The Best American Mystery Stories 2015 (59 page)

He trailed off.

For a moment Barbara didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what April had to do with this, but he obviously needed to talk about her.

So she said, “Tell me about your relationship with her.”

She moved in four weeks after our first date. So I guess you could say things were going good. I guess she wouldn’t have moved in if she hadn’t been living at home, but there weren’t any problems once she did. We still got along great. She cooked every night I was home and insisted on chipping in with the bills even though I said she didn’t have to. She never complained about my hours and she didn’t worry about me getting shot, or if she did she didn’t show it. Living with her was easy. I loved it.

I loved her.

That lasted . . . oh, I don’t know how long. When I look back now, I’m not sure when the trouble started. I think of times when she seemed happy and I wonder if she really was. But I think what happened is, the trouble started when I met her friend Cory.

We met him and his wife for dinner at a restaurant. I got the feeling he didn’t like me right away. There was something in his eyes when April introduced us. I don’t know if he has some secret crush on her, or maybe it’s a protective older-brother kind of thing; he’s like fifteen years older than her. He was in the army, although I didn’t know that till he said so. Maybe he knew I was a Marine and that was the reason he acted like he did.

Actually, the way he acted, April might have told him I was a sniper in Iraq. When he asked if I was there, and what I did, he didn’t look surprised when I told him.

He said, “I was there too, back in ’ninety-one. Twenty-fourth Infantry. Right out in front.”

And then he just sort of looked at me, glaring at me.

I said, “Hot as hell there.”

He said, “You got that right.”

There was some more silence.

The girls seemed to get that something was going on between us. Cory’s wife, Jessica, broke in and said to me, “You’re a policeman now, right? That’s how you two met.”

I said, “Yes.”

April smiled and said, “He fell in love with me through his rifle scope.”

Jessica rolled her eyes and smiled, loving it. “Oh my God. I’ve heard of love at first sight, but that’s awesome!”

Cory said, “I can’t believe there’s a lot of work for a police sniper.”

I said, “There isn’t. I’m on regular patrol most of the time.”

He nodded, looking like he had something else to say but he was keeping it to himself. I knew exactly what he had to say. That sort of made me regret answering his question. It felt like I’d tried to defend myself, even though I knew I hadn’t.

He and I didn’t talk to each other much during dinner. The girls chattered the whole time, acting like there weren’t any hard feelings between Cory and me. But afterward, when we were driving home, April asked me about it right away.

She said, “Was that an army thing? That vibe between you and Cory?”

I said, “Maybe. Sometimes guys who were in different branches of the service sort of look down their noses at each other. A rivalry kind of thing. But Cory’s deal probably has more to do with me being a sniper in Iraq.”

“Why?”

“Because he was general infantry. ‘Right out in front,’ you heard him say. That was a dig at snipers. We aren’t out in front, so we don’t get shot at as much.”

“You don’t?”

“Not like them. We stay hidden. That’s the whole point of sniping—not being seen. Taking out the target and no one even knowing where the bullet came from.”

April was confused. “So . . . what? He thinks he’s braver than you?”

“I don’t know if that’s it. It’s more like general infantry thinks it’s not fair that we don’t take the same risks as them. We take other risks, but they don’t think about that. And they think it’s wrong somehow, the way we sneak up on the enemy and take them out. It’s not sporting.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It’s how they think.”

She didn’t ask me about it again for . . . it must have been a month. Then one night we were lying in bed and she said out of the blue, “What was it like being a sniper in Iraq?”

I said, “I already told you about that.” Meaning the little bit I’d said driving home from the restaurant that night. We hadn’t talked about it before or since.

She said, “You weren’t very specific.”

“Well, it’s sort of like hunting.”

“Only hunting people.”

“Yeah.”

She fell quiet. I lay there in the dark, wondering if she was going to ask for more details. I hoped she wouldn’t.

Then she said, “Were they shooting at you, the people you shot?”

“Some of them.”

“But not all.”

“They all would have, if they could have.”

“The ones who couldn’t . . . is it because they didn’t have guns?”

I turned my head toward her in the darkness. “Why do you want to know about this stuff?”

“I just want to understand what it was like for you there.”

“It was hot. And dirty. And dangerous. A lot of people died. But the media didn’t get it right. The Iraqis didn’t hate us as much as the news made it sound.”

“So you were shooting regular soldiers?”

“There weren’t any regular soldiers. Not like you’re thinking of, guys with colored uniforms that are easy to spot. These were insurgents. And yes, most of my targets had guns. Once in a blue moon we’d go out looking for a high-value target, some big terrorist leader. I got a couple of those. They didn’t have guns in their hands when I got them, but they probably had a pistol on them somewhere, and if they didn’t you can be sure they had an AK-47 in the next room.”

“Is it hard shooting someone like that? I mean when you have time to think about it, not just in the heat of the moment?”

Right then I knew where these questions were coming from. She’d been talking to Cory. He’d laid out the rank and file’s opinion of snipers for her.

I said, “You mean am I a cold-blooded bastard?”

“I didn’t say that.”

I wasn’t going to say anything more. But then I realized if I didn’t, she’d think a cold-blooded bastard was exactly what I was.

So I said, “All the worst things soldiers do happen in the heat of battle. Taking time to think is good, when you have time to do it. It keeps innocent people from getting killed.”

“So police snipers . . . Is doing it for the police the same as doing it in Iraq?”

“It’s easier. And not as many people have a problem with it. Criminals are the only people who get shot by police snipers. People don’t mind that so much. Especially since I’m never going to shoot anybody unless they’re an imminent danger to someone else.”

She stayed quiet, but I felt compelled to add, “Anyway, I’ve never had to shoot anyone yet. Hostage situations are so rare. Most of what I do is surveillance, watching the team do raids and providing security for visiting ambassadors, stuff like that.”

She never asked me about it again. But from then on I thought about it, that conversation, whenever she seemed a little quiet. I’d wonder if she was thinking about what I do and what kind of person it makes me. I’d wonder if Cory was talking to her about it, bad-mouthing me behind my back.

Then her grandmother died. It wasn’t quick. She was in the hospital for a while. So there were trips to see her, and visits to April’s parents’ house. And then the last trip to the hospital, and the funeral and everything. I went with April to all of them. Well, I guess I missed a few, because of work, but I went along when I could. And I was there for her at home. I held her a couple of times when she cried. I was extra-nice to her, like you are with people who just lost someone. I thought I did a good job. I thought I was being supportive.

But then, a few days after the funeral, April started crying again, so I tried to hug her, but she pushed me away.

She said, “Don’t.”

I said, “What’s wrong?”

She wouldn’t answer me.

I said, “Are you mad at me or something?”

Again, she wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t even look at me.

I had to ask a couple more times, but finally she said, “You can’t help me with this.”

I said, “Well, I guess that’s right. Nobody can help, really. Only time will make it better.”

She said, “No, I mean
you
can’t help.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t know how this feels.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant. I didn’t know exactly what kind of relationship she’d had with her grandmother, but I’ve lost grandparents too, and other relatives. I tried to tell her that, carefully, trying hard not to be insensitive.

But she said, “No, I mean no one who kills people for a living can really know how this feels.”

I was floored. “What are you talking about?”

“If you’d ever felt this way, you wouldn’t be able to do your job.”

It was everything I’d been afraid of. And somehow it made me mad.

I said, “So you think I’m a robot? I never grieved for anyone? I’m not capable of it?”

She just looked at me and said, “I don’t know what you feel. But it can’t be like normal people.”

I couldn’t talk after that. I couldn’t make words come out. The worst of it was, she wasn’t mad. She was just sort of cold. Closed off.

We talked about it some more later that night, a little bit, but I don’t remember anything I said. I don’t think I made any sense, I was so upset. I know I didn’t say anything that had any effect on her. Nothing made a dent.

She moved out four days after that. Not back to her parents’ house. She already had an apartment lined up.

Barbara said, “Did she give you a reason?”

“Lots of them. She had a whole list. We were two different people, that’s the main one I remember.”

The look in his eyes showed that he was in fact capable of feeling grief. Barbara said, “I’m sorry. Did you ever live with a girlfriend before her?”

“No.”

Barbara wasn’t surprised. His personnel file included his results from the Meyers-Briggs Personality Type Inventory, which he’d been required to take when he joined the force. It showed he was introverted, cerebral, and extremely self-reliant. Just the qualities you wanted in a sniper, but not necessarily in a romantic partner. It would have been only natural if he’d had trouble getting along with his first live-in girlfriend.

She said, “Well, how did you cope with your relationship ending?”

“I don’t know. I just tried to work. Tried not to think about it. But in the end I couldn’t do either one.”

Gently Barbara said, “Tell me about what happened yesterday.”

I got the call while I was out on patrol. I got to the scene first, before Dean, so I picked a spot to set up in. It was in one of the offices of a car dealership across the street from the suspect. I had a clear shot out the window from there, straight at the side of the car the suspect was sitting in. It was only fifty yards away. The scope brought him so close I could see the pores on his face.

His name was Clarence Schappell. I remember thinking you wouldn’t expect someone named Clarence to ever do anything violent. His girlfriend’s name was Valerie. She was sitting in the front seat on the passenger side and he was sitting behind her, both of them facing front. Most of the time he kept the gun pointed at the back of her headrest, but sometimes he’d put it down. It was a heavy gun, a Smith & Wesson 686. That’s the big .357 Magnum, stainless steel with a six-inch barrel. It holds seven rounds, but one would be enough to kill Valerie, no question.

I got set up. It took Dean a long time to get there. I was on my own for probably an hour. And that whole time I’m worrying, the same old thoughts running through my head. But now it’s worse, because now I feel like I have answers to a lot of the old questions. I feel like I really do know this guy because of what he’s going through. You see, before I got there he was already on the phone with Barry. He told Barry he’s just trying to work some things out with his girlfriend. I can sure relate to that. I mean he’s gone way overboard, but I know just how he feels. A week or two ago I had moments when I fantasized about cornering April in a room somewhere, locking the door, and not letting her leave until she told me whether or not she ever really loved me, and why she did what she did. I didn’t do it, of course, but I felt like I knew what drove Clarence to do this.

And now there I am, and I’m going to have to shoot the guy. I can see it. He’s even more squirrelly than Guinness was. Whatever answers he was hoping to get from Valerie, she’s not giving them to him. Sergeant Erb can see it too, and everybody else. I can hear through my headset, people warning each other this guy’s going to lose it.

About five minutes after Dean gets there, Sergeant Erb asks me for a status report. He wants to know my state of readiness. That’s him giving me a heads-up, letting me know the next thing I get from him is going to be the green light.

So now I’m trying hard to find a way out. Which is ironic, because you can see Clarence isn’t even thinking about that, he’s so wrapped up in his conversation with Valerie. He’s looking more and more upset. I can’t think what to do. Things are getting so tense, Sergeant Erb tells Dean to go on station along with me. As Dean finishes unpacking his gear, I hear Sergeant Erb put the team on standby. Time is running out, fast.

Clarence is crying now. I watch him lift up the gun. He had it down out of sight, in his lap. Now he puts it to the back of Valerie’s headrest and cocks it with his thumb.

Sergeant Erb says, “O’Donnell, green light.”

I break out in a cold sweat. I’ve got one second to make a decision here. If I don’t shoot Clarence he’s going to kill Valerie, but I’m still hesitating. If I can’t shoot this guy in this situation, who can I shoot? But I still can’t make myself do it. But I can’t let Valerie die.

Clarence is holding the gun perfectly still, pressing it hard against the back of the headrest. I adjust my aim and squeeze the trigger.

My focus was too tight to see what happened. I just saw the gun jump out of my field of view. Or the hammer, to be more accurate. I back out my focus a little and I can see Clarence through the broken window. He’s staring down toward his lap. I didn’t know it in that moment but he still had the gun in his hand. When I shot the hammer off it, I didn’t knock the gun out of his hand. And by some stroke of luck he was clearheaded enough to see what I did and realize that meant the gun was useless. It’s a good thing, otherwise he might have pointed it at the team. They were rushing at him right then, with their own guns raised. They would have shot him in a heartbeat.