In Search of Valor

by Gary Corbin

  Fortunately, Rhonda emerged from the ladies’ room behind Matthison a moment later, her eyes red, her face still wet with tears. “I’m sorry for running out on you all,” she said. “What did I miss?”

  “I’d like to speak with you, if I could,” Matthison said to Rhonda. “Ms. Dawes, would you excuse us?”

  “Of course.” Val sighed. Again, Matthison was cutting her out of the conversation. Val’s silent frustration grew as Rhonda and Adonna ducked into a meeting room, closing the door behind them.

  Val shuffled down the hall, not knowing where it would lead her, or what she should do with herself. She returned to the small conference room she’d used before and sat at the table, facing out. A few officers and clerks glanced at her as they shuffled past, but said nothing, apparently satisfied that she had a reason for being there.

  Which she didn’t. But she didn’t know what else to do. She should do something, but what?

  A moment later she answered her own question. She’d do what she excelled at, besides sports: research.

  Val pulled her laptop out of her backpack and opened her browser. She searched the web for tidbits on Isaac Lewis, finding dozens of items on other men with his name—no help. She added to the search: “Isaac+Lewis+baby.” Several birth announcements filled her screen. No good. She recalled Adonna’s stories and entered a new search: “Isaac+Lewis+foster+child.” This time, a short news article popped up, which she guessed related to the episode Adonna had described, near the airport in Windsor Locks. That caught her attention: a baby trafficker might want easy access to national and international flights. A second article connected him to a carjacking case in Hartford—as a witness, rather than a suspect. A third mentioned his arrest as a bit player in a money-laundering case, also in Hartford. He’d turned state’s evidence in a plea deal that kept him out of prison.

  And, potentially, put him in debt to some terrible people.

  She navigated to another site, one that claimed to provide “secret” information about anyone and everyone...for a fee. She typed in his name, producing a list of potential candidates. One listed an Isaac Lewis who worked as a driver for an auto repair chain headquartered in Hartford. That matched what Rhonda knew of him. After she clicked on the link, the screen demanded payment of $59.95 for a “full report.” The report promised his home address, employer information, his phone number, and a slew of data irrelevant to her needs, like his credit score. But the rest would be useful.

  She considered it. Was it worth sixty bucks to obtain her own leads? Child Services had nothing like this. No doubt Tanisha Jordan had access to similar information, but she’d decided not to share. Val felt useless, unable to help. With information on Isaac, she might make a difference.

  But she had a problem. Paying for tuition, books, room, and board had drained her bank account. Her father had promised to replenish it on his next payday, another week from Friday. In the meantime, he’d supplied her with a Visa card and admonished her to use it “only in emergencies.” He’d spelled out what constituted an emergency: things like food, can’t-wait school supplies, a late-night taxi home, and posting bail made the list. Alcohol, football tickets, and online data searches had not. “Anything else,” he’d warned her, “check with me first.”

  Still. Dad couldn’t have anticipated this. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Uncle Val had always said.

  She whipped out her dad’s credit card and typed in the number. Moments later, she knew how to find Isaac Lewis.

  Chapter Twelve

  Val’s discoveries got her excited, but the constant traffic of officers past the meeting room jangled her nerves. If Jordan caught wind of her efforts, she might shut Val out of the investigation, and then she would be no help at all to Rhonda. After a half hour of furtive research, she packed up her laptop and scheduled a ride-share back to campus. Pangs of guilt stabbed at Val’s stomach when she left without saying goodbye to Rhonda. But she and Adonna Matthison were still talking when Val strolled past their closed door, and she didn’t want to interrupt.

  Distracted, she got no studying done that night and even less sleeping. She’d hoped to share the long day’s adventures with her roommate, but Beth had left a note on Val’s bed, saying she had a date. The “date” apparently included breakfast, as Beth’s bed remained empty and undisturbed when Val gave up on getting any shuteye in the morning. Bleary-eyed, she trudged down the stairs to the dorm lobby, hoping to grab a quick oatmeal and coffee in the dining hall before her 9 a.m. English composition class.

  Before Val made it twenty feet out of the building, an angry Rhonda LeMieux blocked her path, arms crossed.

  “You have a lot of nerve!” Rhonda shouted.

  Val froze in mid-stride, and the backpack slung over her shoulder bounced against her arm. “Excuse me?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “You can’t hide from me!” Rhonda yelled. “You sneaky little bitch!” She shoved Val backwards, hard.

  Without thinking, Val’s jiu jitsu training kicked in. Reacting to the push, her body flew into a defensive posture: crouched, feet spread to shoulder width, arms level, and fingers curled into a tight fist. The pose lasted only a second before she relaxed again, but not before surprise registered on her friend’s face.

  “You’re going to hit me?” she said. “It’s not enough that you lied about me to Child Services. You want to put me into the hospital, too?”

  “What are you talking about?” Val searched Rhonda’s face for clues, but found only anger. “What’s that about Child Services?”

  “Don’t play innocent with me,” Rhonda said, seething. “Right after your secret chat with her, Ms. Matthison told me her research revealed a ‘pattern of neglect’ in my care for Jada. What did you tell her?” Rhonda shoved Val again, tears staining her cheeks. “I could lose my girl, even after I get her back!”

  “I said no such thing,” Val said, “to her or anyone else. I don’t know anything about your parenting practices, but if I did—”

  “See? That’s what I’m talking about!” Rhonda fumed and paced in circles in front of Val. “I’d hoped you had my back, but you went spreading lies to the cops and the state and everybody. You say you want to help, but all the while you’re stabbing me in the back. Well, Miss Valorie Dawes, I don’t need friends like you. Stay the hell away from me! Do you hear me? Keep away!” Rhonda glared and pointed a long finger in Val’s face, then stalked off, her feet stomping on the pavement.

  Val gazed after Rhonda, her jaw dropping. She hadn’t discussed Rhonda’s parenting practices with Child Services. However, somebody else clearly had.

  But who? And, more important, why?

  THE CONFRONTATION WITH Rhonda left Val shaken, and feeling like an idiot for thinking she could somehow help her friend. Danger aside, devoting precious study hours to helping someone who didn’t appreciate or want it seemed foolish now.

  The argument had left her even less time for breakfast. She grabbed a yogurt and coffee-to-go from the dining hall and hurried toward campus. If she hustled, she could make it to the English Department building with enough time to review her essay on the virtues of competitive sports before handing it in.

  And she would have made it on time had Detective Tanisha Jordan not greeted her at the front door, hand raised high, signaling her to stop.

  “I need to talk to you further about the man who followed you yesterday evening,” Jordan said. “Can you come downtown with me?”

  “I have class,” Val said. “Which you know, apparently, since you’re here. How did you find me?”

  Jordan smiled. “I’d be a lousy college-town cop if I couldn’t navigate my way through a university bureaucracy,” she said. “That, and my sister works for the registrar.”

  Val peeked around her, spotting her professor climbing the steps to enter the building. “Let me turn in my paper and get the next assignment,” she said. “It won’t take 15 minutes.”

  Jordan nodded and wave
d Val inside. “Hurry,” she said.

  Val caught up with her English teacher in the hallway. He grumped about giving her “special treatment,” but relented when she filled him in on the details of the case. “Email me for today’s assignment,” he said. “You’ll need to borrow notes on the lecture from a fellow student.”

  She thanked him and found Jordan waiting by her blue Dodge Charger, parked in a tow-away zone in front of the building. “Nobody will tow a cop,” Jordan said, grinning. “Not twice, anyway.”

  “I guess there are a few nice perks of the profession,” Val said. “Good to know. Lately, the only things I’ve heard about becoming a cop have been negative.”

  Jordan shot her a sideways glance. “Sorry if my comments yesterday discouraged you,” she said. “That wasn’t my intention.”

  Val sighed. “My professor, Dr. Hirsch says police work is a ‘man’s job.’ Dangerous, physical, and tough. Did I mention he’s a sexist jerk?”

  “No need,” Jordan said, grinning. “I had Hirsch for Crim 101 eighteen years ago. From what people tell me, he’s softened up some.”

  “How is that possible?” Val said, but she laughed along with the detective. “He makes Neanderthal men seem like Barack Obama.”

  “Sounds like Horrible Hirsch to me,” Jordan said, her laughter fading into a wry smile. “And he’s mostly wrong, but right enough to justify his point of view to himself.”

  “Which part is he right about?” Val asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  Jordan grimaced. “He’s correct that it’s physically demanding, dangerous, and tough, but not that males are any more suited to handling it than females,” she said. “Men are bigger weenies than women in a lot of ways. Zero pain tolerance, fragile egos, no patience—and those are the good ones.”

  “Sounds like a gross over-generalization,” Val said. “My uncle had the patience of Job, and I saw no sign of an ego. He also lived through two shootings...” Her throat tightened, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “Not the third one, though,” she said, her voice raspy. Her heart doubled in size, or so it felt. No room in her chest for lungs, or air to fill them, suddenly.

  “Your uncle was a king among men,” Jordan said. “But you’re right. I’m being a little harsh on the guys. That’s because they’re tough on me, and they’ll be tough on you, too.”

  “How so?” Val asked.

  Jordan grimaced again. “Hirsch is right that women have it tough in law enforcement, but for the wrong reasons,” she said. “Guys don’t have to put up with men coming on to them, grabbing their asses, and laughing it all off as ‘a joke.’ Men accept each other's presence in the squad car, but they’re uncomfortable with ours—and again, I’m talking about the good ones. Bad ones are resentful, sometimes hostile. The worst among them won’t partner with us. The old guard in management—which isn’t everyone, but it’s enough of them—pass women over for opportunities that lead to promotions. They’ll say they’re doing us a favor, keeping us out of harm’s way. Then when that sergeant exam comes up and your experiences don’t measure up to theirs, they shrug and say, ‘You just don’t have the resume.’ But they never acknowledge their role in that process.”

  Val exhaled a loud breath. “Wow. Sounds like the old glass ceiling has multiple layers of acrylic piled on top.”

  “And alligators,” Jordan said, laughing. “And laser beams. But it’s not all bad. Sure, opportunities for women are limited. However, when they open up, it’s often easier for individual women to win them because of how few of us there are. Supply and demand, and all that.”

  “You mean, for affirmative-action hires, for example? ‘We need to promote a woman this month’ sort of thing?” Val asked.

  Jordan nodded. “You’re quick on the uptake, Dawes.” She smiled. “You’ll make a good detective someday.”

  Val’s ears reddened, but her heart swelled. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Until lately, that is. I’ve started to doubt myself, now that I’ve heard some of these stories.”

  Jordan parked in the lot behind the precinct station. “No knocks on your college education, but nothing beats experience,” she said.

  An idea took shape in Val’s mind. “Say,” she said. “I was wondering. Would it be possible for me to follow you around for a few hours sometime to watch what your typical day is like? I promise, I won’t interfere with anything. I just want to learn.”

  Jordan parked and eyed her with caution. “You want to shadow me, eh?” She gazed out the front windshield. “There’s a public outreach program where citizens can ride along in squad cars, but that’s reserved for patrol units. You’re looking for a more practical, up-close-and-personal experience, am I right?”

  “Something like that,” Val said. “I’ll check into that ride-along thing. But I thought if I shadowed you, I’d see the daily life of a detective—and what it’s like for a woman. That’s a lot more relevant for me.”

  “I can see that,” Jordan said. “Now, you’d have to keep your yap shut. No butting in, ever. No talking out of school, either, so to speak.”

  “Never,” Val said. “Girls’ honor.”

  Jordan grinned at her. “Okay, Dawes. We’ll do that. In fact, I was thinking of something along those lines myself, believe it or not.”

  “You were?” Val said, excitement building. “That’s awesome! Thank you!”

  “On that note,” Jordan said, “let’s talk about Isaac Lewis.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tanisha Jordan noticed Dawes startle at the second mention of Isaac Lewis. Val had steered the conversation away from him and onto her interest in the life of a female cop, and seemed...what? Upset wasn’t quite the word. Unnerved, perhaps. Surprised, at least. As if, by changing the subject, Dawes counted on Jordan forgetting about her main objective in picking Dawes up that morning.

  Not frigging likely, as her father used to say when he thought the kids were out of earshot. She’d become a detective because of her tenacity and laser-like focus. Dozens of career criminals far more capable of avoiding tough interrogation had preceded Dawes in similar attempts. None had derailed her investigations.

  “When Isaac Lewis followed you last evening,” Jordan said when they’d reached her office, “would you characterize it as him trying to isolate or intimidate you? Or was it more like following you to, say, see where you lived or who you might be meeting?”

  Dawes gnawed on her lower lip. “I couldn’t tell,” she said. “He tried to stay hidden at first, but once I picked up the pace, he did his best to close the gap. Another hundred yards and he might have.”

  “With your track speed?” Jordan said. “Couldn’t you outrun him?”

  “I was exhausted...from soccer practice.” Her voice lacked its usual clarity and conviction, however. As if Dawes didn’t believe her own words.

  Jordan leaned in and lowered her voice. “Ms. Dawes,” Jordan said, “were you trying to let him catch you?”

  “No!” Dawes reacted as if the detective had slapped her. “I thought it was Rizzo, remember? The guy who abducted Jada.”

  “It might have been the kidnapper,” Jordan said. “Just not Rizzo.”

  “Why would he come after me?” Dawes asked. “How would that help them?”

  Jordan nodded, leaned back, and drew a deep breath. “It seems strange that they haven’t contacted her, and yet, there’s also no sign of the child in any of the usual channels,” she said. “That tells me they’re being especially cautious, and not just because they’ve realized she’s gone to the police. It confirms that she knows these people, rather than it being some random kidnapper. They’re aware that she’s looking, and has help. Besides the police.” She fixed her gaze on Dawes, waited for the logical conclusion to dawn on her. It only took a moment.

  “That’s right,” Jordan said. “You. They’re watching her, so they know you’re in the picture. They’ve probably figured out who you are. Who your uncle was. An
d if they conclude that you’re anything like him, then you’re trouble—and they want you out of the way.”

  Dawes sat up straighter, growing more animated—as if she relished this revelation. “Could they have gotten to Adonna Matthison somehow?” she asked.

  Jordan’s mouth hung open. Of all the responses, that was perhaps the one she least expected. “Why do you ask?”

  “Someone fed Ms. Matthison some misinformation, apparently, and Rhonda accused me,” she said. “If they’re trying to isolate her, and discovered the case involved Child Services—”

  “Isaac Lewis would know that,” Jordan said. “As would Rizzo. They’re both in the system, and both know how it works. So it doesn’t eliminate either from suspicion, but makes them both more likely than anyone else.”

  “Wouldn’t Desmond LeMieux also realize that?” Dawes asked in a dull voice, as if uttering the words pained her.

  A chill swept across Jordan’s brow. “Yes, he would,” she said. “Okay, that makes three strong suspects. Although I don’t see a strong motive for the brother.”

  “I agree,” Dawes said. “But one of the other guys might’ve threatened him somehow, made him an unwilling accomplice.” She made a face. “I didn’t sense that from him, though. Desmond seemed afraid, yes, but also surprised by the whole thing.”

  Jordan considered this. Her skeptical nature pushed her toward suspecting everyone, but Dawes had shown intelligence and strong instincts. Enough to make her rethink things, if only a little. “Well, he’s Jamaica’s problem, for now,” she said. “They’ve kept an eye on him and haven’t spotted him meeting with anyone suspicious. Regardless, I’ve got to focus on what I can do here. Which brings me to my proposition.” She lowered her voice again. “I’d like you to help me.”