Stafford Allen Ray squinted his right eye shut and peered through the scope with his left. At first, he saw only rough, red brick and the piercing reflection of the autumn sun on tinted windows. He adjusted his aim downward and to the left, and the building’s heavy metal front door came into focus. He turned the magnification ring counterclockwise to broaden the view until he could read the inscription on the door: “Safe Haven Family Planning.” Perfect.
He lowered the rifle a moment. At this distance, about 500 feet, he could make out distinct figures and objects in front of the clinic: two wooden benches, five or six feet wide, one on each side of the door. Azaleas, long since out of bloom, lined the sidewalk in front. Four parking spaces, two empty, the others occupied by SUVs. No people yet in sight.
The angle, the view, and the time of day all satisfied him. Assuming good weather, the afternoon sun behind him would shroud his face in shadow if anyone looked his way, and cast his targets in a favorable light. His rooftop perch on the six-story building across the street from the clinic afforded a clear shot to any target of his choosing.
A third vehicle approached and pulled into one of the two vacant spaces. A new “customer.” Like the others, a potential baby killer. Fury boiled inside him.
He closed his eyes, inhaled a deep, calming breath. He couldn’t let anger cloud his judgment. That would introduce the risk of failure. Another failure. The first in service to his country, resulting in his dishonorable discharge.
He would not fail in service to humanity.
He peered back through the scope. All three of the cars bore Connecticut license plates. From the third vehicle, a woman opened the driver’s side door and stepped out. Not pretty, not ugly. A Becky, not a Stacy.
At first glance, she didn’t appear pregnant. But she might still be in her first or even early second trimester. The fact that no man emerged from the car with her told him that she, like so many murderous would-be mothers, had excluded the father of the baby from her impending decision. She, and only she, would decide whether to kill the innocent child growing in her womb.
Correction. She, and her abortionist doctor, hiding safely inside the brick fortress.
He focused his aim on her, adjusting his magnification ring clockwise until she filled his view. She fussed with something in her purse, holding open the car door, and the breeze swept her long blonde hair in front of her face. He guided the scope downward, analyzing her shape. Curvy and busty, in the way women get when their body responds to the responsibility of hosting another human being. Her loose blouse, ruffling in the slight breeze, could hide an early-stage baby bump with ease. Her jeans stretched tight over wide, baby-bearing hips. Low-heeled sandals revealed swollen feet and ankles.
Conclusion: pregnant, three to four months along. Her body had expanded faster than her clothes-shopping habit could keep up. Definitely someone contemplating becoming a customer of the baby-killing factory down below.
She shut the car door and walked toward the door. He followed her in his scope, counting the seconds between her vehicle and the building. Eight, maybe nine seconds, with her brisk gait. A slower walker, someone farther along in their pregnancy, might take twice as long. This one, probably still in the first trimester.
She paused at the door, her head down, as if praying. She remained still as he centered his aim on the middle of her back. He steadied his breathing, recalling his training. He inhaled, exhaled, readied his trigger finger. Inhaled another breath, then exhaled, then held it. Squeezed the trigger.
Click.
A perfect kill shot. A would-be murderer, denied.
Or would be, when the moment came, when he returned with ammunition loaded into the rifle’s magazine.
He drew another deep breath and lowered the weapon. A good practice run. He hadn’t flinched, his hands remained steady, his aim true. He’d found the right clinic, the right time of day, the right vantage point. He had a few things left to figure out, and how to escape undetected topped the list. But those details would come, and soon. After that, he would review his plan with his mentor, get the green light, and push forward with God’s work.
Today’s work was done.
Officer Valorie Dawes waved her partner over to her workspace from his desk, whose front edge abutted hers in the bullpen of the Women’s Anti-Violence Emergency Squad. The WAVE Squad, as everyone called it in the Clayton, Connecticut Police Department, specialized in investigating violent crimes against women. Today, eight days after Labor Day, was unusually slow in that area of illegal activity. That enabled Val and her senior partner, Detective Robert “Bobby” Grimes, to catch up on some backlogged cases.
“This one looks interesting,” Val said, pointing to her screen once Grimes sat next to her. “A series of drive-by harassments at women-owned businesses downtown, complete with rock throwing and misogynistic graffiti.”
“Oh, why do we get all the big cases?” Sarcasm dripped from Grimes’s voice. “I might need another cuppa Joe for this one.” He stood and stretched, mopping a paper napkin over his sweaty, balding pate. With his other hand, he patted his bulging belly, an unconscious habit whenever anyone mentioned food or drink—including him.
Before he could take a step, the door to the WAVE Squad office opened. Val glanced up from her computer screen and stayed her partner with a hand on his arm. “Incoming,” she said in a low voice.
The woman who pushed open the door, a tall, well-dressed Black woman in her forties, glanced around the room, clutching her camel-toned Coach purse. Diamond earrings and a matching necklace dazzled against her smooth, dark brown skin. “I’m looking for Detective Robert Grimes,” she announced in a commanding tone. Her intense gaze settled on Val’s partner. “Is that you?”
“Guilty as charged,” Grimes said. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here to report a crime,” the woman said. “My name is Veronica Carlton. I own the VeroniCare family of companies. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
Grimes shot Val a blank look, her cue to chime in.
“Of course we have.” Val stood and extended a handshake. “Welcome, Ms. Carlton. I’m Officer Valorie Dawes. What is the crime—”
“The Valorie Dawes?” Carlton’s eyebrows rose. She straightened and accepted Val’s handshake, then strutted over to a chair opposite Val’s desk. “The daughter of Detective Valentin Dawes?”
Surprise paused Val’s response for a moment. “Valentin was my uncle. You knew him?”
“He saved my life ten years ago,” Carlton said. “On the day he…I’m sorry, this must be a difficult topic for you.”
Val’s breath caught at the surprise reference to the day a shopping mall mass shooter ended her beloved uncle’s life, and she struggled to find words to respond. She blinked at her partner, hopeful.
“He saved many lives that day,” Grimes said, picking up on Val’s silent cue. “Please, sit down, and tell us what brought you in here today.”
“Thank you.” Carlton sat and smoothed her knee-length navy skirt and unbuttoned its matching jacket. “My business is under attack. Cyberattack, to be precise.”
Val and Grimes exchanged glances. Reported cybercrime had escalated in recent years, topping three million cases in 2018, and all projections indicated more in 2019, the current year. That was all Val knew about the topic. Not enough to take on a case of that type.
Grimes continued to take the lead. “I’m sorry, that’s a little outside our mandate,” he said. “I’m happy to take a report from you, but it’s almost certainly going to be referred to our Cybercrimes Unit downstairs.”
“Isn’t this the Women’s Anti-Crime Unit?” Carlton’s voice rose.
“Women’s Anti-Violence Emergency Squad, to be precise,” Grimes said. “Our focus is on violent crimes against women. Emphasis on violent.”
“Well, I’m being targeted because I’m a woman,” Carlton said with triumph in her voice. “And I believe the attacks will soon become violent.”
“What is the nature of the attack right now?” Val said, jumping in before Grimes could discourage her further. “Please give us as much detail as you can.” She opened an incident report form on her computer and began typing.
“They’ve shut down my website multiple times,” Carlton said. “And they issued threats of physical harm against myself and my employees.”
“Such as?” Val typed as fast as she could to keep up.
“The most recent attack replaced our home page with threats to ‘terminate’ me, my employees, and my business if we don’t, quote, ‘change our evil ways,’ unquote.” Carlton sneered at Grimes. “Is that violent enough for you?”
“What ‘evil ways’ might they be referring to?” Grimes asked, unruffled.
Carlton sniffed, holding her chin high. “My company is proud of its support of a women’s right to choose. Reproductive health care has long been a benefit offered to all our employees, and we donate a portion of our profits every year to nonprofit agencies that protect women’s health.”
“Ah,” Grimes said. “Did you get that, Dawes?”
Val nodded, still typing. “How many times has this occurred, and when?”
“The latest incident happened yesterday,” Carlton said. “My IT staff restored our site from backups, but I fear they’ll attack again in the next few days. This is the fourth or fifth time, all within the last two months, and the time between attacks gets shorter with each instance.”
“Did your staff trace any of these attacks back to their source?” Grimes asked.
Carlton shook her head. “I’m afraid their specialty is simply to make it run again so we can book clients. Not investigative work. Which is why I came to you, Detective.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Grimes said, “how did you choose me out of all the detectives in our department?”
Carlton sniffed again. “Aren’t you the one that cracked that big cybercurrency fraud case last year?”
“I led the investigation, but I had a lot of help. Anyway, cryptocurrency is a very different animal—”
“Nonsense,” she said. “Cyber is cyber. Besides, I have a few friends in the department, so I asked around. Kevin told me to check with Lieutenant Gibson and Captain Feeley.”
Val’s eyebrows rose. “Kevin,” she guessed, referred to Chief of Police Kevin McMahon. The woman truly had connections.
“They both spoke very highly of you,” Carlton went on. “And, again, it’s a crime against women. Now, here’s my card. Call the main number and ask for the IT department. My top IT staff are free all afternoon, and they’re expecting your call.”
Grimes rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “All due respect, Mrs. Carlton—”
“Ms. Carlton, thank you.”
Grimes took a breath, nodded. “Ms. Carlton. It’s after three o’clock, and my plate is rather full right now. How about if Ms. Dawes rounds up our best IT folks and give your staff a call in the morning?”
Val shot Grimes a withering stare, which he ignored. Less than five minutes earlier, Grimes complained that he had nothing to do. Yet he wanted to dump this case—a dog, by all indications—on her? Jerk.
“Excuse me, Detective.” Carlton leaned forward and grabbed Grimes by the forearm. “Time is rather of the essence, given the nature of these threats. Officer Dawes is, I’m sure, a fine officer, like her uncle. But I won’t allow you to shunt my case off to a rookie when I specifically requested the best detective on the force for my case.”
“Respectfully, Ms. Carlton,” Grimes said, “Officer Dawes is no wet-behind-the-ears rookie. She celebrated a full year on the force last week and broke several high-profile cases for us in a very short time—”
“I see.” Carlton stood and spoke into her phone. “Call Kevin McMahon’s cell.” She strode to the door.
“Ms. Carlton,” Grimes said, rushing after her. “Please understand. Even if I wanted to take your case—and I don’t mean to suggest—”
“Excuse me.” Carlton raised her hand, held her cell phone to her ear, and smiled. “Why, hello, Chief,” she said into the receiver. “I’m up in your Women’s Crime office upstairs. Yes, the WAVE Squad. No, I’m afraid not. That’s why I—well, of course. Hold on.” She handed Grimes the phone. “Your boss would like a word.”
Grimes held the receiver to his ear. “Grimes here…Yes, we’ve discussed her case. Yes. Uh-huh. Well, as I explained, it’s really a matter for the cyber—Yes, sir. I understand, but Sergeant Petroni—oh. Right. Okay, then.” He hung up and handed the phone back to Carlton.
“When should I expect you over at VeroniCare’s offices?” Carlton said.
Grimes sighed. “We’ll be there in an hour.”
Carlton sniffed, stood, and grabbed her purse off the table. “I have appointments until noon. I’ll see you at one o’clock. Good day, Detective.”
Val pulled Grimes aside when they reached the Clayton Police Headquarters lobby. “Bobby,” she said, “we should bring Shelby Clearwater with us from IT. She’s the best when it comes to network security. If anyone knows cybercrime, it’s her.”
“Good thinking,” Grimes said. “You get the car. I’ll go talk to her boss.”
Val retrieved their police cruiser from the secure parking lot and waited for Grimes in a loading zone out front. The cruiser soon fell into shadow as the sun sank low over the high-rises, and a breeze from the Torrington River cooled the afternoon air. She lowered the windows halfway and let the occasional radio chatter between Dispatch and field units entertain her. A slow September day, crime-wise, in Clayton.
Her personal cell chimed while she waited, a text from her long-time friend and former roommate Beth. The two hadn’t spoken much since Val moved out of their shared apartment a little over two months before, so the text surprised Val a bit. She read the message: Miss you. Got time to catch up soon?
Val responded: Drinks at the Clay Pigeon after work? I get off at 6, so, how’s 6:15?
After a long pause, Beth replied: Dinner at the Pigeon sounds divine.
Val noticed the shift from drinks to dinner. With Beth, drinks meant catching up and hanging out for fun girl talk. Dinner signaled to her that Beth had something specific in mind to discuss. Something serious, like a new job or, God forbid, another engagement ring. Beth fell in and out of love faster than Val changed underwear, it seemed.
Perfect, she responded. See you then.
Moments later, Grimes emerged from the building, accompanied by a stocky, thirty-ish woman with olive skin and spiky black hair, dressed in black jeans and a form-fitting shirt that accentuated her busty but slender figure. Shelby grinned when Val waved to them and hustled to beat Grimes to the car. “Shotgun!” she called to him over her shoulder. She jumped into the passenger seat and head-hugged Val. “So good to see you, girl!”
“You, too.” Val shook off Shelby’s rough embrace. “I’m glad your boss is cool with this.”
“I didn’t ask my boss.” Shelby laughed. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Move your ass out of that front seat,” Grimes said, huffing up to the car. “Staff rides in the back.”
Shelby scoffed. “That’s bullshit. But hey, if you’d rather follow stupid rules, I can go back and wait for my boss’s meeting with the captain to end so I can ask permission—”
“Fine.” Grimes slid into the back seat and buckled in. “You know where we’re going, Dawes?”
“I do,” Shelby said. “VeroniCare’s awesome. I get all my work done there.” She smoothed the thin, dark hairs on her upper lip and examined her reflection in the side mirror. “I might stay for a little laser action when we’re done.”
Grimes rolled his eyes and waved at Val with impatience. “Let’s get going,” he said.
Light mid-afternoon traffic made for an easy drive to the shopping district. Val parked right in front of the posh salon in a metered spot—free, of course, for police on official business. The salon’s glass front wall revealed an all-white lobby with shelves lined with lotions, creams, and hair treatments, each of which would cost more than Val spent in a month on such products.
They entered the salon, Val in the lead, and the shop’s frigid air raised goosebumps on her skin. Even her bulky uniform couldn’t compete with the salon’s excessive air conditioning, set way too high for a seventy-five -degree September day.
“Welcome to VeroniCare Spa,” said a slender, twenty-something receptionist, seated behind a glass counter. Her jet-black hair and lipstick contrasted with her alabaster skin, even lighter in color than her knee-length shift dress that matched the white laminate shelves behind her. “Are you here for an appointment, or can I advise you on some purchases?”
“Detective Robert Grimes, with Officer Valorie Dawes and Ms. Shelby Clearwater. Veronica Carlton is expecting us. And your IT director…” Grimes searched his pockets and came up empty. “I’m sorry, I lost his card and I don’t remember his name.”
“Just a moment.” The receptionist clicked a few keys on her keyboard and swung a computer screen, mounted on a swivel arm, into her field of vision. She spoke in a low voice into her headset. “Ms. Koval will see you now.” She pushed a button, and a door Val hadn’t even noticed swung open from the small lobby into a dark hallway.
Val and Grimes exchanged glances, but Shelby strode through the doorway like she owned the place. “Come on, the door’s about to close,” she said.
Shelby continued down the dim corridor, with Val and Grimes hustling to catch up. They passed several doorways, also white, set into white walls on each side. At the end of the thirty-foot passage stood a bell-shaped white woman in wire-rim glasses, a dark skirt, and a pink blouse, with collar-length layers of salt-and-pepper gray hair. Her business-like facial expression yielded a humorless smile when she greeted them.
“I’m Tasha Koval,” the woman said with a hint of a Slavic accent. “Head of Information Technology at VeroniCare. Come in, please.” She spun on her heel and, without waiting, led them into a small meeting room.
“Oh, look.” Shelby pointed at the abstract swirls of pastel blue, green, and yellow in the framed department-store quality prints hanging on the ivory-colored walls. “Actual color.”
A young man wearing a blue suit and white shirt stood up from the table and smiled. His perfect white teeth seemed to shine in contrast to his dark brown skin and black wavy hair. “I am Sanjit,” he said, extending a hand. “Website content manager.”
Grimes introduced the team, and Koval invited Val and Grimes to sit. “Where should we begin?” Koval asked.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Grimes said. “Attacks of this kind often originate from or are aided by someone within an organization. Can you think of any employees who might hold a grudge against the company, Ms. Carlton, or other senior management?”
Koval shook her head. “None. We treat our employees with dignity and respect, and our wage and benefit packages are well above industry average.”
Sanjit’s eyes widened and his gaze fell, but he said nothing.
“Any recent hires?” Grimes asked.
“Sales associates come and go, but none have access to our servers,” Koval said. “Sanjit is our most recent hire with any sort of security clearance, which was, what, ten months ago?”
“Thirteen,” Sanjit said.
“These attacks began in the last two or three months,” Koval said. “So an internal source seems unlikely.”
Grimes furrowed his brow and cleared his throat, jotting down a few notes. Val picked up the thread. “Has anything else changed that could lower staff morale in recent months? Changes to working conditions, benefits, anything?”
Koval pursed her lips, then shook her head. “Nothing comes to mind.”
Sanjit coughed into his fist, making eye contact with Val. He seemed to cower each time his boss spoke.
“Can you think of anything, Sanjit?” Val asked.
“In terms of benefits or working conditions? No,” Sanjit said.
“Anything else?” Val kept her tone conversational.
He glanced left and right, again cowering when Koval glared at him. “I would say that some employees were displeased when Ms. Carlton created the Community First program. Many felt participation in the program was…mandatory.”
“Tell me more about that,” Val said.
“Community First,” Koval said before Sanjit could continue, “is a voluntary service program here at VeroniCare. Our objective is to better connect our company to the community through acts of service or, for those who prefer it, donations to worthy causes.”
“Causes,” Grimes said. “Such as?”
“Education, homelessness, public health, hunger—employees choose among many options,” Koval said.
“How are employees ‘encouraged’ to participate?” Val asked. She recalled a campaign organized by her dormitory’s community action committee at UConn where the leaders of the initiative shamed non-contributors publicly until they achieved one hundred percent participation.
“We make it very easy for them,” Koval said. “Employees earn paid time off to volunteer for our approved list of organizations, and can donate to those same groups through payroll deductions.”
“There is also a competition among departments,” Sanjit said, his eyes still downcast. “The department with the highest rate of participation gets an extra week of paid leave per year.”
“I see,” Grimes said. “By any chance, are abortion rights groups among those on the list?”
Koval shifted in her seat. “We do not include political advocacy groups in our campaign. However, we do offer the option of contributing to family planning and women’s health groups.”
“Which ones?” Grimes said.
Koval licked her lips. “I would be happy to email you with a list of all participating organizations.”
“Thank you.” Grimes slid his card across the table.
“However, I believe this is a waste of time.” Koval picked up his card. “Morale at VeroniCare is very high. We maintain an open-door management policy and we’re pro-active in advocating for—what is that phrase? Work–life balance.”
“Is that your experience, Sanjit?” Shelby asked. “Is everybody here happy?”
Sanjit’s helpless expression spoke volumes, despite his cautious words and tone. “The employees with whom I interact are satisfied with working conditions,” he said. “I cannot speak for those who have left the company.”
“Left the company?” Grimes cocked his head and focused his gaze on Koval. “Have you lost many employees in the last year, particularly those with secure computer system access?”
Koval furrowed her brow. “Our turnover rates are among the lowest in the industry.”
Val noted the cautious phrasing in Koval’s response. “Could you include a list of employees who have recently left the company in your email to Detective Grimes?” she asked.
“And new employees, in any department. Any in the last year,” Grimes added.
“Of course,” Koval said. “I’m sorry, but I have another meeting to attend. But perhaps now is a good time for Sanjit to show Ms. Clearwater our security systems?”
Grimes narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “We may have some follow-up questions for you, Ms. Koval,” he said. “Do you have a card, or—”
“I’ll include my contact information in my email to you later today,” Koval said, standing. “I’ll see you and Officer Dawes out.”
Grimes blinked, then stood. “We all drove over together,” he said. “Perhaps there’s someone else we should interview while we wait?”
“I’ll be fine,” Shelby said, making eye contact with Val. Her lips curled into a brief, sly smile. “You two go on ahead. Sanjit and I will geek out in the server room.”
Out on the sidewalk a few minutes later, Val paused in the sun and rubbed her arms to help warm them. “Did Koval strike you as a forthcoming woman, or am I crazy to think she’s holding something back from us?” she asked.
“Vladimir Putin has fewer secrets than that woman,” Grimes said. “I suspect those lists of employees and community groups will turn up a lot of interesting tidbits.”
“I bet that Shelby’s time with Sanjit will, too,” Val said. “That guy looked ready to burst. He didn’t strike me as an employee with high morale.”
Grimes laughed. “Are you kidding me? He’s the only man in a building crawling with gorgeous women. I’d trade jobs with him any day, no matter what the pay.”
Val rolled her eyes and got into the cruiser. Grimes was her senior partner and a mentor of sorts, with tons of valuable experience for her to learn from. But he could be a real dinosaur at times. She hoped that wouldn’t become an obstacle to them working together—especially on this case.