Free Paskagankee by Alan Leverone

was dry and the inside of the police vehicle felt stiflingly hot. “I’m fine. Where were we?”
    â€œYou don’t have to do this, you know,” she said softly. “I understand if you just want to leave it in the past.”
    â€œThat’s exactly the problem. I can’t leave it in the past. It’s with me every day, a living, breathing entity. It’s become a part of who I am. Maybe telling the story will help, I don’t know. I’ve never really talked about it with anyone, not even the shrink the department made me see afterward.”
    â€œOkay. So, the father murdered two people in the bank in cold blood.”
    â€œThat’s right.” Mike’s hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel. His palms felt sweaty and slick and his stomach churned. “Anyway, Lieutenant Blackburn, who was in charge of the operation, told us to take the guy down if we were able to get a clear shot. This particular branch office had a big plate-glass window fronting the street, and the suspect had been sighted numerous times over the course of the afternoon and evening walking back and forth in front of it. He became extremely agitated after shooting the two victims and cut off all communication with the negotiator.
    â€œThe SWAT guys were preparing to storm the bank, but the lieutenant wanted to wait just a little longer before sending them in. He was afraid once they hit the door that more people would get slaughtered by the guy before SWAT could put him down, even if they used flash-bangs to disorient him. There were so many people inside that damned building that even if the guy fired randomly, he was a lock to hit other people. Blackburn rolled the dice, hoping the guy would take another stroll in front of the big window and one of us could take him out before he killed anyone else. It was a calculated risk.” Mike wiped his sweaty hands on his pants.
    â€œYou took the shot, didn’t you?”
    Mike took a deep, shaky breath and blew it out forcefully. “Oh, yeah.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œWell, the guy had been using employees as human shields all day. Whenever he walked around inside the bank, he pushed an innocent person around in front of him. This time, he did the same thing, but as he turned to retrace his steps, I had a clean shot for a split-second. So I took it.
    â€œThe thick plate glass deflected the path of the bullet even though it was almost a straight shot. It struck one of his hands, if you can believe that, and knocked the weapon to the floor. Several hostages jumped him after he fell and subdued him.”
    Mike felt Officer Dupont eyeing him closely despite the fact he continued staring straight ahead through the windshield. “So you were a hero. You saved all those people and, in the process, didn’t even have to kill the suspect. All-in-all it sounds like a pretty good day to me.”
    â€œYeah,” Mike agreed bleakly. “A pretty good day. There was only one problem. After the bullet struck the perp’s hand, it ricocheted at an angle down and to the left, where he had handcuffed his daughter to a desk leg. It struck the little girl in the head and she died instantly.”
    The inside of the SUV grew silent. The tension was electric. “But you have to know that wasn’t your fault,” Shari protested. “That was nothing more than the worst kind of terrible luck.”
    Mike wiped his forehead with his uniform sleeve. He knew it wasn’t hot in the car, but it felt like a sauna to him. This was the visceral reaction he felt every time he thought about that awful day in Revere, Massachusetts. “Yes, I know that,” he finally said. “The department conducted a full hearing afterward, just as they do whenever an officer is involved in a shooting. I was completely exonerated.
    â€œOf course, the poor little girl’s family didn’t see it that way—what was left of her family, that