“You still haven’t answered my question, Deputy Rackley.” Pat slid his pen behind his ear and crossed his arms. “What if you had missed?”
“I shot a consistent twenty out of twenty on the pistol qual course as a Ranger, and I’m a six-time qualified three-hundred shooter as a deputy marshal. I wasn’t planning on missing.”
“Well, bravo. But a deputy marshal in the field has to be willing to consider every potentiality.”
Reed rocked forward and thumped his elbows on the table. “Just because he agreed to submit to questioning does not give you the right to drag him over the coals. There’s a subjective element to every decision to engage with deadly force. If you’d ever toted a gun, you’d be aware of that.”
“Excellent point, Dennis. I’ve heard packing heat greatly enhances one’s interpretation of the law.”
Reed pointed at Pat. “Watch your step. I’m not having you harass a good deputy. Not in my presence.”
“Moving on,” the woman said. “I understand you’ve had a recent trauma in your personal life?”
Tim waited several seconds to answer. “Yes.”
“Your daughter was killed?”
“Yes.” Despite his efforts, some of his fury crept into his voice.
“Do you think this event may have influenced any of your actions during these shootings?”
He felt the heat rise to his face. “This ‘event’ has influenced every single moment of my life since. But it hasn’t altered my professional judgment.”
“You don’t think that you may have been feeling…aggressive or…retaliatory?”
“Had I not been in fear for my life or concerned for the lives of others, I would have done everything in my power to bring those fugitives in alive. Everything in my power.”
Pat tilted back in his chair and made a little temple with his pudgy fingers. “Really?”
Tim stood up and placed both his hands palm down on the table. “I am a deputy U.S. marshal. Do I look like a soldier of fortune to you?”
“Listen-”
“I’m not talking to you, ma’am.” Tim didn’t remove his eyes from Pat. Pat remained tilted back in his chair, fingers pressed together. When it became clear he wasn’t going to respond, Tim reached over and turned off the tape recorder. “I’m done answering questions. Anything further, you can talk to my FLEOA rep.”
Reed rose as Tim exited, but Pat and the woman remained seated. As Tim walked away, he could hear Reed start laying into them. The marshal’s assistant stood as he passed her, heading for Tannino’s office.
“Tim, he’s in with someone right now. You can’t just-”
Tim knocked on the marshal’s door, then opened it. Tannino sat behind an immense wood desk. An overweight man in a dark suit was sprawled on the couch opposite, smoking a brown cigarette.
“Marshal Tannino, I’m very sorry to interrupt you, but I really need a moment.”
“Of course.” Tannino exchanged a few words of Italian with the man as he showed him out. He closed the door, then waved a hand at the cigarette smoke, shaking his head. “Diplomats.” He gestured to the couch. “Please, sit.”
Though he didn’t want to, Tim sat. His dress shirt was pinching him at the shoulders.
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Rackley. The press is bad. Now, I understand you weren’t one of the knuckleheads throwing high fives, but you were the shooter, and we both know shooters take the scrutiny. Deserved or not, the service got a black eye on this one. Here’s the good news: The shooting review board is convening next week at headquarters, and they’re going to clear you.”
“They don’t seem like they’re going to clear me. They seem like they’re looking for a scapegoat for a situation that doesn’t demand one.”
“They will clear you. All the written statements are in and check out. They just sent out a few board members to run your statement through the ringer in-house so steps won’t have to be taken out of house. We don’t want any FBI involvement here. Or some state DA looking to make a name.”
“What’s the bad news?”
Tannino puffed out his cheeks in a sigh. “We’re gonna put you on light duty for a while, get you off the street until the press calms down. In a couple of months, we’ll get you qualified on a fresh service pistol.”
At first Tim was not sure he’d heard Tannino correctly. “A couple of months?”
“No big deal-you’ll just do analytical work rather than fieldwork.”
“And while I’m putting my training to use making schedules at the operations desk, what is the unparalleled service PR machine going to be putting out about me?”
Tannino walked over and examined a Walker. 44 cap-and-ball sixgun that hung on the wall, encased in Lucite. A black plastic comb protruded from the back pocket of his suit pants. “That you’ve quite responsibly elected to enroll in an anger-management course.”
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s it. It’s a nothing thing. Then headquarters can stand behind your decision to engage with deadly force, and we’re a big happy family again.”
“What does this have to do with Maybeck and Denley high-fiving?”
“Absolutely nothing. But this is a bullshit perception game, as you’ll see if you’re ever so unfortunate as to reach my level. And the bullshit perception, because of that goddamn photograph, is that we’re a bunch of bloodthirsty, gung ho loose cannons. If we indicate the shooter is acquiring a heightened sensitivity to anger issues, we cut some of that perception, and the paper pushers at the Puzzle Palace can go back to their normal job, which is doing exactly nothing. In the meantime I get the pleasure of dealing with this on all fronts and of having to ask one of my best deputies-unjustly-to take some shit for us.” His grimace showed more regret than disgust. “The system at work.”
Tim stood up. “It was a good shooting.”
“Good shootings are relative. I know that what they’re asking is difficult, Rackley, but you have your whole career ahead of you.”
“Maybe not with the U.S. Marshals Service.” Tim unhooked his leather badge clip from his belt and laid it on Tannino’s desk.
In a rare display of anger, Tannino grabbed it and hurled it at Tim. Tim trapped it against his chest. “I am not going to accept your resignation, goddamnit. Not considering what you’ve been dealing with. Take some more time-administrative leave-hell, a few weeks. Don’t make a decision now, in these circumstances.” His face looked tired and old, and Tim realized how much it must have pained him to take the kind of company line Tannino himself had always despised and thought cowardly.
“I’m not going to do it.”
Tannino spoke softly now. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to. Everything else I’ll protect you on. Everything.”
“It was a good shooting.”
This time Tannino met his eyes. “I know.”
Respectfully, Tim laid his badge back on Tannino’s desk, then walked out.
9
ON TIM’S WAY home a white Camry emerged from the crush of midday traffic to inch alongside him. A flurry of movement drew his attention to the car’s backseat. A young girl wearing a yellow dress was pressing her face to the window in an attempt to horrify nearby drivers.
Tim watched her. She mashed her nose against the glass, pigging it upward. She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. She feigned picking her nose. Her mother looked over at Tim apologetically.
The car stayed more or less at his side, lurching and braking in time with him. He tried to focus on the road, but the girl’s movement and bright dress pulled his gaze back to her. Realizing she had Tim’s eye again, the girl fisted her straight blond hair out in Pippi Longstocking pigtails. She laughed openmouthed and unencumbered, as only children can. As she looked for a reaction in Tim’s face, her expression suddenly changed. Her smile faded, then vanished, replaced with uneasiness. She slid down in her seat, disappearing from Tim’s view, save for the top of her head.