Three weeks passed without incident. It was impossible to determine if the victims of the Lakeshire Strangler were rotting away undiscovered, or if the killer had gotten spooked and moved on. Regardless, as the case grew increasingly frigid, Tristan’s frustration mounted, turning him moody and difficult to work with, so Captain Sheridan insisted that Tristan and Silver take the night off.

Silver let herself into Tristan’s house with her key. She found Tristan in his bedroom, sitting atop the red velvet coverlet on his canopy bed. Spread out around him were photographs of every victim of the Lakeshire Strangler, staring up at him from the macabre prints, immortalized in their eternal death poses. Files were stacked upon dresser. He had reread everything, including each autopsy report, all the field notes, and every interview. He had even scrutinized the handwritten originals, incase anything had been wrongly transcribed by the typist. He had Kiyoshi’s file open in his lap.

Tristan was an absintheur, and the dwindling bottle of absinthe, newly filled glass, carafe of ice water, sugar cubes, and absinthe spoon on the bedside table attested to his ongoing binge.

Silver said, “Tris? What are you doing? I thought we we’re going to the opera.”

“Go on without me.”

“Goddammit, Tris! You need to relax. This obsession of yours is smashing your marbles.”

Tristan looked at the picture of Kiyoshi, lying there in the hospital bed, and in his mind he could here him saying Look at me! You’re too late! He said, “Everything I need to solve this crime has to be here, somewhere, in this pile of papers. There must be something I missed. I can’t let this happen again! I should’ve been working harder all along! Maybe I could’ve saved Kiyoshi if I’d just put in a few more hours! Explored some missed avenue!”

“Okay, Tris, I get it. We’ll keep working. I’ll go down to the Red Light District, see if I can shake down some whores. Maybe the harlots can supply us a lead.” With that said, Silver left.

Prostitution was legal in Lakeshire, but only with possession of a tax stamp. The law was passed under the pretense of curbing disease, as the tax stamp required a routine inspection of the prostitute’s genitalia by a doctor every three months, but it was really designed to make Lakeshire’s Mayor pimp supreme, who dipped into the profits of every cathouse in town. Though rampant, independent street walking was an arrestable offense.

She drove down to Rose Street and entered a dive called Lust, a high-class brothel masquerading as a cabaret. Onstage, a woman danced in slow, undulating, feline movements as she attempted to seduce the oglers out of their money. As the dance progressed, it became increasingly provocative and lewd, as the dancer trembled to the rhythm, flashing her privates.

Silver sat down at a table in the back corner and ordered a drink.

A courtesan, Zelle, slithered over like some sacred serpent. She said, “Hi, lovely. Mind if I join you?”

Silver said, “It would be my pleasure.”

Numerous bangles and bracelets adorned her upper arms and wrists, and she jingle-jangled as she sat down across from Silver. Zelle was slender, with a well defined waist and tiny breasts more befitting a teenage girl, yet she was supple, with soft curves, luscious, full hips, and a slight belly pudge. She was exotic, with skin the shade of a brazil nut’s shell, dark, seductive eyes beneath thick eyebrows, and long, luxurious black hair. Her face was round, and her lips were full and vulgar. She had two piercings side-by-side in her bottom lip, reminiscent of snake fangs, and her canines had been filed into fangs as well.

Her outfit, a slinky, mini slip dress, was made out of some type of reptile skin that shimmered metallic shades of orange and red like copper and rust. The shoulder straps, neckline, and hemline where all made of brass chain mail with red aurora borealis rhinestone accents, and she wore an elaborate, matching choker. Her headdress was a band of gilded fretwork with intricate and elaborate tracery, embellished with red aurora borealis rhinestone appliqués. Its shape was reminiscent of ram horns, and chain lengths draped along the side from point to point. Her golden shoes laced up her divine legs in thick crisscrossing ribbons.

Zelle said, “Are you here all alone? No man to keep you warm?”

“I’m afraid I’m all by myself.”

“Want a little company tonight, lovely? I’ll rock your world.”

“Show me your pussy.”

Zelle stood up and walked around the table to where Silver was sitting. She raised her dress with one hand and spread her pussy lips with the other, showing Silver the pink inside. She said, “I’ll let you play with it for a hundred silver.”

Silver said, “Are your papers in order?”

“Come on now. You don’t really want to see my paperwork, do you? What if I make it fifty silver instead?”

Silver said, “No tax stamp, huh? Too bad I’m a cop.” She flashed her badge with one hand. With the other, she pulled her raygun and lined it up with the slattern’s head. “You know the routine, whore.”

Zelle did know the routine. She obediently put her hands together in front of her.

Silver cuffed her with a pair of brass darby handcuffs and said, “Now we go for a little ride.”

Silver forced Zelle at gunpoint out into the street and into the back seat of her motivus. Then Silver climbed inside and started to drive.

Zelle tried to negotiate her way out of a trip to jail. She said, “Come on, lovely. I don’t want to go to jail. Maybe we can work this out. I’m sure a hard working woman like you could use a good time. You can just lay back, relax, and let my tongue take care of you, then forget the whole thing.”

Silver said, “Shut up, whore. You are in no position to bargain. You speak when spoken to, and you do as you’re told.”

When Silver turned right onto Low Street, Zelle said, “Hey, where are you taking me? The station is the other way.”

“Oh, so now you want to go to the station? Is that what you want, whore? A few nights in jail and a heavy fine?”

“No ma’am.”

“You do what you’re told, and you’ll live to see tomorrow.”

Silver pulled into the back drive at Tristan’s house. She opened the motivus door, pointed her raygun at Zelle’s head, and said, “Now get out.”

Zelle got out of the motivus and said, “Please, come on, the gun’s not necessary. I’ll do what you want.”

“Of course you will. Now walk.”

Silver forced the whore inside through the back door. She called out, “Tristan, it’s me,” but Tristan, still engrossed in his work, didn’t respond. She unfastened one of the handcuffs. She said, “Take off your dress.”

Zelle submissively slithered out of the dress as if shedding an old skin.

“Hands for cuffs,” Silver said, and she secured the dangling cuff again. “Squat!” she commanded, and the whore acquiesced.

Silver said, “Put your hands behind your head.”

The whore did as she was told, which pushed her pert breasts forward.

Silver said, “Spread your legs.”

The whore obeyed, spreading her knees wide apart, exposing her glistening wet slit. Silver pressed the gun’s barrel against the back of Zelle’s head and made the whore waddle like that into the bedroom.

Tristan was still sitting on the edge of the bed, surrounded by murder. He looked up and, when he saw the whore on display before him, he smiled. He said, “Damn it, Silver, I’m trying to work.” Then he tossed the file that he was reviewing aside, resigning himself to Silver’s games.

Silver squatted down behind the whore and put her raygun against the whore’s temple. She reached around and tugged on Zelle’s bush, smacked her pussy, and teased her clit until it was swollen, and her pussy was literally dripping wet. She bit on Zelle’s neck and shoulders hard enough to leave teeth imprints and bruises, trailing saliva between flesh and lips as she pulled away. Zelle, who was used to being used, was getting into it, moaning and gyrating. Silver spread Zelle’s pussy lips so that Tristan could see the whore’s dark hole beckoning him to play with it.

Silver whispered in Zelle’s ear, “Put your hands in front of you. Display your breasts for him.”

The whore obeyed, pushing her breasts together with her upper arms. Her nipples were fully erect.

Silver took the half-full glass of absinthe from the nightstand, placed the cup to Zelle’s lips, and turned it up. As the whore drank, the green liquid spilled down her chin and onto her breasts and belly. Silver licked it off of her and then licked the licorice taste from her lips.

Silver stood up and sat down beside Tristan on the bed. She unfastened his pants, reached in, and pulled out his rock hard cock. Seductively, she whispered into his ear, “Look at her. Bound in handcuffs. Completely submissive. Our little plaything. I know you want to cum all over her pretty little hands.”

Zelle’s handcuffed hands were palm up and together, forming a chalice, ready to catch his seed. Her hands were soft, delicate, and perfectly manicured with her fingernails painted to match her discarded dress.

Silver jerked Tristan’s cock like a practiced masseuse. Her own hands were soft yet firm on his fleshy shaft. As she stroked him, she delighted in his pleasure. She loved how the sheathing skin would slide with her hand, almost swallowing the head of his cock on the upstroke, revealing it again in all its purple glory on the way down. She loved the way his balls shook wildly as she savagely masturbated him. With one hand jerking off Tristan, and the other hand pointing a gun at Zelle’s face, she laughed maniacally with power.

Silver gave Tristan no break. She beat him off with ever-increasing intensity, stroking his cock faster and faster. She said, “You better catch it all, whore.”

Zelle cupped her hands even tighter, like a good girl.

Finally, pleasure overtook Tristan. His face contorted, and with a grunt, his little cock mouth opened up and spit hot, viscous seed, filling up Zelle’s hands with globs of his delicious humor, and splattering the handcuffs with a few stray drops. The smell of testosterone and lust filled the air.

Silver said, “Don’t spill a drop.” She handed Tristan the gun, spurring his drooping cock to rise again.

Silver stood in the small space between Zelle and Tristan. Tristan leaned around her so he could keep the gun on the whore. Silver squatted down and unchained Zelle’s right hand, leaving the cuff dangling from the left. Then she stood up and turned about to face Tristan. She hiked up the myriad layers of her petticoat and skirt. She wore no panties, and a garter belt held up her stockings. She spread the two perfect mounds of her ass cheeks, exposing her tight little asshole. She looked back over her shoulder and down at the whore from the corner of her eye. “Lick it,” she commanded, “And don’t you dare spill any of that cum!”

The whore leaned forward and lapped at Silver’s asshole, smacking and teasing it with her wet tongue. Silver moaned and arched her back as the whore pleased her. When her asshole was good and wet, she let go of her ass cheeks and retrieved her gun.

Silver turned around and sat down on Tristan’s lap. She lined his cockhead up with her asshole and then opened up and received him inside. She could feel every vein and ripple of his shaft as she slid down on him, inch by inch, splitting herself wide. Tristan’s cock was perfect, not so big as to cause discomfort, but large enough to fill her up, and she cried out with delight as he penetrated her.

Tristan lay back amongst the crime scene photographs, surrounded on all sides by death in two dimensions, a grim aura of stark black and white.

Silver said to Zelle, “Rub his seed all over your right hand,” and the whore obeyed. Silver spread her legs open wide and said, “Stick your cum covered fist into my cunt.”

Zelle slipped four fingers without resistance into Silver’s wet pussy, but she had to work in her thumb, stretching Silver’s slit agape to accommodate. Silver drooled as Zelle crammed her hand in past the knuckles, pushing in until her entire fist was inside Silver’s cunt, smearing Silver’s insides with Tristan’s seed. Zelle could feel Tristan’s cock throbbing through the thin layer of skin separating Silver’s two chambers.

Silver moaned and gyrated, fucking the fist with her pussy and the cock with her ass, taking her pleasure slowly at first, but with crescendoing fervor. Her finger was squeezing down on the raygun’s trigger, and the safety was the only thing saving Zelle’s life.

Tristan moaned. His cockhead throbbed as he filled Silver’s bottom with his fiery broth, and the thought of having his seed inside both holes at once was enough to push Silver over the edge. Her pussy tightened up, gripping Zelle’s fist. She moaned as the orgasm ran through her, and she gushed, all over Zelle’s hand, a torrent of juice that flooded down her ass crack to soak Tristan’s balls.

Silver dismounted on wobbly legs. She pressed the raygun against the whore’s temple and said, “Suck his cock. Taste my ass.”

Zelle wrapped her lips around Tristan’s cockhead and slid her mouth down the shaft, reviving his dwindling erection. Tristan propped up on his elbows to enjoy the view. He was balls deep in Zelle’s throat when she noticed him watching her. She slipped his cock out of her mouth, but continued stroking it with her hand. She looked at him with pouty lips and seductive eyes as she said, “Mmmmmm. Her ass tastes so yummy on your cock.”

Silver said, “You like the taste of me?”

Zelle said, “Yes.”

She grabbed the whore by her hair and said, “Are you ready to eat my pussy?”

“Oh, lovely, I can’t wait to taste that delicious snatch!”

As if choreographed, Tristan rose from the bed and Silver took his place, lying back with her feet up and her knees bent as if awaiting a pelvic exam. Zelle crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees, with her ass up in the air at the bed’s edge. Zelle nibbled Silver’s thighs with her snake teeth as she made her way up. She inhaled Silver’s s ambrosial scent before greedily tasting Silver’s juice.

Silver clutched a fistful of Zelle’s hair, knocking the headdress off, and she pushed Zelle’s face into her cunt. She bucked, riding Zelle’s face, sliding her pussy up and down and round about on Zelle’s face until it glistened wet with her glaze.

Tristan pushed his cock into Zelle’s tight, sopping pussy and started pounding away on her. She received him with the skill of a seasoned professional, her toned pussy squeezing his cock tightly and rapidly, like a farmer’s firm grip forcing milk from an old cow. His nuts, heavy with seed, slammed against her as he pounded her. She moaned and groaned, all the while lapping Silver’s pussy like a dog drinking water.

Tristan pulled out. He opened the nightstand drawer and retrieved a velvet pouch, from which he removed a carved alabaster dildo. He wet the dildo by rubbing its length along her wet pussy lips before he pushed it inside her. He said, “Fuck yourself.” She took a hold of the dong with one hand and pleased herself, while her other hand was holding Silver’s pussy lips open so she could get at Silver’s clit.

Tristan spread Zelle’s ass cheeks apart and spit into her asshole before pushing his cock inside in one forceful thrust. The pain was too much for Zelle, and she cried out as he fucked her harder than she had ever been fucked before, but he gave her no respite. Her ululations drove him on. The rhythmic pulsing of her tight asshole, squeezing and releasing in time with his thrusts was too much for him. As his pleasure became unbearable, his seed laden balls demanded relief.

He looked at his partner lying on the bed, with her countenance contorted in a grimace of bliss, lying there so alive amongst pictures of death, pictures of young, decaying boys with severed cocks and lifeless eyes. Amongst them was the farewell portrait of Ed Brimley, along with the close up of his mutilated genitals. Tristan focused on the jagged pattern of the cut, and it occurred to him how much it resembled bite marks, as if this victim’s cock had been ripped asunder by angry teeth.

Silver was cumming, her honey gushing forth to soak the whore’s face. The whore was cumming too, with a cock in each whole and a pussy gushing on her tongue, and her asshole throbbed and squeezed Tristan’s cock. The trio panted and moaned in a chorus of lust, and it was all too much for Tristan. He felt the orgasm rising within him, overcoming his being, until his entire form was trembling.

Beside the close up of Ed’s mutilated genitals, Maemi eyed Tristan from the photograph he took of her at the hospital, in all her baby doll attire. He remembered what Maemi had said that night, “You best catch the bastard before I do, or you’ll be cleaning his blood from my teeth!” and as her words echoed through his mind, the pieces of the puzzle all seem to fit.

Everything culminated in this one perfect moment. Tristan cried out, “Eureka!” He was cumming, and as he did so, releasing all the stress of this most difficult case as he soaked the whore’s guts with white-hot seed.

Tristan withdrew and collapsed on the bed beside his partner. Zelle pulled the dildo from her snatch and hurried off to the water closet. Silver sat up and returned her gun to the holster.

Still panting, he said, “I know who the Lakeshire Strangler is, or was I should say.”

“Do tell,” Silver said as she retrieved two cigarettes from the bedside table, lit them, and passed one to Tristan.

He said, “The Lakeshire Strangler was Ed Brimley.”

“Our last victim? How do you figure?”

“Think back to the crime scene. The modus operandi was slightly off. Ed Brimley was older than the other victims. He was left near where he was murdered rather than being carted off and dumped. His hands and wrists were bound with rope. He was strangled with a ligature rather than bare hands. His cock was severed with a jagged cut. And, most importantly, not a drop of semen was discovered inside his violated asshole. No, this was a copycat and a sloppy one at best, but certainly one with inside knowledge, as the balls were left unharmed.”

Tristan continued, “Kiyoshi knew his attacker and lied about it. Why would he lie to protect his would be killer? He wouldn’t. But he would lie to protect his would be killer’s killer, if it was someone he loved. Which begs the question, who would kill for Kiyoshi? This leaves only three suspects, his sisters or his lover.”

“Dorch killed Ed Brimley?”

“No, no. It was Maemi, his twin.”

“What?”

“Dorch had yet to see Kiyoshi before he lied to us, so it couldn’t be him. But Kiyoshi was confiding in Maemi when we arrived. She swore revenge and made him promise not to tell the police who attacked him, so that we would think the Lakeshire Strangler killed Kiyoshi’s attacker, Ed Brimley, so she could get away with murder. Remember what she said to us that night?”

Silver said, “You best catch the bastard before I do, or you’ll be cleaning his blood from my teeth!”

“Exactly.”

“But how? She’s so tiny.”

“Theatrics and general trickery. She cut off her hair not to buy Kiyoshi’s medicines, but to pass herself off as a boy. She dressed up in Kiyoshi’s clothes and went to the roller rink, where she made a point to rent a pair of boy’s roller skates from Ed. He took the bait and brought her to the old millhouse, where he hoped to fuck and murder her at his leisure. She offered him a blowjob, and while sucking his cock, she bit it right off and spit it at his feet. He fainted from the shock and pain, giving her an opportunity to bind him. Then, she awoke him with the same smelling salts he used to awaken his own victims when they had endured too much pain. To further humiliate him, she raped him with a dildo, which is why we found no semen inside his anus. Finally, she strangled him with her pink hair bow, which she had brought along in her pocket for just this purpose, wrapping it about his neck and twisting the life from him, for she was too weak to kill him with her bare hands! Her frailty was the same reason we found him at the edge of the lake, for he was too heavy for her to hoist into the water, as she had planned.”

“Why? Why wouldn’t she just leave justice in the hands of the police?”

“Military police killed her parents before her very eyes. She has no reason to trust a uniform to avenge her brother. She couldn’t stand to see her other half destroyed, a mere shell of himself, afraid of his own shadow. She was angry.”

“I have to admit, it does make sense. But how do we catch her? We’ve got nothing to prove Ed Brimley was the Lakeshire Strangler, and even less to prove that Maemi killed him.”

“In all honesty, I don’t want to catch her. The scumbag got what he deserved.”

“Tristan! Killing is killing, no matter the reason, except for self-defense or defense of another, or capital punishment, or war, I suppose. None-the-less, it’s never okay to murder, even if the victim did deserve it. Vigilante justice is inappropriate in a civilized society. You and I, we represent the law, as set forth by the government of the people, which clearly dictates the right to a fair trial. The hoi polloi deserved the public trial and execution of the Lakeshire Strangler, and Maemi has selfishly denied them that right. What justice is that?”

Tristan said, “You’re right. You’re right. I know you’re right. So, how do we catch her?”

“We go after Dorch. She killed Ed Brimley so Kiyoshi would feel safe. If we arrest Dorch, she will be compelled to confess so that Kiyoshi mustn’t bare witness to his lover’s doomed fate.”

Zelle returned. She had cleaned herself up in the bathroom and dressed herself. “Guys, do you mind?” she said, holding up her left wrist, which still had the handcuff attached.

“Sorry, luv,” Silver said as she unlocked it. Then she retrieved a handful of gold coins from the nightstand drawer and paid the whore her usual fee.

Zelle gave Silver a passionate kiss and said, “Thanks doll, see you around,” and she sauntered out the door.

Tristan said, “So, just how do you plan on framing Dorch?”

“How about with Kiyoshi’s roller-skates?”

“But we never found them!”

“I think I know where they are.”

“Where?”

“They’re at Brimley’s Rollertime, as rental skates. Remember? All the women’s skates were plain brown, standard rentals, identical to each other, but the men’s skates, many of them were unique. He hid them in plain sight, so he could be with them everyday.”

“Egads, you’re right, clever girl! Let’s mote it be!”