“You both come from cop homes,” Rigor commented. “I don’t know your father, MacKenny, but I know yours, Decker.”

Cindy said, “Yes, he’s been around the LAPD for a while.”

“Earned quite a name for himself.”

“He’s a hard worker.”

“Probably never home when you were growing up-right?”

“He was home when it was important to be home,” Cindy said calmly.

“Apparently not. Your parents are divorced, aren’t they?”

Anger swelled inside her. Intellectually, Cindy knew Rigor was testing her, trying to crack her. “Yes, they are divorced,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t too tight.

“Must have been problems at home.”

“I was young when they divorced, Sergeant. I try my best not to dwell on the past. It’s counterproductive.”

Rigor nodded. “Got all the answers, don’t you?”

Cindy tried a small smile. “Wish I did.”

Rigor stood, went over to the coffee machine, and dropped some coins into the slot. “How do you take your coffee?”

Cindy started to rise. “I’ll get it, Sergeant-”

“Just answer the question, Cadet Decker.”

“Black,” Cindy said. “For both of us.”

Kate smiled appreciatively.

“Only got two quarters left,” Rigor answered. “You two can share.” She reached into the coffee slot and took out the steaming paper cup. She turned around, then suddenly jerked backward as if blown by a huge gust of wind. Black jets of coffee flew upward as Rigor’s head cracked against the cement floor, blood spurting from her temples.

Kate screamed. Cindy raced over and pressed her palms to Rigor’s head in an attempt to stanch the blood. Moments later, several other classmates were at her side. “Get help!” she shrieked to Kate. “Call nine-one-one.”

Kate tore out of the room.

An eternity passed. Even as Cindy waited, she knew it was bad. Her fingers could feel a dying pulse, slower and slower, weaker and weaker, until there was no pulse at all.

By the twentieth time Cindy had to tell it, the story took shape. It went something like this.

Rigor was standing at the machine, getting them coffee-no, she had gotten the coffee. She turned to face them-them being Kate and her. Then she suddenly jerked backward and fell to the floor. They both heard this awful crack as her head hit the cement. Blood was spewing from her head.

Where did the bullet come from?

Out of nowhere.

Bullets don’t come from out of nowhere, Ms. Decker.

Rational thought dictated that it had to have come from the open window. It couldn’t have penetrated the walls because they were concrete, and no bullet holes were found. The door to the hallway had been closed, so it couldn’t have come from there. It didn’t come from inside the commissary, because the only people there had been Sergeant Rigor, Kate MacKenny, and herself.

Remember seeing anyone out the window?

No. Not a face, not even a fleeing figure.

The inquiries lasted past dinnertime-for Cindy and Kate, for everyone in the commissary, for everyone in Rigor’s class, everyone at the range. And when the police were finally finished there, Rigor’s superiors took her cadets back to the academy for more questioning.

Suspicion hung heavily over the group like a cloud. Woe to anyone who wasn’t in public view when the shooting occurred. Luckily for Cindy, she had Kate and the others to back her up. And vice versa. But there were a few cadets who had been off by themselves- Baldwin, Holstetter, Angelica.

Academy officials took away their guns for testing. They grilled everyone over and over, usually starting with Cindy. She’d been there, been the first to do something. No matter how often she went over what’d happened, they looked at her as if she’d done something wrong!

Did you move the body, Ms. Decker?

No. The only thing she did was apply pressure to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Are you sure?

Of course she was sure! Why didn’t they believe her? She was getting firsthand interrogation experience, she realized-but from the wrong side.

The hours passed, and the story became rote, her words mechanical, devoid of the emotion they had held in the beginning.

Finally, the last interview was wrapped up. Stay close to home in case other questions come up, Cindy was told. Report to the academy on Monday. No classes. The group would be suspended until this tragedy was sorted out.

It was almost midnight when Cindy left the interview room. The worst was behind her, she figured-until she saw her father waiting for her. His face was impassive, his cop face.

Tears came to her eyes. Fiercely, he whispered, “Look down! And when you look back up, make sure your eyes are dry.”

She did as she was told, happy to follow him and his unambiguous orders.

They walked through the long hallway of the old stucco building, past window after window of academy athletic trophies. Her father nodded to familiar faces as they walked along. He didn’t touch her, didn’t talk to her, until they were out of the building and in the parking lot.

Decker restrained himself from hugging her for fear of breaking her bones with relief, simply asking, “Are you all right?”

“I’m… yes, I’m…”

“I knew I’d worry once you hit the streets.” He smiled grimly. “But I see you’re giving my heart attack a jump-start.”

Cindy hugged herself tightly. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“All that matters is that you’re in one piece.”

“At least physically.”

“Right now physically is all I care about.” He ran his hand over his face. “Come home with me. I’ll drive you back tomorrow.”

She nodded, followed her father to his reconstituted Porsche. Usually, he tore out of parking lots. Tonight he drove slowly, methodically. Neither of them spoke.

He passed up the freeway signs, headed into the dark hills of Chavez Ravine, the serpentine roadways rising and falling at regular intervals. Small bungalows lined the tarry asphalt, dots of light emanating from a few windows. He drove deeper into the area.

Cindy was puzzled. “Where are we going?”

Abruptly, Decker pulled the car over to the curb, turned off the ignition, and slumped down in the driver’s seat.

Cindy’s heart leaped. “Oh, my God! Dad!”

In a calm voice, Decker said, “I’ve been shot, Officer. You’ve got to radio it in. Where are we?”

Cindy was shaking, blind with anxiety.

Her father sat up, ran his hand through his hair. “I asked you a question. Where are we?”

Cindy’s mouth fell open. Her father was okay. More than okay. He was testing her. After all she’d been through today, he actually had the nerve to test her. Spontaneously, she erupted into tears.

Decker waited, doing nothing to comfort her. Then he started the car. “You need to think with your eyes as well as your brain,” he said.

“How could you do this to me after what-”

“That’s especially when you must be on your guard.” He handed her a tissue. “When you’ve been through hell and back and you’re zonked out, bone-tired, hungry, and frazzled. Because that’s when you’re ripe for a slipup. What you need to do is stop, take a deep breath, and make sure your brain’s working. The life you save may be your own.”

Feeling betrayed, she dried her eyes and said nothing. But as they rode on in silence, she realized she was looking at street signs.

“Want to talk about it?” her father asked finally.

“You didn’t have to come down and rescue me, you know.” Weakly, she asked, “Are they planning on expelling us?”

“Don’t know. They’ve got to sort through the details first.”

“You know the details?”

“I’d like to hear them from you.”

Cindy told the story yet another time. “Rigor was uniformly disliked,” she added when she’d finished. “Everyone made comments about wishing she were dead.”

“Including you?”