Did Inspector Clouseau Ever Solve A Case Correctly?

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.

Before I could shove my wife, Cheryl Craig, into the ocean, I turned myself in. The security guard frowned. "What? Are you saying that you're going to kill someone on this cruise?" I nodded. "It's 5:05 p.m. right now. In 20 minutes, I'll push my wife off this cruise ship. You need to arrest me, now." He stared at me like I had lost my mind. "You've got to be kidding! I've never seen anyone confess before the crime." He waved me off and started to walk away, so I had no choice but to start smashing things in the lobby. Only when the cuffs snapped around my wrists did I finally breathe again. In my last life, Cheryl was pushed off this very ship and fell into the ocean. Before I could even finish arranging her funeral, the police came for me. The ship's security footage clearly showed me pushing her overboard, but at that exact time, I was in a room with my father. There was no way I could've done it. I asked my father to testify for me, but he said I had already been planning to kill Cheryl for the insurance money because my company was falling apart. In the end, I was sentenced to death for murder. Even as I faced execution, I still couldn't understand it. I didn't do it, so why did everyone insist that I had? When I opened my eyes again, I was back to before Cheryl fell into the ocean.

I'm a half-baked forensic examiner whose only redeeming quality is the ability to understand animals. The crime scene is inside a lavish villa. The lady of the house lies dead on the floor with a blunt-force injury to the back of her head so deep that her bone is visible. The safe has been pried open, and a million dollars in cash has vanished without a trace. Clear shoe prints mark the backyard wall, evidence that someone has climbed over it. "This one's clear as day. This is a textbook robbery-homicide. The suspect is likely a young male, around six feet tall, has a prior theft record, and knows how to cover his tracks. Check the surveillance footage in the area and look into places where he might've moved the stolen cash." The director of the forensic science center, Egbert Woodward, has been in the profession for three decades and is a widely respected authority. The officers at the scene nod in unison and begin taking notes. I'm the only one who stares at the 30 flies circling the ceiling for a full 3 minutes before taking a step forward and piping up, "Dr. Woodward, this isn't a robbery-homicide. It's a crime of passion. The murderer is the victim's husband!"

I quit and dipped. City threw a parade. Only Jenna Blake—my oh-so-gifted junior who claimed she could "see through killers' eyes"—lost it. At her celebration banquet, she went full drama queen: "I owe everything to Kate Mercer. Please, bring her back!" I laughed. Cold. Not happening. Last time around, I was the hotshot detective. But every clue I found? She dropped it first like she read my mind. People started saying I was washed. So I went all in—three months, no sleep, cracked a massive trafficking ring. Led the raid myself. She beat me there. Again. Place was cleaned out. Boom. She's the city's golden girl. I'm the clown with no game. Pressure got ugly. My head snapped. I died chasing the last scumbag. Then—bam. I woke up. Same day. Raid morning. Round two.

With the sudden death of his sister, detective Dawson Wills was going to give everything to find her killer, he wanted to do it alone. To find and make the killer pay for causing him so much pain, but unfortunately, life doesn’t always give you what you desire. Dawson was giving a partner, one of the things he disliked as a detective. Jane Johnson was Dawson's dream woman, how would Dawson maneuver his way from falling in love with this beautiful woman who was now his partner and finding his sister’s killer? He dislikes having partners, but detective Jane was too beautiful to be disliked….

During the dinner rush, the lobby of Aurelia Heights suddenly exploded into chaos. A woman from one of the penthouse duplexes stormed downstairs and blocked my delivery scooter. “Everyone, come look at how disgusting this delivery guy is!” With that, she threw a half-spilled bowl of lobster bisque at my feet. In her other hand, she held up what she claimed was surveillance footage. The residents walking their dogs and the security guards nearby immediately gathered around. “No wonder my takeout has been smelling weird lately. So these delivery drivers have been spitting in our food to get back at us?” “That’s disgusting. Guys like him can’t stand seeing other people doing better than they are. No wonder he’s stuck delivering food for a living.” “Management really needs to be stricter. People who dress like that could be carrying who knows what. How can you let them into a luxury building like ours?” The penthouse lady grew even more smug. She pointed right at my nose and snapped, “Young man, there’s nothing wrong with being poor. But at least have some dignity.” “How much do you even make per delivery? Five dollars? Is that worth throwing away your conscience over? Is this how your parents taught you to behave?” To curry favor with the residents, the head of security even came at me with a baton, shouting that he was going to drag me to the police station himself. But the thing was, I had never cared about that five-dollar delivery fee in the first place. I was the captain of the city's Major Crimes Unit. The delivery uniform was just a disguise. I was only here to get close to the high-priority fugitive hiding inside this building. The penthouse lady’s husband.