Do You Want To Play: A Detroit Police Procedural Romance (8 page)

LOOKING UP PEOPLE who use contact lenses cut down our suspect pool by 90 percent, which would be helpful if it didn’t leave 68,109 suspects. It’s disheartening for everyone in the police station. Tobias and I sit at The Onyx Bar. He drinks a beer while searching through felony criminal arrest records of anyone who has a contact lens prescription, while I drink Kahlúa with cream and search through felony criminal arrest records of anyone who has been caught soliciting prostitutes.

“Here’s a guy who found out his girlfriend was sleeping with another man,” Tobias says. “So, he set her house on fire, but the fire burned out and the only thing he managed to destroy was his motorcycle.”

“I think our guy is smarter than that,” I say.

“Well, how about this…Mark Nealon, twenty-four years old, beat his father with a sledgehammer, but his father didn’t die,” Tobias says. “So, he served eleven years in prison and got out almost a year ago.”

“No…” I say. “I don’t think so. That’s a killer who has rage issues he can’t control. The PVP killer has rage issues, but he seems to be able to control them enough to focus it into murdering strangers.”

Tobias’ phone vibrates. He picks it up and unlocks his screen. He groans.

“What?” I ask.

“Balloon.”

“Balloon?”

“The PVP killer,” he sighs, standing up. “There’s another balloon with the skull and bones. Apparently, we’re on level two…even though we failed level one.”

“Where was it found?” I ask. “Another playground?”

“No,” he says. “I think the killer just lets the balloon loose and it goes wherever it wants to go.”

“Why?” I ask. “Where was it found?”

“It was deflated and hanging out in the parking lot of a retirement home,” he says. “Our forensic team thinks it was floating around for a few days.”

“What does it say we have to do?”

“Set the 10th precinct on fire.”

“…So, he never really needed the money,” I say. “All of this is just a power play.”

“That’s what you got out of that?” he asks. “Because my first thought was,
shit
.”

“Well, if we don’t do what he says…someone else dies.”

“That seems to be the theme,” he says.

“So, what are we going to do?” I ask.

“I’m not going to let what happened to Ray happen to someone else,” he says. “Let it burn.”

~~~~~

The 10th precinct drags out every filing cabinet, computer, evidence bag, and expensive piece of equipment we own. I help Tobias carry out his desk as we set it on the sidewalk, I see a short, bald man in a suit running toward the police station. Tom Powell, the lieutenant of the 10th precinct.

“Wait! Wait!” Tom gasps for breath as he slows to a walk and then stops in front of the building. “What the hell is happening?”

The policemen stop moving, confused expressions all over their faces. Tobias steps in front of Tom.

“We need to do what the killer wants right now. We can’t risk—”

“Haven’t you heard that we don’t negotiate with terrorists?” Tom spits out.

“I’ve heard that our job is to protect the public,” Tobias says.

“Who says this will protect anyone?” Tom asks. “And even if it does, this makes us look weak. Now every criminal in Detroit is going to try to get us to be their puppets. We’ll be getting threats left and right if we go through with this.”

“We already do get threats left and right,” Tobias says. “But this killer has proven himself to be more capable than anyone else we have dealt with. So, we’re going to take this threat more seriously than other threats we’ve received.”

Tom grits his teeth. “You are not in command of this precinct now that Stewart is dead. That’s my job. And my precinct will not negotiate with this piece of shit.”

“Stewart was
murdered
,” Tobias says. He turns to me. “Could you throw me a little support?”

“A building is worth less than a human,” I say. Tom gives me a dirty look.

“We are not doing this,” he says. “It will open up Pandora’s box and there is enough evil in this city.”

He points to the equipment.

“Put everything back,” he says. He glares at Tobias. “And next time anyone in this precinct wants to make a decision…you run it by me first.”

The precinct begins to move everything back. Tobias turns to me.

“Call your grandmother,” he says. “Call everyone you care about. Hell is about to reign down and we need to protect as many people as possible.”

As I take out my phone, I have the feeling that I’m being watched. I look around. There’s a crowd observing the precinct, some of them recording what’s happening on their cellphones, but nobody is directly looking at me. I put the hood of my coat up anyway. A cold breeze seeps right through it.

~~~~~

My grandmother, Tobias’ parents, Tobias, and I sit at my dining room table. I only had four chairs, so Tobias sits on a stool that brings his shoulders barely above the table. Tobias and I made chicken parmesan for everyone except for his mother, who is vegetarian, so we made one eggplant parmesan. Everyone seems like they don’t have much of an appetite though.

“So…Tobias…why did you become a cop?” my grandmother asks. He shrugs.

“It’s kind of always been expected, since my father’s side has generations of policemen,” he says.

“Are you saying you didn’t want to become a cop?” his father asks, a hint of disapproval in his voice.

“No, Dad, I’m just explaining to Mrs. Carpenter,” he says. His father bunches up his napkin.

“Well, to everyone else it sounds like you’re complaining,” his father says. “Any policeman worth his salt would say that they become a policeman because it was the only job worth doing.”

“Dad, you know I didn’t mean it in a bad way—”

“Don’t tell me what I know, son,” his father says, his eyes hardening to coal.

“David, let’s not be argumentative,” his mother says.

“Shush.” His father makes a cutting motion with his hand. My grandmother and I look at each other with raised eyebrows. Tobias’ phone rings. He reaches for it. His father grabs his arm. “You don’t answer your cellphone at the dinner table.”

“It has to be from the station,” Tobias says, pulling his arm out of his father’s grip. “And I recall you answering the phone all of the time during dinner.”

Tobias’ father kicks back his chair as he stands up. Tobias stands as well and they glare at each other, both looking like they are about to tear out each other’s throat. I run in between them, putting my hand on both of their chests.

“This is my apartment,” I say. “You two aren’t allowed to fight in my apartment. Don’t think that I won’t call the station and make a complaint about two men brawling. How will that look for either of you?”

Tobias phone stops ringing. He and his father keep staring at each other for a few seconds more before Tobias looks away. His phone dings, indicating that he’s received a text message. He takes his phone out of his pocket and glances at it. Without speaking, he grabs his coat.

“What is it?” I ask, following him to the entrance hall. He yanks open the door.

“We lost the killer’s second level,” he says. “We lost a second life.”

“Do we know who it is?” I ask. He doesn’t look at me.

“Richardson,” he says before slamming the door shut. The sound echoes through my apartment as if it were empty. I walk back into the dining room and grab my coat.

“Lock the door after I leave,” I say to everyone. I glance at Tobias’ father. “Take care of each other. There’s no guarantee that we will all be here tomorrow.”

When I leave the apartment, I see Tobias walking back toward me.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was walking away when I realized that you would come no matter what. I should have waited for you.”

I shrug, smiling. “You didn’t need to wait.”

“I did need to,” he says. He kisses my cheek. “I’ll always wait for you.”

~~~~~

OFFICER LIONEL RICHARDSON is about to be buried in Woodlawn Cemetery. He had been stabbed multiple times in his abdomen and left in a police car that had
2 lives lost. 1 to go.
scratched onto the hood.

I stand in the back with Lauren as a priest reminds everyone to cherish life.

“You know, you can be upset,” she says.

“What makes you think that I don’t feel upset?” I ask.

“I mean, you can show that you’re upset,” she says. I shrug, but I keep my eyes downcast.

“There’s still one more level in his game,” I say. “We need to catch him before he sends out the balloon.”

“How are we going to do that?” she asks. “We’ve tried everything. I’m beginning to think that this guy doesn’t have DNA.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe we should start knocking on doors and raiding people’s houses.

“Yes, the media would love that,” she says. “We might as well kill ourselves and burn down the police station, because the public would do it anyway.”

A folded flag is put in the arms of Richardson’s wife. Her tears roll down her face and soak into the flag. The bagpipes begin to play “Amazing Grace.”

“I wonder who they will give the flag to when I die,” I say. “Because I can tell you that my father won’t come and he’ll convince my mother not to come.”

“You’ll be married by the time you die,” she says. “You shouldn’t be thinking about that anyway.”

“I think about it all of the time,” I say. “That’s what happens when you’re chasing violent criminals. You get shot and you die. Or you get stabbed and you die. With this killer, I could even be drowned and I die.”

The cemetery goes silent as Richardson’s final radio call is broadcast.

“All units: Officer Lionel Richardson, Badge 3446, is out of service. End of watch, October 19th, 2014. You will be deeply missed.”

I press my uniform hat against my heart and bow my head. While the cemetery is so quiet that I can hear someone’s shoe slide against the grass, I promise myself that I will avenge their deaths. I will win this game.

~~~~~

FIVE FBI AGENTS, Tobias, and I sit in the break room with all of the advanced technology the government could buy and zero suspects.

“I’m the least informed on the topic, but I don’t think the last couple of murders were staged like any video game,” Tobias says. “Richardson’s murder was meant as a type of taunt and Jasmine’s was a type of revenge murder. She talked to us and he killed her for it. He’s getting more violent.”

“He’s losing control,” I agree. “He used to have a kind of code, but this veers from it…and now that he has broken from his own code, he’s more likely to continue to kill without discrimination or any kind of set-up.”

“Well, from his first present, we know he likes brunettes,” an FBI agent says. “So, why don’t we lure him in with a brunette?”

“No,” Tobias says. “There’s no way that would work. Besides, Jasmine…I mean, Nina Wayland, was blonde.”

“I think Jacobs has a point,” another FBI agent says. “If the killer was dating Nina Wayland, he was just using her. He probably set up Nina to sleep with Timothy Wood, so that he could blackmail him. But what if we turned the tables? Maybe we could get someone to write an editorial in the newspaper and convince the killer that he has a fan. He’s going to need someone new to do his dirty work. Why don’t we make him think that this person has just fallen into his lap?”

“Why don’t you
shut up
?” Tobias asks. I touch his arm.

“That might work,” I say. I turn to the FBI agents. “I can do it.”

“No, you can’t,” Tobias says, tension thick in his voice. “It’s too risky. Come up with a new plan.”

“There is no other plan,” Jacobs says. “He is always a step ahead of us because we are always playing defense. We need to switch to offense.”

“You sound like the killer now,” Tobias says. “You think this is a game now too.”

“Tobias—” I say.

“No,” he says. “You’re not going to do it.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do,” I say.

“I’m your partner,” he says. “I have your best interests in mind.”

“Well, the best interest of everyone is to catch the killer,” I say. He folds his arms over his chest.

“If you do this, our partnership is over,” he says. His voice makes it clear that he means more than our professional partnership.

“It’s for the greater good,” I say. He slams his fist against the table as he stands up. He grabs his coat off the back of his chair, and his shoulder hits me as he walks by. Jacobs raises an eyebrow as the door to the staircase slams shut.

“He’s not quite a team player, is he?” he asks. I shake my head.

“Let’s just do this,” I say. “What should the editorial say?”

THE PVP KILLER IS AN ARTIST

By Lauren Williams

People read or watch the news about the PVP killer and make assumptions from the very few facts they are given. As one of the investigating detectives in the PVP killer cases I can tell you that the truth is that the PVP killer is a revolutionary and an artist. As some civilians have realized, the PVP killer stages his murders like video game deaths. Everyone is enraptured by his movements, so it’s the perfect way to make a commentary on society’s decline. Society has turned into a game where everyone is keeping score and the only way to show complete dominance is murder. Everyone judges the PVP killer’s actions while not realizing that it has become the norm. Everyone is a sinner and everyone pretends it doesn’t matter—like their lives are on a TV screen. Killing may not be the way to get everyone to change, but it’s the quickest way to get people to realize that they are slaves to a system that treats them like they have five lives.

The PVP killer is a prophet and he’s only spreading the truth. You’re in a dog-eat-dog, player-versus-player world. Do you know who is going to win this game? I can tell you that it’s not the police, because they are too busy being concerned about the politics of society. The police will never catch him because he does not follow any set of rules. For these reasons, I am stepping down as a detective in the Detroit police department. I can no longer stand by the law when they clearly are walking around deaf, dumb, and blind to the truth.

~~~~~

After the article is put in
The Detroit News
, my life becomes a freak show, with the public watching my every step and waiting to see how badly I stumble. National news stations have berated me for my ignorance and described me as psychotic as the killer. I had called my grandmother to reassure her beforehand that what was going to be in the news was false, but other than her, the Detroit police force and the FBI, nobody else knows that the article was written to trick the killer.

A day and a half after the article was printed, there is a large mob outside my apartment. My landlord wants to kill me himself for causing so much chaos outside his building. I spend all day reading through our notes about the case and drinking tea to calm my nerves.

I hear a police siren. I look out the window to see a police car make its way through the mob. I see Tobias and an FBI agent get out of the car.

When they knock on my door, I let them in. Tobias has dark shadows under his eyes.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“The public is demanding blood,” Tobias says. “Your blood to be exact. I told you this was a bad idea.”

“You know that nothing will make the killer come out of the dark faster,” I say.

“It was a stupid, reckless move that only a rookie would make. That’s why the FBI pushed you into it,” he says.

“They didn’t push me into it,” I argue. “I volunteered.”

“You’re the only female brunette in the station!” he snarls. “Who else would they be expecting to step up to the plate? They have probably been planning this for days.”

I shove him. He stumbles back. There’s a flash of anger in his eyes that makes me believe for a second that he could hit me back, but he only stands up straight again.

“Um, I’m going to set up taps on the phones, in case the killer calls,” the FBI agent says. “We have a van parked around the corner that will be able to locate him if he does call.”

The agent scurries into the living room. Tobias’ eyes trail down to my hands, which are red from the so many times I’ve twisted them in being anxious.

“You need to come into the station,” he says. “It will only be for a short amount of time, but we need to make it look like the police are investigating you.”

“For what?” I ask.

“Being an accomplice to the killer,” he says. I am struggling between wanting to burst into laughter or cry, but I just chew my lip.

“I’m supposed to wait for the killer to come or contact me,” I say. “The FBI is keeping watch to make sure that he doesn’t do anything.”

“Well, if you don’t come with us, you’re risking having more protestors outside your apartment,” he says. “And they will not be peaceful protestors. I’ve answered enough calls to know that if we don’t do something, these civilians will. Also…the killer isn’t going to come around with this many people outside your apartment. Even he isn’t that gutsy.”

I take a step closer to him. He doesn’t move, but his whole body tenses.

“Tell me everything is going to be okay,” I say.

He looks down at his shoes. “I can’t.”

~~~~~