Shred of Evidence

The kid, he couldn’t have been more than 23 or 24, sat on the hood of the cruiser, starring up at the sign.

The round sign tried to take on the look of a donut. In case you couldn’t tell, the word “donuts” was written in red neon across the middle of the sign. Above it was the name Joes and below, deliberately misspelled, was tastee.

The early morning sun was just starting to rise behind the sign, eliminating the need for the neon.

I walked up to him and he looked at me. His eyes were glossy, almost vacant, like someone retreating inside himself.

“I need to ask you a couple things,” I said.

“Are they OK?” he asked me, his voice quiet.

“One you shot’s dead,” I said. No need to sugar coat it. “The cook probably won’t make it, but the girl’s fine.”

He nodded his head.

“I didn’t expect this,” he said. I nodded my head. You never do.

“Your name’s Donavant right?” I asked.

He nodded. “Ricky Donavant.”

“How long have you been on?”

“About six weeks,” he said. “This was my first night by myself.”

After graduating from the academy, patrolmen are required to spend about six weeks riding with another cop, getting comfortable with procedures, the people and that sort of thing.

“Just tell me what happened in your own words.”

He sighed and looked around.

“The girl’s OK?” he asked.

I nodded my head. “What did you see when you first pulled up?”

“The lights were on,” Donavant said. “Most of the other places weren’t open yet and Krystals was crowded. I just wanted a quick bite to eat.”

I nodded. Sometimes, a quick bite was tough on patrol.

“I noticed the lights were on here, so I thought maybe they were open,” Donavant said. “I don’t really like donuts, but I was pretty hungry.”

Sometimes, when you work 11 to 7, you take what you can get.

“So you went in?” I asked, trying to prompt him.

“Yea. I couldn’t see anyone, but all the lights were on so I tried the door,” he said. “It was unlocked.”

“The girl?”

“She came out a few seconds after the door bell dinged,” Donavant said. “Asked me what I wanted.”

“What did you get?” I asked.

“A plain glazed donut and a cup of coffee,” Donavant said. “I think the donut was from the day before. She wouldn’t let me pay. Said the cash register wasn’t ready as they weren’t technically open.”

He let out a deep sigh. “I don’t even like donuts.”

I nodded but said nothing. The freebee could have been because he was a cop. They died off for a while, but since 9-11, it was tough to buy anything if you were a cop or fireman.

“Did she look or act like something was wrong,” I asked.

Donavant shook his head. “I mean, I don’t know her, so how could I tell? I just assumed she was tired. It was 4:30 in the morning.”

“How were you feeling at this time?”

“Not bad. It had been a busy night,” Donavant said. “Steady busy, not swamped, though.”

The light of a donut shop, or a convenience store or diner could be appealing on the overnight. You deal in the dark with dark things and people facing dark problems. A donut shop could offer a few minutes of light and conversation with someone glad to see you, and not because they are in trouble.

“How long were you in the shop?”

“Just a couple minutes,” Donavant said. “I gobbled down my donut and thanked the girl for the coffee and started to leave.”

He looked down at the ground and kicked his right foot at the pavement.

“It sounded like someone dropped a big pan or something,” he said. “That’s what I thought at first.”

“How did you know it wasn’t a pan?”

“She started screaming,” Donavant said. “She was looking toward the back and screaming.”

“What happened then?”

“I walked toward her and asked if she was OK,” Donavant said. “I still thought maybe a pan dropped, maybe on her foot or something. Maybe.”

“So you had not pulled your gun yet?” I asked. Donavant stiffened just a little when I mentioned the gun.

He shook his head no.

“It was a second later,” Donavant said. “The guy came out from behind a corner screaming at her to shut up. He had a gun up and pointed at her.”

I was silent. I knew Donavant would want to fill the gap.

“He saw me and started to turn and fired his gun.”

I nodded.

“I saw the girl go down. Is she ok?”

“Yes, she’s fine. She wasn’t hit,” I said. “You then pulled your gun and shot him.”

Donavant nodded. “I think he got off a second shot.”

Actually, there were two more shots, judging from the bullet holes in the front area, but I didn’t tell the kid that.

“Do you have any idea how many times you shot him?”

“No,” Donavant said. “I think I fired my gun three times.”

He was right. It looked like one bullet took the guy in the shoulder and one in the chest. The third took out an oven.

“Look, there will be an investigation, but the girl is telling the same story you did,” I said. “Sounds clean.”

The girl had told me that a guy came in as soon as she and the owner opened the place. They were in the back opening the safe when Donavant happened to walk in. The guy told the girl to get rid of the cop. Seems she didn’t do so fast enough.

“Clean?”

I nodded my head.

“How did you get over it the first time you shot someone?” I asked.

I looked at the kid. I guess he needed the truth.

“I’ve never even pulled my gun,” I said.

“Never?”

“Not once in 23 years,” I said. Almost 19 of those had been on the streets and like most cops, I’d never been involved in a shooting.

His shoulders slumped a little.

“That’s not really fair,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” I responded.

“You sure the girl’s ok?”

“Yea,” I said. “She’s gonna be alright.”