The Chef - James Patterson Page 0,4

years running, and the wedding of my chief’s niece. I understand police use-of-force policies are being put under a fresh microscopic examination across the nation. So overnight in my hometown of New Orleans, I’d become an embarrassment to the entire department. A liability. Any support I might have gotten from my fellow cops and senior officers dried right up.

So here we are.

“This board has had the opportunity to read your official statement regarding the events of that evening, Detective,” Bossett says. “Before we begin our questioning, is there anything you’d like to add to your story? Now is your chance.”

My story. Like I was a suspect hauled in for questioning!

What a shit-show. What a betrayal.

But I know if I ever want to get my gun and badge back, I have no choice but to play along.

I take a breath, knowing everything—my life, my future, my dual careers, hell, even the possibility of a prison term—rests on what I’m about to say.

Chapter 4

“THANK YOU, sir,” I reply, grabbing the armrests of my chair to try to control my building anger. “I stand by my story one hundred percent. But yes, there is something I’d like to say before we get started.”

The room grows pin-drop quiet, everyone anxiously waiting to hear the accused speak.

I swivel in my seat so I can address Grant’s family, who are sitting off to the side in the front row. Among them I recognize his soft-spoken widow, Crystal, her eyes puffy from crying. Next to her is Grant’s younger brother, Ty, his face clenched in a tight scowl. It’s no coincidence he’s wearing a pale-yellow dress shirt and a mustard-yellow tie, a symbol of his Franklin Avenue affiliation. A warning—like I needed one after seeing that SUV earlier today—that the gang is watching me.

“Larry Grant may have made some poor choices in his life,” I calmly say. “Like selling crack cocaine. Like pulling a handgun on a police officer. Still, his untimely death is a tragedy, for both his family and our city. My sincere hope is that his memory lives on, and that the legacy of the good he did for his family and community serves as an inspiration to others. Thank you.”

The crowd reacts with murmurs of pleasant surprise. Even Crystal and Ty look taken aback. I don’t feel I owe an apology to anyone for following protocol and taking out a dangerous would-be gunman. But of course I mourn the man’s death. I’m a human being. Unfortunately, that’s rare to hear any cop publicly admit in this day and age.

“Very well, Detective,” Bossett says, looking a bit distracted from my statement. He shuffles some papers. “To begin…can you please explain why you chose to continue chasing suspect Grant, despite the situation meeting multiple criteria for terminating a foot pursuit as set forth in Section 458.3 of the NOPD policy handbook? Among them: you had been separated from the rest of your unit, and as you informed the radio dispatcher, you were unaware of both Grant’s exact location as well as your own. Do I have that correct?”

Now I’m the one caught off guard. Bossett is hitting me hard right out of the gate. I wasn’t expecting this hearing to be a breeze, but I didn’t think I’d get grilled like this, either.

“You do, sir,” I reply. “But I believe the exact wording of Section 458.3 lists guidelines for an officer to consider terminating a foot pursuit. Doing so is still up to his or her discretion.”

Bossett frowns. We both know I’ve got my facts right.

“So even though you were all alone, in the pitch dark, in an unfamiliar part of the city…”

I cut him off. “Actually, sir, I had been on a team surveilling suspect Grant all over his St. Roch neighborhood for the past week. I felt I knew my way around well enough. And there were multiple streetlights and porch lights on that night. A full moon, too.”

“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