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my friend and realized that I’d never said these two words before. But, I said them now.
“Lucky Yuki.”
CHAPTER 27
WE WERE THIS close to Conklin’s apartment when a radio call came in that had our name on it. There had been a shooting that had likely stemmed from a domestic dispute. A crying child had called 911. The address was about four miles away.
I grabbed the mic and said that we were on our way, then asked Richie to stop the car.
He pulled into a handy driveway, and we got out, took our vests from the trunk, and put them on. We headed out and I snapped on every flasher we had, the grille lights, the visor lights, and the one on the roof of the car.
Richie stepped on the gas and eight short minutes later, we braked in front of a tan wood-frame semi-detached condo, one of dozens just like it on Jerrold Avenue.
The front door was open. We entered with our guns drawn, Richie calling out, “This is the SFPD.”
We came to a full stop in the living room, where a woman sitting in a crouch position with her back to a wall was holding a shotgun pointed at us. Blood and tissue fragments were sprayed on the wall, and there was a body—it looked like a man’s—ten feet to the north of the woman.
His heart was pumping blood onto the wooden floor.
Conklin said, “Ma’am, we need you to lower your weapon.”
The woman was white, about thirty, and wearing a torn T-shirt and jeans. There was blood spatter on her face, telling me that she had been very close to the victim when the gun fired. It looked to me like half his face had been shot away, but I thought he was still breathing.
I heard children crying somewhere down the hall.
This was a volatile situation, and I flashed on what could happen if we didn’t shut it down fast. I imagined the woman unloading that shotgun on us. Reloading. Taking out the kids. Reloading. Turning the gun on herself.
She wasn’t responding to Conklin, so I shouted, “Lady. Drop the damned gun.”
“I can’t,” she said in a small, almost little-girl voice. She looked at us with crazy eyes, shaking her head and trembling at the same time. “He’ll kill me.”
“We’re here now,” Conklin said, coming forward. “He’s not going to hurt you. We’re here now, ma’am. We’re here for you. So put the gun down, okay? You have to do it so we can go to your children, make sure they’re okay.”
“My kids? You know my kids?”
Her eyes flashed back and forth between me and Conklin and skipped right over the downed man on the floor.
Conklin holstered his gun. I covered him as he walked slowly toward the woman, showing her his empty hands.
“I’m just coming to help you. What’s your name?”
“Holly.”
“Okay, Holly. I’m Richie.”
One of Conklin’s many strengths is that he has a terrific way with women. It’s a real gift, that’s for sure.
I said, “I’m just going to walk behind you, Holly.”
She looked at me as I edged around her, and Conklin saw his chance. He stepped forward and, grabbing the gun, cracked it open and knocked out the remaining shell and threw the gun onto the couch.
“There we go,” he said. “Now we can talk. Holly, tell me what happened here.”
CHAPTER 28
ONCE HOLLY WAS disarmed, my breathing and my heartbeat returned to something like normal. I was not just relieved that no guns had gone off. I also wanted Holly to be all right.
I already had a pretty good idea what had happened in this house. Holly’s husband had been abusing her and had introduced a loaded shotgun into the fight. He’d been pointing that gun at her when she surprised him, grabbed the weapon, and got off a shot.
