Doug Allyn - The Best American Mystery Stories 2015

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.

The author of eight novels and more than 120 short stories, Doug Allynhas 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.

The story made a splash in the papers and on TV, but the small-town buzz it created was totally sympathetic to the three ladies. What purpose had been served by their public humiliation?

The phrase I heard constantly repeated was, “In the old days, this never could have happened.” They were right. In the old days, in our small town, the story would have been quietly suppressed. No harm, no foul.

In those days our town was run by an old-boy network, a loose circle of friends (lawyers, judges, doctors, cops) who golfed and hunted and partied together. Policy decisions that affected the entire county were often made by a few friends over drinks at the Yacht Club.

A conspiracy? In a way it was, but I’m not complaining. My own youthful misdeeds, from DUIs to street scuffles, were glossed over and dismissed because I came from a “good” family. If those exceptions hadn’t been made, I and many of my friends might be living very different lives now. And wearing ankle bracelets.

Still, those days weren’t all Hallmark card moments. I know mistakes were made, some of them pretty egregious, which gave rise to this story. What if the old-boy network, with the best of intentions, made a fatal mistake?

God, I love this game.

Andrew Bourelle’s fiction has been published in Hobart, Kestrel, Jabberwock Review, Prime Number Magazine, Red Rock Review, Thin Air, Weave, Whitefish Review , and other journals and anthologies. He is an assistant professor of English at the University of New Mexico. He lives in Albuquerque with his wife, Tiffany, and son, Benjamin.

• I wrote this story several years ago, when I was a graduate student at the University of Nevada, Reno. I had been interested in writing a modern-day western for a while, and after reading Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men , I decided to go for it. I wanted to write a fast-paced story where I could put my foot on the gas and not let up. I also tried to take common western themes and subvert them. Instead of riding off into the sunset at the end of the story, Jack is riding toward the sunrise. He has his whole life ahead of him, a life where he’ll never be able to outrun what he’s done.

I’m indebted to my former professor Christopher Coake, who gave me excellent advice for revising the story. I’m also thankful to Amy Locklin for first publishing the story in the anthology Law and Disorder.

Tomiko M. Brelandis just beginning her literary career. Her short fiction has won the Ploughshares Emerging Writer’s Award and placed in the Writer’s Digest Popular Fiction Contest. She runs a small editing, manuscript review, and graphic design business out of her home in Monterey, California, where she lives with her husband and two sons, and is completing her first novel. “Rosalee Carrasco” was her first published piece of fiction.