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“Sounds like fun though,” I say lamely. Again, I blame sleep deprivation.
“Not always. Once I had to go inspect one of those ‘real’ dolls. You know? The sex dolls that are realistically made, unlike the blowup dolls. They’re worth like five grand and the guy was trading it for a small pony… Don’t even get me started with the concern there.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, and I feel her smile.
“Is that the weirdest thing you’ve ever inspected?”
“While examining the vagina of a synthetic woman made complete with suction in all holes wasn’t the highlight of my career, it surprisingly wasn’t the weirdest.”
Again, I laugh, wondering why her switch has flipped from defensive to charming over the course of four days.
“So what was the weirdest?” I ask her.
“Tit for tat. What’s the weirdest case you’ve ever worked?”
I think about that as I get in my car. Most of the cases I work are serious, violent, and sadistic. But when I first started…
“I got recruited while I was in college after taking a test I didn’t realize was for the FBI. They decided I needed to come work for them, and I didn’t see any reason to argue. Anyway, my first case was a small one in Indiana. It was a perv who was collecting panties. At first glance, the guy was a sexual deviant who would eventually escalate to harder crimes than panty thieving. It’s why they called us in, because all these women were terrified of a stalker breaking into their homes and stealing their underwear. But the deeper I delved, the more I realized it was actually a juvenile kid. I still thought he was having sexual fantasies. It wasn’t until later we discovered he wasn’t stealing the panties for him. He was stealing them for his mother, because she always griped about her ‘cheap underwear riding up into the crack of her ass.’ You don’t even want to know how horrified the mother was when we finally found the kid. He hadn’t given her the underwear yet. He was putting them all in a box to give her for Christmas.”
She gasps then laughs, and I relax in my seat while driving out of Quantico, heading toward my house.
“Sounds awkward. But at least the kid wasn’t a sexual deviant.” There’s a tense note to her tone, but then she clears her throat while I yawn. “You really do sound tired. I’ll let you go.”
“I’m driving home. I have thirty minutes of free time. Keep me company.”
“Hmm, I guess you still want me to be your entertainment.”
My smile spreads. “I’d ask for more than just an amusing phone conversation, but I have to head back in as soon as I get some sleep. We had something new turn up in one of our cases, which means the workload is fresh again.”
“Hmmm, what would you ask for if you were able to ask for it?” she asks, sounding like she’s flirting now, which negates the defensive stance she held just days ago.
“I’d ask for dinner. Maybe even a movie if dinner went well and you didn’t have any deal-breaking faults.”
She snickers softly. “What faults would those be? Inquiring minds and all that.”
“The usual. Eating boogers. Drinking urine… Strap-on fetish where you’d be the one fucking me. I’m not into any of that.”
She starts laughing harder this time, and I listen, soaking it in. I don’t know why it feels like I’ve accomplished something by making her laugh. Then again, something tells me she probably doesn’t do it too often.
“Well, I never adopted a booger-eating habit. Drinking urine doesn’t appeal to me. I’ll just have a beer if I’m in the mood to drink something akin to piss. And I’ll hide my strap-on until you’re a little more comfortable with your sexuality to give it a go.”
“Taking a jab at my sexuality. Nice,” I state dryly, listening to her laugh some more as I continue to smile.
“So how do you profile people?” I muse when her laughter tapers off.
“How do I do it? Or why do I do it?” she counters.
“Both.”
“Well, I do it mostly based on body language in person, and micro-expressions, of course. I pay attention to the wording when it’s in writing. I listen to tone and wording over the phone. I do it because I run that online site, and you have to know the bull-shitters from the legitimate users.”
“You run the store alone?” I ask, hedging for more personal info.
“I have a business partner. He handles all the tech work, and developed a program to flag potential fake accounts. It cuts out a lot of hands-on work, even though we still sift through the accounts personally.”
“And this male partner is just a friend?” I ask, prying fa
rther.
