Violent Eulogy

The Truth...Almost

He smirks at me: "What? I mean at what point of this session did you think you were coming off good? all I heard was a load of fumbling in the dark and then failing to keep a woman alive and then this."
He points at me, disgusted.

"I'm a good detective. I did what I could, we all did." I try to sound firm. But my quivering lips betray me.

He thinks for a few seconds: "Say what, I'll give you a chance. Tell me what happened in the farm without any of this little sap shows, and I'll send you for a psych session, if he says you're ready, you'll be back."

Oh fuck. Another bridge to pass?

I take a deep breath. And think of one very specific memory to help me turn cold.
I mean it helped me once, why wouldn't it help me again?

And it does.

"When we got to the farm, there was a barn, with chains on the door, detective Stroud's gut and experience told him the target was there, he asked me to guard the back door to make sure he wouldn't runaway, and so I did." There's not the slightest show of emotion in my voice, so perfectly monotone, Japanese robot designers would be awed.

"Why didn't you wait for backup?" he asks suspiciously.

"I told Detective Stroud we should, but he was certain the two of us would be able to catch him on our own."

He glares at me but apparently understands the stupidity of a man's ego and nods so I continue: "I heard gunshots and came in to see what happened, he must have hid somewhere when he heard us coming, and he ambushed detective Stroud, shooting him five times. And then we fought, he banged my head against the wall and caused me to lose consciousness, so I was unable to follow him."

"Why didn't you shoot him?" he asks.

I sigh: "I tried, but he was too fast and managed to dodged the bullets."

He narrows his eyes at me: "Are you completely sure the emotional shock didn't have any effect on that?"

My mouth opens wide from the audacity. Did this bitch just called me...

"This is a very big accusation to make Lieutenant Wynne." Captain Preston mentions, his tone clearly shows he's having trouble controlling himself not to yell at him.

He shrugs: "No accusations, Captain. All I did was ask a question from detective Dawn." He glares at me: "One that I'm sure she will answer honestly."

I glare back:" Detective Stroud's death was unexpected and tragic, but I'm a police officer and I'm well aware of the dangers that come in this line of work, I assure you nothing in that moment prevented me from shooting exactly where I was supposed to shoot."

He grins, a dirty dirty smile: "If you say so. It's not like we have any way of knowing that."
I sit back, defeated.

He continues:" can you describe him again?"
I've already described him before, to other officers, but apparently he enjoys watching me relive that memory. So, I'm gonna relive the hell out of that memory: "He was Caucasian, about 6'3, at least two hundred pounds, short brown hair and brown eyes. He was muscular, armed, and strong." I add the last word reluctantly.

"And apparently had some shooting training, he hit Detective Stroud in the heart five times, that's something that needs serious skill." He says, studying my reaction closely.

I know he's trying to trigger me, and I decide to swerve the other way: "He raped an old man with a razor, cut a woman's tongue and force fed bleach to an 18 year old, I'm not surprised that he knows how to use a gun.

He chuckles: "Touché."

After a moment of silence, he asks in a very serious tone: "I believe I have everything I need, is there anything you want to add?"
"No." I reply, relieved.

He nods and pushes a button on the recorder, signs a paper and hands it to me: "Well done, deal's a deal. Impress Dr.Jones on Wednesday and you'll be back."

I give him a small fake smile and reach my hand to get the paper and when he pulls it back I look up to see what the hell is the problem now.

He looks at me, cold and threatening: "If you mess up another case because you didn't pay enough attention to the witnesses or you didn't keep an eye on the people you were meant to keep alive, I will personally make sure you are fired, are we clear Detective Dawn?"

I'm used to being threatened to lose everything.
It reminds me of my entire childhood, everything in our house came at a price.
I was always pushed into turning to something better, smarter, prettier.
Into something that I wasn't, such a pity that the world outside wasn't much different.

I nod: "This won't happen again." I say as meekly as I can.

He hands me the paper, still glaring: "It better not."

"Goodbye Captain Preston, and I trust you won't make the same mistake of keeping us in the dark again, when you're in a case that's clearly way over your pay grade."

For a second I think Captain is gonna punch him, but his face remains stoic: "Of course."

He leaves the room with long steps and a smug smile on his face.

As soon as he leaves my eye sight, I let out a long, exasperated sigh, running my hand through my hair: "That was intense."

Captain stays silent.

"So, I'll be back pretty soon, that's good." I try to sound cheerful, but I can't, it sounds strange, like a human malfunction, how can you be both so sad that you would rather stop breathing on command and be relieved about having your job back?

It doesn't make sense.

Human malfunction.

"Captain?" I ask cautiously.

He's not looking at me.

It takes me a minute to realize I'm not done here, there's still one more person that I need to impress.

"I only have one question Eva." He says quietly: "I might not totally agree with the course of actions you and Stroud took on these cases, how you went there without backup, how your carelessness cost Sheffield her life, but I know you tried, tried your best and it simply wasn't enough.
It was stupid and reckless but you're a good cop and you became a better cop at the end of all this.
What I'm about to ask you now is not as your Captain, it's as a friend, as a man who needs closure to be able to sleep at night, did you shoot the murderer like you were supposed to? Like you would have if Stroud's lifeless body wasn't in front of you? Or did you miss?"

The answer was simple.

And I say it, I say it firmly and I say it proudly: "I didn't miss, I never miss."

And I, in fact didn't miss. The bullets were exactly where I wanted them to be.