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give them names, and didn't give them presumed identities such as husband, wife, or child. He was as neutral as possible. He'd shot a man, but it was nothing personal.
    Finally, they got to the heart of the matter. Did he know the victim was James Gagnon?
    And for the first time, Bobby paused.
    Victim. Interesting choice of words. The man was no longer a suspect, someone who had pointed his gun at his own wife and tightened his finger on the trigger; he was a victim. Bobby thought now might be a good time to ask for that lawyer. But he didn't.
    He answered as truthfully as he could. Lieutenant Jachrimo had identified the family as possibly being the Gagnons, but at the time of the incident, Bobby had received no verification of those names.
    The investigators sat back again. Mollified? Suspicious? Hard to tell. They wanted to know if he'd met the wife, personally, socially. Had he spoken to her during the incident?
    No, Bobby said.
    Now it was time for the nitty-gritty. What made him decide to fire his weapon? Had he been okayed for use of deadly force by the CO?
    No.
    Had the victim made any verbal threats toward Bobby or another officer?
    No.
    Had the victim made any verbal threats toward his wife?
    Not that Bobby had heard.
    But the victim had a gun.
    Yes.
    Did he fire it?
    There were reports of gunfire.
    Before Bobby arrived. But what about afterwards? Did Bobby actually see the victim fire his weapon?
    His finger was pulling the trigger.
    So he fired his weapon?
    Yes. No. Not sure. He was firing, I was firing; it all happened so fast.
    So the victim didn't fire his weapon?
    Not sure.
    So possibly, the victim was just pointing his gun? Hadn't he been pointing the weapon for a while?
    The man's finger was on the trigger.
    But did he squeeze it? Did he try to shoot his wife?
    I believed there was an immediate threat.
    Why, Trooper Dodge, why?
    Because of the way the man smiled. Bobby couldn't say that. He said instead, “The subject stood two feet away from the woman with a nine-millimeter pointed at her head and his finger moving on the trigger. I perceived that to be an immediate and compelling threat.”
    Do you really think a man would kill his wife with his kid still in the room?
    Yes, sir, I believed he would.
    Why, Trooper Dodge, why?
    Because sometimes, sir, shit like that happens.
    The investigators finally nodded, then repeated the same questions all over again. Bobby knew how it worked. More times you made a man tell his story, the more he might trip up. Lies growing more embellished, truth more strained. They were giving Bobby rope and waiting to see if he'd hang himself with it.
    At six-thirty they finally gave up. A new day was dawning outside the stifling conference room, and the collegial air returned. They were sorry they had to ask all these questions, you know. It was just a matter of procedure. Unfortunate night. Bad for everyone. But it looked good for Bobby that he was cooperating. They appreciated that very much. Everyone just wanted to get to the bottom of this, you understand. The sooner they got to the truth, the sooner everyone could put it behind them.
    They'd have more questions. You know, don't go too far.
    Bobby nodded wearily. He pushed back his chair and, when he went to rise, swayed on his feet. He saw one guy notice, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
    And Bobby had the sudden, disconcerting urge to sock the man in the gut. He left the room and found his lieutenant waiting for him in the hall.
    “How did it go?” Lieutenant Bruni asked.
    Bobby said honestly, “Not that good.”
     
    T HE SUN WAS out, the sky bright, by the time Bobby turned into the building where Susan lived. The morning commute was already on. He heard squawks over his radio, describing congested traffic, motor vehicle accidents, and disabled cars parked in breakdown lanes. Day was happening. City dwellers emerging from their bolt-locked cages to crowd sidewalks and jam coffee houses.
    He stepped out of his cruiser,