Do You Want To Play: A Detroit Police Procedural Romance

by Charlotte Raine

  “What is she being questioned for?” a reporter yells out.

  “That is not important,” Tom says. “I am not going to connect anybody to a crime simply because we have asked them some questions.”

  “It has to be something disturbing then,” the reporter says.

  “That’s enough questions for now.” Tom walks back into the station. The cameras shut off and the cameramen begin to pack up their gear. I watch the news crews scramble away, desperate to be the first ones to report to their station and give the most sensational news line possible. The truth may speak volumes, but money and hype screams a hundred times louder.

  Lauren’s lawyer strolls up to me with one hand in his pocket.

  “Do you have any more smokes?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Aw, come on, Tobias,” he says. “I’m a prosecutor. I hate working for the defense. It’s damn hard to convince a jury that someone in a jumpsuit and handcuffs is guilty. I need the nicotine.”

  “Yeah, Arnold, usually you’re on our side,” I say. “Why are you suddenly betraying the police by working for the defense?”

  “She is part of the police,” he says. He shoves his hands into his pockets, a smirk on his lips. “I thought you were supposed to be good at your job.”

  “I am,” I say. He laughs.

  “Well, clearly, this case has clouded your common sense,” he says. “There’s a pattern that you’re missing completely.”

  I scowl. “You shouldn’t even be talking to me. It’s pretty low, even for you, to try to manipulate me before the case gets to trial.”

  “There is no case,” he says. “And if you weren’t being stupid, you’d know I wasn’t manipulating you. It’s the opposite, actually. I’m trying to steer you toward the truth, but I suppose I can’t expect too much from a cop.”

  He winks and begins to saunter down the sidewalk. After he’s fifteen feet away, he turns around.

  “I can see why she didn’t tell you the truth,” he says. He spins around and continues walking away. I drop my cigarette and crush it with the toe of my shoe.

  ~~~~~

  The third balloon is black with the skull and bones drawn on with a white permanent marker. It’s been a windy day, so the balloon sailed throughout the city, plenty of people seeing it and trying to catch it, before it landed in Elmwood Historic Cemetery, snuggled down in the grass at the Veiled Lady monument’s base. In a moment of luck—for once—the 89-year-old woman who found it called the police before she called the news stations. A nearby patrol officer retrieved it and took it back to the station before the cameramen arrived. Even before the patrol officer returned to the station, everyone knew what the message was: Level 3: Release Lauren Williams. Do not follow or track her. Erase any data of her in your system. If you fail to do this, you will lose your last life.

  “You know what we could really use right now?” Jared, one of the forensic analysts asks. “One of Lauren’s insights. Oh, but wait. You accused her of mass murder.”

  “I accused her of mass murder because there was evidence that she was responsible for it,” he says.

  “Or…you’re a jerk who can’t commit and you thought, How can I end this emotional connection to this woman? I know. I’ll accuse her of mass murder,” he says. I glare at him.

  “Can you just tell me about the balloon?”

  “Well, I can tell you that it had enough air still in it that Lauren couldn’t have released it,” he says.

  “Someone could have released it for her,” I say. “She didn’t deny the fact that she was the killer. That’s enough evidence for me.”

  “Wow, you really don’t want to be wrong, do you?” he asks. “The only other notable characteristic about it is that it wasn’t originally a black balloon. Someone took the time to color it with black marker…which is bad, because finding someone who bought black balloons would be easier than trying to find someone who bought white ones. So, Lauren is still here, right?”

  “We can hold her for 36 hours,” I say. “But we’ll be taking her up to Wayne County Jail soon.”

  “How are you dealing with it?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Come on, Tobias,” he says. “You really liked her. Now, I doubt it, but she could be the killer that you’ve been looking for this whole time. You have to be messed up over it.”

  “I got my killer,” I say. “That’s all that matters.”

  “You’re lying,” he says. “But that’s okay. You can be emotionally stunted if you want to be.”

  He hands me photographs of where the balloon was found. The veiled lady, carved from marble, could be flying or lying down in a grave. Regardless, the most unnerving part is that you can’t see her face. She could be anyone and no one will ever know. Hidden in plain sight.

  “So, are you going to release Lauren?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Really? Because not doing what this killer says seems to have a bad effect on the population in Detroit,” he says.

  “You don’t think I know that, Jared?” I ask. “But even if Lauren isn’t the killer, she could be a key to figuring out who is. We can’t release her.”

  “You’re the boss,” he says. He begins to walk toward the elevator, but continues to talk. “By the way, next time we have a birthday celebration here, there’s not going to be any balloons. I’ll do confetti, even the party hats, but not balloons.”

  “I’ll fill your lab with them every day,” I call out as he walks into the elevator. He grimaces as he pushes the button to go to the basement. I open the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out a flask. I put it to my lips, but then I remember I have to take Lauren to the county jail. I’ll be with another officer, but I’d prefer to be the one driving so I’ll be too occupied to have any kind of conversation with her.

  I put the flask back and close the drawer. I’ll get drunk as possible after we drop her off. I’ll drink until I no longer have these feelings of confusion, betrayal, and most of all, doubt.

  ~~~~~

  Lauren

  TOBIAS AND POLICE OFFICER Duffy sit in the front seat of the police car as I am taken to Wayne County Jail. Tobias drives as Duffy talks to him about how the Detroit Tigers should be doing better than they are, considering they set the record last year for striking out fifty-seven Oakland batters. Tobias is silent the whole time, occasionally glancing back at me, but Duffy doesn’t notice.

  Tobias slows the car to a stop. Ahead of us, two vehicles are wrecked in the middle of the road. A Chevrolet Malibu’s side is crushed. Behind it, the front of a red Toyota Tundra is concaved. Duffy unbuckles his seatbelt.

  “We should make sure everyone is okay,” he says. He opens the door and walks out toward the car crash. Tobias glances back at me.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he says. He takes out the car keys and gets out. I watch him approach a man who is clutching his arm. They are far enough way that I could escape and run a good distance away before anyone noticed, but with my arms locked behind my back, I wouldn’t get very far.

  Something is wrong.

  The red Toyota Tundra would have had to keep driving straight into the other car in order to cause that much damage, and the brake tracks of the Chevrolet Malibu travel too far for the driver of the Tundra to have stomped down on the brakes. Someone purposely hit that car and ensured that there was as much damage as possible.

  The driver’s door wrenches open. A man jumps into the driver’s seat. He begins to unscrew the plastic cover on the steering column with a screwdriver.

  “Who are you?” I ask, my whole body tense.

  “I’m here to save you,” he says. He’s tall, slim, and as he strips away the insulation of the battery wires and twists them together, I can see his hands are finely boned.

  “…You’re the killer,” I say. His messy brown hair shifts as he looks over his shoulder and winks at me before connecting the ignition on/off wire to the combined battery wires. His dark brown e
yes are large, but they could just seem that way because of the excitement that is pulsating from his whole body. The dash lights come on.

  “I know you,” I say.

  “You do,” he says. He strips down the starter wire and touches it against the battery wires. “I think you know me better than anyone has ever known me. You understand. That’s why I have to save you.”

  I try to reach for the door handle, but I only fall over onto my side. He revs the engine.

  “Hey!”

  Tobias’ voice makes us both start. The killer jams the screwdriver into the metal keyhole, breaking the steering lock. He presses his foot onto the gas pedal. Speeding down the road, the side of the car grazes against Tobias as we pass by the accident. I hear Tobias’ fist hit against the trunk as he tries to keep up with the police car, but the killer easily loses him.

  This was not part of the plan.

  ~~~~~

  I watch cars pass by on the thruway. I’ve thought about jumping out a thousand times, but we haven’t been on any road where he was driving under 45 mph, and he is not someone I want to piss off. I need to make him believe that I am in love with him in the same way that he is in love with me. I need to switch to survival mode—like a video game…survive until I die.

  We have been mostly silent except for the killer’s telling me about how he had to save me and we needed to escape from the police’s surveillance. Sometimes I told him I agreed with his sentiment. Sometimes I didn’t say anything.

  The killer drives up to the Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport. He pulls up to the curb where loved ones are saying goodbye to each other. As he unbuckles his seatbelt, I see a .45 in the waist of his pants.

  “What are we doing?” I ask.

  “We need to get a different car,” he says. “Everyone is going to be looking for this police car. We need something less noticeable.”

  “And you need the gun?”

  “Sometimes people need help being persuaded,” he says. He steps out of the car. I follow him out. I look at all of these people—clearly loved and clearly with future plans. I have to get the killer away from the airport.

  We walk along the sidewalk. He suddenly turns around and I run straight into him. He wraps his arms around me and I have to stop myself from pulling away. He bows his head near my ear.

  “We’re going for the Honda Civic,” he whispers. “The woman who was driving it just got out and it looks like she is having a passionate goodbye with her boyfriend. I’m going to get this woman’s keys. Casually get into the passenger side and I’ll get into the driver’s side.”

  I nod. As long as we get him away from this crowd, it sounds like a good plan.

  He steps back. He moves toward a woman who is kissing a man and handing him a bag. The killer bumps into her and I see his hand slip into a small pocket on the side of her purse. The keys disappear into his hand.

  I move toward the car, pretending to be searching for keys in my pockets. I grab the handle to the car and jump in as the killer does the same on the driver’s side. He puts the keys into the keyhole and starts the car. He shifts the car into drive and as he presses down on the gas pedal, I hear a hand banging on the side of the car. I look into the side mirror to see the woman screaming at us, fear written all over her face.

  My adrenaline slows as the killer gets back onto the main road. Now that my heart rate is slowing, I smell something that I haven’t smelt in a long time. The scent reminds me of powder and silk for some reason.

  Baby powder, to be exact.

  I look over my shoulder. A small baby—maybe a few months old—lies asleep in a car seat, oblivious to the dangerous world it has been forced into.

  ~~~~~

  The killer drives the stolen Honda Civic down Interstate 75.

  I keep turning around to look at the baby. He has his saliva-covered fist in his mouth. He smiles when I look at him, but I can only assume that it’s gas.

  “We should drop him off at a hospital or something,” I say.

  “No,” the killer says. “We can’t get caught on any camera. We can’t let them know what way we’re heading.”

  “This baby needs things…milk…diapers…a mother,” I say.

  “You can be the baby’s mother,” he says. I spin back around to face him.

  “I can’t be a mother,” I say. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “You don’t want children?” he asks. I search his eyes. I’m wary that he will get rid of the child in a different way if he thinks that I don’t want it.

  “Of course I want children,” I say. “I just…I want to make sure the baby has food.”

  “I can get it once we stop somewhere,” he says. “Your picture will be all over the news.”

  “Where are we going now?” I ask.

  “I was thinking Missouri,” he says. “There’s plenty of wide open spaces where nobody would see us and recognize us. Maybe we could eventually get new identities and fly up to Alaska. Nobody would be able to find us there. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good,” I say. I chew on my lip, a nervous tic I had gotten rid of when I was in high school, but apparently the moment warrants returning to the habit. In comparison, he seems relaxed, leaning onto the center console. He opens his hand, exposing his palm. It reminds me of a flower blossoming in the way that his fingers unfurl. But this is not a flower. It’s a Venus flytrap, luring me in with sweetness, waiting for me to land on it so that it can consume me.

  I put my hand in his. He closes his hand around mine, gripping it tight.

  ~~~~~

  Tobias

  “YOU KNEW ABOUT THIS?” I ask FBI agent Swanson. “You created this whole plan behind my back?”

  “Well…Miss Williams created the whole plan,” he says. “She just told a few of us in case the plan didn’t work, so she didn’t spend her life in prison.”

  “So, the gun wasn’t really hers?” I ask. A patrol officer walks into the break room, grabbing a coffee cup out of the cupboard. He suddenly becomes aware of the tension in the room. He slowly sets the coffee cup on the counter and walks back out of the room. Swanson shakes his head.

  “Oh, the gun was hers,” he says. “Passed down from her grandfather. But Benjamin made up the ballistics report and she knew you would eventually find it. She said that you hate the cold and a cold draft would annoy anyone. Seriously, she has sent you into the pantry at least four times since she put the gun there.”

  “That’s why she kept talking about motive…” I say, shaking my head. “But why bring in Arnold? A prosecutor?”

  “We thought that the killer wouldn’t intervene until the case had begun,” Swanson says. “The plan was that Miss Williams would make it seem like she was being accused of the killer’s crimes. The fact that a detective was involved in the killer’s case would make headlines and the news would get back to him. The PVP killer, who we now know is in love with her—no thanks to you—would want to save her from being prosecuted for his own crimes. At some point while being taken to and from the prison, he would try to rescue her. My FBI team would swing in and protect her. We didn’t think he would make a move this quickly.”

  “And you didn’t tell me,” I say.

  “The only person from the precinct we told was Benjamin,” he says. “And we didn’t tell him the whole thing, we just told him what to tell you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that cops are terrible liars and you, Mr. Rodriguez, are terrible at lying. Your constant sarcasm proves that. You wear your emotions on your sleeve, and Miss Williams didn’t want you to know about the plan because she knew you would refuse to let it happen.”

  “For good reason!” I shout. “Now she’s missing with the killer.”

  “He won’t kill her,” Swanson says. “He’s in love with her.”

  “Mr. Swanson, I was a police officer before I was a detective and I cannot tell you how many husbands and boyfriends I met that loved their significant other and killed them anyway,” I snarl.
“We are dealing with a sociopath. He doesn’t follow normal logic.”

  “Well, it would have been a little bit helpful if you saw the killer’s face,” Swanson says. “It is not completely our fault, so don’t put all of that blame on us.”

  Jacobs rushes into the break room.

  “Do you know how we sent out a BOLO for Miss Williams?” he asks.

  “Please tell me that someone saw her,” Swanson says.

  “Someone did. At Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport. We have security guards searching the premises and agents are headed there, but it seems like they have already left.”

  Swanson pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell them to start looking at all of the surveillance footage.”

  “Do you think he’s trying to find a plane to leave the state?” Jacobs asks.

  “No,” I say. Both agents turn to look at me. “He’s smart. He would know the airport is being watched right now. If I were him…that’s where I would steal another car.”

  Swanson nods. “It seems like it was more of a pit stop.”

  Jacobs nods and runs out of the room. I turn to Swanson.

  “So, was Lauren’s juvie record and her story about her motive true?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes,” Swanson says. “By the way, she was quite angry that you were so hard on her during interrogation.”

  “She was angry?” I say. “She didn’t tell me that she was planning to use herself as bait again.”

  “Well, you didn’t handle it very well last time.”

  “Last time it didn’t work. And it didn’t work this time either,” I say. “Am I the only one who sees this pattern?”

  My phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize. Every muscle in my body wants me to press Ignore because there are bigger problems in my life than telemarketers, but my thumb presses Answer instead.