After Grimes left, Val typed her interview notes into the case file, on what the local media had already labeled the “Friday the Thirteenth Massacre.” She didn’t get far before the sudden presence of a tall, well-dressed Black woman at her desk nearly knocked her out of her chair.
“Ms. Carlton,” Val said after recovering her composure. “How may I be of assistance?”
Carlton took a seat, smoothing her violet knee-length skirt and placing her purse upright in her lap. The noiseless, graceful way she sat answered Val’s unspoken question: how the hell did she get into the office unnoticed?
“You can start by telling me where the lead detective on my case is hiding,” she said in a haughty tone. “Mr. Grimes is your partner, correct?”
“Detective Grimes left for the day. Perhaps I can assist you?” Val hit ‘Save’ and closed the case file.
Carlton made a slow turn toward the clock. “It’s not even 5:00. Does this department make a habit of quitting early when working on active robbery and homicide cases?”
Val swallowed hard, a sheen of perspiration breaking out on her scalp. Carlton must have used her connections to find out that the police chief brought the WAVE Squad in on that morning’s shooting. “No, ma’am. Family emergency. As you can see, I’m still here, as is our unit commander, and others are interviewing witnesses. Perhaps you’d like to speak with Sergeant Petroni?”
“I would not,” Carlton said, “unless I don’t get satisfaction from you. Please fill me in on what you’ve learned since yesterday morning about the break-in at VeroniCare.” She sat up straighter, somehow, her gaze locked in full attention on Val.
Val cleared her throat. “We’ve pursued some leads, although we haven’t named a suspect. Forensics is still analyzing—”
“So, nothing at all,” Carlton said. “Officer Dawes, please don’t interrupt, and don’t spin cop-speak at me. I was once married to a police officer. Your official gibberish hasn’t changed in the last decade.”
Val made a mental note to look into Carlton’s ex. “Ma’am, we’re actively investigating, but as you noted, a mass shooting this morning occupied much of our attention today. You would agree that we should prioritize the pursuit of murderous fugitives ahead of a robbery suspect, would you not?”
“So you admit that my case is low priority,” Carlton said. “Well. I can see I’ve wasted my time on the bottom of the food chain. Oh, don’t get all huffy with me, Ms. Dawes. I understand you don’t choose what cases to work on. I’m not blaming you. Of course, murder cases take precedence. I thought, however, you might take note of the obvious connections between the two cases.”
Val dealt Carlton her deadest, blankest stare. “Connections?”
Carlton scoffed. “Please, Officer. You know about my advocacy for a woman’s right to choose? The extent of my financial commitment to the clinic that was attacked today? The many other ways we support their work?”
Val stared at her, dumbfounded. “N-no, ma’am. That’s very interesting. Do you believe that the shooter and the thieves at VeroniCare are the same person, or are working together somehow?”
“Obviously.” Carlton shook her head. “If your IT expert spent even a minute examining the data we provided and cross-checked them with the donation and client databases at Safe Haven, you’d see countless overlaps.”
“I…wasn’t privy to that data, at least not yet,” Val stammered. “Yes, that’s worth pursuing. I’ll get right on that. Thank you.”
Carlton dropped her card on Val’s desk. “In case your partner lost the last one,” she said with a glare, and stood. “I wrote my personal cell number on the back. Call me tomorrow morning, when you’ve found something.”
“Ms. Carlton, I’m not sure—”
“Please don’t tell me tomorrow’s your day off,” Carlton said over her shoulder as she walked toward the door. “It’s certainly not mine.” She exited before Val could answer.
Petroni poked her head out of her office moments later. “Did I just hear Veronica Carlton’s voice? Where’d she go?”
Val strolled toward Petroni, arms crossed. “She apparently has set my schedule for the weekend. She expects a personal update on her case tomorrow.”
“I expect one, too,” Petroni said, “since I haven’t heard anything new from you, either. Don’t call her, though—I will, with whatever you can give me between now and then.”
“I don’t have much. This morning’s attack kind of blew up my day today,” Val said. “Sarge, she claims the break-in and shooting are connected. The data they gave Shelby should provide evidence of linkages.”
“So, get that data.” Petroni waved Val back toward her desk. “What are you waiting for?”
“I just now learned about it,” Val said, her irritation growing, “and I thought, since you were asking, I should fill you in. I take it that this takes precedence over my participation in that mixed martial arts fighting event, then?”
“Why would you assume that?”
Not the answer Val expected. “Um, because it’s tomorrow, and there are only twenty-four hours in a day.”
“Christ, Dawes, do I gotta spell it out for you? With Grimes out, you’re on the clock anytime you’re not sleeping. And don’t plan on sleeping much.”
“I don’t anyway,” Val said in a dull voice.
“I’ll help you as best I can,” Petroni said in a softer tone. When Val didn’t react, she drew a deep breath. “Listen, Val. I get that you want to focus on the shootings, and I don’t blame you. I do, too.” She paused, and her expression darkened. I’ve got my own reasons…personal ones. I don’t need to spell out the details, do I?”
Val swallowed. “No. Of course not.” So that’s why Petroni had been so cross lately.
“Until Bobby returns,” Petroni said, back to her normal self, “you and I are partners. Okay?”
“With all due respect,” Val said, “what exactly does that mean? With Grimes, each of us took on certain aspects of the case. Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“Yes, but it’s still mostly you,” Petroni said with a chuckle. Val’s expression must have given her away again, because Petroni continued in a rush of words. “Tell you what. I’ll get the skinny on the data crosswalk between VeroniCare and Safe Haven. Also, no more forensics workshops until Grimes comes back. With that off your plate, can you keep up with your caseload?”
“Yes I can, Sergeant. Thank you.” So much for career advancement. And for having a life outside of work, or spending time with Gil.
Gil called at 7:00, a full hour after his shift ended. Val noticed, before tapping on the green “Answer” icon, that he’d also sent a few text messages, starting at 6:00, wondering when she planned to leave for the night.
“Sorry I didn’t reply sooner,” she said after answering. “I’m buried up here. I have the VeroniCare case, plus the abortion clinic shooter. How are things in Dispatch?”
“Insane,” Gil said. “Everyone seems to have ‘insider’ dope on this guy, and no two people agree. We have uniformed units taking statements all around the city.”
“I should read the case file tonight, then. But I’m starving. Want to get takeout for dinner?”
“No way. I’ve got ribeye marinating at home in my world-famous bourbon barbecue sauce. You won’t even need to chew this meat, it’ll be so tender. And I’ll pair it with a great bottle of cabernet.”
Val laughed. Gil barbecued everything he cooked—even lasagne. “Sold. Meet you downstairs? I’ll need to login after dinner, so let’s not overdo it on the wine tonight.”
“There is no such thing.” Gil laughed and broke the connection.
Val brought him up to speed on the case while driving him home, and he regaled her with some of the crazy reports people phoned in. “One guy said he witnessed a six-person Army Ranger unit parachuting onto the rooftop across the street,” Gil said. “I couldn’t begin to unpack that claim.”
“Great,” Val said. “I’ll follow up with him. Simpson assigned me the most banal of chores on the periphery of this case—even though I found the secondary crime scene.”
“That may be your uncle’s fault,” Gil said. “You know they had a history, right?”
“Uncle Val never mentioned Simpson.”
“Because you were a kid, and your uncle didn’t gossip. Rumor has it he’s responsible, in part, for Simpson never making sergeant on the detective squad.”
“Gave him a negative review or something?” Val asked, pulling into the driveway.
“Something like that. As my dad used to say, Old Tackle Box speaks dangerously, in the biblical sense.” Gil waited for her puzzled frown, then delivered the punchline. “With the jawbone of an ass.”
Val laughed so hard, she almost couldn’t turn off the engine.
When her laughter subsided, Gil rested a hand on her arm. “On a more serious note…” He opened her glove box and rooted around inside, then sighed. “Still not carrying a sidearm in here, I see. Unless it’s tucked under your seat?”
“Of course not. As I’ve told you a dozen times, Gil, I don’t need to keep one in the car.”
He stopped himself from blurting something out, staring at the ceiling of the car, lips puffed out. After a few seconds of silence, he said in a calm voice, “Val, you’re working a mass shooting. Probably a hate crime, given the victims and setting. You have personal reasons for being near similar sites in coming days. You should carry some protection.”
“By ‘personal reasons,’ you mean Beth.”
He glanced at her, a No-Shit-Sherlock expression on his face.
“Again, I don’t feel the need,” Val said. “And my dad insists I never bring a weapon anywhere near his place.”
“So don’t bring one to his place.”
“If it’s in my car—”
“Okay, take it out when you go to your dad’s. Listen, Val. Mass shooters are unpredictable and desperate. If they find out you’re onto them, even a little—”
“Simpson’s the lead. Why would they come after me?”
Gil rubbed his temples with both hands. “They’re shooting women, Val.”
“One victim was a man.”
“Collateral damage.”
“I disagree,” Val said. “He was a clinic doctor. Possibly target number one. I mean, think about it. He shot pregnant women. To defend the lives of babies? That makes no sense.”
“Right. They don’t make sense. They’re crazy.” Gil took her hand in his. “Look, I get it. I’m being over-protective. I can’t help it. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
“Carrying a side piece won’t prevent that.”
“Baloney. Val Dawes, armed with a popgun, could take down the 81st Airborne.” Gil laughed, then sobered again. “Please? For me?”
Val inhaled a deep breath, let it out slowly. She didn’t want to, but if it eased his worrying…
“All right. I’ll buy one on my next day off.”
“In the meantime, you can use one of mine.” Gil unlatched the passenger door. “You want the .22 or the .38?”
They haggled over which weapon would work best while he fired up the grill for dinner. She settled on the .22 caliber pistol, mostly because it fit in her purse better. While he fussed with the cooking, she logged in to read the dispatch reports from so-called witnesses.
“If half these people were within ten miles of the shooting, we’d have the guy locked up by now,” Val concluded while Gil piled barbecue on their plates. “Instead we have more obfuscation than fact. In the meantime, the clinic remains closed.”
“I wonder if that’s the purpose of those calls—spread confusion to keep it closed longer.” Gil licked barbecue sauce off his fingers. “Damn, this came out good.”
“Conspiracy theories? You’re as bad as some of the callers. Should I make a hat for you?” Val grinned and held up a roll of aluminum foil.
“I’m serious. The publicity around the shooting must be deterring some clients,” he said. “Speaking of which, has this affected Beth’s plans at all?”
A ball of fear tightened in Val’s chest. “We didn’t talk or text today,” she said, her voice dry. “I checked, though, and found Planned Parenthood clinics in Hartford, Enfield, New Haven, and Fairview, all within an hour’s drive of here.”
“And your thoughts on this?” He set their plates on the small table on his back patio and poured each of them a glass of cabernet.
“I have…mixed feelings. Of course I support whatever Beth wants to do, but…” A heavy lump rose in Val’s throat and she tried drowning it with a bite of spare rib and a sip of wine. “Yum.”
“But, what?” Unlike Val’s dainty approach with a knife and fork, Gil dug into the ribs with his fingers.
Val sighed, tried to deflect. “I…wish she’d go out of town, that’s all.”
He shot her a quizzical look. “That’s not what you were going to say. Come on, what’s on your mind? Tell me how you feel.”
Val set down her fork, chewing, though that wasn’t necessary. Gil was right—the meat melted in her mouth. “Well,” she said, gathering her thoughts, “I wonder if she’s making the best choice. I mean, logically, yes. She doesn’t feel that she can raise a child alone, and she knows Josh isn’t the right guy. Yet…she might regret this later.”
He paused in his gnawing on a sauce-coated rib and swallowed. “She will, or…you would, if you were her?”
Val’s reply caught in her throat. She hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate that thus far. However, now that he put it into words…
“Yeah, maybe,” she said. “I’m glad I don’t face that choice, and I believe it’s the woman’s right to choose. If it were me, though…I don’t know what I’d do.”
“In a similar situation, you mean? With a guy who’s not The One for you. Not…” Gil glanced away, stopped chewing.
“With you, you mean? Right. That’d be completely different.” Or would it? Val was convinced she’d keep a child if birth control failed and she got pregnant with Gil’s baby. But would she abort another man’s? She wasn’t sure.
“Do you want kids?” Gil asked her in a nonchalant tone, resuming his work on the spare ribs.
Val bought time by grabbing a rib and gnawing off a piece. She had to admit, it was more fun to eat it that way. Her father would die of shame, but screw that. She chomped another big bite, let it melt, swallowed. “Yes, I do,” she said. “You?”
“Yes. Yours.” He wiped his fingers on a napkin and reached across for her hand. “When we’re ready. And, yes, I’ll be patient. We’ve got lots of time.”
“Lots of time,” Val said. “I’m only 23. Maybe when I’m, say, 30?”
“Perfect.” Gil returned to devouring the ribs. A few moments later, he added, “It’s weird that we’ve never discussed this until now.”
Val chuckled. “You know what’s weirder? Until now, I’ve never really thought about it. I mean, growing up I always assumed that someday I’d have kids. Then in my teen years I was so not into boys, I guess I assumed I’d never be in a long-term committed relationship.” She met his gaze, and the mutual understanding between them passed without comment. The understanding that her teen years, and feelings toward men, were shaped by being raped at a young age. “Now, though, being with you…I know.”
Gil held her hand again, this time not bothering to wipe the sauce off first. “Me, too.”
“When I’m thirty.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“Or the condom breaks again.” Val laughed at the moment of shock that crossed his face. “Kidding! It hasn’t…that I know of.”
He laughed too. “Learn something new about you every day, Valorie Dawes. Hey, speaking of learning, how did the forensics workshop go today?”
“Meh. Parkinson’s dull and a misogynist. But the material wasn’t bad.”
“Anybody else in the class we should worry about as competition for the next detective exam?” Gil finished off his ribs and pushed some roasted potatoes around his plate to soak up the extra sauce.
“There was one gal—Jan Morgenstern.”
“Oh, I know her. We worked a case together when I first came to Clayton,” Gil said, nodding. “Smart gal, really on the ball. Works her ass off, too.” He started to say more, then stopped.
Val waited a beat, then pressed him on it. “I could hear a ‘but’ in that statement a mile away.”
Gil laughed. “I was going to say that she suffers from overconfidence, bordering on arrogance. Then I realized, so do all the male detectives. Anyway, she’s already made detective.”
“Jan’s trying to get assigned to Homicide, and figured some classroom time might help.”
“It won’t,” Gil said. “What she needs is a break—one of her cases to blossom into a homicide case so she can show her stuff.” He stopped, laughed. “What am I saying? It sounds like I’m wishing for a murder!”
“I get what you mean.” Excitement built within her as an idea took shape. “Hey. If Grimes ends up taking leave to deal with his kid’s illness, I wonder if she could fill in for him on WAVE?”
Gil nodded. “Excellent idea. Think she’d go for it?”
“She applied for a spot and didn’t make it. So maybe Petroni isn’t interested in her.”
“If Petroni knew you’d like to work with her, she might be more open to the idea.”
Val grinned. “I’ll suggest it to her tomorrow. You’re brilliant!”
“Me? It was your idea.”
“Yes,” she said, sliding around the table to straddle Gil’s lap. “But I’ve discovered that giving you credit gets you horny.”
“My dear,” Gil said, burying his face into her neck with kisses, “I was born horny.”
“Prove it.” Val peeled off her shirt, and then they forgot all about dinner.