Page Ten - Sister and the Fighting Drunk (Copcast #125)

George was listening to the latest episode of Copcast and chuckling at Morgan's valiant attempt at an english accent, that had somehow morphed into australian, when his Night Duty refs break was interupted by a call on his radio.

“Units to attend the Accident and Emergency department at the hospital, patients fighting with members of staff, graded I India”

George and his operator, along with their whole team, were already in the back yard looking for their cars before the message was halfway through. George, like most officers in the UK, was taught very early in his training that hospital staff are among his best friends, they support and protect you but they are non-combatants and you should protect them and treat them with respect. Upset a nurse and your life is likely to become very miserable one day when either you need their assistance with an injured witness or prisoner or worse still if you're hurt and need their care.

George had a particularly close friendship with one of the A&E Sisters who he knew was on duty that night and worse, despite being only a petite 5'2” she was most likely in the thick of the action. Needless to say he was first on scene and his operator had white knuckles from holding the FM handle so tightly.

They ran in to the hospital to find a large group of people milling around in the corridor and pushing their way through found, as George had feared, the diminutive nurse with her hair somewhat messed, sitting on the back of very beligerant and apparently drunk male in his twenties, who was sprawled out on the floor, restraining him. George tried hard to surpress a grin as he asked, “Sister, could you possibly explain why you are using this poor man as a seat?”

Sister explained that the male in question had been brought in by his mother after he had been out drinking to celebrate getting out of prison. Apparently he had been so much the worse for wear that he fell and split his scalp, which explained the large amount of blood on the floor. While he was waiting to be treated the young man had got into an argument with his mother and ended up holding her by the throat against a wall and beating her head against it. At this point Sister had intervened and by all accounts a most impressive roll-around had ensued with Sister winning.

Sister just wanted the male treated and out of her department so George agreed to assist her while she sutured his impressive scalp wound which was bleeding profusely. During the procedure George noticed that Sister seemed to have forgotten to anaethsetise the patient before she began stitching, when he mentioned this she smiled slightly and said “Don't you think he's got enough anaesthetic inside him already and besides he needs to learn not to attack medical staff, we're here to help people and not to become part of their fight. Don't worry, he really can't feel this at all and it could be dangerous to add anaestheatic to his ethenolic state”.

Eventually the man was sutured and ready to leave, he woke up the next morning with a thumping hangover in a police cell with the news that he was being charged with several offences including assaulting his mother and the nurse and would be going directly to court that morning. It seems his celebrations at being released from custody were a little premature after all.

George's opinion of medical staff, especially nurses, went up yet another notch that night; they may well be non-combatants but you really do not want to mess with one of them.

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Page Nine - Intelligence Unused (Copcast #124)

uA unit to deal please, 21 Sainsbury Avenue, concern for welfare, it’s graded as an emergency call" the radio crackled. George told his probationer to offer up for it since it seemed like a fairly straightforward job and something else for his portfolio. The probationer gave their call sign and they were assigned and committed. Whilst en-route George asked his probationer to obtain more details whilst he navigated through the traffic on blues and twos.

The update came through, "Child Abuse Team has had a call from a neighbour of number 21 who wishes to remain anonymous. States the 13 year old boy is being assaulted". The probationer asked if there were any previous calls to the address or warning markers. “Only a couple of domestics”, replied the controller.

They arrived and informed control then walked to the door. Listening to the door they heard nothing, no shouting or crying. They knocked and heard movement inside; "Who the eff is it?" came the reply. "Police!" George shouted.

The door opened and there stood a man with long wild blonde hair, no shirt and his chest covered in self-harm marks. His torso positively rippled with muscle. George’s heart sank; it was Charlie Lane, local drug dealer and general pain in the neck. Charlie had PNC warning markers for (and in no particular order): Mental Health, Suicidal, Weapons, Firearms, Drugs, Violent towards Police, Escaper, Cage Fighter and all round Grade-A psycho with little regard for the chief constable and his band of merry men.

The radio crackled again, "Is that someone going to 21 Sainsbury Avenue? That’s Charlie Lane’s address" called a concerned colleague. "He’s got warning markers you know". George thanked the officer and silently cursed the controller for doing such a poor job with the intelligence. Charlie wanted to know what they wanted. The probationer, completely oblivious to the radio traffic, tried talking to Charlie who wasn't listening; he just wanted them to foxtrot oscar.

George said to Charlie "Look, we’ve been called to check the welfare of a young lad living here, there are reports he’s been assaulted. We need to check him out". Charlie replied "Eff off" and tried to shut the door but somehow and without any conscious effort, George’s right foot had found its way in the door, stopping it from shutting. Charlie looked down at him and he felt his stomach tighten. "What the eff are you doing?" he demanded. Actually he said much more than that, but you get the drift.

"Whoa, easy tiger, let me check the kids and the we’ll go ". Charlie told them that with the help of the police all but one of his kids had been taken into care only two days previously. George thought “Nice work control, that little nugget of intel should have come from you, not him”. Eventually they persuaded Charlie to let them see the remaining lad, muttering something about a section 17 power of entry to preserve life. Charlie actually growled and called for his son, who came to the door, Charlie kissed him on the side of the head. They chatted to the lad and checked him for any signs of injury; he seemed fine and wandered off, at which point Charlie then lost it. He was very keen to show how much he worked out and asked if they wanted to come in and check the rest of the house, just for fun. They politely declined and left.

They reported to the Inspector and informed him that it appeared to be a malicious call from a neighbour, intent on causing Charlie and the police problems. George had checked the son and he appeared fine. The Inspector agreed with how they’d dealt with the incident.

George chalked this incident up as a perfect example of not only the importance of gathering intelligence, but also how dangerous it can be to not pass it on to the people that need it. In some cases it can literally be a matter of life or death.

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Page Eight - Burglar Captured (Copcast #123)

George fears he’s getting on in years and his memory isn't what it used to be. He struggles with the names of people he’s seen around the nick for years and often finds himself having conversations with people who clearly know him and his family yet can’t recollect exactly how he knows them. George blames his badger-like greying side burns, years of shift work, not enough rest days and the constant onslaught of work. What is really worrying is that he can still recognise a burglar from 50 yards away in the dark with his back to him and even give you his date of birth. This can pay dividends when on patrol much to the jealousy of other police officers. He doesn't profess to be an expert 'thief taker' but he does know a ‘scrote’ when he sees one.

The other evening a call came in, “burglars making off from a scene”. Everyone turned out, burglars were always hot potatoes and everyone likes the sport of catching the little … scamps. The force chopper lifted-off, while a dog unit had to forgo refs and high tailed it in from across the other side of the division. There were about six local units scouring the streets and trying to establish pinch points, etc.

Reports came in that the males had split up and the informant was following one of them. Along with his trusty probationer, George was one of those six cars. They carried out an area search, it was dark and it was raining, his vehicle spotlights illuminated side alleys and the living rooms of residents oblivious to the chaos unfurling around them. Now, although he had lived and worked in the town for some years, this particular area was not one George was too familiar with and his probationer lived 39 miles away and had zero local knowledge. There was a map book in the car but of course the page they needed was missing and the radio was far too busy for them to admit they were lost and ask for directions. Don’t even ask about anything technical like SatNav.

There was another update, "Suspect is now walking towards Leicester Road down Jones Close”. George looked at the probationer and she could clearly see the "Where the hell is that?” look on his face. In desperation they turned into a side street and travelled about fifty yards before realising that the road was closed. Reluctantly they started to reverse then suddenly saw the road sign 'Jones Close'. George looked up in time to see two figures in the distance walking towards him. Brilliant they hadn't seen him.

Reversing quickly he parked up at the bottom of Jones Close where they got out and a few seconds later a male appeared, "Hello Mikey" said George. He had instantly recognised him from briefing and had even nicked him before. Mikey stopped, looked at George and said, "Alright, it’s a fair cop, you may as well nick me, I’m in breach of my curfew". George smiled at him just as another male walked around the corner. It was the informant who pointed at Mikey and gives them the thumbs up. George turned to Mikey, "Actually Mikey, my colleague here has something to say to you" his probationer then arrested him for burglary. He resigned himself to the handcuffs being placed on him. He had been running for about 25 minutes, which is hard work for a heroin user and he was grateful for a rest in a nice warm car followed by a police cell. Mikey was presented to custody, his clothing seized, finger prints and photographs taken before being put to bed all cosy in a cell. He ended up being charged and remanded in custody all weekend to appear at court. A good arrest is still a good arrest even if it’s completely by fluke and they were more than happy to take the glory.

George did make a mental note to spend more time in that part of the town to try and gain some better local knowledge of the area while spending more time on his DS, playing 'Brain Training'.

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