Monday morning roared like a lion for Val, a result of poor sleep induced by worry. While Gil snored beside her, she tossed and turned, her mind floating among her various stresses: Beth’s procedure, second thoughts about talking Gil into infiltrating the incels, and a gut-level suspicion that the abortion clinic shooter would return to action long before Simpson got a clue.
Or, for that matter, before she did.
Val rose and trudged into the kitchen several minutes before Gil’s alarm rang at 6:30 a.m. She fired up the coffeepot and prepared breakfast for both of them—scrambled eggs, buttered wheat toast, bacon for Gil, strawberries and yogurt for her. She timed it perfectly for when he emerged from the bedroom, dressed in his police uniform pants and a white T-shirt, ruffling a damp towel through his wavy dark hair.
“I thought I smelled something wonderful out here.” Gil planted a wet kiss on her neck. “The bacon and eggs smell good, too. Not showering today?”
“I have loads of time.” Val plated their meals and turned off the stove. “I don’t pick up Beth until ten-thirty. Thought I’d run a few miles, shake off some nerves this morning.”
Gil nodded, a somber expression clouding his clean-shaven face. “She’s still not budging about moving this out of town?”
Val sat and took a tiny bite of eggs, washing it down with a sip of coffee. “I haven’t pushed it. When Beth makes up her mind, nothing I can say will ever convince her otherwise.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.” Gil hid a smirk with his coffee cup. His smile faded a moment later. “Wearing your uni and Kevlar, I hope?”
Val winced. “That might upset her even more. Also, I wouldn’t want to panic any patients who might suspect I’m from ICE or something.”
He frowned and set down his mug. “I’m worried that you’re letting your concern for others compromise your own safety.”
“I’ll have your .22 with me.”
Gil’s eyebrows shot up. “Inside the clinic?”
Val shook her head. “In the glove box. Not allowed indoors. Look, Planned Parenthood’s parking lot is behind the building. We’ll go in the back door. The shooter’s MO is to attack from the front. We’ll be fine.”
“Famous last—hell no, I’m not even saying it.” He grimaced and looked away. “Be careful, okay?”
“I promise.”
“And do me a favor? Don’t ask Petroni about me going undercover until my boss has cleared it. OK?”
She agreed, but the reminder of his willingness to accept a dangerous assignment took her mind to dark places she didn’t want to discuss. One of so many topics lately.
They maintained a nervous, near-wordless silence on the drive to headquarters. Gil fidgeted with the air conditioning that they didn’t need, changed the radio station three times, and wiped a micro-thin film of dust off the dashboard with a tissue—none of it normal behavior. Val refrained from commenting, though. He needed his own outlets for fretting, as she did.
She parked in the employee lot a few minutes before 8:00 a.m., ducked into the locker room, and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. After a quick stretch, she hit the running trail that led to the waterfront loop. She inserted earbuds, cranked tunes, and had reached the apex of the bridge over the Torrington River when Beth’s ringtone interrupted her playlist.
Val stopped running and covered her ears to minimize road noise. “I haven’t forgotten you. Or are you calling to tell me you’ve switched to an out-of-town clinic?”
“Not exactly.” Beth’s voice sounded tearful and stressed.
“What’s the matter? Do you need me to come sooner?”
“No!” Beth said, her tone sharp. “S-sorry. I don’t mean to snap. It’s…well, Val, I…” Her voice cracked, and she broke down crying, her sobs audible in Val’s ears.
“Having a tough time this morning?” Another jogger approached, and Val leaned back against the metal rail running along the bridge’s sidewalk to let him pass.
“Understatement of the year.” Beth’s voice cracked again. “Val, I’m not sure if I can…I think maybe it’s best if…I don’t know,” she said, moaning.
Val drew a deep breath and steadied her voice. “Are you having second thoughts about the procedure?”
“I…I don’t know,” Beth said. “Okay, well, yes. Second thoughts. I’m not sure. That I should do this. Today, I mean.”
“I understand. How about I come by? We can talk, have a cup of coffee—”
“I can’t have coffee,” Beth said. “If I’m…not doing this. If I…keep it, I mean.”
Val grew more concerned. “So you’re not postponing to another day or place. You’re thinking of…” She lowered her voice even more. “Keeping the baby?”
More crying. Out of control, hysterical crying—so much that Val nearly broke into tears herself.
“Beth, let’s talk,” Val said. “In person. I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Don’t come here and tell me what to do!” Beth’s voice reached shouting level in a heartbeat.
Val’s initial instinct was to yell back, but she caught herself in time. Yelling would only make things worse. “I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t do this,” she said in a conciliatory tone. “I’m offering to listen, is all. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“What I want you to do is not take me to the clinic today,” Beth said. “Tomorrow, I don’t know. We’ll see.”
“Okay. No clinic today. So should I come by?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I…I just can’t. Okay?”
Val waited a beat, hoping her heart would calm down from its rapid pounding in her chest. “Okay. Whatever you want. If you change your mind, call me. I’ll talk—listen—any time.”
“No thanks. I’ve talked myself ragged and I’m done with talking.”
Alarm bells rang in Val’s head. Beth could make rash decisions sometimes, and too often it involved a man whispering into her ear. “Cool. Um, so you’ve talked to someone you trust about this, then? Your mom, or—”
“Please, please don’t bring up my mom right now. She is on top of my shit list, and I’m sure I’m headlining hers, too.”
Val clutched the phone in a tight fist. Beth could be so difficult sometimes. She inhaled and exhaled a calming breath. “But…you have someone to talk to? Besides me and your—um, the person on top of your shit list.”
Beth laughed. “Nice recovery. Yes, I have someone I trust. I mean, I should be able to trust him at this point.”
Him? More alarm bells. Louder. “Um…are you saying that you’re getting advice on this from…Josh?”
“He is the father. Why shouldn’t I talk with him?”
“Wait, you said he wasn’t the father. I thought it was—”
“He is in the sense that if I keep this child, he’d help me raise it,” Beth said. “It sure wouldn’t be the sperm donor.”
Val’s stomach hurt, and she bent over the rail of the bridge to ease the pain. “Beth, I’m not sure he’s the most objective—”
“I don’t want objective. I want someone who’s committed to what’s best for me and—and—” A loud breath washed over the phone. “Us.”
Val’s head swam. Josh was the worst person for Beth to rely on for this decision. Unreliable, immature, and far from committed, Josh’s wandering eye caused their breakup as much as anything else.
Plus, he wasn’t the father. Knowing Josh, this could become a real problem for them later.
“I’m committed to helping you and supporting you,” Val said, “no matter what you choose.”
“Thanks.” Beth’s voice softened. “I know you are, Val. This morning, I don’t know what to choose. So I’m choosing not to choose. Yet.”
“Okay.”
“Val.” A long pause. “I may keep this baby.”
Val coughed. “I understand.”
“You’ll be okay with that, if I do?”
Val straightened, her hands gripping the rail in front of her for support. “Like I said. No matter what, I’m here for you.”
After a pause, Beth said, “Thanks, Val. I’ll…be in touch.” She broke the connection.
Val stared out over the river flowing beneath her, a lazy current meandering among the rocks along the shore. At least she and Beth could avoid the danger of the Clayton clinics, for now. However, if Beth opted to keep the baby after all, a whole new set of challenges lay ahead.
With Beth’s change of plans, Val’s day off evaporated. She finished her run at a hard, fast pace, then showered and she returned to the office, all the while distracted by her friend’s heavy burden.
Petroni shrugged when Val asked for flexibility to swap her day off for another, should Beth change her mind again. “Assuming the case—or cases—allow it,” Petroni said, “I don’t care which day you take, as long as you keep me posted and get your work done.”
Val stood to leave, then paused. “Sarge, are you okay? You seem…a little out of sorts lately.”
Petroni opened her mouth to reply, then closed it and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “There’s a lot of pressure to find this shooter, as you can imagine. Mayor Iverson has hinted that the future of this squad may rest on our ability to close this case, and reduce some of the backlog, too. Tough to do in the best of times, but short-handed…” Her voice drifted off.
“She’s threatening to shut us down?” Val said. “How would that help?”
“Not in so many words, but she made her meaning clear.”
Guilt washed over Val. “So, this is the worst possible time to ask for time off.”
Petroni waved her off. “If you just wanted a few days of R&R, yes. For what you’re doing for your friend, my dear, that’s God’s work.” Her voice choked up. “Let’s just say I’ve been there. I’d never stand in the way of you helping her out in this moment of need.”
Val wanted to dive deeper into that conversation, then thought better of it. Petroni was a friend and mentor, but also her boss, and if she wanted to share more, she would have.
Petroni’s words lit an even bigger fire under her. Val worked right through lunch, tracking down a series of dead-end leads from anonymous tipsters that, it turned out, had nothing.
Late in the afternoon, her luck changed. An email popped into her inbox from an unexpected source: Shelby in IT. The body of the text contained links to two incel hotspots on the internet—one on Reddit, the other on Tik-Tok. She dialed Shelby’s extension as soon as she finished reading the missive.
“I got your email,” Val said. “Interesting message. Do I have access to those sites here, and will I get brought in front of an HR tribunal for clicking them?”
“Yes and yes, but…I’ll be there in five minutes.”
She arrived in three, wearing a black tank top, skinny jeans, and more make-up and jewelry than Val had ever seen Shelby wear.
“Got a hot date right after work?” Val asked with a grin.
“Something like that. Don’t you? I bet Kryz greets you at the door wearing only Saran Wrap.”
Val blushed, heat rising around the collar of her uniform. The image of Gil wearing only plastic wrap appealed to her more than she cared to admit, even to another woman.
Shelby laughed. “Damn, girl, did I guess right?”
“Let’s focus on work, shall we?” Val said.
Shelby set a laptop on Val’s desk and sat next to her. “Use the VPN—virtual private network—and the Tor browser to access these sites. That will hide your source computer from the site moderators. As douchey as our HR police can get, the moderators are worse. If they suspect you’re a cop, they’ll shut you down and throw every virus, worm, and spam bot they can find at you. Not only that, they can shut down a hotspot and pop up somewhere else on a moment’s notice. You’ll spend forever tracking them down, yet somehow their members and true-blue followers find them anyway.” She grabbed Val’s keyboard, firing up the appropriate apps and entering login credentials faster than Val could read them.
“You’ve done this before,” Val said, impressed.
“Every fucking day,” Shelby said. “Okay, I’ve saved these logins on your machine and bookmarked the links you’ll need. Now, let’s see what our friends are up to today.” She navigated to a discussion area in Reddit and scrolled through a host of recent entries. “Ah. Here it is.” She pushed the keyboard back to Val and angled the screen so both could see.
“What am I looking at?” Val asked, hesitant to click on anything.
“This is an incels-only discussion board. Look at the subject lines of these messages.”
Val scanned the posts. Good shot. Serves the murderers right! And: Too bad the feminazi-symp-doc made it.
“Are these guys talking about the shooting at Safe Haven?” Val asked, shock growing inside her.
“Read ‘em and see.”
Val clicked on the “Good shot” post and read through the message and replies. “It’s all so vague,” Val said. “Oh, wait. Except this one: ‘Better that baby-killing Stacys go down than the men they won’t fuck.’ Isn’t that the name they use for ‘ideal’ women?”
“It goes way beyond that,” Shelby said. “Incels think pretty women can get any guy they want and use their ‘privilege’ to discriminate against these bozos. As if any woman in her right mind would date these losers.”
“Didn’t your brother used to be one of these guys?” Val said. “What was that like growing up?”
“He was, and it sucked. He’s still an ass, but less extreme. I think. I haven’t talked to him in a few years, since I transitioned.”
“Ah. So he wouldn’t be willing to provide any deep background or testimony or anything?”
Shelby laughed. “He hates me more for working for the cops than for ‘becoming a woman.’ Anyway, doesn’t this give you what you need? A clear link between the incels and the Safe Haven shooter?”
“It shows that they sympathize, but doesn’t tell us anything about who pulled the trigger,” Val said. “Still, yes, it’s a very exciting lead. Something to work with. What’s the other site?”
“It’s a Tik-Tok group where they talk about this stuff.”
“Wait. These guys make videos where they admit to shootings and stuff?”
“Not per se. Watch.” Shelby opened the app and played the most recent video listed on the screen. A young man with spiky brown hair wearing a black headband and a heavy metal band T-shirt spoke into the camera.
“You guys gave me so much grief for my last post! Dudes, you’re missing the point. What I’m saying is that if a bitch gets herself knocked up and then won’t give the guy a chance to prove he’s a good father, she shouldn’t have the right to go un-alive the baby. And if she does, and some crazy dude responds…”
Here the spiked-hair guy mimed shooting at the camera, then continued:
Well, isn’t that justice?
Val stared at the screen. “These guys are even more nuts than I thought. Is that typical? Do most anti-abortion people feel that way?”
“No, but the majority don’t sit on rooftops with assault rifles and gun down pregnant women and doctors,” Shelby said. “Crazy people do. And don’t these nutcases qualify as crazy?”
“In our books, yes,” Val said. “Judges and juries are another matter.”
They watched several more videos, each as outrageous as the first. One waved a wire hanger around and mimed plunging it into a woman’s vagina over and over again, laughing like a madman. Another suggested “sterilizing” all girls at age 13. Not the boys, Val noted. None of the MMA fighters appeared in the videos she saw, though.
“There are lots more,” Shelby said. “Are you comfortable finding what you need without me?”
“I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life. Still, this is a good lead. Thank you.”
“Great. I gotta go. Gotta finish by five today. That hot date and all.” Shelby slung her backpack over her shoulder and stood.
“Anyone I know?” Val said with a teasing smile.
Shelby reddened. “Kind of.”
When it hit her, Val sat back in her chair, mouth agape. “Sanjit? Good for you. He’s cute.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see if he can cook. He promised dinner. Call me if you need help.” She surrendered a coy smile. “Just not after seven tonight.”
Val returned to her work, plowing through video after video and chatroom after chatroom, each more disgusting than the one before. By the end of the day, the content Shelby had revealed convinced her: the link between the incels and the anti-abortion radicals was real.
Now she needed a name and a face.
At 5:00 p.m., a message from Gil popped up on her phone. She started formulating her “I’ll be working late” response before reading it, but the contents of his text surprised her.
Boss OK’d undercover role. I’m in, if your bosses OK it.
Her heart rate doubled as her misgivings about this move rose again. She’d started to call or text him a dozen times during the day, telling him to forget all about it, but his encouraging words stayed her. Plus, she never expected the higher-ups to approve such a scheme, concocted by a junior cop.
So Gil had worked his magic and thrown the ball back in her court. Time to take the next step.
She knocked on Sergeant Petroni’s office door. Light, tentative taps of her knuckle at first, then a full, confident rap-rap-raps.
“It’s open!”
Val took a breath, then pushed her way inside, closing the door behind her.
Petroni glanced at her over brown-rimmed reading glasses, then removed them and set them on her desk. “I bet I know what this is about.”
Val blinked and took a seat. “Y-you do?” Dammit. Gil’s boss must have called Petroni before deciding. So much for controlling how this conversation would go.
“I just got off the phone with Lieutenant Grove.”
Val stared at her. Who the hell was Grove?
“Detective Division? Robbery and Property Crimes Unit?”
Val nearly smacked her own head. Of course! Jan Morgenstern’s boss. “What’s the word on that?”
“He’s willing to lend us the services of Detective Morgenstern while Grimes is out—maximum of three weeks,” Petroni said.
“Outstanding!” Val’s pride swelled. She’d scored help for her boss—and herself—while providing a welcome opportunity to a fellow woman cop. Win, win, win. “When does she start?”
“Tomorrow morning. She’ll be your partner. Bring her up to speed on your portfolio. Given her experience and rank, she’ll take the lead on your open cases, particularly the VeroniCare break-in and anything you guys get on the abortion clinic shooter.”
Val’s excitement abated a little. She’d hoped that her track record might earn her consideration as the lead investigator on at least one case, but by-the-book Petroni went by rank rather than case knowledge.
Still, she welcomed the help.
“I expect her to hit the ground running,” Petroni said. “Get your track shoes on, girl. Jan’s eager to prove herself and I want her to hit home runs with every swing of the bat. Or whatever the right metaphor is.” She laughed. “I stole that one from my husband.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Val squirmed in her seat. Focus on the positive…
“Is there anything else?” Petroni asked after a moment of silence.
“Um…yeah.” Val took a second to choose her words, shifting her strategy a notch in light of the news about Jan. “I…may have another option for expanding our level of effort without affecting your budget.”
Petroni leaned forward, elbows resting on her desk. “Color me intrigued. What’s the scoop?”
“Remember how you wanted me to investigate those incel groups?”
Petroni nodded.
“Well…incels are pretty anti-woman,” Val said. “To call them misogynists would be a drastic understatement.”
“So, you’re saying you can’t do it?” Petroni frowned. “Wait, didn’t you do that fight thing on Saturday? How’d it go?”
“I did, and I won,” Val said, rushing her words. “I think they want me back.”
Petroni’s hands spread wide, palms up. “I’m not following, then. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, I’m not really inside, and I never will be. No woman is. They look at us as sex objects and, well, entertainment.” Val recalled the hooting and hollering over her cold nipples and blushed.
“So, we need to send in a man? Is that what you’re saying?”
“They actually invited one of us to, well, join up, I guess you’d call it,” Val said. “A Clayton uniformed officer, I mean.”
“No kidding?” Petroni sat back again, surprise spreading across her face. “Do they realize he’s a cop?”
“Yes, they do. He attended the fight and one of the guys there, a guy from my dojo, asked me if he’d be interested in a ‘men’s advocacy group.’ I asked him, and he talked to his boss, and—”
“Wait a second.” Petroni’s face darkened. “You mean Gil Kryzinski?”
Val blushed even more. “Y-yes, Sergeant.”
“Dawes.” Petroni rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, hands folded behind her head. “You’ve made no secret of your desire to partner with him again. However, with you two dating, you can’t be assigned together. That’s against policy.”
“I’m not trying to get him transferred,” Val said. “He’d stay in his current assignment. This would be a side gig. His boss is okay with it. I’m not sure about whose budget pays for his time, but—”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Mine.” Petroni heaved a giant sigh and stared off into space for several long moments. Then she side-eyed Val and tapped her desk. “Tackle Box would never go for this.”
“Right. Simpson thinks a pro-choicer pulled the trigger. Doesn’t even think the incels are worth investigating.”
“He’s an idiot, of course,” Petroni said with a smile.
“I’ve heard many colorful descriptions of his abilities,” Val said, returning the smile. “None complimentary.”
“He’ll never crack this case without an extraordinary amount of luck.”
“And help.”
“So we can’t do it as part of his investigation.”
Val’s heart sank. “I…suppose not.”
“Which is good,” Petroni said. “It means we could keep control of it.”
Val’s mood brightened again. The roller coaster of emotions might kill her before the meeting ended. “So…you like the idea?”
Petroni puckered her lips for a moment, thinking. “I need more detail. The how’s, what’s, when’s, the whole nine yards. Full reporting within twenty-four hours of any activity, yada yada.”
“Of course. Gil’s really prompt with his paperwork.”
“Okay,” Petroni said. “I’ll confer with his boss, then we’ll all meet to talk about how and when we move forward. I want specific ideas from you—and him—as to how this will go. He understands the risks?”
Val swallowed hard, willing her answer to be true. “Yes, ma’am. We…both do.”
Petroni swiveled her chair to face her computer screen. “I’ll open a fresh case under our authority. ‘Operation Incel-Infil.’ Limited access to the file, principals only.” She glanced back at Val over her glasses, smiling. “Simpson will not be a principal.”
Val beamed. After all this time—almost a year since Gil had been shot—she’d get to work with him again. And in a role that would help him, like her, progress down the path toward promotion to the rank of detective.