caring about power moves like the most important person entering last. "You?"

"Special Agent Grimsdotter, FBI," she says, showing her badge and shaking his hand. I notice she offset her feet to anticipate his pull. Her presence is cold and calculated now. She read his personality and is making him off center by playing to her own power.

"FBI? Woah, shit, what I do?" he says playfully, but I did hear him stutter, just a little. "Wish you would have told me. I would have flushed my coke."

"We have a schedule to maintain Mr. Silverlake..." Yvonne says. Our time is more important now.

"...please, just call me Hank..."

"...and we would just like to get to the interview so we can carry on with our day," Yvonne says, not even addressing the attempted interruption. Cold blooded. I am grateful she came with me.

"Let's get to it," Hank says, and holds the door for her. Yvonne does not budge, and Hank is forced to enter before it devolves into being more apparent than it already is. "Leo's told me about you."

"Funny, he's never mentioned you," I say, and Hank chuckles a little as he walks behind his desk. The desk is disproportional to the size of the room. His computer chair has a cushioned back rest, but the two in front of the desk do not.

"What is this about?" Hank asks.

"Five cases you had final authority on in twenty-eleven," I say, and he laughs.

"What in the world makes you think I remember five cases from that long ago with the case volume I had in my career?" he asks with a laugh.

"I'd figure you'd remember five consecutive investigations being strangulations," Yvonne says, and I do not turn to her. I will play along and let her talk. I want to look like we came here with a plan. "Patterns like that are alarming to say the least."

"I might remember something like that," he says. I am not sure if he does remember, or he is trying to save face for not noticing something so bizarre.

"Do you remember the Jason Boatman case?" I ask.

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"You don't remember intentionally suppressing the fact his DNA file should have been purged prior to the investigation?" I ask and watch his face. What will he do when I blatantly accuse him?

"His semen was found in the victim. I wasn't letting him off with a technicality," Hank says.

"I thought you said you didn't remember?" I ask.

"I believe I said, it didn't ring a bell. You asking the question rang it for me," he says.

"Are you admitting you suppressed evidence?" Yvonne asks.

"Considering I know what statute of limitations are, yeah, I absolutely did. Sometimes cops, we gotta do what we gotta do to keep the streets safe. I'm sure you understand," Hank says with a grin. The grin someone who is guilty shines when they are acquitted.

"Can't say I do," I say.

"Leo did say you were a boy scout. That you don't have the stones to do what needs to be done," he says. Now he is provoking me.

"Believe me, turning in a bad cop takes more stones than you could carry in both hands," I say, and I see Yvonne's lip curl for a second from my peripheral.

"I arrested criminals, not cops," he says.

"Those two are not exclusive," I say, and Hank rolls his eyes.

"Anything else? Or is this fishing expedition done?"

"Did you know a Fred Aimer?" Yvonne asks. That is fishing.

"That's a name I remember. Because he took a swing at me in court," he explains. Yvonne asks why. "I was testifying at his son's trial. His son murdered his own fiancé."

"How did that trial go?" Yvonne asks.

"Guilty. Solid case. We had everything. Semen, blood, fingerprints," he says, and that sounds eerily familiar.

"Saliva, skin, and hair?" I ask, and Hank thinks for a moment.

"As a matter of fact, yeah. I think that's what we had. Like so many dipshit parents, he couldn't fathom his son being guilty," Hank says.

"Thank you for your time. We'll see ourselves out," Yvonne says, and leaves quickly without a handshake. I follow her, not shaking as well, and we depart, neglecting to even look at the receptionist.

"You thinking what I'm thinking? Yvonne asks as I unlock my car.

"The why, is Aimer's son," I say, and she nods to agree. Now we just need to fit all the pieces together.

-

Thursday - August 6, 2026

-Midge Appletree-

Pregnancy brain is firing on all cylinders. Chase handed me the Fredrick Aimer part of this case because I have been benched. Within an hour, I think it is the most crucial part of this entire investigation.

What does Fredrick have to do with any of these men? Nothing at first glance. When you dig deeper into his family, you start to see a connection. That connection was his son Lance Aimer. His son Lance who was convicted of murdering his fiancé by strangulation. A conviction his father was so utterly convinced was wrong, he tried punching the detective on the witness stand during testimony.

So much of this case was wrong. The victim was his fiancé, he lived with her, and she was murdered in their home. Meaning nearly every form of DNA evidence is incidental, including the semen in her vagina. Her friend testified to the fact they were attempting to get pregnant.

I CTRL-F the court documents for keywords and come away with some interesting things. Six different forms of DNA or forensic evidence were used to convict Lance Aimer. Semen; blood; saliva; fingerprints; skin; hair. They were presented in court in that precise order. That is the same order of evidence Aimer used to frame the men, assuming he was planning the same for Mr. Lacer.

What other correlations can I find? Dates? Alexandra Sailor was murdered on February 16, 2011. I CTRL-F that date into the Aimer trial, no results. I simplify the search to only February, and I get a hit. February 16, 2006 was the day Lance Aimer's fiancé, Stella Archer, was murdered. The occupational surname hits me like a punch.

"Holy shit," I say aloud, and write that onto the blank area of Chase's whiteboard. Darcy Lane was murdered on March 3, 2011. Lance Aimer was arrested on March 3, 2006. "Holy shit."

March 29, 2011, Patty Visscher was murdered. March 29, 2006, Aimer pleads innocent to the charges.

May 8, 2011, Helen Ryder was murdered. May 8, 2006, opening statements are made.

June 27, 2011, Tabitha Leatherman was murdered. June 27, 2006, verdict is read.

September 5, 2011, Venessa Gray, maiden name Kobbler, survives attempted murder by Fredrick Aimer. I do not see a correlating date in the court case or investigation. I move the search to prison records. September 5, 2008, Lance Aimer commits suicide by strangulation in prison.

Every murder was committed on the date of a significant event in Lance Aimer's arrest and conviction. The evidence used against him, is the same type of evidence used against the men his father framed, used in the same order it was presented in court.

"You've been busy," I hear Chase say. I turn to the door and see him dropping his bag off on a chair. I look at the whiteboard and see everything that I have added.

"I think I know the why," I say, and the Fed enters after Chase. "Lance Aimer."

"Fred Aimer's son who he believed was wrongfully convicted," Chase says, taking a seat. "What did you find?"

"The dates Fred committed the murders, correlated perfectly with the dates of his son's conviction," I say, and point out the dates and how they line up. "The evidence he framed them with, was the same evidence used to convict his son. In the same order it was presented in court."

"Goddamn," Chase says.

"That's what I've been up to. How'd that interview go? What was his name?"

"Silverlake. Total cock bag," Chase says as the Fed moves to the board.

"Impressive," the Fed says, looking at the new information. "This is good. Insane level of premeditation. This amount of precision does not come without exhaustive research on his targets. I also don't think this is a serial killer."

"Why not?" I ask.

"There is no relief. The killing itself doesn't serve a need or desire. Mass murderer without a doubt, serial killer, no," the Fed explains.

"Seeing how it's not a serial killer, that makes it a local case," I say, and she turns to me with a grin. "When do you leave?"

"When the case is over," she says, and I groan.

"Midge," Chase says to me, and then shakes his head. "Good work but bring the tone down."

"Fine," I say, and sit at my desk. I look at the case board the Fed is now examining and look at the victim's names. To make room on the board, I erased the names and realigned them. They were now arranged last name, first name, top to bottom in order of events.

Sailor, Alexandra

Lane, Darcy

Visscher, Patricia

Ryder, Helen

Leatherman, Tabitha

Kobbler, Venessa

"The fuck?" I ask as I squint at the names. "You said, Silverlake, right?"

"Yeah, why?" Chase asks.

I walk to the board and pick up the dry erase marker on the rack. I circle the first letter of the last names. I then write them below the list.

SLVRLK

"Hey, Sajak," the Fed says, and reaches out for me to hand her the marker. I release it, and she starts filling in the blanks. "I would like to buy a vowel." She adds a few letters to spell Silverlake.

"I already know the answer to this, but who was the investigating officer for the Lance Aimer case?" I ask.

"Henry Fucking Silverlake," the Fed says and slaps the cap back on the marker. "And I know that isn't his middle name."

-

Friday - August 7, 2026

-Chase Kramner-

I gently push Jennifer off my chest and rest her on a pillow. I stretch with my arms above my head, her body twitching from the adjustment. Atticus jumps onto the bed and pushes his face into hers. Jennifer wakes up and starts petting him.

"Hey cuddle bucket," she says, then looks up at me. "Morning."

"Morning," I say, and start getting ready for an early morning interview. She looks at her phone, and sees it is earlier than she thought it was.

"Why are you up so early?" she asks. I am usually awake at seven, and it is currently six thirty.

"I have an interview early today," I say. We tracked down Venessa Gray. Not too surprisingly, she is a gun lobbyist.

Jennifer's phone rings, so she picks it up off the side table. "Recognize that number?" She holds the phone out to me. It is the correct area code and the number you would expect someone from the HQ to call on their desk phone.

"It's definitely the office," I say, and she answers.

"Lieutenant Ito," she says, and she listens to someone. "I'm doing well Chief; how may I help you?" Chief Whitaker? "Okay...okay...absolutely sir. Thank you." She hangs up the phone and begins to tremble.

"You okay?"

"I only had a month left in IA," she says, and puts her phone on the side table. "Next week, Chief Whitaker is implementing his plan to merge Homicide, Violent Crime, and Missing Persons into a single unit. Captain Queen is going to command the unit, with two Lieutenants as deputies. There is going to be some reshuffling. Long story short, I'm going to be one of the Lieutenants."

"Congrats," I say, as she leaps from the bed. I catch her, and she immediately begins kissing me. I tip us toward the bed and fall on top of her. Her ankles lock around my waist and pull me toward her. "I..." I start to say, then playfully tap my fist on the bed in frustration. "...have to get to work."

"Oh, come on, I just need a little bit. Just the tip," she teases with a giggle. Her feet push against my sides, and I can tell she is trying to tug my shorts off with them.

"I really don't..."

"...I don't need to come. Good news gets me so horny," Jennifer says, and I nearly laugh. I cannot believe I got an Asian woman to say me so horny. "Give me a little now, and I'll give you a lot later."

"What's a lot?" I ask.

"You'll have to find out," she says. I am curious enough.

I finish getting my shorts off, as she licks her fingers and rubs them on her pussy. The conversation alone got me hard enough to get in, a few thrusts finished the job. I slow down, and only insert the head of my dick in before pulling out again.

"Oh, come on."

"You said just the tip," I say, and she pulls me toward her with her heels on my ass cheeks. I try to make this as fast as possible, but every time in my life I have intentionally tried to have a quickie, I just could not come. I look at my clock, and groan in frustration after five minutes.

"That's not the usual problem men have", Jennifer says with a laugh. "Fine, go to work."

"Flip over," I say, and she rolls to her stomach. I lift her left right leg and put her knee on the bed. I grab her hair and start hammering her pussy.

"Oh yeah, right there. Pull it harder," Jennifer says, and I watch her hand start to play with herself. "Right there. Right there...fuck!" I feel her body shake, and her pussy grip my dick. "Come. Fill my pussy up!"

I am going to be late for the interview when I finally come. I slip out of her pussy, and watch the semen leak out. She collapses to the bed, laughing a little, while wiping the tears from her face.

"I really need to go," I say.

"I know, see you later," she says, gasping as she rolls over. "You better hydrate!" she shouts as I leave.

-

The first thing you notice about Venessa Gray are the burn marks from the bootlaces that were used in the attempt to murder her. The second thing you notice is the piece of her left ear that was blown off when she fired the gun into his face. Other than those startling things, she is conventionally attractive. She is schoolgirl cute with hair styled short like a boy but presents herself as a heterosexual woman. Imagine if Tinkerbell met guests in a room with a gunrack.