Marrero, 40, was responding to a robbery at a Bank of America just two miles away. At around 11:30 AM, she and fellow officers confronted the robbers at The Crossings apartment complex near the corner of Kennedy Blvd. and Dale Mabry Hwy. The suspects ran, and the ensuing foot chase quickly involved an exchange of gunfire.

Marrero, a 19-year Tampa police veteran who stood only 5'1" tall, was wearing a bullet-proof vest, but she was hit three times in the neck and head and fell to the ground. With bullets still streaming by, fellow officer Ronnie Hills ran to be with her, covering her with a blanket and stroking her back as they waited for paramedics to arrive.

But Marrero's injuries were too serious. She had been killed in the line of duty, seeking to prevent armed robbers from making victims of innocent citizens at the busy apartment complex.

Nester Luis DeJesus, 25, and girlfriend Paula Andrea Gutierez, 24, forced their way into a nearby apartment, taking a hostage in the process. Three hours later, DeJesus shot and killed himself and Gutierez gave herself up to police.

Although a bullet grazed another police officer, Marrero's was the only death at The Crossings that day. On Friday, July 6, she became the first female Tampa police officer killed in the line of duty.

The dramatic incident riveted all of Tampa Bay, leading television newscasts and providing newspaper headlines for a full week. Almost immediately, flowers began to appear at a memorial for fallen police officers at Tampa Police Department headquarters on Franklin St.

Ironically, the memorial sits directly across from Lykes Gaslight Park, where the city's PrideRally and PrideParade took place the morning after Marrero's death. By that time, it was widely known that Marrero was openly lesbian, and had been involved in a ten-year relationship with fellow Tampa police Detective Mickie Mashburn.

Tampa City Commissioner Rose Ferlita called for a moment of silence at PrideRally, but the quiet was short-lived. Local residents, gay and straight, soon began criticizing local media for awkwardly downplaying Marrero's committed partnership with Mashburn. And they were outraged when Tampa city officials later announced that Mashburn would be denied Marrero's pension benefits.

A surviving spouse generally receives 50 to 65 percent of a Tampa police officer's pay for life. For the 48-year-old Mashburn, that could mean more than a half-million dollars.

"It's a sad situation," said a sympathetic police Detective Tom Singleton, chairman of the city police and fire pension fund. "I'm sure some activist groups feel it is discriminatory, but the pension has to go to a spouse as that is legally defined."

More than just activist groups weighed in on the inherent unfairness of the situation.

"As if the tragedy of her murder wasn't enough, Tampa police officer Lois Marrero died protecting a society that treated her like a second-class citizen," said the in a scathing July 13 editorial. "It is indecent to allow a police pension plan to make money when an officer is killed. Marrero was shot to death last week chasing a robbery suspect. That she chose another woman as her life partner does not diminish her sacrifice, nor should it erase 19 years of public service."

Strongly worded Letters to the Editor continue to stream in at both the and the .

"If ever there was a double standard, this is it," wrote Tampa's Robert H. Harrell, Jr. to the . "We allow convicted felons, murderers and rapists to marry and have all the legal rights that bestows. Those who are gay are denied basic and fundamental rights that all other American citizens enjoy."

"Lois Marrero was good enough to serve and protect and give her life in the line of duty as a police officer," said Gilbert S. Williams of Spring Hill in the . "But she was not good enough, in the estimation of a majority of the elected representatives of this state and nation, to enjoy the right to marry the love of her life or to leave to that person the survivor benefits of the police pension she had earned over the course of 19 years."

Equality Florida, the Tampa-based GLBT advocacy organization, was flooded with phone calls and e-mails, many from concerned police officers throughout the state who are in same-gender relationships.

"The public is demanding action, not excuses," said Nadine Smith, Equality Florida's executive director. "Now is the time to resign ourselves to unfairness. We must raise our voices so that no one ever has their grief compounded by cruel and discriminatory laws that fail to recognize same-gender relationships."

Thus far, no one in a position to correct the situation -- Tampa Mayor Dick Greco, the city council, the police chief, union or pension board officials - has been willing to stick their neck out. State Rep. Bob Henriquez (D-Tampa) has said that his office is making inquiries.

"Politically, it's a very sticky situation," Henriquez told the . "You want to be compassionate, but you don't want to treat this situation differently just because she was a police officer."

For Mashburn and people like her to receive death benefits, the definition of a spouse would have to be expanded. And in the case of the Tampa Police Department, union members and the state Legislature would have to approve the change.

Tampa City Council member Bob Buckhorn told the that he believes the majority of police officers and city officials want Mashburn to receive the pension.

"This is the first time we have had to deal with this, and we're still in a state of shock," he said. "It's a much bigger issue than this one tragic issue."

Bills establishing domestic partnerships for same-sex couples were introduced into the Florida Legislature in 1999 and 2000, but died in committee. Henriquez said a tragedy like Marrero's death could make a difference next time.

For her part, Mashburn has been unwilling to speak out about the pension issue. She has hired attorney Danny Castillo to field calls and explore options. Castillo told the that Mashburn needs time to mourn, and that she does not want to use Marrero's death for political purposes.

The two had planned to attend an Orlando Miracle basketball game the night Marrero was killed. They were talking by cellular phone when Marrero received the call to respond to the bank robbery.

"I had this feeling," Mashburn recalled to the . "It was like I kind of got chills. I said, 'Please be careful. I love you, be careful.'"

Mashburn joined thousands at a 10 AM funeral service for Marrero at Sacred Heart Church on Florida Ave. on Tuesday, July 10. Afterward, cars lined up for miles for the drive to Myrtle Hill Cemetery, where Marrero was buried.

"I think the reality hit me when we were at the grave site and they were lowering her into the ground," Mashburn said. "I couldn't believe I would never see her again. We were so happy."

Marrero was just fifteen months from retirement, and was thinking about a new career as a private investigator. An avid runner, she was also training for the upcoming Chicago Marathon.

She didn't die to further the cause of gay and lesbian equality, but her sister Brenda Ayoub left no doubt what her position would have been on the issues raised by her untimely death.

"If there's anything that Lois would love, other than the good treatment of children, it would be for long-term positive effects to be had from this," Ayoub told the . "Florida needs to recognize same-sex marriages and needs to make benefits available to same-sex partners," Ayoub told the . "Let's not talk about it, let's do something about it, would be Lois' perspective."