Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 122, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 745 & 746, September/October 2003

A wink, as if he knew he was pulling something over on Craig, knew it and enjoyed it, and Craig was surprised at how the anger just roared through him, making his ears echo with the noise, and by the time the door closed behind Dirk, Craig knew that he would go to that SWAT training session and end Dirk’s life.

SCENARIO THREE:

An armed gunman was hidden in a house with an accomplice who was unarmed. They had earlier robbed a bank, and the armed gunman was threatening to kill anybody who came in.

Sarah gave him a pat on the shoulder and said, “Good luck,” and Craig said, “Thanks,” as he took a long series of deep breaths, the revolver fat and heavy in his hands. Sarah was deeper in the rooms, waiting, and he wondered what she would think about this particular scenario, which came up in his mind like so:

Real scenario three: Porter resident and store owner takes revenge against cop having an affair with his wife.

He was in the second room, hidden behind a table and chair. His breathing sounded harsh in his protective helmet. He waited.

And wondered briefly what Stacy would think when this day was over. She had covered the day shift for him so he could do this training session, and amazingly so, she had kissed him on the cheek when he had left and had murmured, “Have fun.”

Have fun. Did she really mean it? Was she now regretting what had gone on between her and Dirk? Could it be over? Seeing her standing behind the counter, just as he was leaving, he had been stunned by his feelings of warmth and love and affection for her, even though she had betrayed him.

But who had betrayed whom first, with all the long hours, the sacrifices, the demands placed upon her?

Voices, outside. He raised the revolver, found his hand was shaking so hard he had to hold the gun with both hands.

He could not afford to miss. Could not afford to shake.

The approaching voices grew louder.

Two days earlier, he had sat in the apartment looking again at the black videocassette tape. He hadn’t viewed it since that first day, and had hidden it in a rear closet behind some shoes. He knew what he was planning, and when it was all said and done, when things were wrapped up, he wasn’t going to have this tape in his home. So among the other plans, he made plans to get rid of it, and soon.

Quick, quick, quick, he thought, Jesus, it’s going to be quick. No more time to think, no more time to reconsider, it was way too late for that.

“Police!”

“Search warrant!”

“Hands up!”

The forms came into view and he raised his gun and waited, waited until he saw the SWAT team member with the little yellow button on his chest, and he pulled the trigger and pulled the trigger and the shots started ringing out and the fire continued and BAM! something struck his chest with the force of a telephone pole being swung by a giant.

Cold. Wet. He opened his eyes, could hear voices in the distance, yelling and screaming. Hands were working over him, tugging at his clothes, getting them off. His chest ached and ached and he couldn’t catch his breath. It was as if he had run the race of his life and everything was now still. He opened his eyes and saw the glare of flashlights being trained down upon him.

He thought he was still in the bunker.

Cold. Wet. And now the wetness was warm.

And he thought he could hear sirens, off in the distance, and hoped somebody would remember to open up the gate in time.

And he closed his eyes.

It took some waiting, but eventually they did arrive in his hospital room, a couple of days before he was due to be discharged. The bullet wound in his chest was healing nicely and the pain was now just a manageable ache. Two solid-looking men in business suits, looking both professional and slightly embarrassed, came in and sat down. They mentioned their names and he forgot both names instantly, but in his mind he called one of them Lawyer and the other Cop. Both had thin black briefcases, which they balanced on their knees.

The cop started it off. “Mr. Francis, once again, I want to offer my personal apologies, as a member of the Porter Police Department, for what happened to you last week.”

He nodded. The lawyer jumped in as well. “And for the city of Porter, too, Mr. Francis — you also have our apologies.”

“Thank you,” he said, keeping his voice low and hoarse, though truth be told, he was doing better than he had expected when he had planned the whole thing out, when the utter insanity of what he came up with struck him and he thought about all the sacrifices he had made for that damn store, and now, he had made his final sacrifice. A big one, but one that would count. He knew Dirk was a crack shot, knew he would aim for the center of his body, and chances were, his heart or any other vital organ wouldn’t be struck. A chance, a crazy chance, but what the hell. The other options seemed worse. He did not want to lose Stacy... Stacy, who had come in blubbering and teary the day he had been admitted, and had Confessed All.