The Detective Tag

The Detective Tag

By:  Maxine Angeli  Completed
Language: English
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There are three things Samara Culkin loves: her father, wearing high heels, and being a detective. But in a world where being a female officer is considered weak, she struggles to find a place where she feels truly belong. Determined to prove The Detective Tag firm that she is worth it, she sets out to solve one of the biggest cases the city of Los Angeles has ever seen. There are three things Clayton Jones likes: his car, detective skills, and the female detective who happens to catch his eye—Samara. As an expert and well-known crime officer, he is given the chance to work with her; a one-time possibility that rarely happens. The only problem is that she hates him. And he does not know why. The Detective Tag is a crime fiction with a twist of romance. Join Samara and Clayton—all the bitterness, dislikes, and romance in between—as they dive into the world of crime cases and murder investigations. Well, maybe a bit of finding love, too.

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20 Chapters
Part 1: Monday Disaster
I can't believe it took me three years to realize that being a detective is a curse. When my father first told me about it, I didn't believe him. Why the hell should I, anyway? All I needed to do was to chase down criminals and study their traces. For such a long time, I only thought about clues, forensic puzzles, and crime interrogation. Now, fuck it. It's my fifth bottle tonight. And I probably wouldn't stop until I knock myself out. "Damn, girl!" Brenna exclaimed. "I didn't know this is how miserable your life is." I bit my lower lip and replied with a shurg, opening another bottle of beer in front of me. Today was a hell day. And for the past few weeks, I thought of nothing but my job. I have no idea if there's any deed I can possibly do to make Officer Rankin think that I deserve to get that promotion. Each time I pass by his office, there was nothing but a slight smirk coming from under his moustache. He's probably been thinking how unfit I am for that damn position.
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Part 2: Experience
"It's Monday, for Christ's sake!" Officer Rankin slams the table with both hands, looking at me with pure disappointment and probably annoyance in his eyes.  I nodded softly and look around, only to see that everyone's been staring at me for five minutes now. Straight.  "I know," I gently replied. "I'm sorry. I just... didn't mean what happened. I was stupid last night."  Then total silence finally embraces the room. Brenna keeps giving me an apologetic look and gestured me to come towards her now. Officer Rankin is always like this. Not only to me but to everyone. And I understand that he wants to discipline us the right way. I'm not going to argue with that.  "You need to keep up, Officer Culkin." He pointed at me. "This isn't some sort of an internship. You're a professional detective, for crying out loud."  I tried to keep those words inside my head for the next few hours. I've been arranging all the case I'm handl
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Part 3: Call It Confusion
I keep going back over and over to what Officer Douglas just told me earlier. Instead of going to bed early, I ended up making a warm cup of coffee while staring into an empty space of my kitchen wall.  This is ridiculous. What I meant by gaining a new experience is for me to finally show them what I'm capable of. Alone. As a detective. As a professional worker, seriously. And by that, having someone to work on a case with is the LAST thing I'd want.  I wasn't able to fully say yes to what Officer Douglas told me about. But certainly, he knows I don't have a choice. It's either I accept this case or I continue to sit on my damn chair all day and read new cases about robbery and sick kids painting private vehicles with spray paint.  Who would choose the latter, anyway?  But at the same time, I am damn confuse. I want to do something for myself and my career so badly. I'm trying to make a point that I can do whatever the other office
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Part 4: All Or Nothing
After I stare into the very soul of the mirror inside this bathroom, I wash my face down the sink for the third time.  I keep checking at the door just to see if anyone would come inside. I just couldn't bear the idea of having someone here with me when I feel so surprised and a bit embarrassed.  Out of all the possible men in this God damn state, why does it have to be the same person that I met through accident? It'd be okay if it's someone I don't know or who doesn't know me. But I feel like things are only getting worse for my career.  "Are you crazy?" Brenna said on the other line. "Get out of the bathroom. They're not looking anymore." she added, referring to our co-workers who were staring at me earlier.  "He's out there," I told her.  "Clayton already settled. He's on his desk." She let out a short sigh. "Seriously, Sam. What are you? A kid?"  I rolled my eyes for a short moment. She's not wrong, t
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Part 5: Another Victim
I look out the window of the cafeteria. It feels calming to see raindrops falling down the glass. Everyone seems to be busy walking down the street. And here I am, sitting across someone I genuinely dislike, trying to avoid his gaze every now and again.  "We should start." Clayton sighed. "It's been thirty minutes, Samara. The rain wouldn't go anywhere."  Now a bit embarrassed of the immaturity I've been showing him, I turn to look at him back and finally open the folder that's lying down the table this whole time.  "Fine." I said. "I'm sorry."  He took out a pen from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to me.  "So this murderer," he began. "His main targets are usually those who live in secluded houses---where neighbors are practically nonexistent."  I nodded. "Yeah. And... it says here," I flipped a few more pages. "He's killed five victims so far. No clear signs of motive."  It's be
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Part 6: Camera
"Oh, my God."  I covered my mouth in horrid shock as I take a closer look of the sixth victim. The police are walking around everywhere around the house, pretty convinced that no possible evidences are available.  But I beg to differ.  In every perfect crime, as father said, there's always a hidden evidence that unintentionally gets away from being seen. Probably because they're too secretive or not that obvious to be given attention to. And as a detective, he said, it's my job to look for it. Not anyone else's.  "He died fighting for his life," Clayton said to me from behind. He points at the victim's fingernails covered in blood, emphasizing that the man fought back before the killer finally got him dead.  "This is awful." I replied. And probably what I can only ever reply.  I've dealt with a lot of cases in my few years of being a detective. Robbery, vandalism, theft, arson, and so much more. 
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Part 7: The Symbol
I drive on my way to work with thoughts of Clayton running in my head. Not thoughts that are romantic, though. We're far from that. But the kind of thoughts that just seems to enter your head every now and again. It seems to me that what happened last night sort of made me know him a little better. And I must say, he knows how to do his job well. I never would've thought about that weird symbol being a proper evidence. Now, at least, we'd have something to present to Officer Douglas later on. "How can I focus, seriously?" I heard Amanda said to Tin, sitting just beside her. "Stop it." she replied. "Just tell Officer Rankin you want to take Samara's spot and sit near him." I walk past them and ignore just how desperate they are about Clayton. They've been doing this for the past few weeks since he arrived here. All they talked about was how hot he looks when he pushes his hair back or when he rolls up his long sleeves before typing
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Part 8: Drunkard Mess
It's been hell of a week since we discovered symbol after symbol in the houses of each victim. It took us such a long time to find the hidden symbol per house; just because the killer doesn't leave them where it's obvious. He seems to have been hiding them on purpose. There's one more house from one of the victims that we still haven't checked. All because it's located pretty far from the city and we haven't got much time left last week. Clayton said we'd go there once we tell our firm about everything. Especially to Officer Rankin, who clearly waits for us to present any form of evidence. I think he'd find it hard to believe that a weird symbol could be one of the missing pieces of a puzzle. It rarely happens in real life. And as far as I know, it's only common in fiction and movies. But then again, I wasn't aware that things like this really does exist. And what can we possibly do if the killer is really part of a cult? A religious agenda? He
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Part 9: Confrontation
I've been pacing back and forth the living room as I tightly embrace the bottle of alcohol with me. A few more drinks and it'll be empty again. I can't seem to remember how many glass I drank since I got home. But at this point in my life where everything about my career seems going downhill, I don't care. I could grab a knife with me and try to scare Clayton Jones when he gets to my door. But that would probably be too much. I just can't seem to find a way to let him know how much I despise his existence. Ever since that stupid car accident happened, nothing is going well around me anymore. I once thought that maybe working with him would help me hate him less. And it did work, for a little while. But now the anger just keeps coming back. He has everything with him and I basically have nothing to be proud about. This is so stupid. I nearly jumped as I hear a loud sound of bell coming from the door. <
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Part 10: Awkward Samara
The first thing I thought about when I woke up this morning---after realizing I was already wearing a different pajamas, that there were bottles of alcohol scattered around the damn floor, and seeing my foot with a handkerchief covered in blood---was death. Pure one. A slow, painful death that would swallow me all the way down to the ground; never to be seen or heard from again. I keep playing with my straw as I stare at Brenna's sudden reaction. Her eyes are wide open and it would be an understatement to say that she's surprised. She's not only surprised. She seems to be... in total awe. "Fucking shit, Sam!" Her voice raises. "You kissed him?!" I immediately gestured her to calm down. But it seems that it's already too late; now that everyone's eyes inside this coffee shop are on us. "I was drunk!" I protested. It's the truth. I really was drunk. Half of me knew what I was doing that night. But half of me was also men
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