3

A schematic drawing covered the blackboard. Garreth kept his eyes fixed on it while he answered the questions the detectives on the shooting team asked over and over again. His throat felt desert dry and his muscles almost daylight weak. Maybe dawn was coming. It seemed he had been here all night, endlessly repeating his version of the afternoon's nightmare.

"The gun wouldn't fire?" one of the team asked for the dozenth time. "Is that what you say?"

"No, sir," Garreth replied one more time. "I said I couldn't fire it."

"You said the trigger felt frozen."

"Yes, sir." He carefully told the truth. The team would pounce on evasions or lies.

"Is this the gun?"

He looked at it. It was the one he had surrendered when Serruto brought him in. "Yes, sir."

The four uniformed officers with Harry and him had undergone similar grillings earlier, he knew, but the knowledge in no way eased his own discomfort.

Pointing the revolver at the floor, the detective pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber. "It's operating now. Had you ever fired this particular gun before?"

"No, sir. It was issued to me this morning."

"To replace the one being used as evidence?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is your first day back on duty?"

It went on and on. Please, Inspector, repeat as nearly as you can the exact events from the time you received the radio message to call that phone number. How was it neither of you called in for clearance to go after O'Hare? How did you determine the positions of the various officers at the scene? How many shots were fired? By whom? When? Over and over it, ending always in the schematic of the living room, where an outline indicated Harry lying bleeding.

Weariness dragged at him. Through the slits of the blinds he caught glimpses of reddened sky. Dawn.

Serruto came into the room, face grim, and whispered to one of the shooting team. Fear flooded Garreth. Was it about Harry?

Serruto backed against the wall by the door. The detective turned to look down at Garreth. "Describe what happened to you in the restaurant where you and Sergeant Takananda went for lunch."

Garreth stared at him. How could anyone have learned about that? The obvious answer took long seconds to occur to him, but when it did, Garreth came out of his chair grinning. "Did Harry tell you about that? Can he talk?"

"He told us," Serruto said soothingly. "He's going to be all right."

Garreth wanted to cry in sheer happiness and relief.

"Tell us about the restaurant," the detective repeated.

So overjoyed about Harry that nothing else mattered, he told them, scrupulously detailing all his symptoms, omitting only his knowledge of the cause. That gave them a whole new set of questions to ask, of course, but eventually they ran out of even those, perhaps in sheer exhaustion, and let him go.

Serruto walked down the corridor with him. "Mikaelian, until further notice, keep in touch. No more APBs, okay?"

Garreth nodded, too tired to talk. He could feel daylight outside the building. It made his head ache. He pulled the dark glasses out of the coat over his arm and put them on.

"I have your badge in my office. If you change your mind, you can have it back."

Garreth bit his lip. "Thanks, but I can't take it."

Serruto eyed him. Garreth sensed an emotional jumble in the lieutenant, but when Serruto spoke, it was only to say dryly, "Resigning doesn't get you out of the paperwork for everything up to now."

They stopped at the elevator. Garreth punched for down. "I know. Let me get a few hours in the rack and I'll type the reports."

"Why don't you see Harry before you do either? When they let us in to see him a couple of hours ago, the first thing he did was ask about you. He blames himself for everything."

Garreth shook his head. "No. It's my fault. I—"

Serruto interrupted. "You don't have to fight for the blame. I'm willing to spread it between both of you. You're not a child, Mikaelian; no one should have had to tell you that that attack indicated you weren't fit for duty. You should have seen a doctor immediately. Harry should have made sure you went and that I was notified of what happened." He grimaced. "My guess is, before the shooting board is finished, all of us will be wearing some egg."