Esti looked troubled. “This is like the fourth time I’ve heard you talk about the bullet thing—the contradiction in where it came from. What do you think is the answer?”

“Honestly, Esti? I’m going around in circles on that one. The physical and chemical evidence in the apartment where the murder weapon was found says that’s where the bullet must have been fired. The line of sight to the victim says it couldn’t have been.”

“This reminds me of the Montell Jones mess over in Schenectady. You remember that one, Jack? Five, six years ago?”

“Drug dealer? Big controversy over whether it was a righteous kill?”

“Right.” She turned to Gurney. “Young officer in a cruiser is making his rounds in a druggy neighborhood—bright, sunny day—when he gets a ‘shots fired’ call, location about two blocks from where he is. Ten seconds, he’s there, out of the car. People on the street point him to a broad alley between two warehouses, say that’s where they heard two shots a couple of minutes earlier. He’s first on the scene, should wait for backup, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out his nine-millimeter, steps into the alley. Facing him, about fifty feet away, is Montell Jones, local bad guy, violent drug dealer, super-long rap sheet. The way the officer tells it, he sees that Montell’s got his own nine. In his hand. He raises it slowly in the officer’s direction. Officer shouts at him to drop it. The nine keeps coming up. Officer fires one round. Montell goes down. Other cruisers start arriving. Montell’s bleeding out through a hole in his stomach. Ambulance comes, takes him away, he’s pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Everything seems totally righteous. Young officer is a hero for about twenty-four hours. Then everything goes to hell. Internal Affairs calls him in and gets his account of the shooting. He has no doubt about anything. All crystal-clear—facing Montell, sunny, perfect visibility, Montell’s nine rising toward him. Officer fires, Montell goes down. End of story. The IA interviewer asks him again. He goes through it again. And again. They have it all on tape. They have the whole thing transcribed, printed out, he signs it. Then they drop the bombshell. ‘We have a problem here. The ME says the stomach wound was an exit wound, not an entry wound.’ The officer is speechless, he can’t grasp what he just heard. He asks them what the hell they’re talking about. They tell him it’s simple. He shot Montell in the back. And now they’d like to know why.”

“Sounds like every cop’s worst nightmare,” said Gurney. “But at least this Montell guy had a loaded weapon, right?”

“He did. That much was okay. But the bullet in the back was a big problem.”