M. Thomas Cooper
Probable Cause (2m, 1w)
Chris has designed a computer program which makes projections on missing persons being the result of a serial killer. Unfortunately, Chris has gone missing and is presumed murdered. Detective Morris arrives the night Rachel, Chris’ girlfriend, returns from a trip. Eventually both Morris and Rachel are implicated as killers. And Chris isn’t missing, or murdered, but seeking answers.
CHARACTERS
RACHEL: A quirky phlebotomist.
DETECTIVE MORRIS: An unorthodox detective.
CHRIS: A dynamic nerd.
(A comfortably cluttered, one-bedroom apartment. Shelves are filled with math and statistics textbooks and mystery, thriller, and fantasy novels. There is an old sofa, an old TV, and an old DVD player. Most the living room is commanded by a large desk with a computer. Playing, muted on the TV is a Dexter episode. Rachel sits reading Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground. Also, obviously unknown to Rachel, is a hidden mini-camera in the bookshelves. A black-and-white monitor plays downstage. Someone attempts to open the front door. After a moment there’s an ensuing knock.)
RACHEL
Yes? Who is it? Hello?
MORRIS [off]
Uh, who are you?
RACHEL
Who are you?
MORRIS [off]
This is Detective Morris. Open up.
RACHEL
And how do I know you’re Detective Morris?
MORRIS [off]
Look through the peephole?
RACHEL
There isn’t one.
MORRIS [off]
Perfect. My card.
(A business cards slides beneath the front door.)
RACHEL
Nice card.
MORRIS [off]
Thank you. Now, please, open up.
RACHEL
Detective Morris?
MORRIS [off]
What?
RACHEL
How do I know, simply based on this lovely card, that you’re actually Detective Morris? This is, after all, a big, dangerous city. Anyone could simply slide a card under someone’s door and claim they’re a detective. Isn’t that right, detective? Detective? Hello? Hello?
MORRIS [off]
What’s you’re name?
RACHEL
Until you’re confirmed as Detective Morris, I’d prefer to remain anonymous. Detective?
MORRIS [off]
Badge number: 43556. Precinct 15. Phone number: 555-6879, extension 363.
RACHEL
Correct. However—
MORRIS [off]
However, if I were a murderer, a rapist, or whoever, I could’ve memorized all that off the card. Right?
RACHEL
Yes. Exactly.
MORRIS [off]
What about my voice? Doesn’t it contain a certain authoritative, protect-and-serve tone?
RACHEL
Not particularly. Say the Woodchuck Tongue Twister.
MORRIS [off]
The what?
RACHEL
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? A woodchuck would chuck as much wood as a woodchuck would chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood. Say it. Say it.
MORRIS [off]
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if…. What is a woodchuck anyway? Are they real? Or at least extinct? Some twisted groundhog-badger hybrid?
RACHEL
Your reluctance is only undermining your credibility.
MORRIS [off]
How-much-wood-would-a-woodchuck-chuck-if-a-woodchuck-could-chuck-wood? A-woodchuck-would-chuck-as-much-wood-as-a-woodchuck-would-chuck-if-a-woodchuck-could-chuck-wood. Satisfied?
RACHEL
No. Actually a little freaked out.
MORRIS [off]
I didn’t sound authoritative? Detective like?
RACHEL
No. Your voice, at least that crazed, frenetic rendition, denoted distinct traces of narcissism, with a penchant for self-indulgence, obstinacy, and hubris.
MORRIS [off]
And that doesn’t confirm I’m a detective?
RACHEL
No.
MORRIS [off]
Not even with the hubris?
RACHEL
No. Just dangerous.
MORRIS [off]
Rachel, just let me in. Rachel? You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you? Rachel?
(Rachel unlocks the door and returns to the couch. The door slowly creaks open.)
You’re alone?
RACHEL
No, there are fifty rabid, vampire monkeys hiding in here. What kind of question is that?
(Detective Morris enters.)
MORRIS
Well, it’s a big, dangerous city. And I don’t need to get jumped by a couple of crack heads who happen to have a penchant for watching the midnight news or reading the obits. Okay. Sorry. Hi, I’m Detective Aaron Morris. Hi, I’m—
RACHEL
You already know who I am, don’t you?
MORRIS
Yes, Rachel, I actually do. So, it seemed he liked his pulp fiction. And his… his Principles of Dynamic Number Fission. I don’t know about you, but I think I’d take… Dragon Warriors of Minerva over The Statistical Properties of Environmental Chaos any day of the week. Wouldn’t you? Okay, look, we can pretty much do this two ways. One, I play inquisitor and you cower and answer my questions before I browbeat you into submission. Or. Or there’s the scenario I prefer. We recognize our goal is the same—to find whoever killed your boyfriend—and our cooperating is going to make it slightly easier. Slightly. It’s your choice. You heard me?
RACHEL
I heard you.
MORRIS
Okay, fine, option one. I can work with that. Where the hell you been for the past two weeks? We had a warrant out for you and… Hey, lady, I’m talkin’ to you. You want to go downtown and do this? I got no qualms with that. Let’s go.
RACHEL
Stop. Stop. Please! Stop.
MORRIS
Rachel, this isn’t going to work like this. You need to realize—
RACHEL
I? I don’t need to realize anything. The moment you knocked on that door, it suddenly… It? It—such a little word to describe…. It, his death, became real. Wasn’t some strange fiction I could easily ignore, but a sad fact. A fact I can no longer ignore.
(Rachel begins to cry. Morris looks around, helpless. He exits into kitchen. Morris enters with two glasses of wine. He sets one in front of Rachel and goes to a window.)
MORRIS
I once had a dog, a golden retriever—this would’ve been when I was eight or nine, so I suppose it wasn’t really my dog, but my parents’. But Charlie—that was his name—Charlie didn’t know that. To Charlie, he was mine, I was his. And I would agree, I was his, he was mine. Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is… the day you take death—and for that matter life—for granted that’s the day you die.
(Morris exits into kitchen. Rachel downs her glass. Morris returns with his glass of wine. Rachel waves her empty glass. Morris immediately exits back into kitchen.)
RACHEL
Narcissist.
(Morris returns with a bottle and a wine opener. He finishes the first bottle in Rachel’s glass. He opens the second bottle.)
Is that, this standard operating procedure for a detective?
MORRIS
It’s disconcerting to think you actually believe I’m a detective—without seeing my badge.
RACHEL
You have one, right?
MORRIS
Of course. I’m a detective after all. Right?
RACHEL
Would you mind showing it to me?
MORRIS
My badge?
RACHEL
Yes. Wow, it actually looks official.
MORRIS
Doesn’t it though? It’s amazing what you can buy online these days. So, where were you?
RACHEL
I was on assignment. Out of the country.
MORRIS
Where? Why? Who? When? What? When? Who? Where? What? Why?
RACHEL
You’re sure you’re a detective?
MORRIS
No. But they gave me a badge.
RACHEL
I’m a medical assistant with Doctors Without Borders. I was on assignment in Honduras. Hence, why I didn’t hear anything until after.
MORRIS
I’m sorry.
RACHEL
I returned as soon as I could.
MORRIS
And I imagine there’s not a direct flight from where?
RACHEL
Tahualapec.
MORRIS
Gassuenteit. So, uh, no direct flights?
RACHEL
No, there aren’t.
MORRIS
So, Dostoevsky, huh? You know I never liked the Russians. All the names for one character just confused the issue. You know?
RACHEL
Actually I don’t. I like the anonymity of having various names for various personal relationships. Are you going to write everything I say down?
MORRIS
No. Just the interesting sound bytes. It’s a habit I picked up being a B minus student. Besides, how do you think I got the badge?
RACHEL
Where did they find him?
Copyright 2010 M Thomas Cooper. All rights reserved.