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toward the old Buick I was driving that year and called in from my car phone.
    A firm, clipped voice answered. "Ferrin."
    I took a breath. "Marty Singer, Chief. You paged me?"
    "Singer. I heard you've got a real cluster fuck on your hands."
    "I just walked the scene, Chief. I haven't talked to the shooter yet. It's an MPDC cop named Wheeler."
    "I know who it is," Jim Ferrin said. "That's why I'm calling. The press is going to be riding our ass on this and we don't need any screw-ups in the field."
    "I wasn't planning on dropping the ball," I said.
    His voice was brittle. "Make sure you don't, Singer. We have a shitty reputation in this town as it is. If we gloss over any part of this case, it'll look like we're covering for Wheeler. And we can't suffer a black eye of that magnitude. Got it?"
    I bit back a smart-ass reply. "Got it."
    "Then get back to work, Detective," he said, and hung up.
    I sat there, digesting what my assistant chief of police had just said, then shrugged. I hadn't planned on either hiding evidence or fabricating it. If a cop killing a civilian was a media relations nightmare, it wasn't my problem. I got out of the car, pissed off, and looked around for Wheeler. I caught his eye and motioned for him to come talk to me. He said something out of the side of his mouth to the other cops. Ferrin and Delaney laughed. Wheeler walked over to me with his thumbs hooked in his belt like a gunslinger, except his sidearm was missing, already turned in as evidence.
    I asked him to give me the short version. He told me he had spotted someone creeping through backyards in the direction of the Lane's house and had believed there was a breakin in progress. He called it in, then proceeded to enter the home, believing the Lanes' lives were in danger.
    "Looks like you were right," I said. Wheeler flushed. "What happened then?"
    "I ran upstairs assuming Ms. Lane and her daughter were asleep and in possible danger. I had my service revolver drawn. I approached Ms. Lane's bedroom to investigate and saw she had a pistol pointed at me. Fearing for my life, I reacted instinctively and shot her."
    "From the hall?"
    "Yes, sir. Just outside the doorway."
    "Not in the room itself?
    "No, sir."
    "Because then there would've been too much time for her to point the gun and you to react without thinking."
    "Detective?"
    "If you'd gone all the way into the room, it would've given her enough time to realize that you were a cop and not a burglar."
    He hesitated, then said, "I don't know, sir. All I know is that she was about to shoot."
    "You believe Ms. Lane thought you were a burglar?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "And did you find any evidence of the burglar you thought you saw earlier?"
    "No, sir. Officer Ferrin and I searched the area, but didn't find anyone."
    I stared at him, waiting for him to say more, but he simply looked back at me, expressionless. Finally, I said, "Okay, I got what I need. Keep yourself available. I'll need to talk to you in the next day or two."
    He turned to go, stopped, and looked back at me. And said something that set my skin crawling. He said, "Thank you, Detective, for making the right decision in this justifiable and defensible shooting."
    I stared at him as he walked to his cruiser, got in, and pulled away.
     
    . . .
     
    I've thought a lot about that night.
    Cops say and do strange things after they shoot someone. There might be tears, or anger, or silence. They might talk it out or they might take it in stride. Some guys act flippant, make jokes. Others pray. Whatever the reaction, they're all trying to keep themselves from thinking about the terrifying, momentous thing they've done. None of them will ever be the same cop they were when they started. Some aren't ever the same, period, and they turn in their badge a month later.
    But rarely do they sound victorious. Smug. Certain. And that's how Michael Wheeler sounded that night. Like he'd gotten away with murder.
    Which he had.
     

Chapter Six
    I was bent over the