And now there I am, and I’m going to have to shoot the guy. I can see it. He’s even more squirrelly than Guinness was. Whatever answers he was hoping to get from Valerie, she’s not giving them to him. Sergeant Erb can see it too, and everybody else. I can hear through my headset, people warning each other this guy’s going to lose it.
About five minutes after Dean gets there, Sergeant Erb asks me for a status report. He wants to know my state of readiness. That’s him giving me a heads-up, letting me know the next thing I get from him is going to be the green light.
So now I’m trying hard to find a way out. Which is ironic, because you can see Clarence isn’t even thinking about that, he’s so wrapped up in his conversation with Valerie. He’s looking more and more upset. I can’t think what to do. Things are getting so tense, Sergeant Erb tells Dean to go on station along with me. As Dean finishes unpacking his gear, I hear Sergeant Erb put the team on standby. Time is running out, fast.
Clarence is crying now. I watch him lift up the gun. He had it down out of sight, in his lap. Now he puts it to the back of Valerie’s headrest and cocks it with his thumb.
Sergeant Erb says, “O’Donnell, green light.”
I break out in a cold sweat. I’ve got one second to make a decision here. If I don’t shoot Clarence he’s going to kill Valerie, but I’m still hesitating. If I can’t shoot this guy in this situation, who can I shoot? But I still can’t make myself do it. But I can’t let Valerie die.
Clarence is holding the gun perfectly still, pressing it hard against the back of the headrest. I adjust my aim and squeeze the trigger.
My focus was too tight to see what happened. I just saw the gun jump out of my field of view. Or the hammer, to be more accurate. I back out my focus a little and I can see Clarence through the broken window. He’s staring down toward his lap. I didn’t know it in that moment but he still had the gun in his hand. When I shot the hammer off it, I didn’t knock the gun out of his hand. And by some stroke of luck he was clearheaded enough to see what I did and realize that meant the gun was useless. It’s a good thing, otherwise he might have pointed it at the team. They were rushing at him right then, with their own guns raised. They would have shot him in a heartbeat.
Barbara said, “Department policy is to shoot the suspect in that situation, not the gun.”
“I know it is.”
“Do you know why that’s the policy?”
“Because the objective is to eliminate the threat posed by the suspect. The only sure way to do that is to kill him, and kill him instantly. Just wounding him might make him pull the trigger out of reflex, or anger. And trying to shoot the gun out of his hand might make it go off too.”
Barbara nodded, straight-faced, as if she’d known any of that herself twenty-four hours ago. She couldn’t admit it, but her first reaction yesterday had been delight when she heard what Keith had done. Captain Smith needed to explain to her that disarming a suspect is the goal when the suspect is suicidal, but when they’re homicidal it’s a different story.
Keith said, “I just couldn’t put a bullet through his head.”
“From what I understand that was a tough shot, shooting the hammer. A small target, behind glass?”
“The bullets we use are big enough to go through glass without breaking up or changing trajectory. And there was no chance I’d miss. I’m too good a shot. If I can’t make that shot from fifty yards, I don’t have any business being a sniper.”
His lips twisted into a grimace. “Well,” he added, “I guess I don’t have any business being a sniper regardless. If you can’t take that shot...” He waved vaguely, then ran that hand through his hair, a gesture of helpless frustration. “Well, at least you can tell the brass I wasn’t hot-dogging it. I’m sure they’ll wish I was.”
“Do you still want to be a sniper?”
“No, I guess I don’t.”
“Do you still want to be a police officer?”
Desperation flashed in his eyes. “Yes! But — Jesus! What if... what if I can’t take any shot? What if somebody pulls a gun, points it at my partner — or at me! — and I can’t shoot him?”
Barbara said soothingly, “We can examine that. I’m going to recommend we keep on meeting while you’re on suspension. We should meet two or three times a week. During those sessions we’re bound to get some idea what you’re capable of. If I think you can still fulfill all your responsibilities as a patrol officer, I’ll recommend you be returned to active duty — once the investigation into yesterday is finished. But understand, not everyone is capable of shooting a person. A lot of people couldn’t do it even if their life depended on it. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“How can it change?” he cried, frustrated and angry. “For God’s sake, all the people I shot before! Why would it change now?”
“People change.”
She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him there was a reason why the military preferred eighteen-year-old recruits, boys who were so young they didn’t yet have fully developed consciences and higher reasoning faculties. But like so many other revelations, it would be better if her patient came to that realization himself.
Still, she could offer Keith some consolation.
She said, “Think of it this way. Whatever else happens, you saved Clarence’s life. And Valerie’s. You saved them both.”
He nodded, relaxing visibly.
Then he said, “You know, it’s like she cast a spell on me. April.”
“She might have been the catalyst for change, but she didn’t force change upon you. Remember, you worried about shooting that drug dealer before you and April ever talked about your job. Before you met Cory.”
Keith nodded, relaxing some more. He sighed. “Still, if I’m going to have all this trouble — if I’m going to lose my career and everything — you’d think I should at least get the girl.”
Barbara smiled wanly. You’ll get another one, she almost said. When you’re ready.
But she didn’t think hearing that would help him right now, so she didn’t say it.
Contributors’ Notes
The author of eight novels and more than 120 short stories, Doug Allyn has been published internationally in English, German, French, and Japanese. More than two dozen of his tales have been optioned for development as feature films and television.
Allyn studied creative writing and criminal psychology at the University of Michigan while moonlighting as a guitarist in the rock group Devil’s Triangle and reviewing books for the Flint Journal. His background includes Chinese-language studies at Indiana University and extended duty in USAF Intelligence in Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War.
Career highlights? Sipping champagne with Mickey Spillane and waltzing with Mary Higgins Clark.
His first published story won the Robert L. Fish Award from Mystery Writers of America, and subsequent critical response has been equally remarkable. He has won the coveted Edgar Allan Poe Award twice, five Derringer Awards for novellas, and the Ellery Queen Readers’ Award an unprecedented twelve times.
• A few years ago, in my hometown, a judge’s widow and two elderly lady friends shared a convivial lunch at a local steak house. On their way home, they rear-ended a car hauler. No one was hurt. The widow was cited for driving under the influence and released.