Jan: The Detective Dating Agency

The dating game is murder

© Jane Harvey-Berrick

Trixie walked into the bar just before midnight and a cheer went up.

“Waahay! The stripper’s here!”

She rolled her eyes, taking in the drunken revellers but not letting them bother her, and walked up to the young barman who barely looked old enough to pull on a pair of pants, let alone pull a pint.

“You made a call about a disturbance.”

The barman’s mouth hung open in surprise then realising that she was serious, his jaw shut with a click.

“You’re a policeman?”

Trixie ground her teeth. Was the man short sighted or just stupid?

“I’m PC Holliday. Did you call about a disturbance?”

“That was Arthur.”

Trixie pulled out her digital notepad. “Arthur …?”

“Arthur Foster – he’s the manager.”

“And you are?”

“Keith.”

She stared at him coolly until a faint flush coloured his sallow cheeks.

“Keith Mellow. I work here.”

“Thank you, Mr Mellow. Could you call Mr Foster, please?”

“He’s on his break.”

Trixie breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly.

“And I’m responding to a 999 emergency call. If you could find him. Please.”

The young man slouched out from behind the bar, heading for the cellar. Then he paused and threw Trixie a snaggle-toothed smile that was meant to be flirty.

He missed by a country mile.

“I always thought women policemen were a bunch of hairy lezzos, but you’re well fit. Can I have your number?”

Trixie gave him her patented, no nonsense, thousand-yard death stare, and his gaze dropped to his dirty trainers.

“Just trying to do you a favour,” he mumbled.

Trixie didn’t even bother to respond.

By the time she’d spoken to the bar manager who turned out to be far more reasonable and perceptive than his barman, and then removed a pair of underage drinkers who’d arrived at the pub three sheets to the wind and refused to leave, it was almost the end of her eight-hour shift.

Back at the station, she waited for the parents of the two underage drinkers to arrive, glad she wasn’t in charge of the custody suite where one of them had thrown up all over himself, and thought longingly of her large, comfortable, king-size bed.

She glanced up as a colleague brought in a man in an expensive-looking three-piece suit. He looked familiar but when he gave his name, she didn’t recognise it and thought she must have been mistaken. But as the custody sergeant continued with the booking-in process, she realised with horror that he was the guy she’d been messaging on a dating app with a view to meeting for a coffee the following day. She’d been looking forward to that date.

After he was taken to the custody suite, she turned to the sergeant with a sense of despair.

“What’s he in for?”

“Soliciting,” the sergeant replied, a look of distaste on his face. “Upset a group of lasses on their hen night. Offered the bride-to-be twenty quid to blow him in the alley. One of her friends was videoing and got the whole thing on her phone.”

Trixie deleted the dating app and blocked ‘James’ from her phone (real name Brian; age 43 not 35). She wished she could warn other women about him, but until he’d been charged, found guilty and sentenced, telling anyone could result in her losing her job. It would be several months before the local papers picked up the story, if they bothered at all.

Why was finding a nice guy so difficult? Why were anonymous hook-ups the only kind of men her age were interested in? Surely there some thirty-somethings out there who enjoyed dinners out, cosy evenings in, walks in the countryside? But if there were, she hadn’t met any of them yet. So many of the ones on the app were already in relationships, it seemed that they were doomed.

Trixie changed out of her uniform and bundled up warmly, sitting in her car for several minutes before it was warm enough to defrost the windows. January in Liverpool was cold, damp and bleak – much like Trixie’s non-existent love life.

It wasn’t a long drive home and she sighed with relief as she opened her front door and felt the welcome warmth of the hallway. Falling into bed, she despaired of ever meeting a decent guy.

The next day, Trixie texted her friend Niamh to see if she was free for coffee, since she didn’t have a date anymore.

They met for brunch at a small café and ordered healthy avocado on toast, followed by hot chocolate and brownies for dessert – a girl had to have something to look forward to.

“Why are all the guys I meet such losers?” Trixie sighed.

“You got me there, Trix. My ex ‘borrowed’ £500 to get his car fixed then dumped me. I’ll never see that two grand again. I worked hard for that money. And I know that if I reported it, he’d just say it was a gift.” She looked up at Trixie apologetically. “I’m not blaming the police – I know you’ve got your work cut out with serious crime, I’m just so fed up of being treated like that, like I’m just a sex toy and a free lunch.”

“There should be some way that apps have to vet the people they have on their sites,” said Trixie. “A quality control so you know that you’re getting an honest appraisal.”

Niamh nodded. “Definitely. A premium dating site where every dude and dudette is checked out first. Something like that would clean up.”

“I think they do have them for millionaires,” Trixie grimaced. “Although people who are that rich can probably afford to have a private investigator check them out anyway.”

“You know,” Niamh said thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Which bit? Meeting a millionaire or hiring a PI?”

“Ha, yeah, but I mean it – an app that was cheapish but you knew that everyone had been vetted…” She grinned at Trixie. “We should do it! You’re a police officer, you’ll know all the questions that should be asked and you can check the answers, too.”

Trixie shook her head. “I’d be fired if I used the Police National Computer for that – instant dismissal, probably even charges.”

Niamh sighed. “I know. Pity though…”

They finished their food, topped up with another hot chocolate and then did some window shopping before Trixie had to head to the station for the afternoon shift.

She didn’t think any more about Niamh’s suggestion and even if she had, she’d have assumed that Niamh had given up the whole idea.

She was wrong.

The very next day, Niamh asked her to put together a list of questions that would give a really good idea of a person’s situation. She planned to combine it with psychometric testing and write a computer program that would then match the answers to potential dates.

Trixie thought about all the things she wanted to know about a guy from a personal point of view and then added in questions from a police officer’s perspective. The two lists weren’t necessarily completely different. But the flaw in the plan was obvious: the questions would have to be answered honestly. Trixie didn’t hold out much hope. People lied. All the time. End of.

A month later, they met up for a girl’s night out. It was supposed to be weekly, but Trixie’s shifts often didn’t allow it. She did two days of early shifts which were 8am to 4pm, two afternoons of 4pm till midnight, two night shifts of midnight till 8am, then two wonderful days off. It was hard to keep up with friends with a schedule like that, and her social life was on the at-risk register.

“Guess what?” Niamh announced, her eyes glittering with excitement. “I’ve designed a prototype of the app. You and me are going to test it out! It’s going to be awesome – no more loser dates!”

Trixie was less enthused. “It’s okay asking the questions, but people rarely answer truthfully. And that’s where all the dating apps fall down.”

“Not this one,” said Niamh. “I found an investigator to verify the basics: name, age address and who else is living at the address. That way we’ll know if they’re married or living with someone. And there’s also a credit check to see if they’re in debt. It’s all completely legal, so don’t look at me like that. All on public record. I mean, no, it doesn’t check if they really do go to the gym three times a week and I’m working on a way to check whether or not they really are smokers or take drugs, but I’m working on that. Go on, give it a go. Please! At least it weeds out the worst of them. What have you got to lose?”

“But who would sign up to an app that checks whether or not you’re lying?” Trixie asked.

Niamh winked at her. “Oh, you’d be surprised. And besides, who reads the small print? Only the administrator, moi, can see all the personal information, but if you sign up, your date has already been vetted. I’ve already got 43 guys in the city, and that was in the first 48 hours of going live.”

Trixie was impressed. “Wow, that’s really great!”

“I mean, I’ve done what I can, but it still doesn’t stop a guy from behaving like a knobhead.”

“Yeah, well that’s men for you.”

They both laughed.

“What are you going to call your app?” Trixie asked. “It needs to have a catchy name.”

Niamh gave her a mischievous smile.

“I’ve already thought of that. I’m going to call it the Detective Dating app.”

Trixie burst out laughing. “Ha ha! I love it. Okay, fine – you’ve talked me into it. Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

Trixie wasn’t keen on the idea of trying another dating app, but Niamh was the first friend she’d made when she arrived in the city, and besides, she wanted to support her new business idea.

But work was busy: a man’s body had been pulled out of the canal with his hands and feet tied together, and Trixie had been part of the team doing house-to-house enquiries in all the flats along the canal path.

Then two days later, another body was found in a burned-out car – again with the hands and feet tied together.

CID were worried that a new crime gang was trying to take over the drug business and were on the alert.

When a third body was found inside an abandoned building, MIT were brought in. The Murder Investigation Team was considered one of the most elite teams in Merseyside Police. It was made of the most experienced officers with the highest solve rates, and were renowned to be tenacious as well tough. Or as Trixie’s sergeant put it, “Double-hard bastards riding the glory train.”

There was so much work to do that every uniformed officer was being asked to do overtime. The budget was found for the extra man-and-woman hours, and Trixie found herself having to reschedule her date three times.

But Jeff seemed like a nice guy. He’d been very understanding when she’d had to reschedule at short notice. It also meant that they’d spent more time getting to know each other by text which was a nice change.

Nice.

The word came up a lot. Jeff was a nice guy and they had a nice drink at a nice pub followed by a nice meal. It was a nice date. True, there wasn’t much spark either, but there was a certain relief in chatting with a man who was just … nice.

They agreed to meet again as soon as her next shift allowed, and he promised to text every day. His expression was so open and hopeful that Trixie felt obliged to agree. She felt that she owed it to both of them to give this a chance of nothing becoming something.

And for three days, Jeff texted her several times each day, and he was so sweet and funny that Trixie really started to look forward to his messages.

Despite being crazy busy at work, she managed to fit in a quick coffee with Niamh and to hear the latest about her dating app.

Niamh was sitting in their favourite coffee shop scowling at her phone.

“Hey, Neenee. Sorry I’m a bit late. Everything okay?”

Niamh gave her a strained smile. “Just a few glitches with the app. Nothing I can’t fix, although it might take some extra work. Just a few things to … iron out.”

“Anything I can help with?” Trixie asked, giving her friend a hug as she sat down.

Niamh smiled. “No, I’ll work it out, but thank you.”

“Actually, I have to thank you,” Trixie said. “The date with Jeff went well. He was nice. He’s been texting me. I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere but I think the app did a pretty good job of matching us up.”

Niamh’s scowl deepened. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Trixie was taken aback but respected Niamh’s request. Afterall, she didn’t want to talk about her work either.

Jeff continued to text her several times every day. And then one day, he just stopped.

Trixie texted him three times over the next two days and then started to get annoyed. Why had he been so friendly and attentive only to turn around and ghost her the next week.

But two days after his last message, Jeff finally turned up. His neighbour found him in the kitchen, his hands and feet tied and a gag around his mouth – he appeared to have been bludgeoned to death with his own iron. MIT were investigating whether he had ties to organised crime gangs in the city, but so far he appeared to be exactly what he said he was: an accountant living and working in Mossley Hill … with a wife and two children in Edinburgh who had been planning to move down to join him the following month.

Trixie’s mouth went dry. He’d been planning to cheat on her with his wife? Or cheat on his wife with her? Had he lied about everything?

And how could she tell Niamh that her new dating app was a dismal failure?

She fled to a cubicle in the women’s bathroom and typed out a text to send to Niamh, but before she sent it, she looked again at the Detective Dating Agency’s website. She looked closely.

Had the website’s tagline always been: the dating game is murder?

Trixie had a really bad feeling…

THE END