by David B. Coe
By the time Cassie was shot, I'd been covering the story of the vigilante killer,
Hell's Fury, for a couple of months. I'd gotten the assignment as the Metro beat
writer, but the story had become front-page news and they'd kept me on it.
Biggest story of my life.
I had interviewed the cop who fired the shots the night of the shooting for an
article that ran the next morning. As he told it, he and his partner had been
patrolling their usual beat when they heard a girl screaming in the alley. The cop's
partner reached the girl first and saw that the guy who had attacked her was already
dead. But the guy's killer -- a woman -- was still in the alley. She ran from the
partner and straight at the first cop. He shouted for her to stop and when she
didn't, the cop fired. He only got off one round before feeling himself flung
against the alley wall, but he'd been certain that he hit her. That's what he said at
the time, and even when I interviewed him again, giving him every opportunity to
change his story, he stuck to it.
Turns out this cop had been talking about Cassie Sloan. Cassie, whom I had
worked with and then dated after her husband died. Well, not really dated, so
much as slept with one night and then avoided for weeks afterward. Not my finest
Now Cassie was in jail, a convicted killer. And I was here to interview her.