Angie's visits. If Mag couldn't tease Frank out of her sullenness, she'd just ignore her. She'd explained often enough that Angie was like caviar and champagne, but Frank was pot roast and mashed potatoes. Her friend was extravagant and funny; Frank was daily life with all its stable, reliable comforts and pleasures.
Smacking Frank's thigh, Mag had double-parked in front of the liquor store. Trying to humor Frank out of her funk, she'd teased, 'Come on, old pot roast.'
But Frank had whined, 'Why can't she just use milk in her coffee?' and slouched further in her seat.
'Because she
Frank had retorted, 'She's not even here yet and you're already fawning all over her.'
Sighing patiently, Maggie pointed out, 'One, I'm not fawning. Two, if you could read a simple grocery list, this wouldn't be a problem. Come on, honey, I'm double-parked here.'
'She's
Seeing Frank was serious, Maggie had grabbed her purse, swearing, 'Goddammit, Frank! When are you going to grow up?'
She'd slammed out of the car leaving Frank churlish but unrepentant. She was still hunkered in her seat, building an even bigger case against Angie, when she'd heard a boom and saw a kid running out of the liquor store. He'd run right by the car, toting a sawed-off. Frank had bolted after him and caught him almost immediately. He couldn't have been more than fifteen. He was terrified. As she'd cuffed him to a stop sign he'd stammered, 'I didn't mean it.'
She'd glanced behind her, expecting Mag to be running up, but there was only a crowd growing at the liquor store and a man shouting. Frank had raced back, feeling like her feet were glued to the sidewalk. Shoving people out of the store's entrance, she'd seen Maggie on the floor, surrounded by bright, colorful candy bars. A hole foamed pink air just above her left breast. A man had scurried around her, ranting in a language she didn't recognize. He'd tried to blot Maggie's blood with paper towels. Frank had stepped toward her, wanting to touch her and afraid to, sure if she just let this play out she'd wake up to find it was only another nightmare.
She'd heard someone yell, 'Call 911!' and realized she'd said it. She'd tried staunching the wound as she knelt next to Maggie, but it was too big and the blood flowed freely around her fingers. Frank gently and uselessly wiped the froth off Maggie's lips. Her lover's face blurred and shimmied as Frank viciously cuffed tears from her eyes. She'd whispered, 'Hold on, baby. Stay with me, stay with me.'
Mag had stared at Frank without responding. Air had breezed through the hole in her chest. Frank had seen holes like that in other people. Most of them had died. Mag was unconscious when the paramedics rushed in. Frank had prayed in the ambulance for the first time in decades.
At the hospital, she'd paced and paced. When the doctor came toward her she'd read his face and felt herself go into free fall. His voice had been dim and far away, saying Mag had never regained consciousness, the damage was far too massive. She'd literally drowned in her own blood. All over a pint of half-and-half.
Shock, coupled with the deep fatigue of an adrenaline crash, was threatening to settle over Frank. She needed coffee and numbly followed the signs to the cafeteria. Standing in line, she was oblivious to the dried blood on her hands and clothes, or the stares around her. The cashier gingerly handed Frank her change, suggesting there was a bathroom just down the hall where she might want to wash up. Frank's only response was a weary blink. The woman lowered her eyes back to the register.
Frank dragged herself back to the waiting area, where Foubarelle, Luchowski, Noah, and Chief Nelson were waiting for her. The head nurse volunteered her office, and the five of them squeezed inside. Frank reflexively gauged their moods: Foubarelle was livid, Luchowski looked sour, and Noah was still amped. Only the chief seemed calm.
'What happened in there?' he asked as soon as he shut the door. He indicated a chair, and even though she'd have loved to sink down into it, Frank stood. She started from the beginning, with the abandonment of the stakeout. At the part where the bust slipped sideways she paused to let Noah explain. He spoke animatedly with big gestures. Frank envied his energy, but knew it was just adrenaline he was running on.
'It was a clean shoot,' she concluded.
'How can you say that?' Luchowski exploded. 'You might have killed one of my men!'
Without bothering to correct pronouns, Frank said with barely controlled restraint, 'No, Timothy Johnston was killing your man.'
'Lieutenant Franco, of course we weren't there, but this looks like a gross overreaction. Was it necessary to mortally wound the suspect?'
Frank couldn't believe these dumb fucks. Kennedy's life was on the line and they were asking if it was necessary?
'With Detective Kennedy bleeding the way she was I didn't feel that exposing her to further risk of injury was prudent. Johnston had clearly demonstrated his intent to harm her, and in my mind he wouldn't have hesitated to kill either one of us if he had another chance.'
'With a
'Yeah, the pocketknife that put a fucking hole in her throat!' Frank exploded.
'Calm down, Lieutenant,' the chief soothed. 'What we mean is that with a firearm you obviously had the advantage over a small knife. What we—'
'Yeah, I had the advantage and I used it. Timothy Johnston wasn't a boyscout playing with a Swiss Army knife. This fucker was a convicted felon with a rap sheet longer than my arm and a lot of time in stir. You weren't there, but I can guarantee you he wasn't going back in. And he wasn't going out alone. He'd already cut Kennedy and he was going for her again. I stopped him.'
'All we're trying to ascertain is whether this was an overreaction or an absolutely necessary measure. It's possible that in a moment of extremely high stress you overreacted and simply—'
The sound of Frank gritting her teeth was clear to everyone in the room. She spoke each word slowly and with tremendous effort.
'With all due respect, sir, if I had fired out of sheer impulse, I can guarantee you Mr. Johnston would have had more than one bullet hole in him.'
She'd seen enough shootings to know that when someone fired in terror, or fury, their victims were usually riddled with bullets. They want the fucker to go down and stay down. But Foubarelle was shaking his head at the floor, and Luchowski was glaring. Noah wouldn't look her in the eye and Nelson wouldn't stop looking at her.
'Did you consider your backboard, Lieutenant?'
Frank patiently explained how she had weighed all the consequences of a bad shot, and how Johnston's head seemed the most reasonable target area, the way he was positioned with Kennedy.
Finally Nelson wagged his head sadly, warning, 'You know OIS is going to have to look into this.'
'Of course.'
'And that you'll be relieved of duty while—'
'Sir, my squad and I are in the middle of a very sensitive investigation and I can't—'
Now Nelson interrupted. 'Oh, yes. That Agoura/Peterson case?'
'Yes, sir.'
'That's going to be handled by RHD now. It should've been given to them a while ago,' he said, with a scowl at Foubarelle.
Frank bowed her head to conceal her disappointment but then quickly raised it, determined to hold on to her case.
'Sir, I respect your judgment on this matter but I've put a lot of time into this case. I think it would be a mistake to let RHD—'
'Lieutenant, you are ROD and the case is downtown. There is nothing else to discuss.'
'But Chief, RHD doesn't know the—'
'There is nothing further to discuss, Lieu-te-nant. Or would you rather go back to de-tec-tive?'
Frank clamped down on her back teeth. 'No, sir.'
'And, of course, you need to hand over your badge and weapon.'
He held Frank's gaze for a moment as she slowly unholstered the 9mm. Satisfied that he'd restored order, Nelson nodded to Foubarelle and left the room. Luchowski followed him, throwing Frank an evil look, and Foubarelle stepped up to Frank with his palm up. Gently she placed her weapon in his hand, then the badge. It felt like giving
