Val and Jan endured a silent drive back to the WAVE Squad office, each stewing in the juices of the harsh words they’d exchanged at the dojo. Val’s resentment over Jan’s dismissal of her as a mere rookie mellowed when she recalled some compliments she’d received from Petroni, Gil, and Shannon O’Reilly. They’d said many times that her intuition and tenacity enabled her to outpace any first-year cop they’d ever met. If a person—like Jan—only looked at time served and weren’t aware of her accomplishments, of course they’d presume she’d better shut up and listen more.
Jan’s rough-around-the-edges personal style could use some refinement. Then again, so could Val’s. Val could learn a lot from Jan—and for that to happen, they needed to be able to work together.
By the time Jan parked the car in the lot and turned off the engine, Val calmed enough to resume a civil dialog with her partner.
“Jan,” she said, “I’m sorry I lost my cool back there. I shouldn’t have chewed you out like that. You didn’t deserve it.”
“Yes, I did.” Jan avoided Val’s gaze. “You’re right. I fucked up that whole interview. I should’ve trusted you, and I didn’t. I’m sorry, too.”
“We’ve got to learn each other’s styles,” Val said. “We’re different. You’ve got a lot of experience. I won’t learn from you if I always think I’m right.”
“You don’t always think you’re right,” Jan said. “You do think you’re smarter than most other people, and often, you are. But not always.” She chuckled. “You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age.”
Val suppressed an eye roll. If she had a donut for every time she’d heard that, she could open a Krispy Kreme.
“In situations like that,” Jan continued, “we should work out in advance who’s taking the lead and what our tactics are going to be. That will help reduce friction.” She chuckled again. “Reduce. Not eliminate.”
“It’s good to keep it real.” Val returned Jan’s smile. It felt forced and probably looked it. They’d established in advance that Jan would lead. That didn’t cause the problem—Jan’s strong-handed tactics did.
Whatever. She reminded herself: listen and learn.
When they made it back to their fourth-floor office, they found Shelby waiting for them at their adjoining desks. She waved a printout toward them. “Good news. We got the warrant, and I traced the source of the most recent calls. You’re never going to believe where they’re originating from!”
“Hungary?” Val said. “No, wait. Croatia?”
Shelby gave her a quizzical glance. “Why the hell would—? Oh, right, the spoofing thing we talked about the other day. No, it’s local!”
“Like, where?” Jan asked. “New York? Connecticut?”
“Even more local.” Triumphant, Shelby grabbed a yellow highlighter from Jan’s desk and circled a section of her printout, then slid it over to them.
“Holy shit,” Jan said. “It’s a Clayton number.”
It took Val an extra second to recognize the address Shelby circled. When she did, she almost fell over. “It’s coming from VeroniCare?”
“From their internal switchboard,” Shelby said. “Or, rather, their virtual switchboard. Physically, it’s a server somewhere in Kansas or India or something. However, VeroniCare runs their own Voice-Over-IP system with a block of numbers they manage from an internal server. Someone used that system—hacked into it, probably—to generate the threatening robocalls. All three sets of threats is my guess.”
The connection now fell into place for Val. “So the reason for the burglary was to secure access to the phone system. The stolen laptop! That’s what they’re using!”
Shelby winced. “Hmm. Didn’t the first set of threats come before the break-in?”
Val pondered that a moment. “Shoot. You’re right. One day before. Well, maybe they’d hacked in once, then VeroniCare’s security firm closed the gap, and then they broke in to steal the laptop.”
“Or they hacked the server from an internal workstation,” Shelby said, “granting themselves access from, say, Tasha Koval’s account.”
“Wait, help me out here,” Jan said. “What security firm?”
“RS Consulting,” Val said. “A guy named Ray Stafford runs it. We should follow up with him.”
“RS. Interesting coincidence.”
“What coincidence?” Val and Shelby said together.
“Same initials as the guy we just interviewed,” Jan said. “Richard Steiger.”
A tingle ran down Val’s spine. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“You think it’s an alias?” Jan asked.
Val nodded. “We know the VeroniCare and shooting cases are linked.”
“We also know that Steiger is connected to Safe Haven, through Fay Ireland,” Jan added, her excitement matching Val’s.
“The common denominator linking both cases,” Val said, “is Tank Steiger.”
“Seriously?” Shelby said.
“We interviewed him and got nowhere,” Jan said.
“He won’t willingly chat with us again,” Val said.
“Which means,” Jan said, “that if we want to interrogate him, we’ll need probable cause for an arrest warrant—which means convincing evidence that he committed a crime.”
Val’s mind spun as the three women sat silent for a moment. Then she snapped her fingers. “There may be another way.”
“What? How?” Shelby’s excitement gave way to a sheepish grin. “Sorry. You guys are killing me with the suspense.”
“No worries.” Val smiled back. “Remember—I’m fighting an exhibition match tonight in the MMA league. Lots of people there know him. I can ask around—including someone that Tank says is sore at him right now. If Stevie’s angry enough, maybe he’ll poke some holes in Tank’s alibi.”
Jan and Val worked through lunch, tracking down and calling the short list of names Tank had provided. Besides Stevie Ray, the list contained only six entries, five of them men. The sixth was Maya. Jan took three of the men on the list. Val took Maya and the other two men, whose names she didn’t recognize. They opted to call Stevie together, last.
The first man Val tried hung up on her right after she introduced herself, and wouldn’t answer when she called back. She left a detailed voicemail, explaining that she wanted verification of Tank’s alibi. She didn’t have high hopes for a return call.
The second, a guy named Eric Lawson, was only a bit more helpful.
“Yeah, I was at the dojo,” he said. “What about it?”
“Who else was there?”
“Why do you want to know?” Suspicion dripped from Lawson’s words.
“We’re trying to verify the whereabouts of a person of interest in a crime.” Jan had warned Val not to use Tank’s name except as a last resort, so as not to prompt a defensive, untruthful response.
“I don’t know anyone’s name there,” Lawson said. “It was my first time.”
“Was Master Daisuke present?”
“I don’t remember no Japanese people being there.”
“Who led the session?” Val asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t stay for it. The price sounded kind of steep.”
Val rolled her eyes. Adult lessons ran about $100 per month, which she imagined some might find expensive. She considered it a bargain. And unless Tank had already changed the policy, the dojo offered the first trial lesson for free.
“Can you describe the man or woman who—”
“No,” Lawson said, and hung up.
Frustrated, Val walked herself through a brief calming-breathing exercise, then looked up Maya’s number on her cell. She was about to click “Call” when her desk phone rang. Two rings—an outside line. Perhaps her first contact, calling back?
“Dawes, WAVE Squad.”
“This is Dalton Fletcher.”
She glanced at the list of names on Tank’s list. No Dalton Fletcher. She searched her memory—
“From Simpson’s investigative team?” he prodded.
“Oh, right,” Val said. “Forensics, right? Sorry I didn’t recognize the name at first. It was an outside call, so—”
“I’m calling you from my personal cell,” Fletcher said. “A burner, so don’t bother saving the number. I wanted to give you a heads-up on something.”
“I’ve been booted from Simpson’s team, so—”
“That’s why I’m calling you. And because Travis Blake vouched for you. Now shut up, I only have a second to tell you this.”
Val swallowed and readied her pen and notepad. “I’m listening.”
“Don’t write any of this down.”
She dropped her pen. “Copy.”
“I finished my analysis of the recording. Simpson’s not gonna like what I report.”
“Same caller?” Val tried to suppress the excitement in her voice.
“Ninety-nine percent sure,” he said. “Now, Simpson’s gonna do whatever he can to dispute this. Anything short of a hundred percent, if he disagrees with it, he calls it ‘theory.’ Failing that, he’ll insist I keep a lid on it and won’t share it with the team.”
Val dropped her forehead into her free hand. “Why?”
“A big ego, making up for a tiny dick, is all I can guess. He hates being shown up, particularly by a rookie, and always, always by a woman, no matter how old or smart she is.”
Val gritted her teeth at the ‘rookie’ misnomer but opted not to derail the conversation by correcting him. “Thanks, Fletcher. I appreciate the heads-up. Curious, though. Why are you taking a risk here and sharing this with me?”
“Two reasons,” he said. “One, I think you’re on the right track, and you’re either the only one who is, or you’re the only one willing to speak up about it. And two, we gotta catch this fucker. I don’t see Simpson getting it done. Your team, you got a track record. And three, Simpson is—fuck, I gotta go.”
The call ended.
Simpson is what? Val wondered.
Val hadn’t spoken to Maya since she dropped the bombshell about being pregnant with Tank’s child. She felt awkward calling her, given the circumstances, so she planned to break the ice with something personal.
“Maya?” Val said when she answered. “How are you? Val Dawes.”
“Valorie? This is so weird. I was about to call you.”
“Oh? What about?” Val said, surprised.
“I wanted to apologize for dumping all that personal stuff on you last night,” Maya said. “I mean, we don’t know each other that well, and, well, it must have felt like a lot.”
“Don’t apologize. Us girls, we gotta stick together, right?”
“Are you sure?”
“Hundred percent,” Val said. “How are you feeling this morning about things?”
“Okay. I…talked to my mom.”
Val paused. “How’d that go?”
A loud exhalation came over the line. “So much better than anticipated. She was so supportive. I expected her to be so mad, but…Val, she’s going to go with me to the doctor’s, and she totally supports my decision.”
“Oh, good. So, you’ve decided…?”
“I…can’t keep it,” Maya said. “Val, promise me you’ll never ever tell Tank!”
“Of course. He doesn’t know you’re pregnant, even, right?”
“Right. I want to keep it that way.”
“Good choice. Maya, I’m happy your mom is there for you. That must mean a lot.”
“Words cannot express.”
“Awesome.” Val drew a deep breath. “Speaking of Tank, I have a question for you. A police-business sort of matter, if you don’t mind helping me.”
“Of course. Why are the police interested in Tank?”
Because he’s a violent, gaslighting jerk, Val wanted to say. “We’re crossing some T’s and dotting some I’s about a case, and…well…were you at the dojo last Friday morning?” Her words came out in a rush. “If so, did you see Tank there?”
“Friday? Nope. I haven’t been there since, let me see…Wednesday morning. I did the drop-in class.”
“Wednesday? Are you sure?”
“Positive. Friday I was…” Her voice trailed off. “That’s the day I took the home pregnancy test. I was upset, to say the least, and I didn’t go anywhere that morning.”
“You stayed home, then?”
“In my bed, crying and eating Captain Crunch cereal.” Maya chuckled.
“Were you in contact with Tank at all on Friday the thirteenth?”
“In the afternoon,” Maya said. “I told him I wouldn’t be fighting on Saturday.”
“How did he sound? Was he upset at all? Nervous? Acting different in any way?”
Maya took a moment to answer. “He wasn’t happy with me, but I volunteered to come help on Saturday, even though I wouldn’t be able to fight. That seemed to cheer him up a little.”
“So,” Val said, her pulse quickening, “he didn’t sound traumatized? Distracted? Anything at all unusual?”
“Not that I could tell. Like I said, he wasn’t pleased. He didn’t, like, go apeshit on me or anything. Well, it was over the phone, so I can’t be sure.”
“Thank you, Maya. You’ve been a big help.”
“You, too, Valorie. You listening last night meant a lot to me.”
“Anytime.”
Val hung up, her heart warmed by Maya’s gratitude, and pounding over what Maya had revealed.
So far, at least, no one on Tank’s list could, or would, back up his alibi for the time of the shooting.
Jan enjoyed a little more success than Val with her half of Tank’s list, in that she talked to all three men—one of them at length.
“This guy, Baker, couldn’t remember anything for certain,” Jan said with exasperation when she and Val met after lunch. “He said he goes ‘most days’ to the morning drop-in session. However, he ‘couldn’t recall’ if he’d gone Friday, Thursday, or any other specific day. On the other hand, he said that whenever he attended, Tank was always there.”
“Was he there on Wednesday?” Val asked.
“Again,” Jan said with a sad shake of her head, “he can’t say for sure.”
“And the others?”
“One wouldn’t answer questions at all—claimed a Fifth Amendment right not to talk to me,” Jan said. “I tried to explain that didn’t apply in this situation, but I couldn’t convince him. The last guy would only answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ questions. I had to break down and ask him flat-out if he saw Tank at the dojo Friday morning between nine and eleven a.m. When I spelled it out like that, he said ‘Yes’ and hung up.”
“That’s weak. Shall we try Stevie Ray?”
After they spent a minute strategizing for how to conduct the interrogation, Jan dialed from her desk phone and put it on speaker. Val sat as close as possible, her chair sidled up next to Jan’s desk.
“H-hello?” Stevie Ray’s voice sounded shaky and thin over the hum of honking horns and road noise.
Val guessed he was driving, or at least outdoors. With a nod from Jan, she dove in. “Stevie, this is Valorie Dawes,” she said. “Would this be an okay time to chat?”
After a brief pause, Stevie answered. “Well, I’m working. So we gotta keep it brief. Or we’ll have interruptions.”
“We’ll do the best we can, then,” Val said. “Worst case, I’ll follow up with you tonight at the MMA exhibition. Will you be there?”
“Planning on it,” Stevie said.
“Good,” Val said. “When you weren’t at the dojo last night, I asked Tank about you. He said you two quarreled. Have you patched things up?”
“We didn’t quarrel. He’s just an asshole sometimes.”
All the time, Val mouthed to Jan, who responded with a smirk.
“Speaking of Tank,” Val said. “Did you see him last Friday morning?”
“Friday?” His voice seemed to tense up, almost squeak. “Um…let me see…yeah, I saw him Friday. Definitely.”
“What time?”
After a pause, during which the traffic noises seemed to subside, Stevie cleared his throat. “Not sure. I think I saw him a couple of times.”
“In the morning, afternoon, or evening?”
“Both. I mean, afternoon and evening.”
“Not in the morning?”
Another pause, with the sound of a blaring horn muffled in the background.
“Yeah, I guess in the morning, too.”
“What time?” Val said, certain that her face showed as much impatience as Jan’s. She hoped her voice masked it.
“What’s this all about?” Stevie said. “Is Tank in trouble?” His tone sounded expectant, almost gleeful.
“We’re not sure,” Val said. “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Think about your day, where you were, what you did. Maybe you saw what time it was when you were doing something else, right before or after you saw Tank.”
“Okay. Give me a sec.”
During the ensuing pause, Jan scribbled on a notepad and showed it to Val. Doesn’t the dojo have a clock on the wall? If he was there, he’d know the time.
“Where were you when you saw him?” Val said. “The first time that day.”
“Um…we were at his place,” Stevie said. “All morning, in fact. Until noon.”
“At Tank’s home?” Val grew more excited. As Stevie got specific, his story diverged more and more from Tank’s. “What part of town is that?”
“On the east side. I think. Yes, for sure.”
Not the dojo, Jan scribbled.
“Not at the gym?” Val said.
“The gym? Oh, yeah, that’s right. We met there first. In the morning. We went to his place later.”
Val and Jan shook their heads. Neither believed him.
“So, at the MMA arena,” Val said. Not the dojo.
“Yeah. We were working. Getting ready for Saturday’s fights. Worked up quite a sweat,” Stevie said with a nervous laugh.
“What time did you start?”
“I’m not sure,” Stevie said. “Nine-ish?”
“Until…?”
“Lunchtime, maybe?”
“So from nine until noon on Friday, you and Tank were at the MMA facility,” Val said.
“Not at the dojo,” Jan added.
Val grimaced. She hadn’t wanted to tip their hands on that yet.
“The dojo?” Stevie’s voice grew squeaky again. “Um…” He coughed, cleared his throat. “Wait, you mean last Friday? I think I messed my days up. We set up the gym on Saturday. Friday we met at the dojo early, like eight a.m. Until I had to go to my other job at ten-thirty.”
Val scribbled to Jan: Odd. Dojo doesn’t open until 9:30.
“I worked at my other job until after five,” Stevie continued. “No lunch break, even.”
“Ten-thirty until 5:00,” Val repeated, unable to mask her doubt any longer.
“I can show you my time card if you don’t believe me.”
“No need,” Val said. Falsified time cards wouldn’t help. “Was Tank still at the dojo when you left?”
“I think so. Look, I gotta get back to work now, else I’ll get fired.”
“One more thing,” Val said. “Who else was at the dojo on Friday?”
A long pause. “I don’t know. The regulars, I guess.”
“Can you remember any names?”
“Not off the top. Listen, I gotta go.”
“Not a single name?”
“Not right now. Maybe I’ll remember later.”
Val and Jan exchanged doubtful glances. Yeah, he’ll ‘remember’ after checking with Tank.
“Okay, we’ll let you get back to work,” Val said. “By the way, what is your day job? When you’re not at the dojo, I mean.”
“I work in…logistics,” Stevie said.
“As in trucking?” Val said.
“Yeah, exactly,” Stevie said. “A trucking company.”
Val grimaced. She could drive a truck, too—right through the holes in Stevie’s story.