Hour 23 Read Free

third—hit her forehead.
    Geraldine collapsed motionless beside Jim. Jim—covered in blood—looked above him to see Min standing uneasily in the corner of the kitchen. A puff of smoke circled the muzzle of the officer’s pistol.
     
    Min and Jim sat on either end of a plush sofa in the Cooper’s living room. Emergency lights streamed into the home from a bay window behind them, casting the chandeliers and furniture in alternating shades of red, blue, and yellow.
    Outside, two ambulances and a fire truck had arrived, as well as a reporter from the Channel Five News. Yellow crime scene tape had been draped around the Cooper’s front lawn.
    Inside the home, a small team of forensic technicians and officers had arrived. As well as Sergeant Ingram.
    Ingram was a dark and stout man who somehow looked wider than he was tall. His shiny bald head and several chins were the punch lines of many jokes told around the station whenever he was out of earshot.
    “Run this by me one more time, fellas,” Ingram said, holding a thin stack of police reports in his hands. “Talk to me slowly. Like I’m stupid.”
    After waiting and hoping for Jim to butt in, Min sighed and started to reiterate what he had already scribbled into his report. “We arrived at the residence, knocked, no answer. Heard a scream. Entered the home and followed a trail of blood to the kitchen. We found John Cooper attacking his wife—she was in bad shape. John ignored our orders to back away. I fired several shots into John, and he continued to beat his wife. Officer Whiteman then shot him once in the head, fatally, and—”
    Sergeant Ingram raised a hand to Min, indicating that he should pause. “Sound right so far, Whiteman?” the sergeant asked.
    Jim nodded his head.
    “All right,” Ingram said, “carry on, Officer Chow—and be very careful what you say next.”
    Min gulped. “After John’s death, we radioed the station for an ambulance and back up officers. I began administering life saving procedures to Geraldine.”
    “Uh-huh…” Ingram said, nodding with a smile.
    “After our life saving techniques failed, Geraldine passed away—as best as we could tell. After a short while she sprung forward and began to attack Officer Whiteman in the same manner that her husband had attacked her.” Min spoke with a stutter. “After the use of a taser failed, I employed lethal force.”
    Ingram grinned, the widest his smile had been all morning. “What’s the matter, boys?” he asked. “Are you waiting for your union reps to show up before you start telling the real story?”
    “That is the real story,” Jim insisted.
    “All right gentleman, allow me to tell you the problems I have with your ‘real’ story,” Ingram said, his voice ripe with indignation. “It’s a hoot and a holler of a story. But, if you stick with it, you better believe Internal Affairs will be so far up your asses that neither of you will shit for months.”
    The smile on Ingram’s face drooped into a blank, menacing stare. The sergeant paused, and collected himself.
    “For starters,” Ingram said, “the coroner did a quick check on John Cooper, and guess what? John Cooper was dead for—at the very least—an hour before you two goons ever set foot in his front door. The coroner is willing to bet his pension that he’s absolutely certain of that fact.”
    Jim and Min sat still and silent on the sofa.
    “Furthermore, you admit that Geraldine Cooper was dead—and then you shot her! It’s all written right here in your report,” Ingram said, and he began to paraphrase from a long white form in his hand. “‘Mrs. Cooper was dead, she had no pulse, but after several seconds she leaned up and began attacking me. So, I had no other option but to shoot her with my service pistol upon my partners futile attempt to tase her.’ Do you two realize the river of shit you’ve dived into?”
    Hoping that their sergeant’s question was rhetorical, and each sensing that the