Do You Want To Play: A Detroit Police Procedural Romance (2 page)

“No,” he says. “I think that the majority of serial killers are men, so I’m putting my money on this killer being a man too. Why? What’s your criminal profile of the murderer?”

“Male,” I admit. He smirks. “Early to mid twenties, has a 9-to-5 job, above-genius IQ, organized personality, not in a long-term relationship, misogynistic, kills to make himself feel powerful, more than likely abused as a child…”

“How in God’s name did you get all of that?” he asks.

“Well, he likes video games…a lot,” I say. “Video games weren’t really prevalent in the childhoods of those in their thirties or older, so it’s a good guess that he’s in his twenties. He has to have a 9-to-5 job in order to afford his props and to be able to commit most of the murders during the night or early in the morning…that’s also the reason he wouldn’t have time to be in a relationship. Clearly, he’s smart and organized or else he would have left evidence behind. That he hates women can be inferred because all of the men were killed rather quickly, whereas the killer spent more time torturing the women and then set them up like they were dolls.”

“What makes you think he was abused?” he asks. “Or that killing makes him feel powerful?”

“It’s common in serial killers,” I say. “And in all likelihood, something happened to him during childhood that messed up his way of thinking.”

“Well, our suspect pool went from 700,000 to 300,000,” he says. “So, thanks for that.”

“What is your problem with me?” I demand. “Is it just the fact that I come from a psychology background? That I’m a woman?”

“My problem with you is that you’re barely out of your college diapers and you thought you could come play in the big leagues,” he says. “You should have started with robberies or even a nice little kidnapping. Not serial killers.”

“I’ve done more to solve this case in a couple of days than you have in weeks,” I say.

His lip curls. “Because you had seen some video game. That’s not something to brag about.”

I clench my fists, but I don’t hit him. I stare down at the photographs. He walks away and sits at his desk. His chair squeaks as he swivels left and right. He types on his computer with too much noise. Every single thing about this man irritates me.

“The medical examiner said that the bodies didn’t have any drugs in their system, right?” I ask.

“She has tested for every drug she could think of,” he says, continuing to type. “Trust me, when I saw the times that they died, I thought they could all be drug users too, but only David King and Ashley Barker had illegal drugs in their system.”

“What was the teacher taking?” I ask, flipping through the file.

“Cocaine,” he says. “I don’t blame her. I would be snorting it too if I had to be around teenagers all day.”

“And David King?”

“Heroin.”

Tobias’ phone rings. I glance up as he answers it.

“This is Rodriguez,” he says. His passive expression changes—his lips press together and his eyebrows rise. It’s a mixture of surprise and tension. “You shouldn’t be calling me at work…I don’t care. Why should I care?…no, you can’t…Anna…don’t call again. Don’t…I told you. You can’t come running to me every time—stop. Stop. Don’t call again. Please.”

He hangs up. His gaze rises to meet my eyes.

“What?” he snaps.

I shrug. “Nothing.”

When I profile people, I take each characteristic I discover and slide them together like puzzle pieces. I think I just connected Tobias’ callous attitude and someone named Anna.

I stare at the photographs of the victims until the pain of their violent deaths is replaced by scientific observation. I stop being human as I analyze each scene, because I need to think exactly like the killer.

~~~~~

DETROIT SEEMS BRIGHTER at night than during the day—the lights glaring down at me and car headlights blinding me. It’s a mixture of an invasive feeling—like the fluorescence is sinking into my skin—and feeling anonymous—like I’m one of many shadows in a city of light.

I see her standing at the corner, clearly waiting for me. I think of crossing the road in order to avoid her, but I have never been the type to choose flight over fight.

“Miss Williams,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you,” she says.

“Well, you wasted your time,” I say, walking past her. She grabs my arm. I stop and turn around to face her. “What do you want from me?”

“A chance,” she says. “ I want you to give me a chance.”

“No,” I say. I pull my arm out of her grip. She takes my hand. I can feel the fine bones of her fingers and the chill of her skin against my warm palms.

“Tobias…there is a killer loose in Detroit,” she says. “We need to work together.”

“
We
don’t need to do anything,” I say. “I’m going to find this killer. You can just stay out of my way.”

Her nails sink into my skin. Our eyes lock. Her eyes are a sharp contrast with the bright city lights.

“Why did you choose to come to Detroit and pursue a serial killer?” I ask.

“I’ve always been fascinated by serial killers,” she says.

“That sounds sociopathic.” I slide my hand out of her grasp.

“My parents died when I was young,” she says. “Drunk driver. Car burst into flames. I was in the back, and since then…”

I look away from her.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. She shrugs.

“I don’t remember much,” she says. “Just flashes. Fire.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, avoiding her gaze. I glance forward. “There’s a bar…I guess you could call it a cop bar. Do you want to get a drink?”

She smiles. “Really, Tobias? You decide to be nice because you feel bad for me?”

“So, I should keep on being a jerk?” I ask. She tilts her head. Her hair sways across her shoulders. I wonder what it’s like to feel the smooth texture of her skin and feel the arch of her back as I touch her.

“You should be my partner,” she says. My heart skips two beats. I shake my head.

“I need to get home,” I say. “You should be safe.”

“I’ll try,” she says. I walk away from her. I have no time to mourn for the living when I am busy trying to get justice for the dead.

~~~~~

When I walk into the police station, half the officers are watching the TV. I glance up to see a newscaster, dressed in bright pink and wearing a large, gaudy necklace. I don’t understand why they dress up so much. They’re in the middle of the screen. It’s not like we’re going to overlook them if they aren’t wearing the boldest color possible.

“The PVP killer has allegedly murdered four people. In this video clip we are going to show you, the police are seen in Belle Isle State Park. We tried to get more answers from Detective Rodriguez, but he refused to answer any questions.”

On the screen, I am seen raising my hand to cover a video camera and yelling at all of the newscasters and their cameramen. Everyone in the department turns to look at me.

“What?” I ask. “You know the killer will be watching the news. I’m not going to show my hand to him.”

“That would have been a great opportunity to lure the killer in.”

I turn to see Lauren sitting at my old partner’s desk. I remember her confession about her parent’s death and for a moment, I don’t want to be tough on her. A second later, I know that I can’t let my guard down. I walk up to the desk.

“And how would you have answered the reporters?” I ask. “Would you have told them every detail of the case? Would you tell them that we have zero suspects?”

“I would have told them that we have evidence that the killer is a gamer and we are closing in on a suspect,” she says.

“We don’t have a suspect,” I say.

“They don’t need to know that,” she says. “And it could put enough pressure on the killer to get him to mess up.”

“That would never work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’ve been a policeman for nearly a decade,” I say. “I do know that.”

She glares at me, clearly pissed that the moment we had last night has not changed our relationship.

“Who’s Anna?” she asks, vindictiveness making her voice harsh.

I grit my teeth. “That’s my personal life. You’ll stay out of it if you know what’s good for you.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“That depends,” I say. “Do you need to be threatened?”

Richardson walks up to the desk.

“Do you two need to be separated?” he asks. “Why don’t you give the girl a break, Rodriguez? Everyone is new at some point.”

“Why don’t you take her as your partner since you’re so fond of her?” I ask. He smirks.

“I would take her if I didn’t already have Romano,” he says, nodding toward his pencil-thin partner. “He’s not as cute, but he buys me coffee once in awhile.”

“Well, if you two aren’t too busy gossiping…” Lauren says. “You should know that I made a list of video game stores.”

“How many are there?” I ask. “Five or six?”

“Forty-nine,” she says. I groan.

“Are you kidding me? Why does the city need forty-nine video game stores?”

“Supply and demand,” she says.

“How many of them sold the video games that were replicated by the murderer?” I ask.

“Forty-six of them,” she says. I rub my temple. She shrugs. “They’re popular games.”

“Can we figure out how many people bought the games that the killer replicated?”

“We would have to go to each store and ask,” she says. “And if the killer began planning the murders early, he would have used cash.”

I sit down at my desk. I open my drawer to look for a new pad of paper. A velvet jewelry box slides forward. I pick it up and snap it open. The engagement ring is still as lustrous as it was the day I bought it. It seems to tell me that even with all of the time that has passed by, nothing has changed. I am still the man who put everything on the line and lost it all.

I raise my head to see Lauren watching me.

“What?” I ask. Her shoulders barely rise in a shrug and she glances back down at her list of video game stores.

“I’m going to visit some of the video game stores,” she says. “We might get lucky.”

“I’ll come with you,” I say, sliding the ring back into my desk.

~~~~~

Gamers Unite
is a small video game store that smells a bit like mold inside a jockstrap. I flip through the games as Lauren talks to the cashier. I pick up a game that has a cat on the front holding a spatula and try to imagine how the killer would use it to kill someone. Death by enchilada.

“Tons of people have bought
Primal Instinct
,” the cashier says. He’s a tall guy with mousey brown hair and thick glasses. He is almost the stereotypical nerd, acne included, except for the fact that he’s built like a football player. His name tag states,
Hello! My name is Alexander.
“People have been waiting forever for it, since the developers are the same people who made
Rage of the Lycanthropes
.”

“That sounds…violent,” I say, walking up to the counter. “Are lycanthropes aliens?”

“It’s Greek for werewolves,” Lauren says.

“Oh,” I say. I tap on the counter. “So, could we get a record of who has bought the game?”

“Do you have a warrant?” Alexander asks.

“No, but I have a Glock 19 pistol,” I say. Lauren elbows me as Alexander goes pale.

“Alexander, ignore my partner,” she says. “Thank you for your time. We may return later with a warrant.”

She grabs my arm and half-drags me out of the store.

“Can you try to be nice while we’re getting evidence?” she asks.

“We weren’t getting evidence,” I say. “We were interrogating.”

“No, we weren’t!” she says. “We aren’t questioning the employees at the video game stores, we are trying to figure out who has bought these games. Which looks like it’s going to be difficult, but it doesn’t make it any easier if you’re terrifying the employees.”

She releases my arm and begins to walk in front of me. I hurry to catch up to her.

“Where are we going next?” I ask.

“
Jim’s Video Games
,” she says. “It’s just a couple blocks away.”

“Don’t you ever eat?” I ask.

“It’s 10:34 in the morning,” she says. “You should have eaten a bigger breakfast if you’re hungry.”

As we come up to
Jim’s Video Games
, I see that a black tarp covers the window and there is a sign on the front. Lauren reads it aloud,

“We are sorry to inform our customers that
Jim’s Video Games
was broken into and robbed on July 28th. We are currently uncertain of when we will reopen. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

“Are you kidding me?” I ask. “It was robbed? So, even if we could compile a list, it wouldn’t matter because the killer could have robbed this store?”

“It was a long shot from the beginning,” Lauren says. I shake my head.

“This day was a waste,” I say. She glances over at a sports bar.

“Would it be a waste if we got some hamburgers?” she asks. I sigh.

“With french fries?” I ask. She smiles and I can’t help but smile too.

~~~~~

The sports bar,
Devon’s
, is mostly empty since it’s still early. Lauren and I get our burgers quickly. I take a bite out of my burger big enough that I can barely chew. Lauren watches me for a second before taking nearly as big of a bite out of her burger.

I swallow.

“So, tell me, how did you profile me?” I ask. “How did you know my father and grandfather were policemen?”

“Well, you clearly see policemen as superior to other professions and you have a very specific ideal of how a policeman should be, which means that you had a close role model that was a policeman. You have the same mentality as an old-school policeman, which means he was likely quite a bit older than you.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll give that to you. What makes you think that I’m not happy?” I ask. “That I put up…what did you call them? Walls?”

“I can see it in your face,” she says, shrugging. “And you work all the time. You can love your job, but nobody puts their whole life into their job unless there is no other part of their life that makes them feel…alive.”

“My job makes me happy,” I say.

“I’m sure it does,” she says. She shakes her head. “Forget it. I was angry at the time.”

“What about you?” I ask. “Are you happy?”

“I come from a psychology background,” she says. “Even if I am happy, I’m constantly analyzing myself, so I’m too busy to enjoy being happy.”

I raise my beer. “Well, here’s to being a bit dysfunctional.”

She clinks her water against my bottle. “Dysfunctional people trying to find a dysfunctional killer. How hard could it be?”

“You just jinxed us.”

“I doubt it,” she says.

“Why? Because you have faith that justice will prevail?” I ask.

“No,” she says. Her eyes pin me against the plastic cover of the booth. “Because I have faith in us.”

~~~~~

We return to the station at nearly midnight after visiting ten video game stores, none of which could give us an exact list of who bought the video games that were replicated by the killer.

“Well, that was a waste,” I say, collapsing into my chair. Lauren sits in the chair across from me.

“We could still get lucky,” she says.

“You ended up with me. How lucky could you be?” I ask.

She smiles. “I’m sorry about the comment I made about Anna. It is none of my business.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say. “I just don’t like my personal and professional life mixing.”

She stands up and looks over the cork board she made that has all of the crime scene photos. I’m usually not that organized, but I can appreciate it now that it’s in front of me.

“What happened to the drunk driver?” I ask. She smiles wryly.

“So, you want your personal and professional life separate, but you don’t mind asking your co-workers about their personal life?” she asks.

“I’m an enigma,” I say, shrugging.

“He was sentenced to ten years in prison, but he only ended up serving for five…you know, good behavior…early release…”

“It’s a shame,” I say. “All criminals should have to serve their whole sentence. I don’t care if they’re a saint in prison. You got there for bad behavior, you should stay in there for bad behavior.”