But that would also make it look like I had something to hide.

Screw that.

I take a final moment to compose myself. Then I march straight through the courtyard and up to the main entrance. As I expected, a flock of reporters is there waiting. They spot me, and the feeding frenzy begins. They’d all showed up at Killer Chef earlier, but Marlene screamed that she’d ban them from the truck forever if they didn’t leave us alone. That took care of them.

“Detective Rooney, Detective Rooney!” they yell. “Any last words before you—”

“Last words?” I ask wryly. “This isn’t an execution. Just a firing squad.”

A shout comes from the rear of the journalist scrum. “Is it true you’ve waived your right to have a police union official or other counsel represent you?”

“You’re looking at an innocent man,” I firmly say.

I’ve nearly reached the glass front doors. I’m almost inside. So the questions come even faster, in a frantic jumble, like they’re desperately trying to trip me up.

“What outcome are you expecting this afternoon, Detective?”

“How do you respond to critics who claim this whole proceeding is a sham?”

“Do you regret any of your actions?”

“Do you have anything to say to the victim’s family?”

Grasping the metal door handle, I turn back and face the thick throng of reporters, some I know intimately from investigations past. You’d think they’d show me some courtesy, some consideration, not be part of a baying pack eager to bring me down.

But you’d be wrong.

To them, I’m a story now. Strictly business. Nothing personal.

The reporters finally quiet down, waiting, their cameras and phones ready and rolling.

I want to say plenty. To everyone involved.

But not here. Not now.

I give the crowd a nod and head inside, knowing that when I eventually leave this huge building with so many memories, I won’t be the same man who came in.

Which both frightens and exhilarates me.

CHAPTER 3

Typically, The NOPD Use of Force Review Board hearings are handled internally on the third floor, inside a stuffy conference room furnished with a beat-up oval table and a bunch of uncomfortable chairs. I know this because over the course of my fourteen-year career with the department, I’ve testified in three such proceedings on behalf of fellow cops.

But in this, my fourth appearance before the Board, I’m the focus.

Not a great feeling.

Usually the hearings are kept confidential and closed to the public, except in cases where the department is looking to make an example of someone and try and look good to the public.

Like this one.