Nightzone by Steven F. Havill Page A

was engraved in my memory. “After having breakfast at the Don Juan, I was driving southbound on Grande. I observed a large RV northbound on Grande, and saw it pull into the Posadas Inn parking lot. One of the sheriff’s department units followed, lights on. By the time I reached the scene, Sergeant Taber was out of her car, and the door of the RV was also open. I saw that Sergeant Taber’s hand was resting on her service weapon, and her left arm was raised as if she was issuing commands of some sort. That’s all I saw as I passed the scene. I did a U-turn on Grande, and looped back into the parking lot.”
    Mellon leaned forward, cupping his hands together. “Why did you stop, Sheriff?”
    The courtesy title was ubiquitous. Once a Marine, always a Marine. Once a sheriff, always a sheriff.
    â€œIt appeared that there was some sort of confrontation. Sergeant Taber’s hand was on her weapon, commands were obviously being given. It was not possible to determine how many people were involved—how many might be inside the RV.”
    â€œDid you hear Sergeant Taber radio for backup?”
    â€œI did not.”
    â€œWas your radio operational?”
    â€œIt was not.”
    â€œSo you didn’t hear whether or not Sergeant Taber called in for backup?”
    â€œNo.” Ask a third time, it would be the same answer.
    â€œAt what point could you clearly see that Mr. Baum was holding a weapon of some sort?”
    â€œAs I pulled to a stop in the parking lot. He was standing in the doorway of the RV holding the shotgun.”
    â€œYou immediately recognized it as such?” Mellon sounded a little skeptical.
    â€œYes.”
    He picked up the BIC and took his time removing and stowing the top. “When you pulled into the lot, did you actually see Mr. Baum pick up the gun?”
    â€œNo. He already was holding it at high port when I arrived.”
    â€œWhen you first drove by, was he holding the shotgun?”
    â€œI couldn’t see all of him, I couldn’t see it.”
    â€œBut by the time you pulled in, you could see the shotgun clearly?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAimed?”
    â€œNot directly at Sergeant Taber. When I first saw it, it was in the hunter’s ‘at ready’ position, barrel up slightly and to the left.”
    He made a “go on” gesture, the pen oscillating between two huge fingers.
    â€œI got out of the car, and had time to hear the sergeant shout, ‘Put the weapon down.’ Or some such. Without warning of any kind, Baum fired. That knocked Taber off-balance, and she stumbled backward directly in front of her patrol unit. Baum started to turn toward me, and my assumption was that he was turning to fire again. I drew my weapon and fired five times.”
    â€œFive?”
    â€œThat’s what the revolver holds.”
    â€œNot six?”
    â€œI keep an empty chamber under the hammer. So five.”
    â€œAh, the old west.” The crinkles deepened around his eyes. “And at any time did you see motion or activity in the RV? Did you have reason to believe there might be someone else inside?”
    â€œNo.”
    Mellon drew a little squiggle on his pad. “You believed that your field of fire was unobstructed?”
    Well, so much for resolutions. I felt my blood pressure surge with the wave of irritation. “I didn’t have time to attend a goddamned NRA safety seminar, Lieutenant. I had a clear and threatening target. I saw no one else, no shadows, no motion. I most certainly felt threatened by the shotgun, and at that point didn’t know the extent of the sergeant’s injuries. I had the clear shot, so I took it.”
    Mellon reached down beside his chair and rummaged in his briefcase for a moment. He brought the crime scene drawing up and spread it on the table. I saw that fine red lines marked the supposed trajectory of my five rounds.
    â€œA twenty-seven-inch group.” He