“Yes, ma’am.”
“ ‘Ma’am.’ That’s good.” Jenkins nodded approvingly. “Lots of respect. Lots of deference. But no shame. You have to see yourself as you want a jury to see you.”
“A jury?” Panic fluttered in Vega’s chest. His stomach went into freefall. Jenkins dropped the possibility of Vega going before a jury like they were discussing whether or not it would rain tomorrow. “Am I going to go on trial?”
Jenkins shrugged. “Five years ago, I’d have said this could be cleared in-house. But police shootings are a political hot button these days. The moment the press hears the words unarmed suspect and that suspect is black or Hispanic, they’re on it like vultures on carrion. I’m sure you know that. That’s why we have to proceed as if anything could happen and be prepared for it.”
Jenkins slid a business card across the table to Vega. Some law firm with many names, none of them hers. His union obviously didn’t think him worthy of a partner.
“So,” said Jenkins, “I’ve got two absolutes.” She held up a hand with a large blue-green sparkly ring on it. Her veins stuck out like IV tubes and her joints looked like marbles. “My first rule is that you always tell me the complete, unvarnished truth. My second is that you never discuss the shooting with anyone. And by anyone I mean your significant other. Your family. Fellow cops. Your closest friends. You can’t say anything. Nada. Zip. Not even to justify your actions or deny some false allegation. The last thing we need is for some attorney to bring your family and friends up on a witness stand. You don’t want that. And I don’t want that. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She had the hurricane force of Sister Margarita, the nun who ran Vega’s old Bronx elementary school.
Jenkins pulled out a yellow pad and pen and set it down before her on the table. Vega took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. His head was pounding. All evening, he’d been replaying the events on a continuous loop reel inside his brain. And now that he finally had someone to listen to him, he didn’t know where to begin.
“You do know that you’re legally allowed to ask for a delay in giving your statement if you feel you’re under too much emotional distress—”
“No! I mean uh—no. I’m okay.” That was all Vega needed: to cite “emotional distress.” Captain Waring would have him stamped “unfit for duty” and laterally transferred out of homicide and over to the pistol licensing unit where he’d spend the rest of his career doing background checks on firearms permits. No, thank you. “I can give a statement.”
“Good.”
“You know that the suspect had a photograph in his hand, right?” Vega’s voice sounded tight and weirdly out of tune, like guitar strings that had been pulled up to pitch too quickly.
“Yes. I’m aware of that,” said Jenkins evenly.
“I don’t know if he had any priors.”
“Right now, I’m more interested in your actions, Detective. You are the sole living witness to what happened during the shooting.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” said Vega. “But I feel like somebody else was in those woods.”
“You were experiencing a common phenomenon that happens during a shooting,” said Jenkins. “Tunnel vision. Your senses are so focused on the danger that they shut down or distort everything else.”
Vega massaged his forehead. “I didn’t see the cruisers at the bottom of the hill. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have . . .” His voice dropped away. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words shot or killed. It was too painful to contemplate what he’d done, let alone that it might have been averted had he paid more attention to his surroundings.
“So far, no officer has come forward to say he witnessed the shooting,” said Jenkins. “Which is too bad, really. A fellow officer’s testimony could have greatly bolstered the case that you were in fear for your life.”
“ ‘Bolstered’?” The word irked Vega. Did she think he had to invent excuses for what he’d done? “I don’t need to bolster anything!”
“You have to understand,” said Jenkins calmly. “Most civilians have no idea about the stresses and strains of being in law enforcement. They’ve never been in any sort of violent confrontation, let alone a shooting. They just see an armed and highly trained police officer against an unarmed civilian. We want to consider every possibility that would tip the scales in your favor. We don’t have audio. We don’t have video. A favorable eyewitness would have been a plus.”
“I’ll try to remember to send out invitations the next time dispatch tells me an armed suspect is on the loose.”
Jenkins blinked at him behind the frames of her large red glasses. “Sarcasm is a bad tone to take here, Detective. And it’s absolutely suicidal with a grand jury.”