A Woman of Valor, page 7
“That may be a little harsh,” Shannon said, “but it’s close. The main point is, we have to prove ourselves every day on the job to these guys. Are we good enough? Tough enough? Smart enough?”
“And it’s not like they’re physical specimens or Mensa geniuses themselves,” Brenda said. “Half of them got their jobs by having a brother or uncle on the force. No offense,” she said to Val. “And I’m no better. My father, my uncles, even my grandfather was a Clayton cop.”
“None taken,” Val said. Brenda’s admission buoyed her spirits. By comparison, the Dawes family was the new bunch on the block. “I think in my case, having a legacy makes it harder to live up to expectations.”
“You have big shoes to fill,” Shannon said. “Speaking of filling up, what are you gals going to eat? I’m starved.”
Over lunch, Shannon and Brenda gave Val an earful. She had a tough road ahead as a female recruit. By the end of the meal, she felt utterly depressed. “That’s crazy,” she kept saying in response to the reality they painted for her: promotion rates half those of the men. Lower pay. Longer stints in undesirable shifts and precincts. Less desirable assignments overall, and a greater likelihood of getting stuck behind a desk or a phone. “And don’t let your partner stick you with all the paperwork,” Brenda said. “They’ll say it’s seniority, but that’s bunk. With male recruits, they take turns, and everyone pulls his own weight. After an appropriate break-in period, of course.”
“Gil’s been good about that,” Val said. “Are you gals getting dessert?”
“Are you kidding? Why else come to Friendly’s?” Shannon grinned. “Ice cream all around.”
“After this lunch, I need something sweet,” Val said.
“Don’t let it get you down,” Brenda said, still cheerful despite all the horror stories. “I tell you what, Val. Any time you want, you call me. Any of these guys give you shit, I’ve got your back.”
“Me, too,” Shannon said.
“Thanks.” Val smiled. At last, she’d made a few friends in the department, other than her partner. “This has been a big help.”
“Okay, enough talk,” Brenda said. “Let’s get ice cream.”
***
Val ended up taking one day off, spending most of it in bed in a painkiller-induced haze, eating nothing until Beth shook her awake at seven o’clock.
“I picked up Korean barbecue on the way home from work,” Beth called from her adjacent bedroom while she changed clothes. “And a six-pack. Let’s party!”
“I thought you were going out tonight.” Val blinked her eyes and watched the ceiling swirl overhead. Or was the bed swirling?
“I had a date with Victor, but the jerk-off canceled at the last minute. Probably found a blonde with bigger tits who’ll go to bed with him on the first date.”
Val sat up, trying to imagine a woman with looser dating standards than Beth. “I’m not sure that barbecue is a good idea,” she said. “My stomach’s still queasy from the painkillers.”
“That’s because you took them on an empty stomach.” Beth appeared in her bedroom doorway, buttoning the waist of her unzipped jeans and pulling on a New York Giants jersey. The shirt got stuck on her head. For a moment, only a bush of blonde-streaked brown hair poked through the opening on top as Beth struggled to yank it onto her pear-shaped torso.
Val glanced away, not wanting to stare at the bronze spare tire overlapping Beth’s waistline, nor at the expanse of white padded bra that made her already large boobs seem enormous. Voluptuous women made Val feel tiny in her slender, athletic frame. “I’ll pass on the beer, but I am hungry,” she said, and pushed herself off of the bed.
Beth threw an arm around her and helped Val stumble into the kitchen. Val had to hold her breath to suppress the nausea bubbling up in her stomach, stimulated by the excessive scent of lavender emanating from Beth’s neck. The girl never understood the concept of moderation in perfume, food, or men.
“Who is this Victor guy, anyway?” Val swallowed a tangy, spicy, melt-in-your-mouth bite of pork. “Have I met him?”
“He’s the mechanic who replaced the starter in my Mustang last week,” Beth said. “He just moved here from Arizona, and I promised him a drive through the fall foliage with the top down. I think he wanted my top down instead.” She cupped her boobs, squeezed them once, and laughed. “Girl, your face is so red right now!”
True enough, Val’s entire head felt hot, and not from the spicy pork. “I thought you were still dating Justin,” she said. “What happened with him?”
“Justin’s boring,” Beth said. “And not only in bed. All the guy wants to do is play video games with his friends. How about you? You must be rolling in offers from all those hot men in uniform. Anything promising?”
Val shook her head, her face warming again, and she fished another rib out of the takeout box. “There’s a strict policy against dating other cops, honored mostly in the breach, of course. Not that any of them seem interested. I think I threaten them.”
“Introduce me, then,” Beth said with a laugh. “I have no such policy.” She bit into a juicy piece of meat. “Mm. So good. Hey, who was the good-looking guy who dropped you off last night?”
Val set down her half-eaten rib, irritation rising. “You spied on us?”
“I peeked out the window for a moment. It was a cop car, why shouldn’t I be curious?” She swallowed another bite of barbecue. “So, are you interested in him?”
“No. Haven’t I explained this?” Val picked up the rib again, then sighed and dropped it again. She still had no appetite. “Department policy aside, he’s fifteen years older than me.”
“Ah.” Beth paused, a sad expression on her face. “I didn’t realize.”
“Realize what?” Val moped, staring at her plate.
Beth made a face. “With what you’ve been through, I know that older guys—”
“He’s not that old,” Val snapped, then regretted it. She registered the hurt expression on Beth’s face and shook her head. Neither of them needed to mention Uncle Milt’s name. His memory haunted every conversation they ever had about Val’s relationships with men. “I mean, I’d rather meet someone closer to our age, if anyone.”
Beth brightened and held up one finger. “Hey! That reminds me. I met these two guys at the Flag and Gauntlet Tavern a few weeks ago. One of them seemed interested, but he didn’t want to abandon his friend. I could call them, set something up.” Her face lit up with her gigantic trademark smile, so infectious that Val almost wanted to say yes.
Almost. Val couldn’t remember the last time she had fun on a date. In fact, she couldn’t even remember going on one since her second year of college, with a friend of Beth’s that spent the entire evening hinting about the size of his penis. “I don’t think so,” Val said. “I’m busy with work, and I need time to recover, and—”
“Enough lame excuses,” Beth said. “All you do is work. Besides, I need your help. I really want to meet this guy, and he won’t do it unless I find a date for his friend.”
“I work evening shifts,” Val said. “My schedule doesn’t leave much room for dating.”
Beth’s grin faded. “Come on, Val,” she said. “Get back on that horse. Give it another try. Not all men are creeps.”
“I’m not saying they are. I just...” Her voice trailed off as Beth’s face fell. Guilt swept over her. She and Beth had shared every important moment of growing up—every crush (mostly Beth’s), first kiss (again, Beth’s), every struggle with dumb teachers and crazy parents. Beth was the only one that Val had confided in after the incident with Uncle Milt. The only one she trusted with her horrible secret.
Gazing at her friend, Val knew she’d lose this battle of wills. And she owed her. The woman had fed her, for God’s sake.
“All right,” she said, and even as Beth celebrated by cheering and covering her head with hugs and kisses, Val knew she was making a mistake.
***
Lieutenant Gibson took Gil’s recommendation and put Val on desk duty for the next several days: answering phones, running license plates and criminal records for patrol officers involved in traffic stops, and filing reports. It allowed her to research Richard Harkins, though, and what she found chilled her.
Harkins had been arrested multiple times in the past decade, but had yet to go to trial for any charges. His rap sheet included domestic disturbance complaints with three different women. In two cases, the complaint included allegations of child abuse. At least one girl intimated that she’d been abused, or at least touched inappropriately, but she later recanted her story. Without corroborating evidence, Harkins walked on all charges.
Val wondered how many other incidents had gone unreported. His record also included public drunkenness, giving alcohol to a minor (again, an underage girl), and a bar fight. No shootings, much less of a cop, but the guy represented trouble wherever he went.
And he went everywhere. Going back to age 16, she found prior arrests in Georgia, Utah, and California, plus temporary addresses and employment records in Oregon, Indiana, and Tennessee. He’d attended public school in Massachusetts and had family in Torrington and New Haven. He’d spent time in Florida, where he picked up an illegal firearms charge, but once again, he somehow skated away from any real punishment.
Despite the all-points bulletin and aggressive manhunt launched by the department, though, Harkins appeared to have disappeared. Her guess was that he might have fled to another state.
But he wouldn’t be gone forever. And when he returned, she’d find him.
***
After a few days, Val resumed her street duties and the evening shift with Gil. He greeted her with a wide grin and open arms, but when she hesitated, he dropped the hug and offered an enthusiastic handshake. “Glad to have you back, partner,” he said. “They had me working with Pops while you were out. I’d have been better off working alone.”
“I wouldn’t wish that guy as partner on anyone,” Val said. She regretted rebuffing Gil’s hug, but too late now. “I’m glad I got you instead of him.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Gil clapped her on the back, harder than she would have liked, but she didn’t complain. They rode out in their patrol car and parked in the lot of a small shopping center to start their walking rounds. She briefed him on her research on Harkins while they walked.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Gil said. “Guys like that don’t start out by shooting cops. They escalate, and after a while, they think they‘re invulnerable. Samuels, unfortunately, was his latest victim.”
“How is Samuels doing?” Guilt washed over her. She hadn’t even thought of her fellow soldier in blue since the night of the shooting. She should have visited him while she’d been on light duty.
“Better,” Gil said. “They sent him home from the hospital yesterday. He’s off for at least six weeks, though—if he comes back at all.”
They fell into a somber silence, matching each other’s pace while they walked. The air cooled as the sun descended toward the roofs of the shops and apartment buildings lining the busy street. Neon lights flickered in the windows of cheap watering holes blaring pop hits from ten years before. They turned a corner, and Val realized where they were. She faced Gil, excited.
“Let’s head this way,” she said, pointing to her right.
“That’s not our usual beat,” he said, his brow furrowing. Then recognition dawned on his face. “Woodland Avenue,” he said. “The scene of the crime. You really want to go there?”
“I want to see what people know about Harkins,” she said. “Try to get a lead on where he‘s hiding out.”
“The detectives have done that,” he said. “You think you’ll find out something they missed?”
She nodded. “Who would you rather talk to? A stranger in a suit, or someone who walks your neighborhood every night?” She didn’t wait for his answer, striding forward at a fast pace. He caught up to her after a few moments, breathing hard, but gave her a thumbs-up.
She stopped first in a corner convenience store on Woodland and Greenfield and approached the brown-skinned, dark-haired man behind the counter. She pegged his age as late twenties or early thirties. “I’m Val Dawes,” she said. “I believe you know my partner, Gil Kryzinski. Do you have a moment?”
“Good evening,” the man said. “I am Taufiq Sharkar. I always have a moment for the brave officers protecting us from the criminal filth who prey on our citizens. Would you like some coffee? On the house. Please.”
She stole a look at Gil and mouthed, Is that okay? Gil nodded and strolled over to the coffee counter.
Val remained with Taufiq. “What do you know about this man?” She showed him a picture of Harkins. “Does he come in here often?”
Taufiq made a face, as if wanting to spit. “He used to.” He pointed to a rack of hard liquor, cigarettes, and porn magazines behind him. “A man in search of trash, if you ask me.”
“What else?” she asked. “Has he ever given you trouble?”
Taufiq shook his head. “No, but he has been in here with Rosa—his, well, girlfriend, I guess you’d call her—and her daughter. He does not treat them well. He always curses at them and calls them names. Once I saw him slap the girl, Antoinetta, just for asking him to buy her something. The man is a pig.”
“When did you last see him?” she asked.
“Not since that night. But...” He fumbled for words, fingers fidgeting. “Rosa is not the only woman he has abused. He lived here several years ago, when I first came to Clayton. I saw him with two or three other women—sometimes one, then the other. Often they had bruises, and they always seemed sad and afraid when they were with him.”
Gil returned with the coffee and handed a cup to Val. Still uncertain, she fumbled with her wallet.
“No, please, it is free, with many thanks,” Taufiq said. “I insist.”
Gil shrugged at her, then nodded once. “Thank you,” he said.
“My pleasure.”
They walked toward Rosa and Antoinetta’s Colonial, asking everyone they passed about Harkins. Most shook their heads and denied knowing him, but a few did so with fear on their faces—especially the women. When they reached the small apartment building a few doors away from the Colonial, a woman emerged, wearing a long, flowing dress and scarf, calling Gil’s name.
“That’s Camila, Antoinetta’s aunt,” Gil said. He greeted her with a smile and wave, which she returned, exclaiming something in Spanish.
“She says Antoinetta’s doing great,” Gil said, “and, thank you.” He pointed to Val. “She’s the one you should be thanking, Camila.”
“Gracias, gracias!” Camila said, shaking Val’s hands with both of hers. Meanwhile, a door slammed, and Antoinetta raced down the street toward them.
“We thank you so much!” Antoinetta said, crushing Val in a tight hug. “You saved our lives!”
“Has Mr. Harkins been back since that night?” Val asked her after escaping the hug. “Have you seen him?”
Antoinetta‘s eyes widened and she shook her head. “My mother said he might be in Louisiana,” she said. “He has a cousin there.”
Camila erupted into a torrent of invective in Spanish, gesturing and spitting and stomping her feet. Val looked to Antoinetta, who grinned.
“She says she is not a cousin, but another girlfriend that he beats and cheats on,” Antoinetta said. She asked Camila something in Spanish, sending the older woman into another angry tirade. “Or he could be in Georgia or Florida, also with women he beats.”
Gil frowned. “Have you told the detectives this?”
Camila ranted again in angry Spanish. “She says, what detectives?” Antoinetta said. “The police only come here to arrest us, never to ask us anything. Other than you, she means.”
Val sighed, anger building within her. So typical of Clayton! Of course the department would focus on the Samuels shooting. But it made no sense to ignore the rape of a young girl, even if she lived in the “wrong” neighborhood, not least because they might share clues to help find him.
Let the department work its agenda. Val had her own priorities.
She stepped closer to Antoinetta, put her face close to the girl’s, and spoke in a low voice. “When he lived with you, did he...I mean, this was not the first time he...”
Antoinetta shook her head, tears streaming down her face, and buried her face in Val’s chest. “Many times,” she said, her voice breaking. Sobs wracked her body, and Val held her, rocking the girl side to side, soothing her.
“Did you ever report him?” Gil asked.
Val turned toward Gil and shook her head. She pulled Antoinetta closer, murmuring reassuring sounds, absorbing the girl’s sobs into her chest.
“I’m just trying to—”
“Sh!” Val glared at him.
Gil stared at her, blinking, until Camila wrapped her own arms around him in a swaying, tearful hug. There the four of them stood, with Val fighting back her own tears, holding onto a girl who reminded her far too much of her own, younger self.
Chapter Nine
Gil and Val interviewed several other neighbors on Woodland and nearby streets, all of whom echoed what Taufiq had told them. Many had seen Harkins with a series of women, each of whom sported bruises and black eyes after a short time with him. In a few cases, the women’s young daughters shared the bruised bodies and downcast expressions of their mothers. The women themselves had all left the city, most without filing police complaints.
“I think we get the picture,” Gil said a few hours later. They headed back toward the main drag, each sipping a fresh cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. “It might be moot, though. The guy’s in the wind. Without federal help, we’re unlikely to find him.”
“Unless he comes back,” Val said. “If history is any guide, he will.”
“I agree,” Gil said. “He doesn’t exactly keep a low profile when he’s here. He must think he’s invincible. Why don’t these women report his ass?”
