Big Girls Don't Cry (3 page)

Lexie swallowed a laugh and exchanged a shrug with Master Wan. Their work with these abandoned women had lessened many of the telltale signs of the hard street life they lived, except for their language. Even in the dojo, where decorum was expected and enforced, the rough language was the last to go. Anthony always said, “Lexie’s ‘women’ would make a platoon of soldiers blush.”

Turning to the group of young girls, Lexie chanted instructions as they moved in formation across the mats. “Kick, strike, turn! Kick strike, turn!”

When they reached the other side, their young faces glowing with the effort, they bowed low to Lexie and Master Wan. Shouts and applause rang out.

Lexie smiled at Graciella, at six, the youngest of the group, and Tanya, her seven year old sister. Both girls showed extraordinary promise. Lexie’s heart clenched. The girls looked so much like Jill, it was painful. Shoving down the ache, she focused on her gratitude. Somehow out of the tragedy, they had been able to save the two little girls.

Glancing at Jill’s picture in the center of the trophy wall, Lexie reminded herself how proud Jill would be of her girls. They were survivors.

Jill was one of the first students in Lexie’s women’s self-defense class. The phone call in the middle of the night was as clear, as chilling today as it had been three years ago. The nightmare woke her often. Jill’s frantic whispers, begging her to come. “He’s going to kill me, please come, Lexie…please...”

They didn’t get there in time. Jill’s husband beat her to death in front of their wide-eyed three and four year old little girls.

Lexie had planned to be a social worker, but after Jill’s death she decided she preferred a profession where she could carry a gun. From that moment on, her mission in life was the women and girls in front of her and the throngs of others that would constantly fill their ranks.

After each group performed and had been cheered by their admiring peers, Lexie pulled them together for last minute instructions.

“Remember, we will have lots of press people here today. We have three television stations coming and both newspapers.”

Tanya interrupted, her eyes glowing with wonder, “You mean we will be on television?”

Lexie, laughed. “You sure better be. That’s why we’ve been working so hard to get your routines perfect. Now, the reporters are going to ask you questions. Don’t be afraid, and don’t be shy. Tell them why you are here and show them all the things you are learning.”

An older woman, her face disfigured with an ugly scar that kept one eye permanently closed, interrupted, “No, Jai Li. They don’t want to talk to us.” She pointed to the trophy wall, “They want to talk to you. You’re the star.”

Lexie put up her hands. Her voice was fierce. “Oh, no, I’m not, Margaret! I’m your sensei. All of you, every one of you, is a star!”

She looked from woman to woman, holding their gaze. When she reached the young girls, she nodded to Graciella. “Even you, Graciella. You are a strong little girl.”

At that moment, the two young men perched on tall ladders hanging a banner across the doorway let the banner unfurl. In big bold script it said “Strong Women Survive!”

In the chorus of laughter and excitement that followed, Lexie permitted herself a flush of pride. The banner was her line in the sand. She swelled with satisfaction and determination, vowing as Anthony vowed to her, she would never let these women down. Never let anyone hurt them.

~~~

In the midst of the chatter, the door between the dojo and Master Wan’s home opened. The delectable smell of pastries filled the air.

Several of the little girls dragged on Lexie’s arm. Mindy pleaded, “Oh, Jai Li, please say there’ll be those puffy cookies with the sweet stuff inside at the party?” The other girls’ shrill voices added to the clamor.

Lexie laughed. Madam Juen had been baking for two days in preparation for the celebration. The little girls had come to love the lotus paste pastries as much as Lexie did, preferring them to Oreos and chocolate chip cookies.

Lexie looked up in time to see Schen’s frown and turned to see Master Wan in the doorway. She stepped back, startled by his appearance.

She’d known his black hair had grayed over the years, but he looked ten years older. The pain on his face was so intense, so blatant that she struggled to find her breath.

Swallowing hard, she whispered, “Madam Juen?” praying with all her heart that it wasn’t.

Tears streamed down Master Wan’s face. He shook his head no.

The pain that had begun to grip her tightened, a vice squeezing every drop of blood from her heart. There wasn’t enough spit in her mouth to say the word. Lexie could only mouth it.

“Anthony?”

Master Wan closed his eyes and then nodded. He handed her the official looking document with the black and gold insignia across the top: Yuma Police Department.

Chapter 2

Jake slipped in the conference room in time to hear Chief Burton say “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Beloi.” Even to Jake, the words sounded hollow. The tense young woman sitting across from the chief responded like he’d lobbed a gallon of gasoline on smoldering coals.

Her voice was incredulous, laced with fury. “You are sorry for my loss, Chief?”

Is that what you have to say to me? You are sorry for my loss?” She tossed her head and leaned forward, grasping the arms of the chair, her fingers white with the strain.

The chief squirmed. The slight flush on his cheeks and greasy sheen on his upper lip telegraphed his discomfort. Jake breathed in the heavy tension in the room, tangled with the smell of burnt coffee and industrial cleaner. The six men huddled around the scarred table looked as uncomfortable as the chief. Distinguishable only by the colors of their uniforms, they were a striking contrast to the blond woman in her fitted red suit glaring at the chief.

Her anger was harsh, unrelenting. “Who taught you to say that, Chief? Some shrink years ago told you that’s what grieving families wanted to hear? That you were sorry that they lost something? Like a dog or a cat?? How about if they “lost” a mother or a father or a child--or in my case, a brother? Did it ever occur to you, Chief, to change your script? To look the person in the eye and say to those shattered souls sitting across from you, ‘I’m sorry as hell, ma’am, that your husband was killed?’ Or, ‘sure am sorry that your kid drowned, or hate like heck that your wife was murdered, sir!’ Maybe, Chief Burton, that way you could establish the fact that they “lost” something important!”

Chief Burton breathed an audible sigh. “Look, Miss Beloi, I know what you are feeling…”

Her voice shot out emphasizing the sharp crack of her hand on the table. The chief visibly jumped. “No, Chief Burton, you do not know how I feel. You cannot begin to know how I feel. And you don’t need to know. You don’t need to know what Anthony meant to me. You don’t deserve to know that. You don’t deserve to know that he was the finest brother anyone could have. The finest man I’ve ever known. But you already know that, don’t you, Chief? You know what kind of a man, a cop, Anthony was.”

The chief swallowed and leaned forward, the creases on his lined forehead knotted in deep crevices.

“Miss Beloi, I know you are upset. Can I get something for you, a glass of water, a cup of coffee? Maybe, it…would be better to have this conversation when you settle down…”

The words weren’t out of his mouth when the woman leapt to her feet. She planted her hands midway across the table, her face inches from his. Her voice shook with anger. “Don’t you dare patronize me.”

The men around the table looked down. The sounds of uneasy coughs, shuffling papers, and chairs scraping against linoleum, filled the heavy silence following her impassioned outcry.

Jake took this moment to move toward the table.

“Mind if I join you, Chief?”

Relief flooded the older man’s strained face. He met Jake’s eyes with a grateful nod and motioned to the chair at the end of the table.

“Please, Jake, have a seat.”

Several men in military uniform rose as Jake approached. He waved them down with a flick of his wrist.

He stood behind the chair at the end of the table and waited until he had the young woman’s attention. He nodded to her. “Special Agent Jake Gardner, Army CID. Please, ma’am, sit down.”

She glared at him, transferring her palpable anger from the relieved police chief to him. She raised her chin defiantly and straightened her slim shoulders.

“Why should I?”

Jake allowed a slight smile to cross his lips.

“For one thing, protocol demands that I stay standing as long as you do.” He added, his drawl deepening, “And because my Grandmother Winnie Mae would have my hide if I sat down before a lady did.”

Lexie glared at the tall dark haired man at the end of the table. The bars and scrambled egg insignia decorating his camouflage signified his status. She knew she was close to losing it. Her heart pounded and she struggled to breathe. Her legs were shaking, a combination of stress and rage. The sea of faces blurred. Only the man’s piercing blue eyes holding her gaze made any sense. She realized with a start that he would stand as long as she did. With a dismissive shrug, she sunk down in her chair, wondering incongruously if real people had grandmothers with names like Winnie Mae.

Refusing to acknowledge the concern that she saw in his eyes, she snapped, “Why are you here? What does CID have to do with my brother’s death? Didn’t the army get enough of him for eight years, sending him to every hellhole in the world? Now you need to be involved in his death, as well? Or do you need to write up one of your fancy reports so that the army can close one more troublesome file like Chief Burton is trying to do.”

She ignored the gasps from several of the younger military personnel and the chagrin tightening the chief’s face. Agent Gardner threw the chief a quick glance, frowning slightly. Lexie refused to look away when he turned his full attention to her. His easy smile and southern tinged drawl were noticeably absent when he replied.

“In answer to your question, Miss Beloi, I am here because Anthony’s body was found on the base. This means that even though he was an employee of the Yuma Police Department at the time of his death, the army is directly responsible for finding his killer. I assure you that no reports, fancy or otherwise, will be written, or files closed by the army or the YPD, until the person or persons responsible for his death are apprehended and punished.”

Lexie was startled. No one had told her they found Anthony on the base. She stared at Special Agent Gardner for a long moment, surprised that he called her brother by his first name. She decided she would deal with him later. For now, she wouldn’t let him take the heat off the unfortunate police chief. She knew that she was being rude, challenging, but she refused to let these men push her aside, not answer her questions. To relegate her to the bin of grieving family members begging for information that never came.

She opened her leather portfolio and removed a sheet of paper with the YPD logo inscribed on the top. Ignoring Special Agent Gardner, she shoved it across the table toward the chief.

“I assume you are the Chief John Burton who sent me this letter. The letter indicates once again that you are ‘sorry for my loss’ and goes on to say that to date you have no suspects or leads to the people who killed Anthony.”

“Seems what, Chief? Not helpful? Dismissive? Thoughtless? But you didn’t let me finish reading. I was particularly interested in this last sentence.” She stopped and looked up at him and pointed to the letter her eyes flashing. “Here, where you say that ‘due to the lack of hard evidence, I do not expect to have additional information for you any time in the near future. Cordially, John Burton, Chief of Police, City of Yuma.’”

A hushed silence fell over the table. Lexie looked from to man, but none of them met her gaze. Rather they peered at the table or began leafing through their large folders. Agent Gardner’s crisp voice broke the silence. “May I please see the letter, John?”

The chief rubbed his beefy hand over his jaw and reluctantly handed the letter to Deputy Nick Thomas, who gave it to Agent Gardner.

Lexie ignored Agent Gardner’s dark study of the letter and focused on Chief Burton.

The chief raised his hands with an aggrieved shrug.

“I know this looks bad. Like we don’t care about you or that we didn’t care about what happened to your brother. You don’t have to believe me, Miss Beloi, but Lt. Beloi’s death has torn this department apart. Every available man and woman we have is working the case. That letter was a mistake. It’s…it’s a fucking form letter. I apologize. You know your brother worked undercover. His job was dangerous as hell. I … I should have explained that we have to keep our investigation under wraps. The last thing we want is to let our investigation blow all the hard work Lt. Beloi accomplished.”