To Love a Cop. Janice Johnson Kay
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It makes the penalty harsher for any given crime than it would be for one that wasn’t motivated by dislike of someone’s race, color, religion or sexual orientation.”
She frowned. “There was something on KGW news about a fire and a swastika spray painted on the driveway.”
He winced. “That one’s mine. I’m...getting a lot of pressure on it. Do you know how many Portland residents have last names that sound Jewish or that some idiot could interpret as Jewish when really they’re Polish or Russian or who knows what? City hall is getting a barrage of panicky phone calls, which means the police department brass are, which means...”
Understanding dawned. “You are.” No wonder he’d had that expression on his face a minute ago.
“What’s a swastika?” Jake asked, predictably. Normally he’d have watched the news with her, but he’d been sulking in his room.
Ethan explained, his tone grim. “The home you saw on the news is the fourth instance of vandalism within two weeks that included the spray painted swastika. First place it was painted was on the garage door, second house, on the front window, third, on the lawn. Those earlier ones were mostly garden-variety vandalism. Eggs, rocks thrown through windows, that kind of thing.”
Mostly. She wondered about that, but didn’t want to ask with Jake here. She thought Ethan would have said otherwise.
“Vandalism doesn’t sound significant enough to justify all the anxiety, but the fire is a significant escalation,” he continued. “We’re afraid someone is going to be hurt soon. There’s always the possibility a home owner with a gun will use it, too.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Jake said. “I mean, that’s why people want guns. So they can protect themselves.”
Good? Laura thought in shock. He knew how vehemently she opposed the whole idea, and still—
“It is,” Ethan agreed, raising her ire, but went on before she could jump in. “The problem is, your average person hasn’t practiced enough to be able to use their weapon effectively. They get scared and are more likely to freeze up than they are to shoot the right person at the right time. A dad panics, shoots and kills his teenage son who was sneaking into the house late at night. Or it’s a burglar, Dad points the gun, but the burglar wrestles it away from him. And here’s the bigger question...”
Laura was as mesmerized as Jake. Ethan wasn’t saying what she’d expected from him. And, thank God, he’d been tactful enough not to include in his little litany, Kids get their hands on their parents’ guns and tragic accidents happen.
“We have the death penalty in this state.” He leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs, and looked and sounded even grimmer. “Someone has to have been convicted of aggravated murder to receive death as a sentence. So, if we as a society agreed that’s the only crime that we can justify putting someone to death for committing, is it all right for a home owner to shoot and kill someone breaking into his house?”
“But...it’s self-defense, isn’t it?”
Laura was glad to hear that Jake sounded unsure.
“It’s usually ruled to be. And sometimes it is. A woman is certainly entitled to protect herself from a man who intends to rape her, for example. But the average burglar doesn’t intend to hurt anyone. He’s sneaking in, hoping to grab some hot electronics, maybe some jewelry, and sneak back out without anyone hearing him. If the home owner were to yell that he’d called 911, the guy would bolt. These idiots who target people with a Jewish last name were committing only vandalism until this last time, when they set a fire, too. Their form of vandalism was ugly and indefensible, don’t get me wrong. But a capital crime? Not in my view.”
“So...if you were, like, staking out a house and they showed up and started, you know, painting the swastika and throwing rocks and maybe setting a fire, you wouldn’t pull your gun?” Jake asked in disbelief.
Ethan smiled faintly. “I would, because it would give me the upper hand. I’d be less likely to lose control of the situation. I would use the weapon as a threat to achieve an outcome that didn’t include violence.”
“You mean, they’d put their hands up and do what you tell them. Like that.”
His smile widened and he bent his head. “Just like that.” But the smile was gone when he went on. “The difference between me and the average home owner is that I put in many, many hours at the range practicing. I know when and why I should actually pull the trigger. In that situation, with the vandals, I’d be prepared to defend myself, but otherwise I wouldn’t shoot anyone.”
“You’d let them get away?”
“I’d do my best to catch them.” He flashed a startlingly boyish grin. “I also work out to stay in shape and make sure I’m fast. I can outrun most people.”
Laura bet he could. He’d have a longer stride than most people, for one thing, and none of the clumsiness common to many large men.
“But no, I wouldn’t shoot someone in the back to keep him from getting away. Vandalism isn’t a death penalty crime, even when it’s also a hate crime. Arson isn’t a death penalty crime unless it’s done to commit murder. Police officers rarely shoot except when they’re being attacked or to keep someone else from being badly injured or killed.”
“I never thought about that,” Jake said. “Mom always says—” He sneaked a look at her.
She tilted her head, wanting to find out which, if any, of her oft-repeated pearls of wisdom had actually stuck in his head. “What do I always say?”
“That having a gun in the house is more dangerous than not having one.” He flushed. “’Cuz things can happen. You know.”
Ethan held her son’s gaze. “I do know what happened, Jake. I’ve seen other tragedies like it. And let me say here that some law enforcement officers don’t agree with me. And I’m not opposed to safe gun ownership. People who hunt, for example, who follow the rules and lock their weapons up when they’re not carrying them. Target shooting can be fun. There’s nothing wrong with it. Same caveats.”
He had to explain what a caveat was.
“Dad always said he’d take me to the range when I got bigger.” Jake sounded wistful. “You remember, Mom?”
She remembered. Even then, she had hated the very idea, but she’d never said so. Certainly not to Jake, but not even to Matt. “I do,” she said.
“Did you learn to shoot when you were a kid?” Jake asked, earnestly pursuing...what? Justification for him to learn to handle a gun?
“Actually, no. My dad wasn’t a hunter. He’s in law enforcement, but he didn’t encourage me to take that path.”
“Is he still alive?” Laura asked.
Ethan glanced at her, his eyebrows climbing. “Sure. He’s a US marshal, but not for much longer. He’s taking retirement this coming year. Much to Mom’s relief, he switched to guard duty at the courthouse these past few years. His knees aren’t what they used to be.”
“Is he why you went into law enforcement?” she couldn’t resist asking.
His shoulders moved. “Partly. Of course there was always an element of glamour to it in my mind, like what Jake’s talking about. But I had a lot of other interests. I didn’t switch my major to criminology until I was a junior, and I had to add an extra semester to make up for lost time.”
She wanted to ask why he’d changed his mind midstream, but couldn’t help noticing how careful he’d been not to say. And really, he undoubtedly had better things to do today than exchange life stories with her.
He took a long swallow of coffee and set the mug down. “I’ve pontificated long enough. A piece of advice, though, Jake.”
Her son gazed eagerly