Impersonal Judgment
Edward never paced and yet he found himself walking back and forth around the house all that morning. The lawyer, Timothy Brock, was going to drop by his house at 10 a.m. sharp. Edward watched the wall clock in the living room slowly creep to the top of the ten o’clock hour. Ten minutes until Brock showed up. Edward thought of himself as a collected man, never one to be easily rattled. But this situation was something unfamiliar to him. He was having sleepless nights and on some mornings he noticed clumps of brown hair on his pillow.
He had been on leave from the police force for over a week. He felt under siege in his own home. Edward hadn’t left the house much since the incident happened, but each time he did, whether it was to take a walk in the park to cool his head or to go grab a couple of burgers through the nearest drive thru, he felt someone was watching him. He wanted to dismiss it as paranoia, but he kept thinking someone was waiting for his back to turn so they could take a potshot at him.
That day had been replayed over and over again, on the news and in Edward’s own mind. He didn’t need to see it on television. Each day that had gone by, he analyzed the scene like a film. He slowed down certain actions frame by frame and wondered if he had done something wrong. He asked himself if there was something he could have done better.
It started with a simple call. An owner of a convenience store had called to report a couple of guys loitering right outside on his property. They hadn’t made any purchases and had refused to leave after numerous requests to do so. Edward took the dispatched call and made his way over to the store. He was familiar with the area, and knew a few of the business owners personally. It wasn’t the ritziest neighborhood, but for the most part, the people there tried to do right. Edward arrived on the scene and asked the men to leave. The first guy was chubby, with an overgrown beard, and a t-shirt that allowed the underside of his belly to stick out. The second guy was more athletically structured, braids under a wave cap, a tattoo on his neck, and long arms that seemed to dangle just above the ground.
While the chubby young man started to acquiese to Edward’s demands, the second guy still refused to leave. Edward was used to people being annoyed that he had pulled them over. He had encountered drug dealers who were so belligerent that he had the nerve to arrest them while doing a sale that they needed to be forced to the ground. But in five years, he had never had someone flip out for asking them to hang out somewhere else. But that’s what happened. The guy began to unlease a tirade at him, laced with profanity. And before he could process it all, the guy reached in his pocket, and began to withdraw.
Edward removed his gun and fired off two shots before the young man fully removed his hand from his waist. The guy collapsed to the ground instantly. Edward went to him and saw the young man’s eyes. They bore a look of a sudden realization. Edward looked at the rest of the guy. One shot in the shoulder, the other in his tattoo. He called the station for back up and an ambulance. Edward had no hope for the guy, and once the ambulance arrived, they pronounced him dead at the scene.
It wasn’t long before a mob had gathered. A myriad of faces screaming, crying, cursing. Other officers were on the scene trying to maintain peace and order.
Over the coming days, many took to the streets, demanding his head on a platter. Politicians took to any and every social media platform, any and every news outlet, to score points by denigrating Edward. One internet meme had him in a portrait alongside Hitler, Stalin, Mao, and other villians of the twentieth century.
He finally stopped pacing when he saw the family picture. He thought to himself, ‘If it were only me, it wouldn’t be so bad.’ But that’s the part that hurt him the most. It wasn’t just him. It affected his wife, Leanne. Some of her friends refused to be seen with her in public, or at all. Leanne had taken to grocery shopping at obscure hours of the night to avoid the glares and the derision she suffered one evening after work.
His oldest boy, Matthew, was jeered and taunted at school. He had been in a couple of fights since the shooting happened, and still had the bruises to show for it. His younger son Eric, while only in third grade, hadn’t suffered as visibly as Matthew or Leanne, still felt the tension and uncertainty in the atmosphere.
A knock came at Edward’s door. He looked at the wall clock. Right on time. He went and opened the front door. Brock was a clean cut man who kept an efficient dress, and a precise manner. His hair was always slicked back and his eyes were thin shaped, like razors, that still managed to perceive everything going on in the room.
“Come in,” Edward said. Brock entered and Edward looked outside for a moment. The street was empty and though he couldn’t figure why, it unnerved Edward. He shook it off, shut the door, and followed Brock to the living room.
“Can I get you anything?” He offered this as Brock sat on the couch.
“No, thanks,” Brock said. He examined Edward as he stood there.
“How are you?” Brock asked. How have you been sleeping? Have you been sleeping? How’s Leanne and the boys?”
“Which question do you want me to answer first?”
“Whichever one you can.”
“Leanne is...coping.”
“Coping? What’s that? Describe it.”
“She’s getting along as best she can.”
“Hmm. The boys?”
“Matthew has had some trouble at school, but we’re getting that straightened out. Eric is day by day, but not too...”
“And you?”
Suddenly Edward became annoyed.
“Is this a mental examination?”
“No. I was being polite and I thought I’d ask.”
“Right.”
“Look. I’m sorry. I know you’re having a tough time, but I’m here to help. I’m on your side. Others are too.”
“It sure doesn’t feel like it.”
“Trust me, you have supporters. But you, you are strong. You’re going to get through this.”
“I hope so.” Edward started to pace again and Brock’s eyes followed him until he came to a halt.
“So what’s happening?” Edward asked. “Tell me something.”
“An investigation is happening,” Brock said. “You know there’s an internal investigation obviously, but the county prosecutor is looking into it as well.”
Edward sighed in frustration.
“Now, that’s not necessarily an automatic negative. They’re assembling all of the facts and testimony to see if there’s anything there. They, he, the prosecutor, wants this to be as transparent as possible. I’m not sure how long this will go on, but you’ll just have to sit tight. One shining light is that fat boy has changed his story a couple of times so that’s one for our side.”
“Speaking of sides,” Edward began, “when do I get to tell my side?”
“Soon. You actually go in to the prosecutor’s office tomorrow morning. Didn’t you know that already?”
“Yes. But what about the media?”
“Now, Ed you know that’s out.”
“Have you seen what they’ve been saying? You want to talk about transparency. At what point are we going to be transparent and tell everyone he had a gun. Ilegally, I might add. And he was aiming to use it.”
“Look -”
“What about the store’s video cameras? Surely they tell the same story I’ve already told you and my superiors down at hq.”
“There are some, and I’m not one of them so let’s be clear there, but there are some who say that the video isn’t as conclusive as they’d like it to be. He was at an obscure angle and it’s hard to tell what he was really doing. I’m not the one saying that. It’s just what’s been circulating around.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“You’re going to get some sleep. You’re going to try, I know it will be difficult, but try and live somewhat normally. This is going to be a long haul and your family needs you. I know it’s frustrating -”
“That’s not quite the word I’d choose.”
”- But that’s the way it’ll be until this thing ends.”
Edward knew that even once the investigation ended, this thing wouldn’t be over. The entire ordeal had changed his life in a way he still couldn’t define. It wasn’t easy on anyone in his household. A permanent mark resided in their lives now.
“And one last thing,” Brock said. “Don’t watch the news. It won’t do you any good.”
“Yeah.”
Brock stood to leave. “Is there anything that you need? Anything I can do for you?”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll manage.”
Brock headed towards the door with Edward right behind him.
“If there is anything that you need, you have my number. Any time. Day or night. I’m around.”
“Thanks, Brock. I appreciate it.”
Brock opened the door, stepped out onto the porch, and jerked back.
“Oh, what the f--”
Edward stepped around Brock to see what had caused him to jump. He looked on his front porch and saw a soiled brown paper bag. He didn’t need to look inside. Just the odor that immediately hit his nose was enough for him to realize what it was.