was dangerously weak. Using her panic to create one last ounce of energy, Tori let go of
her neck and dove forward, as if she were diving into a deep swimming pool. The attacker
didn't expect Tori to dive forward and was momentarily yanked toward his victim. Tori
threw her hands down next to the man she shot and tried to find her gun. Instead her
hands struck the knife the stranger had intended to kill her with. With no choice but to
compromise, Tori grabbed the knife with both hands as if she had wrapped her hands
around a drinking glass and then brought the knife over her head and plunged it backward
as hard as she could. The tip of the sharp knife struck the attacker in his right eye. He let
out a painful scream, released Tori, grabbed his eye, and then fled.
Tori dropped forward and began coughing and gasping for air as thin streams of
blood dripped from her neck. She ripped loose the painful string attached to her neck,
managed to locate her gun, and then--and only then--dropped the knife from her
trembling hands. Uncertain if her attacker might return, she crawled to the front door,
placed her back against the wood, and aimed her gun into the small foyer. “That wasn't
Matthew . . . ” Tori whispered, feeling as if she might vomit. The taste of fear and . . . yes,
death, wandered around her mouth. Never had Tori tasted such a poisonous concoction.
Shaking violently, she waited for her attacker to return. When she heard a police
siren appear in the distance a few minutes later, she began crying. Why? Tori forced her
emotions to conform to her desire to appear as a woman who was in absolute control of
her life, but she was still a woman, a fragile woman who needed to be loved, protected and
cared for. Tori lowered her gun, forced her legs to work, opened the front door and
stepped out into a cold rain.
A tall, thin, nerdy kid wearing a deputy sheriff's uniform, saw Tori step out of her
home carrying a gun and waving at him. Deputy Steve Marlow raced a fancy Dodge
Charger up to Tori's driveway, grabbed his gun, jumped out into the rain, and yelled:
“Drop the gun . . . hands in the air . . . drop the gun.” Tori wasn't surprised that the idiot
cop was overreacting. After all, she was holding a gun. “Drop the gun . . . now!”
Tori dropped her gun on a wet, brown lawn and placed her hands in the air. “This is
my house . . . I was attacked . . .” And with those words, Tori Whitfield leaned forward and
vomited and then . . . her world went dark. She awoke in a hospital emergency room. A
week later, after answering a hoard of questions from two local detectives--and
demanding answers herself, answers that never came--Tori left Greenson and drove to
North Ridge feeling bruised and weak, angry and helpless . . . but never more determined
to find who had almost killed her and who was behind her sister's disappearance.
Tori drove past the Tennessee School for the Blind, hung a right off Walnut Street
and made her way onto Brown Avenue toward the Police Academy, driving through heavy
sleet. “Finally,” she mumbled, grateful to be on Lebanon Pike after getting lost two times.
“Why did my GPS take me in those other directions . . .” Tori shook her head and focused
on the road. An hour later, after traveling longer than expected, she was walked to a brick
building that housed female cadets. The building reminded Tori of a college dorm except
a college dorm was full of life. The building was surrounded by gray skies, sleet and a
depressing landscape.
“This is your dorm room,” a female cop--half pretty and half commando--told Tori,
as they faced a closed gray door. “Orientation is tomorrow morning at one o'clock.
Orientation is mandatory. Be there or go home.”
“I didn't drive forty miles for nothing,” Tori told Officer Melanie Hocker, standing in
a gray, lifeless hallway.
Melanie eyed her with a disapproving expression. “What? Don't come here with a
chip on your shoulder,” Melanie warned Tori. “I became a cop when I was twenty-five.
I've been a cop for close to ten years now. In that time I've learned one thing that I always
keep close to my heart: Don't have an attitude. ”
Tori stared into Melanie's hard but concerned eyes. “I—” she began.
“You shot and killed an intruder and then were attacked and nearly killed,” Melanie
cut in.
“Yes, I know. Everyone knows. How?”
Melanie shook her head. “You basically dismantled Detective Lory. I'm surprised
your application wasn't thrown into the trash after the interview you gave.”
“I was asked honest questions and gave honest answers in return,” Tori told Melanie,
keeping her voice stern. She sat down a green suitcase and folded her arms. “If Detective
Lory would have carried out a thorough investigation, perhaps my sister would have been
found and I wouldn’t be standing here and carrying on my conscience the death of some
man whose name I don't even know.” Tori felt anger touch her eyes. “By the way, I did
receive a call and was asked to reconsider my application. My lawyer made it clear to . . .
the person . . . who called me that my application had already been accepted, that I had
already passed all the necessary requirements to be accepted into the academy, and that
by denying me in a last-minute notice would result in a lawsuit.”
Melanie shook her head. “You're barking up the wrong tree. I don't know what you're
expecting to accomplish, but let me explain that if--and that is a big if--you graduate and
become a cop, you're going to spend two to three years as a patrol cop and nothing more.
Then, and if . . . and this is another big if . . . you want to move up the ladder, you're going
to have to fight your heart out. And then what? So you make it up to detective . . . do you
think you're going to find your sister?”
“What do you know about my sister?” Tori snapped. “My sister was a wonderful,
amazing, loving mother who never harmed anyone. Now, she's missing . . . possibly dead.”
Tori narrowed her eyes. “I don't care how long it takes me, Officer Hocker, I'm going to
find out what happened to my sister . . . and who tried to kill me.”
“I admire your passion—”
“It's not passion—”
“Let me continue,” Melanie ordered. “I admire your purpose, but I let me warn you;
we may be living in a time when it seems that Fred Flintstone isn't in charge anymore, but
we women still have to fight.” Melanie glanced up and down the hallway. “This is a man's
world,” she warned and then turned and walked away.
Tori shook her head, picked up her suitcase, and then walked into a bare room
furnished with two beds, two wooden wall lockers and two desks. The sight of the room
almost made her break down. “Stay strong,” she pleaded and then focused entirely on
choosing a bed and getting settled down.
The following day Tori, dressed in a gray and blue sweatshirt, she had been issued,
put on a blue coat and followed a line of female cadets into a dimly lit auditorium. A group
of male cadets were already sitting in the auditorium talking about this or that. Not one
male cadet acknowledged that the female cadets had arrived. No. Each male cadet was
focused on becoming a cop and the majority of them had no desire to serve
alongside a
woman. Not that each male cadet didn't like women. Most of the cadets were married and
even the single cadets hungered to find a girlfriend. It was a simple matter of being a cop:
Cops were men, not women. Women were weak; men were strong. Women belonged in
jobs that were designed for women and men belonged in jobs designed for men. The
attitude was neither chauvinist or discriminatory—simply honest. These were the
thoughts Tori mulled on as she waited for the orientation to begin, sitting next to a very
beautiful twenty-four-year-old young woman named Haley. “I don't think we've met?”
Haley told Tori, speaking in a low voice. “My name is Haley McKinney.”
Tori glanced to her right and looked into Haley's beautiful face. What in the world
was a young woman like Haley doing in the police academy? Haley was beautiful. “My
name if Tori Whitfield.”
Haley offered a friendly smile. “Well, we made it,” she said in a relieved voice. “We're
here . . . now all we have to do is survive.”
“Why are you here?” Tori dared to ask. “You don't seem like the type.”
A deep sorrow rushed into Haley's blue eyes. “My father was killed in the line of duty
two years ago. I made a promise . . . here I am,” she said and then focused her attention
on the stage and said no more.
We all have our reasons Tori thought. She leaned back in her seat and waited for the
orientation to begin. A few minutes later a tall man in his mid-fifties walked out onto the
stage and introduced himself as Captain Henry Wills. Captain Mills approached a wooden
table, sat down a few folders and then turned to face a microphone. “As you all know, we
have restructured how we are doing things here at the academy,” Captain Mills began to
speak. “You're class is the first to experience the new restructuring programs, beginning
with the male and female dorms. In the past, each class cycled through the same format
of training. However, reports show that change is needed.”
Tori folded her hands and listened to Captain Wills. She listened with attentive ears
and found the words he spoke positive rather than negative. However, Tori did notice that
the Captain was speaking more to the men in the auditorium rather than the women.
Every so often he glanced toward the female cadets, but not too often. By the time the
orientation was complete, Tori felt torn. Yes, the new training program did offer many
positive changes, but . . . more for men rather than women; at least that's how she
perceived matters. Maybe I should quit and hire a private detective? I may waste many
years getting nowhere? Maybe trying to become a cop is the wrong answer after all?
4
aptain Wills walked behind a neatly organized desk and sat down. “I believe you
know Detective Lory,” he told Tori in a voice that wasn't pleasant or hostile.
C Tori saw Detective Lory standing next to a wooden filing cabinet chewing on
a toothpick. The man was staring at her with hard, angry, eyes. “Yes,” she stated
standing at an at-ease military style position. Her eyes quickly scanned a medium-sized
office—an office that belonged to a veteran police officer—and then focused back on
Detective Lory. “May I ask what this is all about Captain Wills?”
Captain Wills took a few seconds to examine Tori. “Ms. Whitfield,” he said,
addressing Tori by her civilian name instead of calling her Cadet Whitfield. “I've been a
cop for over twenty-five years. In that time I've seen our world become a completely
different battle ground.” Captain Wills placed his hands together and stared at Tori with
patient and understanding eyes. “I understand more than most how dangerous and evil
the world has become.”
Tori clearly understood what direction Captain Mills was going. She braced herself
for a fight. “Captain—”
“Allow me to finish,” Captain Wills instructed Tori, keeping a line of patience on a
face that resembled a hardened military drill sergeant. “I have a wife and two sons,” he
continued. “My first son is sixteen and my second son is fourteen. Every night I lay awake
worrying about what kind of world they are going to have to deal with as adults . . .
teenagers. I worry about when my wife steps out the front door and goes to the grocery
store. Will she come back alive? Will a drunk driver or some crack head kill her?” Captain
Wills face turned very solemn. “I also worry about my cops. I've seen far too many good
men and women die, Ms. Whitfield . . . men and women who became cops to honestly
serve. Do you understand what I'm saying?”
Tori glanced at Detective Lory. The ugly man sneered at her. “You're saying I have
my own agenda that may place lives in danger.”
Captain Wills nodded, relieved that Tori had dismissed any arguments and
acknowledged the exact purpose of the meeting. “I'm sorry that your sister is missing, Ms.
Whitfield. I'm sorry that you were almost killed. That is why I called Detective Lory to this
meeting. Detective?”
Detective Lory shoved the toothpick into the front pocket of a gray overcoat. “Before
I tell you why I'm here, let me tell you this,” he said in a sharp voice. “I served in the Army
as a military cop. I was nineteen. When I came out of the Army, I became a civilian cop
and worked my way up the . . . ladder,” he snarled at Tori, “through hard work and
dedication. I've been shot at, stabbed and even ran over. So you better believe you're not
dealing with some rookie, lady.”
“I'm dealing with a jerk,” Tori told Detective Lory in a strong voice.
Detective Lory shook his head. “I can't stand the sight of you, but the fact is you were
attacked and almost killed. That means that we're dealing with more than I expected.”
“Don't play cop now,” Tori snapped. “I spent seven months begging you to do your
job.”
“In all fairness,” Captain Wills spoke up for Detective Lory, “there wasn't much
evidence to help us. Detective Lory reviewed the parking lot security cameras, Ms.
Whitfield—”
“Cadet Whitfield,” Tori corrected Captain Wills.
Captain Wills looked at Detective Lory and continued. “The security cameras,
unfortunately, were of very little help.”
“I spotted your sister's SUV leaving the Opry Mills Shopping Center,” Detective Lory
spoke up, “she never came back. That's why I assumed she ran off with some guy.”
“But my sister's SUV was found empty and abandoned?” Tori stated in a confused
voice.
“Someone drove the SUV back and parked it,” Detective Lory said. “When? What
time? It's hard to tell. Do you know how many SUVs in the Opry Mills Shopping Center
parking lot resemble your sister's SUV? Countless.”
“But surely the security footage would show someone driving the SUV back,” Tori
insisted. “We have to review every second—”
“I already did,” Detective Lory snapped. “It was nearly dark when your sister left the
parking lot. Security cameras are junk at night. Your sister's SUV was parked way in the
back, lady. At that distance, vehicles, especially at night, are nothing but blurs. Unless
there's an actual emergency, the security cameras stay on wide focus, scanning a large
area. Th
e cameras zoom in only when there is a need.”
Tori forced her mind to think instead of react out of angry, impatient, emotion. “Did
you at least see my sister's SUV return?”
“It was dark and raining,” Detective Lory stated. “I saw a blur return, a blur stepped
out of the SUV and a blur walked away.”
“Unfortunately,” Captain Wills cut in, “the security cameras you see mounted on the
outside of shopping centers are not the best. Cameras are mostly used as deterrents.”
Captain Wills nodded at Detective Lory. “Ms. Cadet Whitfield, Detective Lory followed
the rules and did everything he could do as a cop. Assassinating his character isn't going
to bring back your sister . . . and neither is trying to become a cop.” Captain Wills locked
eyes with Tori and offered a compassionate face. “I understand you're angry and confused
and scared, but—”
“A man tried to kill me, Captain Wills.” Tori cut him off in an angry voice. “A man
wrapped a metal string around my neck and tried to kill me.” Tori leaned back and pointed
at an ugly, round scar. “The metal string cut into my neck,” she continued, keeping her
head tilted back. “I'm not here because I have my own personal vendetta. I'm here because
I want to find my sister and make sure that what happened to me never happens to
another innocent woman.” Tori lowered her head and braced herself. “I admit that at first
I wanted to become a cop only to find my sister, but now I know that I want to become a
cop to protect and help . . . and to fight. Right now I'm very scared and I'm very angry, but
I know that I'm where I need to be and I'm not backing down.” Tori pointed at the office
window with a shaky finger. “The man who tried to kill me was never found. He's still out
there. The only chance I have of surviving is to fight.”
Captain Wills saw a single tear slip from Tori's eye. But instead of seeing a weak,
helpless woman, he saw a strong and determined fighter that was willing to stand her
ground. “Cadet Whitfield, being a cop is entering a man's world. I hate to say it so bluntly,
but that's the truth. You're going to start off at the bottom and get stepped on every step
you take. Why? Because you're a woman.” Captain Wills shook his head. “I admire your
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