Death Spell: Large Print Edition

By Robert James Ziegler

Private investigators Brandon Harrison and Tina Wolffe never believed in magic, witchcraft, or the occult until a Wiccan witch known as Andreika walks into their office with a case guaranteed to chill their blood.

Andreika's half brother has been murdered, but a police investigation determined his death a suicide. Andreika believes that someone hired Golar, an evil warlock, to cast his powerful Death Spell on her brother and tries to convince Harrison and Wolffe of her suspicions. Despite their doubts, the detectives readily agree to take the case. Andreika is very persuasive, or she has cast a spell on the duo

Entering a deadly occult world of modern-day witches and warlocks, Harrison and Wolffe encounter a strange assortment of weird suspects, any one of which has motive, opportunity, and desire to hire a wicked warlock as a hit man. But they focus on Golar and follow him into the darkest corners of San Francisco. As their investigation continues, the detectives soon realize that the warlock may have once again cast his Death Spell-and they are his targets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462040797

Robert James Ziegler

Robert Ziegler is the author of seven Harrison/Wolffe mystery novels including: THE DARK HILL MURDERS (1996), RESOLUTION (1999), FAULTLINE (2000), ARCTIC CHILL (2004), PRESUMED GUILTY (2010), and A DEAD ROSE (2011). He has also penned two exciting science fiction novels: SHADOW WORLD (2006), and ALTAIR RISING (2010). Robert resides in the San Fernando Valley, CA where he continues to pen his spell binding adventures.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

"WITCH CRAFT? DEATH SPELLS? I don’t think so, Valerie. Get real. Life is complex enough without adding some weird supernatural belief to the mix."

But Darryl. You’ve been threatened … by someone who practices the dark art of witchcraft. He’s cast an evil spell on you. You must take it seriously!

Darryl Edmond cut into his thick, medium-rare, filet mignon. Tasting the tender piece of perfectly done meat, he sat back and savored the steak, which seemed to melt in his mouth over gratified taste buds. The twenty-nine year old dentist glanced across the table at his lovely younger sister of five years and grinned. I like you better as a blonde. Black hair just doesn’t suit you. And that black satin gown. Aren’t you a little too old to be playing Witches and Warlocks?

A frown furled over her dark brow, wrinkling her soft nose, Oh Darryl … you’re just so exasperating!

No, really … your skin’s too light complexioned. And your new name … Andreika? It doesn’t suit you either. He chuckled playfully at her expression.

She shifted in her chair and glanced across the crowded restaurant, its patrons chatting loudly all around them. The Top of the Mark, high atop the Mark Hopkins Hotel, bustled with a clientele of business people at eight o’clock on a warm Wednesday August evening. From her seat next to the large window nineteen stories above the downtown streets of San Francisco, Valerie gazed out at dusk settling across the city after sunset. Andreika’s my pen name!

Her thoughts were only concerned with the protection of her brother, not of the millions of lights twinkling across every high rise building along California Street on Nob Hill, and all around the beautiful City-by-the-bay, an event she loved to watch from this, her favorite restaurant in San Francisco.

Look. Let’s not fight over the color of my hair, nor my chosen pen name. That’s not important!

I suppose you’re right, little sister.

What’s important is this threat against your life! Painful streaming heartfelt tears of emotional exasperation welled up in her pleading blue eyes. She stared into his, trying to hold back the tears, unsuccessfully. Please, Darryl! All I’m asking is that you be careful; be aware.

He smiled warmly. Hey, you’re crying.

I’m sorry. I just … She sniffled.

I know, Sis. Hey! If it makes you feel any better I’ll have Tina Wolffe and Brandon Harrison look into it. Okay? He smiled and patted her slender hand.

Who? She uttered.

Tina’s one of my patients. She’s a private investigator with Harrison-Wolffe Investigations. They’re probably the best PIs in San Francisco.

Well, what can they do against a spell from the dark side?

Darryl shrugged his shoulders under his brown suit jacket and grinned. Find out why someone wants me dead, if that’s the case. Personally, you know I don’t believe in witches and warlocks.

You don’t know me like you think you do. I’ve always been different. Anyway, you’re right. We should find out who hired Golar to cast his death spell over you.

Darryl pushed his chair back away from the table, stood up and smiled. Then it’s settled. Now, before Cynthia arrives, I’m going to the restroom.

Valerie watched her six foot, fair complexioned, sandy haired handsome brother dressed in a brown pinstriped suit, slowly walk away. As he passed the bar halfway across the room, he turned and paused. His green eyes met hers for a fleeting moment.

Valerie stood up abruptly, only to be confronted by a beautiful tall, smiling blonde Cynthia Edmond, her brother’s wife. Their eyes met with a startled glare from the young witch. Her surprise melted to a welcome smile as she greeted Darryl’s wife.

Cynthia, you surprised me! How are you?

I’m fine, maybe a little tired after a long day at the office. Too many root canals in one day, I guess. Where’s Darryl?

He just went to the restroom.

Cynthia Edmond sat down opposite her sister-in-law, pulled a small pink make-up kit from her dark brown leather purse, and held it open. She looked into the small round mirror and lightly touched a pink lipstick to her lips, then checked her curled permed medium length blonde hair as she spoke. Have you two been here long? Oh, that wind outside just does wonders for my hair!

We’ve been here for a half hour or so … not too long. How come you didn’t want to have dinner with us?

I had a big luncheon this afternoon. It was more than enough food for three days. Cynthia waved the waitress to their table and ordered a drink in her usual graceful manner. I’ll have a Strawberry Margarita. How about you, Val?

I’m working on my Zinfandel, but I’ll have another glass, thank you.

Valerie touched her fork to the large Chef Salad before her and delicately ate a small helping.

Cynthia smirked as she glanced across the restaurant to avoid Valerie’s eyes.

How’s the witch business? And your warlock boy friend, Ivan?

It’s just a way of celebrating life, a religious philosophy, said Valerie. That’s all! Why do you always sound so condescending?

I’m sorry. I ….

Exasperated, Val dropped her fork on the large salad, and glared at Cynthia. If you took the time to study our philosophy, you’d understand that we only wish to help people, and to live a decent life. It’s not the witchcraft of the movies!

You’re right, my dear. I have studied your philosophy a little. It can be useful if directed properly. I didn’t mean to sound condescending. Silence fell over the two women as Valerie finished her meal. Cynthia glanced around the crowded restaurant several times for a sign of Darryl.

The tall, model like figured brunette waitress wearing a red short skirt and blouse, finally arrived with their drinks. Cynthia sipped her Strawberry Margarita from the wide crystal stemmed glass, and then checked her wristwatch. Where’s Darryl? He’s sure taking his time. How long’s he been gone?

Over twenty minutes, noted Valerie, glancing toward the bar.

I’d better check on him. I’ll be right back.

Cynthia left the table and sauntered across the room to the bar, where she approached the bartender. Valerie watched from the table. Her body shook nervously, as she watched the bartender move out from behind the elegant wood carved bar toward the restrooms.

Suddenly, she saw two blue uniformed policemen stop the dark haired bartender. She watched the two tall, black officers talk to the man, as she rose out of her chair slowly. The bartender said something to Cynthia. A horrified look turned her face white as she staggered back against the bar.

Valerie felt an extreme pain shoot through her soul as if a part of her heart had been torn from her chest. Cynthia’s painful, tear filled eyes reached out to her. Caught in a dismal stare with her sister-in-law, Valerie rushed to her side.

It’s Darryl, isn’t it!

He’s … he’s … oh, Valerie! gasped Cynthia.

Miss Edmond? The tall police officer frowned as he stared into her questioning blue eyes.

Yes, where’s my brother … where’s Darryl?

I’m afraid he’s dead.

Dead? No! He can’t be! We are having dinner! It’s someone else!

I’m afraid it’s not. Was he despondent about anything today? You know … depressed?

Valerie stared up into the officer’s dark brown eyes, a note of sympathy in his tone and over his dark handsome mustached face. The realization struck her. Valerie turned to Cynthia, who leaned heavily on the bar, sobbing. Darryl? No … no! He can’t be?

Oh, Valerie! He fell off the roof! cried Cynthia.

CHAPTER 2

YOUR BROTHER JUMPED to his death from the roof of the Mark Hopkins Hotel last month.

He didn’t jump, Mr. Harrison! Andreika, dressed in a long tight sheer black gown, a bright sliver pentacle on silver chain hung loosely around her neck, slowly shifted in the plush office chair across from Brandon Harrison. With professional poise, the handsome PI listened to the youthful, black haired, dark featured and slender self proclaimed witch. Her intense, blue eyes flashed with impatience, as she glared at him. Someone had a spell cast on him. A Death spell!

"A Death Spell? A quizzical look of surprise on his face, Brandon stood and walked around the front of his executive walnut desk. What exactly is a Death spell?"

It’s a powerful ancient, mystical art that calls upon some of the most powerful and devastating spirits of the earth. Only the most practiced, the strongest of the world’s witches today, can summon these spirits, and cast a Death spell.

Hmm. Tell me more about your theory. I wasn’t aware that there are witches existing in the world, let alone San Francisco.

Andreika glared at the private investigator that her brother had intended to hire to discover the person responsible for hiring Golar to cast his death spell. Brandon, dressed in a casual white knit shirt and black slacks, appeared youthful. She estimated his age at approximately twenty-eight. His short dark brown wavy hair, slender but firm build and alluring brown eyes, exuded the confident quality she admired in a man.

There are Witches in San Francisco, Mister Harrison. Powerful Witches. I know you find it hard to believe, but-

Miss Edmond, excuse me if I seem skeptical, but to me, witches and goblins exist only in children’s stories and horror movies. What makes you believe there are real witches, in this day and age?

Because I’m a Witch.

The PI stared into her light blue, piercing eyes, then walked over to the window overlooking Geary Street, north to the fog enshrouded Golden Gate Bridge from his fifth floor office suite. A late afternoon fog had rolled in over the City-by-the-bay and covered the beautiful Golden Gate Bridge from end to end. Enshrouding the massive structure in a misty gray cloud, only the highest supports penetrated the upper layer of fog, like an eerie, ghostly specter.

Mister Harrison! My brother told me you and Tina Wolffe are the best in the investigative field. It was his idea to hire your firm. If you can’t do the job, well … She stood up.

Miss Edmond, please appreciate my skepticism. It’s not every day, or even twice in a lifetime that I get approached by someone from the darker, mystical side of life. Please, have a seat. Tell me about your brother.

Andreika paused. Her stark blue eyes stared into his with an intensity never before experienced by the PI in his twenty-eight years of life. He slowly walked back around the desk and sat down in his high backed swivel chair, leaned forward, hands clasped, and smiled. Then you will help me?

"Your dilemma does have a rather interesting air to it. Tell me, have you got any ideas on who cast this death spell?

Golar.

Golar? You sound definite.

I am.

Who’s this Golar? Do you know this person? Andreika gazed up into his confident brown eyes. Her pale white face outlined by long black shoulder length hair, dark eyebrows raised, she appeared convinced of her knowledge. She nodded.

Maybe you can tell me about Golar.

Golar is a powerful Warlock. He is evil, and his services are for sale for enough money.

Brandon got up from his chair and paced around the corner of the large executive walnut desk. He stopped, rubbed his chin, and then sat on the edge of the desk, his eyes riveted to the strange woman in black. I see … hmm. And you believe someone hired this Golar to murder your brother … with a death spell.

Yes, she said, emphatically. It had to be Golar. He’s the only one capable of casting such a spell. The word is out among my friends that it was his power alone that killed Darryl.

Slowly, Brandon walked away from the desk, his back turned to Andreika, and moved to the window overlooking the city. His mood changed as he gazed out the window at the fog enshrouded Golden Gate Bridge, barely visible through the white-gray cloud closing in on the entire city. One thing bothers me. Why would such a powerful warlock like Golar, cast a spell on your brother?

What do you mean? Someone hired him, she countered, confused by the question.

Brandon stared across the office into her questioning eyes. But, why? You’re the, pardon the expression, witch in the family.

I don’t understand.

Unless my guess is wrong, killing your brother looks like a way of getting back at you, for some reason. Revenge, if you will.

Revenge? she questioned, meekly.

The PI folded his arms leaned against the window frame, and frowned thoughtfully. Yes, don’t you get it? Your brother wasn’t a witch. He probably didn’t associate with witches. You’re the only witch he knew and he probably didn’t believe you. Why would Golar cast a spell on the brother of a witch? Because you’ve done something unforgivable, and this is your punishment?

No. Golar’s for hire. He’ll cast a spell on anyone for a price … even a death spell, she rebuked.

Okay, okay. Calm down, Miss Edmond. Sometimes I have to speculate and ask questions that may hurt, to illicit the responses I require to make my decision on a case.

Andreika glared at him through her deep blue eyes, her pale white face angered and enraged by his remarks. Brandon felt a sudden pain in his head, like a sharp needle penetrating his upper forehead. He reached up and gingerly touched the painful spot.

Brandon? Are you here? Tina Wolffe called out as she entered the outer office of the fifth floor office suite. Her voice rang out from the other side of the closed door, melodic and happy. I’ve got some great news for you!

It’s my partner, Tine Wolffe.

Andreika continued her angry glare as Brandon walked to the door. He opened it to see a smiling Tina approach. Her beautiful sparkling dark brown Amerasian eyes reflected a welcome loving smile. His slender five-foot-seven partner rushed into his arms. Her shoulder length, slightly curled black hair swayed with the rhythm of her petite figure dressed in white shorts, a pink frilled blouse, white socks and white Nike tennis shoes. Look. No cavities!

He forced a smile through his growing headache, then turned to the witch. That’s great. Tina, we’ve got a new client here I’d like you to meet.

Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.

Believe me, I hoped you’d get here to help me out, he whispered. He turned and walked Tina into the office. Andreika stood; a smile crossed her red lips as her eyes met Tina. Tina. This is Valerie, or should I say Andreika Edmond.

Please to meet you, Andreika. she said, warmly.

Yes, the pleasure is all mine.

The two women shook hands and smiled as they greeted each other. Which do you prefer to be called, Valerie or Andreika?

My professional name is Andreika. But I do prefer Valerie, especially in public.

Oh? Why’s that?

I am known by my writings in my psychic astrological column, as Andreika.

Tina stepped back, startled by the celebrity status of their new client. You’re Andreika? The mystical witch with the power to cast love and luck spells?

Valerie Edmond smiled and nodded. Her blue eyes lit up with the smile, reflecting her true beauty for the first time to Brandon. I am. So, you read my column.

Yes! Every weekend in the Sunday paper. I love the letters that people write you about their dreams coming true after you cast your spell. Brandon, whatever her case is, we’re gonna take it.

A painful and uncertain frown crossed her face. Are you sure?

Yes! Now how can we help you, Valerie? Are you sure you want to be called Valerie?

She smiled, a relieved sparkle in her blue eyes as she nodded. Positive. The fewer people who know me as Andreika, the better. Besides, that’s my name.

Okay. Brandon, fill me in on Valerie’s case. How can we be of service?

The witch stared into Tina’s curious brown eyes. Her vivid blue mysterious eyes held her attention for a moment as Brandon looked on, his headache throbbing from within his forehead. Tell me, Tina. You just got back from the dentist, Doctor Edmond’s office.

Yes. I’ve had this particular dentist for a couple of years.

He was Darryl Edmond, my brother.

I knew your name was familiar. Tina thought for a moment about her visit, then glanced at Brandon. Doctor Edmond didn’t work on me today. His wife did.

Darryl Edmond died last month, said Brandon, somberly. Valerie wants us to look into his death.

A saddened expression formed across Tina’s face as pity for their new client poured out of her soul. Oh no, Valerie. I’m so sorry. Please, let’s all sit down. How did Doctor Edmond die?

It’s all right, Tina, she said somberly. As I discussed with Brandon before you arrived, I want you to find the person or persons who hired the murderer of my brother.

You see, Tina, Valerie knows the murderer.

You do? Have you gone to the police?

It’s not that easy, said Valerie. They’d never believe me.

Tina gazed into her blue eyes, a puzzled look on her pretty young face. Why not?

Because, I’m a self-proclaimed witch. In their eyes, I’m just a lunatic writer with a wild imagination.

Brandon strolled past the two women, and then sat down on his plush desk chair. You see, Valerie says the murderer is a powerful Warlock named Golar.

I know it’s hard to believe, Tina … but Golar is responsible for casting a horrible death spell over my brother. I believe he was hired by someone to cast the spell.

Perplexed, Tina gazed into Brandon’s painful eyes. She realized something bothered him, but pursued her line of questioning in the case. No wonder you think the police wouldn’t believe you. What was the cause of death?

The young Witch thought for a moment, a frown on her face. We were having dinner at the Top of the Mark … just the two of us. I needed to continually warn Darryl of the death spell cast upon him. Naturally, he didn’t believe me. But he told me that he would try to hire you and Brandon to find out who paid Golar to cast the spell. Then he got up to go to the restroom. After he left, his wife Cynthia arrived. She was late because she didn’t want dinner … only a drink.

Valerie’s mysterious eyes stared outside through the window to the fog covered city, her gaze distant, as if to recall each moment of that fateful night with complete clarity. As Cynthia arrived, I got a horrible feeling in my soul. I started to run to Darryl, but Cynthia’s sudden arrival distracted me.

This feeling … it was of Darryl’s danger?

Yes. It felt ugly … like impending doom.

What happened next?

I sat with Cynthia and finished eating. After about fifteen minutes or so, we became worried abut Darryl. Cynthia went to find him. Then the police came in. They told us he had just committed suicide. Tears welled up in Valerie’s eyes with the memory of the tragic night. She bowed her head momentarily, and then continued. Darryl had jumped from the roof of the building!

Oh, Valerie, I’m so sorry, she said quietly.

If only I’d gone to him, when I felt that urge. I knew something was happening, but I was somehow powerless to act.

And you believe someone hired this Golar to cast the Death Spell that forced your brother to jump.

Valerie nodded, her stare focused on Tina’s dark brown eyes. Will you find the person responsible? I’ll do anything in my power to help, but I must know.

What’d you think, Brandon? Let’s take her case. We should to able to … what’s wrong, sweetheart?

Brandon’s face contorted in severe pain, his face in agony as she looked into his pain filled eyes. I’ve got this horrible headache. It came on suddenly just before you arrived.

Valerie gazed into his dark brown eyes with sympathy. I’m sorry. I forgot. With three blinks of her eyes, she nodded and gazed at the PI’s face. That should do it.

She smiled sheepishly. Tina watched the relief in his eyes as the pain ebbed away, then stared into Valerie’s troubled blue eyes in amazement. Relieved of the pain, Brandon looked up from his desk in astonishment. It’s gone. It’s completely gone. I don’t understand, but my headache just disappeared!

Valerie smiled, innocently. Call it a touch of magic. Will you help me? she pleaded, blue eyes wet with heartfelt tears.

Yes, said Tina. It sounds like a problem we can solve, with a little help from you.

She reached into her sequined handbag and pulled out a wad of one-hundred dollar bills. Here’s one thousand for your retainer fee and some expenses. Let me know if you require more. Money is no problem.

That’ll be enough for now, said Brandon.

We’ll start immediately, Valerie. We’ll need a complete list of his friends and haunts.

If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.

We’ll need to have the address of Golar, said Tina, ominously.

Valerie frowned, her black brows furled as if in a dilemma. That could be a problem, but I’ll find out.

CHAPTER 3

BRANDON HARRISON entered the Homicide Department of the Downtown San Francisco Police Department, stopped in the doorway and glanced around the large desk filled room. Several inspectors worked at their desks, telephones to their ears or discussing cases in animated conversations. His eyes found his old friend, Harry Garth halfway across the room.

The Homicide Detective looked up from his desk as the PI approached, frowned and rolled his smiling blue eyes. He reached out his right hand to shake hands with his friend, a tentative smile on his face. He laughed in a gruff growl, Harrison! You’re the last person on Earth I expected to see on my first day back. I suppose you dropped by to see how my vacation to Portland went.

You guessed it! How’d it go up north? The PI grinned, grasping his hand in a firm handshake.

The fishing was great. Two weeks in the woods. Man! I just can’t find the words to express how it felt. I caught my limit in that river every day.

What river’s that? Brandon queried mischievously.

Oh, no! I’m not giving you my favorite place to fish. The next thing I know, you’ll be out there buggin’ me. Speaking of bugging me, you’re not here just to chit-chat about my vacation.

Brandon crossed his arms as he stood before Harry, a serious look on his face. Nothing gets past you, Harry. Do you remember a case last month, when a dentist took a suicide dive off the Top of the Mark?

The forty-year old homicide detective turned to the window overlooking San Francisco’s busy streets, three levels below. He ran his fingers through his thinning blond hair, then sank his six foot, lean but muscular physique into the dark brown swivel chair behind the gray metal desk. He thought momentarily, and glanced up at Brandon. Slowly, he stood up and frowned. He was my dentist. Tina recommended him to me a couple of years ago. What about him?

His sister’s hired us to investigate his death. She thinks someone murdered him, he said seriously.

Yeah? Why? He simply committed suicide. That’s all I got! Harry replied cautiously.

Brandon thought about the terse response, brown eyes on the detective. That’s it? Was there a suicide note?

Nope.

Was he despondent?

Harry Garth sat against the metal desk, arms crossed and frowned. Nope. No psychiatrist either.

The PI paced a few steps before the desk, hands in his front pockets. So, why do ya call it a suicide? Don’t there have to be some kind of tie to mental illness or depression for someone to commit suicide? A person doesn’t take his own life for nothing.

Harry Garth shook his head negatively, annoyed with the PI’s line of questioning. Listen, Brandon. I didn’t make the determination on his death. I wasn’t even involved in the investigation! All I know’s the case is closed. The Captain probably had more pressing demands on his time … like twelve murders, a few hold-ups, some drive-by shootings, and ….

Okay, okay! I got the point. Brandon frowned, glanced around the open Homicide Department at several detectives, busy talking on their phones at identical desks. A tall, dark middle aged man walked through the door at the opposite end of the room. He recognized the man by his black, Elvis style pompadour hair style and the dark wool suit, one of six or seven in Phil Black’s closet.

Harrison and detective Black’s eyes met as he slowly walked across the department toward his partner, Harry Garth. Phil looks a little under the weather, Harry.

Don’t get on his case, okay? This is my first morning back. It’s only eight-thirty. I don’t need any conflict in my life just yet … got it?

The PI grinned mischievously at the frowning homicide detective. Got it. You can trust me. Hey, how about some breakfast?

I already ate, but there’s a pot of coffee on over there. Harry nodded at the white coffee maker on a small table along the windowed wall a short walk away. Help yourself.

He grinned with his response as he watched Phil Black approach. I think I’ll pass, this time. Hi, Phil! How’re ya feeling?

Phil Black furled is brow in a frown and cast a sneer at him. What’s it to ya, Harrison?

Brandon flashed a warm grin at Harry, a sparkle in his brown eyes. Sorry I asked. Well, Harry … thanks for your invaluable help. I’d better get going. I gotta pick up Tina. She’s having her nails done at Crocker Center at ten. She likes to be early so she can window shop in the stores along the gallery.

Black stood eye to eye with his partner, a question in his frown covered face as the PI turned to leave. What’d Harrison want?

I’ll fill you in after Brandon leaves. Harry grinned and nodded his farewell to the PI. Give my best to Tina, and remember … it was suicide. That’s the department’s stand on the case. Case closed.

Right, Harry. See you later, guys. Brandon smiled, then turned on his heel and walked away.

Harrison! Harry shouted across the room as the PI approached the exit. If you find anything different, I want to be the first to know.

Brandon grinned, his white perfect teeth gleamed, as he flashed a grin and exited Homicide.

Detective Phil Black watched Brandon disappear around the corner, and then turned to Garth, animosity in his frown furled expression. What’d Harrison want? He glared from hostile green eyes.

Harry Garth shook his head slowly, an inquisitive frown on his face. What’s with you and Harrison? You’ve never gotten along very well with him in the past five years that we’ve known him.

I just don’t like him … or any of the private sector. Harrison, in particular, rubs me wrong.

Well, Harrison and Tina are a couple of the best that work with us. Most of ’em are unprofessional and dangerous … but those two are good and nice people too.

I’d rather not be around Harrison. Tina’s okay.

Harry grinned and patted his partner on the back. Their eyes met. Phil smiled at his partner, who sat down in his swivel chair behind his gun metal gray steel desk. Phil? Did I detect a little jealousy?

A glimmer of a smile crossed Phil Black’s frowning face. She is beautiful, Harry. I guess you might be right. He’s got the woman, the looks … he gets paid well, and ….

Harry leaned back in the leather chair and nodded. "So, you’re envious and jealous. Listen, you’ve certainly got the looks, and the charm to find any woman you want. Maybe it’s being a cop