“I have a question, Detective Rooney,” says Major Deborah Katz, the sole female on today’s board, a compact woman whose bun is tied so tightly, her hair looks as flat and shiny as glass. “Your report says you pursued the suspect with your sidearm in hand. Which is also against department guidelines. Some might say, having your weapon out and ready like that would make you … more likely to use it.”

I give the major a polite smile. “Was that a question, ma’am?”

She gives it right back to me. “Do you have an answer, Detective?”

“My Glock was out, yes—because I’d drawn it moments earlier. Me and my fellow officers had just moved on the suspect and his accomplices after observing them selling narcotics in an abandoned lot off Touro Street. When Grant ran, I chose not to waste even one second re-holstering my weapon. I also knew I might have to use it, too.”

Major Katz’s eyes grow perceptibly wider. “So you admit you were predisposed to firing your sidearm that night?”

I grit my teeth. I’m starting to lose my patience with these grandstanders.

“I admit I did my homework. Grant was a Franklin Avenue enforcer. Known to be armed and dangerous—which, as seems to have gotten lost in today’s hearing, he was.”

Bossett interjects, “Yes, about that handgun allegedly recovered at the scene … ”

Allegedly? No way. He’s not about to suggest I planted it, is he?

“A number of witnesses have come forward to say they saw you placing the weapon near the suspect following the shooting,” he continues. “How do you respond?”

Okay, this is beyond ridiculous now. It’s downright insulting. And another thought about my future is starting to demand attention.

“With respect, sir, that’s absurd,” I reply, working to keep my voice calm and level. “Those witnesses are all fellow gang members. And not one has offered a single photo or frame of video to back that story up.”

I feel myself picking up steam so I keep going with it.

“And let’s talk about the weapon itself for a minute,” my voice rising. “Earlier I’d learned from an informant that Grant was rumored to pack a golden, personalized piece. It’s in my field paperwork from two days before the shooting. And that’s exactly what was recovered at the scene: a gold-plated 9mm Heckler & Koch, engraved with the letters L-C-G. The gun he pulled on me before I fired two shots of my own.”

I’m right at the brink of losing my cool and I know I should back down, but I can’t help myself. This isn’t a hearing. It’s a ceremony of a human sacrifice, a good cop being put down to ease the anger of others.