by R. A. Mejia
Officer Andrew McDonald
Pembrook Campus Police’s most recent hire, he was transferred from the city desk for questioning an old lady about her missing cat a little to roughly.
Likes: A simple straightforward case
Dislikes: The need for evidence
Disposition: Suspicious
Bonus info: He decides who is the bad guy based on who is the ugly one in the group.
Officer McDonald is blonde and has a serious expression and an imposing presence. He’s so imposing that it takes me a few seconds to even notice that there is a second man behind him.
Detective Pete Falkner
Timore Police Department’s finest detective, Pete Falkner is known for his dogged determination to catch the bad guy and solve the crime.
Likes: Forensic science, an arrogant suspect, evidence.
Dislikes: Criminals and people that hurt animals
Disposition: Open and watchful
Bonus info: Don’t let his frumpy appearance fool you, Detective Falkner is always paying attention.
He’s older, mid-to-late thirties wearing a wrinkled suit, and even in my tired, fuzzy-headed state, I recognize him as the detective I caught following me around campus. I wonder where his friend is, but before I can ask, Officer McDonald speaks.
“Good morning. Sorry if we woke you.” The small smirk on his face tells me he isn’t really sorry. “Are you Anthony Tinoco?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Don’t get smart with me, kid.” The small smirk is gone, replaced with a scowl. He shows me a piece of paper with my student ID information printed and my picture. “We know who you are. Just answer my question.”
Detective Falkner’s eye twitches slightly at the officer’s comments, but a smile is quickly back on his face as he intercedes. “That’s right, Anthony. We know who you are, but I figured we’d be polite and start off with introductions.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an ID badge which he quickly flashes. “I’m Detective Falkner, and I have a couple of questions that I wanted to ask you.” He looks around and gestures to the other apartments. “You mind if we come inside and talk? Some of these questions are a bit personal for you.”
Inspecting the detective tells me that his attitude is open and watchful, which isn’t that clear. Does that mean he’s an open book? Or that he’s open to the truth? Sometimes, these System skills are less than helpful. Still, I don’t see what he could ask that is so personal, and I’m about to refuse to let them inside without some kind of warrant, when a voice behind me asks, “Who the hell is knocking at the door this early? Don’t they know we had the best party of the semester last night? Tell whoever it is to go away.”
I wince slightly and turn to see Jeff, in his boxers, rubbing his eyes and trying to see who I’m talking to. When he finally sees past me, his eyes widen at the sight of the police. “Shit. I mean, hey, officers, how’s it hanging?”
Officer McDonald asks Jeff, “You don’t mind if we come inside, do you, kid? Don’t have anything to hide, do you?”
Jeff, who was so charismatic last night, seems to have rolled a 1 this morning. He nods his head yes, but says, “No, officers. Nothing to hide here. Please, come inside.” Without waiting for me to move, Officer McDonald pushes past, and Detective Falkner follows, a friendly smile still on his face. The two look around for a place to sit, but the living room is still pretty crowded with all the DJ equipment, and just about every surface is covered with used plastic cups, half-eaten plates of food, odd bits of clothing, streamers, or some other random detritus.
Jeff looks abashed at the mess and quickly clears two plastic seats for the cops. He grabs two more chairs from the kitchen table for him and me to use. The four of us sit, looking at each other, until the sounds of a creaking bed catch the officers’ attention.
“Who else is here?” Officer McDonald asks. He’s up on his feet and has his hand on his sidearm.
The door to Jeff’s room opens, and a voice calls out sleepily, “Baby? Where’d you go?”
Jeff turns red at the voice, and not one but two women come out of his room. They’re both wearing thin robes that leave little to the imagination. Their state of dress and their messy hair tells the tale that Jeff probably got even less sleep than I did last night. The two girls see the cops, and everyone freezes for a moment. The girls disappear back into Jeff’s room, and only a minute later, they make a hasty exit from the apartment.
Jeff calls out, “Call me!” as they race past, but the door closes behind the girls without an answer. “Well, we’re all alone now, officers,” he says with a note of bitterness in his voice.
Detective Falkner at least has the decency to hide his smirk, but Officer McDonald just scowls at Jeff. Before McDonald can say anything, the detective begins. “You might be wondering why I’m here today. I’ve heard from Officer McDonald that you boys had quite the party last night. I can assure you that what I’m going to ask you has nothing to do with that.” Jeff lets out a breath and seems to relax, and there’s a pause before the detective continues. “At least, not directly. Though we might come back to that later, I’m here to ask a few questions about a case that landed on my desk recently.” He pulls a notepad and a short, half-chewed pencil from his pocket and starts to flip the pages. “I’ve been investigating a series of crimes in my area, and it’s come to my attention that similar incidents have been happening on this campus. There have been a number of unsolved burglaries and attacks. From what the campus police have described, they have also had a number of mysterious thefts and attacks.”
“No murders thankfully,” Officer McDonald mumbles.
“Right. No murders on campus. Yet,” Detective Falkner continues. “Although, if the pattern of escalation continues, you’ll see them soon.”
I haven’t heard about any unusual crime on campus, though now that I think about it, I do remember seeing flyers posted around campus for missing items like rings and laptops. I feel like there’s something that I’m missing here. “I don’t see how our campus is connected to crimes in Timore.”
Detective Falkner asks, “How did you know I was from the Timore Police Department? Never mentioned it.” He asks the question ever so casually, and while his smile never falters, his eyes narrow, and he leans forward waiting for a response.
I berate myself internally for the slip. “A lucky guess. I lived in Timore for a long time, and I recognize the insignia on the badge you showed earlier.” After I speak the words, a notification pops up telling me my Deception skill has increased to level 6, but I ignore it as best I can.
The officer nods, accepting my explanation, but I’m not sure the detective does. “So, you lived in Timore? Where about?”
The friendly inquiry marks the beginning of a series of questions from Detective Falkner. They ask about where Jeff and I lived before this, when we moved here, what we did for work, our majors, and stuff about our families. It all sounds innocent enough, and I try to answer the question truthfully, but something in the way the detective keeps circling back to who I knew in Timore makes me wary. Jeff is an open book. He answers the questions without reservation and is just glad that he’s not in trouble for last night’s party.
I must not be as cooperative because the tone of the conversation shifts when I don’t give an answer about how I pay for college or where I was on a specific date. My behavior gets me a scowl from Officer McDonald, who doesn’t seem to like it when someone doesn’t submit to his authority. Detective Falkner is more subtle, though, and just passes off his questions as friendly conversation.
“Why are you asking us these questions? Have we done something wrong, or do you suspect us of having something to do with the crimes you mentioned before? It can’t be random that you’re here.”
“You don’t get to ask questions, punk,” Officer McDonald says. “You just answer them, or we’ll…” He doesn’t finish the sentence as the detective raises his hand for the officer to stop. Instead, t
he detective says, “We suspect someone on campus might have ties to both areas and the crimes being committed there. The ongoing investigation doesn’t allow me to say more.”
So, he does suspect something. I can’t blame the guy for doing his job, but it rankles me that he won’t tell me anything. I recall what my most recently acquired ability Charm does and wonder if the detective would tell a trusted friend what he’s suspected of. Without really thinking about it, I cast the spell on Detective Falkner. I feel the loss of 100 mana, and a notification appears.
Your reputation with Detective Pete Falkner has been raised to Trusted Friend.
I use Inspect on him and see that his disposition has changed to Trusting. The notification isn’t the only thing to change, Detective Falkner’s expression and body language, while outwardly friendly before, always held a clear indication of his authority. Now, however, his smile seems genuine. His posture relaxes, and little wrinkles appear around his eyes. Only belatedly do I recall that the spell has a 5-second effect, and I quickly ask him, “Why are you asking us these questions?”
With a big goofy smile on his face, Detective Falkner says, “Because of Samantha Stapleton. We found your number on her call log after we arrested her.”
The statement surprises me so much that I don’t ask any follow-up questions before my 5 seconds are up. I can tell when the spell ends as the detective’s expression changes severely. Whereas before he was at least pretending to be friendly, his smile is now gone, and he looks more like Officer McDonald. Another notification pops up.
Your reputation with Detective Pete Falkner has fallen to Dislike.
Another use of Inspect confirms that his disposition has shifted to Distrustful and Suspicious. If the detective didn’t already suspect me of having something to do with the crimes he was investigating, he likely does now. I wonder if using Charm was such a good idea, even if it did get me the answer I was looking for.
“Who is Samantha Stapleton?” Jeff asks. I almost answer him. She was someone that I’d dated briefly when I worked at the Quickie Stop Mart but the whole thing seemed to fizzle out. Then, shortly after that, I started earning enough income from dungeon diving that I didn’t have to work there anymore, and we haven’t really talked since. The way our two guests scowl at me and lean forward to hear my answer stops me. I know that it’ll only confirm their suspicions if I admit knowing her, and it’ll lead to further questions that I may not be able to answer. So, instead, I’m silent. Which the two cops don’t seem to take well.
Officer McDonald says, “If you’re not going to answer our questions here, kid, we’ll have to take you down to the precinct to answer them.”
Before I used Charm on him, Detective Falkner may have argued with the officer, playing the good cop to his bad cop. But with my lost reputation, he only nods in agreement and says, “Yes. Why don’t you come down to the station with us, Anthony? We can have you look at some mugshots, and I can check some notes I have there.”
I’m torn for a moment. Two authority figures are pressuring me to go with them. I know that they can’t force me to go, and it’s likely that they don’t have any real evidence that links me to any crime that they might suspect me of. I could simply refuse them. But, if I do, that won’t tell me why they arrested Samantha or why they think I’m linked to something she might have done. I consider the consequences of talking to them. Could they trick me into admitting to something that I didn’t do? Possibly. But I don’t think that’s likely as long as I remain calm and collected. Will they arrest me while I’m there? If they do, I can always escape using Shadow Step or some other ability. Can they hurt me? I laugh inside at the thought. I’ve faced real monsters in dungeons and even a psycho System User that tried to murder me, and I still wonder if the police could do anything to hurt me. No, if I needed to, I could just flee. The police really couldn’t do anything to stop me, though it would make me a fugitive and mean an end to my college life and freedom.
“Ok. I’ll come along,” I say.
“Is Anthony in some kind of trouble?” Jeff asks with a concerned look.
“No, man. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding. I’m just going to go with the cops to clear things up and look at some mugshots.” Turning to the officers, I ask, “Isn’t that right? I’m not under arrest or anything.” The two nod, seemingly content that I’m volunteering to go with them. The three of us head out of the apartment, leaving Jeff watching from the doorway. Officer McDonald leads me towards their car, while Detective Falkner follows behind. I’m put in the back seat while the two get in front. I notice that there are no door handles back here, and I chuckle, knowing that wouldn’t stop me from escaping if I needed to.
The sound must reach the front seat because Officer McDonald asks, “Something funny about riding in the backseat of a cop car? Bring back some fond memories or something?”
The statement reminds me that I may already be half-convicted in Officer McDonald’s eyes. The moment I got in this backseat, I may have taken on the role of the arrested for him. So, I decide to remind him of the difference. “Just to be perfectly clear, I’m not under arrest, right? I can leave this car or the station at any time? I’m just going along to answer your questions as a helpful citizen.”
Officer McDonald sneers like I’m stupid, but Detective Falkner cuts him off before he can say anything. “That’s right, Anthony. You’re just helping us out.” And though his words agree with my statement, something in his tone implies a silent ‘for now’ and that the situation could shift whenever he wants it to. The two turn forward, the vehicle turns on, and the three of us drive off.
Chapter 23
The police officers drive me to the station and then they escort me inside and leave me in a small room with a mirror on one wall, a single table attached to the wall, and a few chairs. I try to wait patiently, but I find myself becoming more agitated as time passes and no one comes back. It doesn’t help that the chair they gave me is missing a foot, making it uncomfortable and wobbly. After 20 minutes, I’m just about to stand up and leave when the door to the room opens and Detective Falkner walks in with a can of Coke in one hand and a manila folder in the other.
“Here you go.” He sits down in the other chair and puts the drink in front of me on the table. “Sorry that it took so long to get back, but I wanted to check on a few details before we talked.”
“What was it that you wanted to check?” I take a drink from the soda can and find its bubbly sweetness both comforting and energizing.
He sits down across from me, places the manila folder on the beat-up table between us, and slowly opens it, revealing a picture of a burnt home inside. My old home, to be exact. The sight of the photo makes any comfort I feel evaporate and reminds me of one of the worst nights of my life: the night that I was kidnapped, repeatedly killed, and then chased to my home, where my family was almost killed by Jeremy Dolton. We barely escaped, and when I went back, I found our home burnt to the ground. Seeing the photo again reminds me just how close we came to death that day.
“Did you hear me, Anthony?”
The question snaps me out of my self-reflection. When I look up, there’s a mixed expression of concern and curiosity on Detective Falkner’s face.
“Sorry. I was lost in my own thoughts there for a moment. The photo brings back some unpleasant memories. What did you ask?”
“I asked, ‘Could you tell me what happened here?’”
I shrug and say, “I’m not sure what I could tell you that isn’t already in the police report. A man attacked my family and me in our home with the intent to kill us. We escaped the house, and he burned it down.”
The detective nods his head as I speak. “Yes, that’s all in the report. What I find interesting is that you also claim that you had no idea who attacked you or why you were attacked.”
“I didn’t.”
The detective’s eyes narrow, and he leans in as he repeats, “Didn’t? As in you do currently know who attacked y
ou?”
I wince internally at the mistake and quickly lean forward and lower my head to look down at the photo so as to try and hide my mistake. After all, at the time I made the report, I didn’t have any idea of who had attacked us. It wasn’t until much later that the identity of the masked man had been revealed. But I never told the police. Nor can I now. If the police tried to find Jeremy, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them. “I mean, don’t.”
When I look back up at the detective, his expression hasn’t changed, and I can’t tell if he believes me or not. A use of Inspect on him doesn’t help either since his disposition is still Distrustful and Suspicious. Yet, the detective doesn’t press me. Instead, he nods and moves the photo of my old burnt-out house over onto the desk and reveals another photo beneath. This one is of the new home that I bought after competing in the Dungeon Games this past summer. I used the massive winnings from that competition to buy a home for my mom and my little sister. I paid in cash. No down payment, no loan papers, no mortgage. Being able to do that for my mom after everything she sacrificed to raise my sister and me by herself is one of the proudest moments in my life. I also made it my new Home Base and upgraded the place so that it is completely safe from any kind of natural disaster or elemental damage. You could take a flamethrower to the building, and it wouldn’t even singe the siding.