When Val entered the WAVE Squad office on Tuesday morning, a sturdy figure with bright red hair sat at Grimes’s desk, leafing through a report. She glanced toward Val, grinned, and jumped to her feet, engulfing Val’s right hand in both of her own. “Val, you did it!” Jan Morgenstern said, pumping her hand with happy vigor. “You got me on the squad!”
“Glad to have you on board,” Val said, her free hand working hard not to spill her coffee. “And don’t give me too much credit. Your quals got you the job.” And Grimes’s unfortunate family emergency, she added to herself. She shook off the sadness for Bobby Junior’s situation and smiled at her new partner. “Are you always in this early?”
“I’m so excited to get going.” Jan took her seat again. “I’ve been reviewing the files, particularly on the Friday shooting and the VeroniCare break-in. Hottest cases first, right?”
“I think the cases are linked.” Val sat at her own computer and logged in. She explained the linkage between the red pills found at the scene, the reference to the Matrix movies, and the incels.
“Unfortunately, not enough for a warrant,” Jan said. “Not that we’d even know whose home or business to search.”
“That’s where the data linkages from IT come in,” Val said.
“What data linkages?” Jan scrolled through a list of documents on her—Grimes’s—computer screen.
“Weren’t they in there?” Val circled around and read over Jan’s shoulder. Nothing. She lowered her voice. “Dammit. Petroni was supposed to secure those from IT.”
“I’ve learned the hard way,” Jan said. “Never ‘partner’ with your unit chief. They get sucked into meetings and administrivia and leave all the slog work to you.”
“Now that you’re here, we won’t face that problem anymore.” Val dialed Shelby’s number from Jan’s desk, and ten minutes later, the IT guru bounded into the room. Makeup couldn’t hide the dark circles under Shelby’s eyes, and she had a spring in her step Val hadn’t noticed before. Her date with Sanjit must have gone well. And late.
“I wondered if you guys really wanted this data or what,” Shelby said after Val introduced her to Jan. “I’ve been sitting on it since Monday morning, waiting for a call.”
Val bit her lip in frustration, counted to five. “Can’t you attach it to the case file?”
Shelby shook her head. “I don’t have authorization. Access is on a need-to-know basis, and I apparently don’t.”
Dammit. Too much inter-unit suspicion in the police department made cooperation almost impossible.
“So, here’s what I found.” Shelby laid out several printouts on Jan’s and Val’s abutting desks, covering all available empty space. “These are VeroniCare’s recent and most regular clients. Over here, a list of donors to Safe Haven.”
“Lots of overlapping names on both lists,” Jan said.
Val blinked. Jan must be a speed reader. Val had scanned less than half of the first list. “Donors don’t exactly top our list of suspects.”
“The overlap shows a linkage between the two organizations, at least in terms of who supports both with their precious dollars,” Shelby said. “Now, here’s a list of VeroniCare employees who volunteer at Safe Haven.”
“Couple more overlaps,” Jan said, again faster than Val could read. “Possible mole?”
A proud smile tugged at Shelby’s lips. “You’re the detectives. I just run the data.”
“What about a client list at Safe Haven?” Jan asked.
“Can’t,” Shelby said. “They’re medical records, protected by the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act.”
Jan frowned. “HIPAA rules for warrants are a beast. We’d need specific names and strong probable cause—which laws they broke, when, and where. Even then, they’d restrict who can view the data, often at the district attorney level. Not us. All we’ve got is a list of overlapping names.”
“Still, it’s something,” Val said. “We’ve got things to run down now.”
“We’re not done.” Shelby pointed to two more printouts. “These are the criminal complaints filed by people working or volunteering at all three clinics. Several complained of harassment from anti-abortion protesters…and people who aren’t protesters.”
“Do any of the harassers have records?” Jan asked.
“That’s above my pay grade,” Shelby said. “I suspect you two can access that information, right?”
“Anything else?” Val asked.
“The clinics, like VeroniCare, get a lot of harassment emails and website comments,” Shelby said. “I wrote a routine to cross-walk the sources of each—IP addresses, email addresses, and whatnot—and here are the people who troll both organizations.” She tapped her finger on a two-page printout, a single-spaced list of accounts, IP addresses, and online handles.
Awestruck, Val said, “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“Nope,” Jan said. “Either someone’s running a well-funded, organized campaign on the outside…”
“Or there’s a mole inside each group,” Val finished for her. “Maybe the same person.”
“This is amazing,” Jan said. “Fabulous work, Shelby!”
Shelby beamed. “At your service.”
Jan turned to Val. “Now comes the bad news. With all of these leads, our only real option is to run it down the old-fashioned way: interviewing everyone on these lists.”
“That will take weeks!” Val said.
Jan shrugged. “Then we’d better get started.”
Wrangling his delivery truck through Clayton’s traffic-clogged downtown streets, Stafford fumed. It was happening again.
He’d gathered intelligence—through back channels, of course—that Group Leadership wanted to open a new cell of operations in western Connecticut, either in Fairview or Winsted. The holdup was, they needed a new captain to head the group. Someone with experience and loyalty, willing to relocate.
That sounded like a perfect description of himself.
So why hadn’t Leadership approached him? More to the point, why didn’t his own Cell Captain mention it, or put Stafford’s name forward as a candidate? Stafford had demonstrated his skills. His loyalty, passion, and leadership. No one knew that better than Cap.
It’s not like the man lacked the opportunity to discuss it with him. Stafford and Cap spoke daily, sometimes multiple times. The man knew of Stafford’s ambitions. His commitment. His abilities.
Stafford came up with only one explanation. Afraid of Stafford’s meteoric rise, Cap was undermining him—stabbing him in the back in this critical moment.
He stomped on the brake, his truck lurching to a stop inches from the back bumper of a stupid little Prius. The idiot driver had stopped without warning, probably to let a goddamned pedestrian cross, or to avoid hitting a squirrel. Goddamned pussy.
Like Cap: reluctant to move forward. Afraid of whom he might hurt.
The Prius inched ahead, and Stafford followed, this time at a safe distance.
The whole situation pissed him off. He’d done everything asked of him, plus taken initiative above and beyond. Why, this past Friday, he’d made the biggest “splash move” the regional organization had ever seen. Showed his great value to the team.
Cap had responded with anger, which Stafford now understood rose not from any mistakes Stafford made. Cap’s reacted to his own jealousy and fear. He hadn’t given “prior approval” and therefore couldn’t take credit for the move. He’d sat back, waiting for God-knows-what, while Stafford took action. Action that Cap clearly now wished he’d taken himself. He no doubt feared that word would trickle upstairs that Stafford, not Cap, took the initiative. Cap’s stock would diminish as Stafford’s rose.
And not only Cap. Stafford represented a threat to the status quo, to the timid “leadership” unwilling to act. In response, Leadership clearly wanted to punish Stafford, passing him over for a rare opportunity. One that would allow him to show them a better, more action-oriented path to success.
Cap and his immediate superiors feared him. To the point that, according to the rumor mill, the organization had already chosen someone else. Someone from outside the area, who, unlike Stafford, lacked familiarity with the territory.
Still, he had options. Ways of making them see.
The Prius turned, and he accelerated to close the gap behind the SUV ahead, but some jerk in a pickup truck zoomed around the corner, cutting him off. Once again, he had to stop and wait, falling even further behind in his deliveries.
Idiots! Idiots everywhere!
Some in the organization—Cap, in particular—cautioned him to stand down. They claimed his path to leadership would come by showing what a “team player” he was. Wait for orders, and for the better minds to come up with a “cohesive plan.”
What bullshit! Their instincts for self-preservation, for protecting their own leadership roles, hindered the growth and progress of the organization. What the Group needed was more action-oriented men, who didn’t need to wait for someone else to think for them. Who could plan and execute, and lead by example. Men willing to do more, not less. Who act now, not wait for permission.
“When a Man Loves a Woman” played on his phone. Stafford brightened. A text message from Nora!
Cops are here at VC! Interviewing people. Maybe me?
His heartbeat quickened, and the skin on his scalp tingled. He couldn’t explain why, but danger resonated. He took a deep breath, pondered a moment. With traffic still stalled, he came up with and sent a perfectly valid explanation:
They’re just following up about the break-in. Probably routine. Stay cool and stick to the plan.
There. Again, he showed leadership: cool and calm in the face of an imminent threat. Led by example. Kept his eye on the prize.
Traffic inched forward. “When a Man Loves a Woman” played again.
It’s that Dawes chick. God, that bitch gets under my skin!
Stafford licked his lips. Dawes got under his skin, too, in a different way. Unlike so many others, she spoke to him with respect, even when he’d made a fool of himself. And, dammit, he couldn’t put her firm little ass out of his mind. If he didn’t already love Nora…
He stopped at the intersection and typed.
You’re twice the woman she is. She doesn’t realize how smart you are. She has no reason to suspect you.
He proceeded through the intersection, turned onto the street of his delivery site, parked. No activity on his phone. He guessed that she’d either calmed down enough to dismiss the threat, or gotten called into her interview with Dawes already. Or she’d gotten busy with a customer.
Stafford needed to get his delivery item inside. But company protocol forbade him from bringing his personal cell to the customer’s door, and he didn’t want to miss her reply. He located the package, opened the side door of the cargo van, and listened for the tune.
Nothing.
The waiting was murder. He wanted more. He wanted her to return the favor of reassurance—to leap to his side in a time of need. He returned to his seat, grabbed the phone, and texted:
Did you hear about the new Cell Captain opening?
An instant later, relief:
It’s perfect for you.
Stafford agreed, of course:
They’re passing me over! Why?
Another long pause. His delivery schedule was shot to hell already, so screw it. He waited. Then:
Your Captain is fucking with you.
Validation!
He’s telling me to wait, stand down, etc. Feels 180 to me.
Ten or fifteen agonizing seconds later:
Agree. You need to keep following your path.
Cop’s coming. I gotta go.
Stafford’s heartbeat quickened again.
Delete this convo, just in case.
Nora’s response was immediate this time:
Always do.
Of course. That was safest.
For some reason, learning that she always deleted their conversations didn’t sit well with him.
In fact, it made him angry.
To cover as much ground as possible in the shortest time, Val and Jan split up the interview load. “Got a preference between the clinic and the salon?” Jan asked Val before she left the office.
“A slight preference for Safe Haven,” Val said. “You?”
“Strong preference for Safe Haven,” Jan said. “It makes sense that I take it. The homicide case merits the higher-ranked officer, don’t you think?”
Val clenched her teeth, shrugged her okay. She guessed that Jan’s real intent was to buttress her homicide investigation resume. She resented Jan pulling rank on the first issue coming between them—especially since Val got her the assignment. However, aside from wanting to avoid Veronica Carlton at all costs, she had no strong counterargument.
Val enjoyed one advantage of taking the VeroniCare list: prior notification. She’d expected to take Monday off to accompany Beth to the clinic, so she’d asked Tasha Koval to schedule Tuesday interviews with their staff, starting with Tasha herself at 10:00 a.m.
Armed with a list of questions she’d developed the previous afternoon, she entered the posh facility five minutes early. To her surprise, though, no one occupied the reception desk. Val pinged the little bell on the counter, expecting the dark-haired receptionist to pop in right away.
No response.
After waiting a half-minute, she rang the bell a second time. Again, no response.
Val dialed Tasha Koval’s number. Voicemail. She didn’t bother leaving a message, but pinged the bell again.
Moments later, Sanjit rushed into the reception area, full of apologies. “I’m so sorry. Tasha asked me to greet you here at ten.” He handed her a printout of names and times—her interview schedule for the day. “I hope you didn’t wait long.”
“Not long,” Val said, following him down a long, well-lit hallway full of glass and whiteness. “Is your receptionist out today?”
Sanjit threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Everything is a little off-kilter since the break-in.”
“Speaking of which,” Val said a few steps before they reached the meeting room, “thanks for helping Shelby find the data we needed. You two are a good team.”
Sanjit’s eyes widened, fear showing. He cast a wary glance toward the meeting room and spoke in a low voice. “I am glad it was helpful. If you wouldn’t mind not mentioning that to Tasha, I would be grateful.”
Val noted his concern and nodded. “My lips are sealed.” She wondered why Sanjit wanted to keep his name out of the conversation, particularly since Tasha Koval instructed him to help.
Before she could ask, though, Sanjit opened the door and waved her in. “Tasha is waiting for you.”
Inside the small meeting room, Tasha sat at one end of a six-person table, speaking into her cell phone. “I must go,” she said into the phone when Val entered. “My ten o’clock has arrived.” She hung up and shook Val’s hand. “Thank you for coming. I’ve instructed everyone to be candid and forthcoming with you. Did Sanjit give you the schedule?”
“He did.” Val pulled her list of prepared questions out of a folder. She set her cell phone on the table and opened the recording app. “Do you mind if I record our session?”
Tasha nodded assent.
“I need an audible ‘Yes’,” Val said.
“Certainly, yes.”
Val opened a small notebook and clicked her pen into action. She always liked taking notes by hand, even when recording her interviews. “Ms. Koval, have the hacking attempts continued since the break-in?”
“Yes. However, that’s not unusual. We installed new firewalls to repel intruders, and Sanjit is tracking down repeat offenders. So far, we have found nothing.”
“Really?” Val took a quick note and paused. “Nothing?”
“Nothing noteworthy,” Tasha said. “No breaches, no malware, anything of that kind.”
Val nodded, trying to recall their prior meeting after the break-in. “Last time we talked, you mentioned that many of the hack attempts came from an East European site—from Hungary, I believe?”
“Life Advocates?” Tasha nodded, cleared her throat. She seemed to stop herself from adding more. “Y-yes. Those have continued, and failed, like the others.”
Val waited. Tasha averted her gaze, folded her hands on the table.
“Is there something else you wanted to tell me?”
Tasha shook her head, eyes fixed on her hands.
Val waited another moment. She had limited time and a lot of ground to cover. “Okay. These Hungarian hackers, then. Do we know anything about them, other than their pro-life stance?”
At the word “Hungarian,” Tasha’s eyes darted back to Val, then away. “I…haven’t found time to investigate them,” she said. “I will look into it personally later today.”
“Personally? With your busy schedule?”
“Yes!” Tasha’s tone grew sharp. “Why do you waste time with this? Certainly, people in Hungary have nothing to do with breaking into our premises last week.”
“Right. Moving on, then.” Val consulted her notes and chose a new question to ask, but Tasha’s phone interrupted them.
“I must take this.” Tasha pushed away from the table and left the room with remarkable haste.
Val paused her recording and checked her notes from her previous visit, found the name of the organization, and searched for it. A site filled with anti-abortion blog posts, news links, and photos appeared. After choosing the English language translation, she clicked on the “About Us” link and scanned it.
Tasha returned moments later, and Val restarted her recording.
“So, Ms. Koval,” Val said. “Why didn’t you correct my assumption about the country of origin of this LifeAdvocates group?”
“Beg pardon?” Tasha’s eyes widened and she retook her seat.
Val showed her phone screen to her. “The group is from Croatia, not Hungary. Headed by a man named Josip Koval.” She studied Tasha’s reaction—her face flushing with anger or embarrassment, her gaze refusing to meet Val’s. “Quite the coincidence, don’t you think?”
Koval’s eyes flared. “What? That I am Croatian, like this hate group? So, Ms. Dawes, should I blame you for the sins of the English monarchy because of your name?” She gripped the edge of the table with both hands and leaned forward toward Val. “My family fled Croatia during the war when I was a teenager. To escape the senseless violence and hatred. Do not pin blame on me simply because someone who shares my husband’s family name continues to exercise his hatred on the world!”
Val, stunned by the force of Koval’s vitriol, sat frozen in her seat, her back pressed hard against her chair. She spent a moment gathering her thoughts and restrained herself from issuing an angry retort. She wanted Koval’s cooperation and couldn’t afford to make an enemy here. “My apologies for offending you,” she said. “I am not blaming you for their actions. I am concerned, however, that you felt it necessary to withhold this group’s country of origin—”
“I did no such thing. You made an incorrect assumption. It is not my job to fact-check you, Officer.”
Val swallowed hard. Koval was correct, but Val couldn’t shake the feeling that she continued to hide something important.
Still, that bridge was burned. Time to move on.
Except…
“It’s possible the group found or targeted VeroniCare in part because of a perceived Croatian connection when they saw your name on the company’s website. Not at all your fault,” she added when Koval seemed poised to interrupt. “However, that may have set VeroniCare apart among the possible companies they could have attacked.”
Koval met her with a steady stare, then relaxed a bit. “That is possible.” She pursed her lips and drummed her fingers on the table. “I have nothing to do with them or their actions.”
“Understood.” Val waited a beat, crafting her words with care. “It is also possible they focus their efforts on you because of that connection, and because of your position in the company. Your login accounts, your equipment. Have you found evidence of security breaches focused on your personal system access or authority?”
Koval pursed her lips, then nodded. “Yes. Again, that is nothing new. As head of Information Technology, I am a natural target.” She pushed a page toward Val loaded with charts and statistics. “As you can see, others in the company—Veronica herself, for example—are more frequent targets.”
The data seemed to back up Tasha’s claim, and Val sensed she’d pushed far enough on the point. She made a note to follow up on the matter later and turned to other topics. Toward the end of the interview, she opted for a conciliatory tone.
“I want to thank you again for providing the data to us on your staff and their possible links to Safe Haven,” Val said. “It’s been a great help.”
“Links?” Tasha blinked once or twice, her head cocked.
“Provided by you and your staff?” Val’s ears warmed as she realized she might have revealed something she shouldn’t have. Maybe that is what Sanjit didn’t want her to mention. Oops.
“I wasn’t aware of any links.” Tasha’s face darkened. “However, if your search warrant included a request for that data, then so be it.”
“Is there anything on that list you’d rather we didn’t see?” Val said. “If you’d like to keep your own activity private, I’m sure we can—”
“I have no activity of the sort,” Koval said with distaste. “As a Catholic who worships the sanctity of life, I would never donate to their cause, nor allow anyone in my family to become a client. Of that, you can be sure.”
“I see,” Val said.
“That said.” Koval’s voice softened. “I deplore the heinous act committed there last week. I hope the perpetrators are caught and brought to swift justice.”
“We agree on that one hundred percent.” Val forced a smile. But inside her, suspicion boiled. Something about Tasha Koval didn’t ring true, and Val vowed to find out what.