Dear Darling

Eight

Thursday, May 26th, 1925.

"Dear Darling,

Viola turned out to have quite the connections. Her mother was a woman named Nancy Franklin, but she previously went by the name Nancy Silverman. That's right, Viola's mother's original husband was our Sam Silverman. Technically, Viola and Mr. Silverman have no blood relation because her father was her mother's second husband, Douglas Franklin, who Nancy married in 1907. You see, Viola's real home was a small village in Ohio, but she came up North to visit her mother's old hometown for fun. I can't seem to find any other ties between Viola or the other suspects besides Sam Silverman, and this forces me to draw a single conclusion: Sam was lying, for he must be the Black Butcher.

After my discovery on Viola, I grabbed Bart and again we headed to Mr. Silverman's house. To our surprise, as we stepped out of the grimy cabbie, Mr. Silverman was sitting on his front steps, as if he was expecting us. He waved Bart and me over and we joined him on the concrete. We talked for a while and finally, Mr. Silverman brought up the topic of Viola, as if he knew what we came to him about. He swore many times, even once on the bible, that he did not harm the young girl. "Yes, I knew who she was when she was in town, I even went and met her for lunch," he said, "but never, never would I have done anything to her. I might have had some disagreements with her mother, but I found her to be quite copacetic company." This startled me, for I was almost positive the Black Butcher was Mr. Silverman. Bart and I tried to pry a confession from him in many different ways, but soon the sun started falling, and we were on our way, no farther than where we started.

I'm starting to agree with Mr. Kramer, for this case has sure started to give me the heebie-jeebies. I find myself looking over my shoulder often and for no reason here, and it frightens me. But darling I plan to solve this case and do it soon so we can be together once again.

Maybe once I return we can go on a trip somewhere. Somewhere small, quiet and calm. No work or distractions. Just you, me and Petunia. Wouldn't that be swell?

With love,

Charles."