Coleman stayed by the coffee table, five feet away from Leon. Leon wailed like a wounded child.
“Railes, dammit, put your weapon away.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Railes start to lower his gun.Thank God.
I went to grab Coleman, to cuff him. But before my second step, Coleman turned back toward us, sheer anger etched deeply in his face.
That’s when the shot rang out.
Coleman reeled back as the bullet ripped through his chest.
Time swallowed itself. My gut sloshed. My ears screamed in pain. The smell of nitro and graphite hung in the air. Leon bellowed in pain.
Coleman crumpled, smashing the coffee table on his way down, tequila and lime slices jackknifed into the air. The knife skidded across the carpet.
“What the fuck did you do?” Leon shrieked.
“He wouldn’t drop the knife.” Railes said it calmly.
“He didn’thavea knife,” Leon said.
Leon’s shocked eyes went from Railes to me, boring into me, searching for support, looking for answers I didn’t have.
And still don’t.
I called for emergency assistance. But even as I did, I knew in that moment, even if I was shocked by what Railes had done, I wasn’t sure if I cared if Coleman bled to death on his own tequila-soaked carpet.
Chapter 17
Mark Coleman died on the way to the hospital.
Nothing could alter the truth of that.
And not a thing could change the fact that I still felt nothing but hate for him, even after learning that Railes’s shot was fatal.
The drizzle had stopped, but the dark sky remained swollen with murky clouds. The chill ran to my marrow. I shivered as Ewing interviewed me. Ewing’s questions were preliminary. With a fatal police shooting, an investigator from an independent agency would be assigned. But Ewing was getting a lay of the land. With one of his cops opting for lethal force, he had every right.
I felt the pressure in my chest. It squeezed my ribs, made my breath go shallow. The same kind I felt after Mom died. When Sophie OD’d. When Jess told me about the rape.
“Cold?” Ewing said.
We stood outside the house where Mark Coleman had gone down.
I shook my head.
“We can go inside,” he offered.
“No, I’m fine.”
I didn’t want to step past the yellow police tape to return to that crummy, sad living room. Dead leaves and pine needles papier-mâchéd the lawn. There was something about the way they smeared together that made me nauseated.
“We can also go back to the station, but I’d prefer to talk to you while things are fresh in your mind.” He was trying for nice and accommodating, but disdain filled his eyes, underlying the big question. Would I be a team player this time? Was there still hope for me, or would I let everyone on the squad down again so soon after reporting Hartley for sexual harassment? The wonder radiated off him like heat from a furnace.
The moment seemed to balance on the top of a point, tilting this way and that. One way meant I could snatch the glorious opportunity to send all the ugly male bro-cop bullshit down the fucking drain. The other meant I could give in to my searing rage at Coleman by minimizing what Railes had done. And I could stay the course, become detective as I had been planning.
“Fine,” I said. I loathed the idea that I might give him precisely what he needed, more emboldened cop culture, more certainty that no one would crack their protective shell.
But I’d already backed up Railes in front of Leon.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t change my mind, though.
