Nightzone by Steven F. Havill Page B

touched the red lines that formed the pattern of my shots. “At twenty-five feet with a stubby magnum, from a draw, rapid fire and under duress…hell of a performance, Sheriff.”
    I didn’t know what Mellon was fishing for, or if his compliments about my shooting were specious or genuine. I settled for silence.
    â€œYou were wearing your gun at the time, or carrying it in the vehicle?”
    â€œBelt holster.”
    â€œSo, concealed carry.”
    â€œNo. I was wearing a short jacket, but I made no attempt at concealment.”
    â€œYou have a c.c.p.?”
    â€œI don’t consider that germane.”
    Mellon frowned at his empty pad. “This is apt to go easier if you just answer the questions, Sheriff.”
    â€œIt’ll go how it goes.” I knew full well that one of the functions of the interview was to make me angry so that I’d say something stupid and reveal my inner self. So be it. “Whether or not I have a concealed carry permit has nothing to do with the way I might, or might not, have responded in this situation.”
    Mellon’s intense, beady little eyes regarded me for a moment. Eventually he dropped the BIC on the table and folded his hands. Apparently whatever mental tussle he was engaging in resolved itself.
    â€œAt any time, did you issue verbal commands to Mr. Baum?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHe pointed the shotgun at you and you fired.”
    â€œIt appeared that he was moving in that direction. If I had to put numbers on it, I’d say that the muzzle of the shotgun was halfway through the arc from the sergeant to me. So yes. I fired, and I fired before he had the chance to bring the gun fully to bear.”
    Mellon paused again. Dan Schroeder had maintained his studious silence, letting the investigator have the run of the place. “How old are you, Sheriff?”
    â€œSeventy-four.”
    â€œDo you still carry a current sheriff’s department badge and commission?”
    â€œYes.” Whether they were honorary or functional hadn’t been asked.
    Mellon waited a few seconds for me to pad my answer, and when I didn’t, allowed a trace of a smile to deepen his dimples. He drew another little squiggle on the pad. “When you first saw the RV coming northbound on Grande, did you recognize that there was more than one person onboard?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnd so your actions yesterday were based entirely on what you saw as you drove by, and then by the events that transpired after you stopped.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd what was your intent when you fired your weapon?”
    I almost grunted, “Duh,” but I knew what Mellon was fishing for, so I gave it to him. “My concern was to end the confrontation, to do whatever was required to take Mr. Baum and his shotgun out of action before he fired a second time.”
    â€œThinking in retrospect now…were you able to revisit this incident, is there anything that you would have done differently?”
    â€œNot a thing. I might make a resolution to practice my marksmanship.”
    Mellon actually chuckled, showing a line of uniform overly-white teeth. He tore off the doodled page, smoothed a fresh one, and the pen hovered. “Let’s run through this one more time,” he said.

Chapter Ten
    It wasn’t just “one more time,” and by the third recitation, my blood pressure had spiked and my hands were clamped tightly enough that I was in danger of squeezing the arthritis right out of them.
    Lieutenant Mellon had found himself a bone, and he wasn’t about to let it go. I knew the drill, though, and took several deep breaths to help wait it out. He was entirely justified, and I knew it. I didn’t have to like it.
    â€œWhen you first drove by the scene, Sergeant Taber was issuing some sort of verbal commands,” he said slowly.
    â€œIt appeared so.”
    â€œYou had time to drive a few feet, turn your vehicle in