The Big Fear by Andrew Case

perp “did conceal a glassine envelope” or “did display a knife with a retractable blade.” They come after you, but they can’t help but use your language. Lost in thought, he had almost missed the investigator asking his first question. “This investigation is being conducted pursuant to Interim Order 118-9. Are you familiar with IO-118-9?”
    Mitchell looked up from the script. Mulino nodded. It’s just a routine, he kept reminding himself. Be friendly. Agree. If you look like you’re worried about something they’ll pounce.
    “I understand.”
    Mulino was asked to read his official account in the record. He did it slowly, spelling out the radio codes and the shorthand. A brief statement in a code they both understood.
    “And can you tell me in your own words what happened?”
    Mulino looked to Andropovic. The man nodded. Speaking carefully, he told the investigator about getting dragged out of bed, about climbing the wet ladder, the body on the boat. “It wasn’t as though I had just dropped in when I saw Detective Rowson. By that point it was already a murder investigation.”
    Mitchell didn’t look up from his notes. “Go on.”
    Mulino told him about the sounds. The squeaks. Asking over and over for the guy to come out. Saying over and over he was a cop. And then the running toward the railing, the flashing of the gun, the fear.
    “Was that gun recovered? You can’t see it in the photos.”
    “You’d have to check the log for that.” Mulino noted that Mitchell didn’t say anything about the log. Maybe it wasn’t in yet. Maybe the gun was logged and the investigator was testing him. But if he doesn’t say anything, don’t volunteer. Mulino thought about the swarm of cops that had come in. They had crowded him out and taken pictures, then taken inventory. He’d been kept to the side the whole time, and had eventually been taken off the boat by helicopter after they gave him the now-standard breathalyzer. He had never even seen Sergeant Sparks.
    “Regardless of the log. You see this gun get recovered?”
    “I saw it on the deck. When I approached the body, the gun was in Detective Rowson’s hand. Or just by his hand. A department-issued nine millimeter.”
    “I saw you still carry the revolver yourself.”
    Mulino was about to talk when Andropovic tapped his knee. A signal. They had worked it out beforehand. If the guy says something and it isn’t a question, you don’t have to say anything. If he asks you a yes or no question, you can just say yes or no. Keep it short. You aren’t at a bar with your friends.
    Mulino saw the investigator’s eyes dart toward Andropovic’s hand. He’d seen the tapping. That probably didn’t make Mulino look so smart. Mitchell finished a note and spoke. “The log isn’t in yet. If you want to wait I can bring you back down after it comes in.”
    “I saw the gun when I went up to him.” Mulino only noticed after he had said it that Andropovic had been tapping him again. It hadn’t been a question.
    “Tell me when you first noticed anything that you thought resembled a gun.”
    “Well. I saw the guy. When I saw him first it was dark and I didn’t see anything. He was out on the deck and he went behind some of the containers. Then when he came out, when he charged, he was running pretty fast and I saw it in his hand then. I was pretty sure of it. As he ran toward me screaming.”
    “You were pretty sure of it?”
    “I was sure of it.”
    “And what did you do before you shot him?”
    Mulino had practiced this part. “I considered whether it was safe to retreat and I determined it was not. I called out ‘Freeze, Police’ while holding my gun out. When he continued to charge I fired one shot.” Mulino was never comfortable lying. He had thought about whether to admit he hadn’t said “police,” about whether to try to make Mitchell understand what it is like to have so many things going through your head at once. But it was easier just to say