Doug Allyn - The Best American Mystery Stories 2015

She never asked me about it again. But from then on I thought about it, that conversation, whenever she seemed a little quiet. I’d wonder if she was thinking about what I do and what kind of person it makes me. I’d wonder if Cory was talking to her about it, bad-mouthing me behind my back.

Then her grandmother died. It wasn’t quick. She was in the hospital for a while. So there were trips to see her, and visits to April’s parents’ house. And then the last trip to the hospital, and the funeral and everything. I went with April to all of them. Well, I guess I missed a few, because of work, but I went along when I could. And I was there for her at home. I held her a couple of times when she cried. I was extra-nice to her, like you are with people who just lost someone. I thought I did a good job. I thought I was being supportive.

But then, a few days after the funeral, April started crying again, so I tried to hug her, but she pushed me away.

She said, “Don’t.”

I said, “What’s wrong?”

She wouldn’t answer me.

I said, “Are you mad at me or something?”

Again, she wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t even look at me.

I had to ask a couple more times, but finally she said, “You can’t help me with this.”

I said, “Well, I guess that’s right. Nobody can help, really. Only time will make it better.”

She said, “No, I mean you can’t help.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t know how this feels.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant. I didn’t know exactly what kind of relationship she’d had with her grandmother, but I’ve lost grandparents too, and other relatives. I tried to tell her that, carefully, trying hard not to be insensitive.

But she said, “No, I mean no one who kills people for a living can really know how this feels.”

I was floored. “What are you talking about?”

“If you’d ever felt this way, you wouldn’t be able to do your job.”

It was everything I’d been afraid of. And somehow it made me mad.

I said, “So you think I’m a robot? I never grieved for anyone? I’m not capable of it?”

She just looked at me and said, “I don’t know what you feel. But it can’t be like normal people.”

I couldn’t talk after that. I couldn’t make words come out. The worst of it was, she wasn’t mad. She was just sort of cold. Closed off.

We talked about it some more later that night, a little bit, but I don’t remember anything I said. I don’t think I made any sense, I was so upset. I know I didn’t say anything that had any effect on her. Nothing made a dent.

She moved out four days after that. Not back to her parents’ house. She already had an apartment lined up.

Barbara said, “Did she give you a reason?”

“Lots of them. She had a whole list. We were two different people, that’s the main one I remember.”

The look in his eyes showed that he was in fact capable of feeling grief. Barbara said, “I’m sorry. Did you ever live with a girlfriend before her?”

“No.”

Barbara wasn’t surprised. His personnel file included his results from the Meyers-Briggs Personality Type Inventory, which he’d been required to take when he joined the force. It showed he was introverted, cerebral, and extremely self-reliant. Just the qualities you wanted in a sniper, but not necessarily in a romantic partner. It would have been only natural if he’d had trouble getting along with his first live-in girlfriend.

She said, “Well, how did you cope with your relationship ending?”

“I don’t know. I just tried to work. Tried not to think about it. But in the end I couldn’t do either one.”

Gently Barbara said, “Tell me about what happened yesterday.”

I got the call while I was out on patrol. I got to the scene first, before Dean, so I picked a spot to set up in. It was in one of the offices of a car dealership across the street from the suspect. I had a clear shot out the window from there, straight at the side of the car the suspect was sitting in. It was only fifty yards away. The scope brought him so close I could see the pores on his face.

His name was Clarence Schappell. I remember thinking you wouldn’t expect someone named Clarence to ever do anything violent. His girlfriend’s name was Valerie. She was sitting in the front seat on the passenger side and he was sitting behind her, both of them facing front. Most of the time he kept the gun pointed at the back of her headrest, but sometimes he’d put it down. It was a heavy gun, a Smith & Wesson 686. That’s the big .357 Magnum, stainless steel with a six-inch barrel. It holds seven rounds, but one would be enough to kill Valerie, no question.

I got set up. It took Dean a long time to get there. I was on my own for probably an hour. And that whole time I’m worrying, the same old thoughts running through my head. But now it’s worse, because now I feel like I have answers to a lot of the old questions. I feel like I really do know this guy because of what he’s going through. You see, before I got there he was already on the phone with Barry. He told Barry he’s just trying to work some things out with his girlfriend. I can sure relate to that. I mean he’s gone way overboard, but I know just how he feels. A week or two ago I had moments when I fantasized about cornering April in a room somewhere, locking the door, and not letting her leave until she told me whether or not she ever really loved me, and why she did what she did. I didn’t do it, of course, but I felt like I knew what drove Clarence to do this.

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.