Page Eighteen - Musical Cars (Copcast #133)

The call was a central station intruder alarm and the venue was unusually a church in deepest Kenton. On scene were Mike 21 a Ford Focus response car, Mike 2 a Ford Transit sation van driven by George, November 2 the second Ford Transit station van and Mike 1 a Vauxhall Astra driven by the Duty Inspector. All in all a good turnout and an impressive array of white vehicles with blue and yellow stripes along their sides, all of them casting an eery blue flickering light over the scene.

The uniformed officers clambered over walls and railings and set up cordons searching for intruders and ensuring no one would escape them.

When the building was eventually found to be apparently secure and unoccupied, the Dutty Officer decided to check out the key holder. Given the distances involved in affluent Kenton, the Inspector leaped into his Astra and zoomed off … the 100 meters to the key holder’s home. Getting no answer there he moved on next door to the home of the second key holder.

Being unsuccessful there as well, he returned to the church, in his car, to where the other three crews were doubled up in hysterics. Struggling to stifle his giggles and at least show some pretence of respect for his senior officer, George asked “Was it far to the second key holder sir?”

“Er what do you mean Saint?” replied the Inspector.

“We were just wondering how far you had to drive there sir.”

“What are you trying to suggest Saint?” demanded Inspector Brigstock.

“Oh er, nothing sir,” said George pointing toward his friend as he edged past Mr Brigstock towards his waiting van. “It’s not me sir, it’s Andy there. He’s already got his pen out writing notes, not sure what for though. 'Bye sir.”

George ran off down the path followed by his probationer.

“Right Smith, come here” said the Inspector to Andy. “I don’t want to hear about this on Copcast or any other form of media, digital or otherwise, including that newsletter of yours. Do you understand? If I do, there will be a piece of Kenton that will be forever you, clear?” said Mr Brigstock, looking pointedly toward the graveyard as if to underline his meaning.

Andy Smith ran as quick as he could to his car. Chris meanwhile had clambered into his van along with his operator. As George passed the van he opened the door and said, “Are you sure you’ve got the right one this time?” He was referring to an earlier call that night when Chris had climbed into George's van by mistake and become somewhat confused and concerned when his key didn't work in the ignition.

“Oh ha ha, are you ever going to let that drop?” replied Chris.

Just then Mr Brigstock strolled past as he walked toward the response car. “Bloody idiots, can’t you even find your own vehicles?” he muttered as he opened the door of the Ford Focus and climbed into the driver's seat. George watched from the driver's seat of his van as the Duty Officer tried to get his key into the ignition.

“Er sir, I think you’ll find that your car is the Astra that's behind our van. That one is Mike 21 and Andy’s been driving it all night so far” Mr Brigstock glared at George as he climbed back out of the car and stalked back to his Astra, growling “I knew that George, thank you.”

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Page Seventeen - US Letter (Copcast #132)

George was flipping through the pages of a magazine a colleague had brought back from the US when a full page advert caught his eye, it was titled “Bathroom and Plumbing Services” and claimed to be everything you needed for the perfect bathrooom. The advert went on to explain that their craftsmen had years of experience and even knew all the rules of plumbing including hot on the left, cold on the right and shit flows down hill. At the bottom of the page was the banner “So don't delay, call Rich Schumaker now for all your plumbing needs”.

As he turned to the next page George found himself reading a letter that had him quickly engrossed, it was titled “The Police” and said:

Well, Mr. Citizen, it seems you've figured me out. I seem to fit neatly into the category where you've placed me. I'm stereotyped, standardized, characterized, classified, grouped, and always typical. Unfortunately, the reverse is true of you; I can never figure you out. From birth you teach your children that I'm the bogeyman, then you're shocked when they identify with my traditional enemy … the criminal!

You accuse me of coddling criminals ... until I catch your kids doing wrong. You may take an hour for lunch and several coffee breaks each day, but point me out as a loafer for having one cup. You pride yourself on your manners, but think nothing of disrupting my meals with your troubles.

You raise hell with the guy who cuts you off in traffic, but let me catch you doing the same thing and I'm picking on you. You know all the traffic laws … but you've never gotten a single ticket you deserve. You shout "foul" if you observe me driving fast to a call, but raise the roof if I take more than ten seconds to respond to your complaint.

You call it part of my job if someone strikes me, but call it police brutality if I strike back.

You wouldn't think of telling your dentist how to pull a tooth or your doctor how to take out an appendix, yet you are always willing to give me pointers on the law. You talk to me in a manner that would get you a bloody nose from anyone else, but expect me to take it without batting an eye. You yell something's got to be done to fight crime, but you can't be bothered to get involved.

You have no use for me at all, but of course it's OK if I change a flat for your wife, deliver your child in the back of the patrol car, or perhaps save your son's life with mouth to mouth breathing, or work many hours overtime looking for your lost daughter.

So, Mr. Citizen, you can stand there on your soapbox and rant and rave about the way I do my work, calling me every name in the book, but never stop to think that your property, family, or maybe even your life depends on me or one of my buddies.

Yes, Mr. Citizen, it's me … the lousy cop!

What caught George's attention most of all was the caption beneath the letter, it said:

The author of this article was claimed to be Trooper Mitchell Brown of the Virginia State Police who was alleged to have died in the line of duty two months after writing the article. It was later claimed however to be a fake but we agree so strongly with the sentiments it contains that we have reprinted it here as a salute to the millions of men and women police officers who put their lives on the line for us everyday.

George sat a moment staring at the page before grabbing a pair of scissors and neatly clipping the letter and the caption from the page then stepping over to the noticeboard and carefully pinning the article in a clear space near the middle.

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Page Sixteen - Early Turn Battering (Copcast #131)

It was 7am and Parade had just finished, George was in the canteen. He was just sitting down for a quick coffee with his partner for the day Bob, before they went out and lamenting how boring Early Turns can be, especially midweek. The Control Room called on their radios and asked for a crew to answer an emergency call to a suspicious male in the street apparently following a paperboy. The informant had described the male as being very tall and well built wearing a long dark coat with a big chunk of wood underneath it.

George called back and said they'd go. As he got up he told Bob he could relax on the ride out there because he knew exactly where they were going. The taffic was light and George made good time and only needed blue lights to get to the scene within a very few minutes. As they approached, Bob said “Well I'm blowed, there he is exactly as he was described. I don't like the look of him George, drop me here and drive past so you can come up behind him on foot, all 'Contact and Cover' like”.

George agreed and slowed to drop Bob off thinking to himself 'just like the book says, one from the front and the cover from the other side to keep the subject off guard'. As he pulled up and climbed out of the car he called the Control Room to tell them they were on scene. He could see Bob with one hand out in front of him toward the big guy and heard him call out “Whoa fella, stop right there for me. You match the description of someone I've been told about who has a big lump of wood under his coat so I need you to drop anything you're holding and open your coat."

George approached slowly and quietly and could easily see the big lump of concrete that dropped at the suspect's feet, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Bob suddenly shouted “Drop the wood or I'll spray you, this is CS, drop it now”. “Oh dear” said George as he drew and extended his Asp baton with one hand while grabbing the radio with the other hand and calling “567, more units on the hurry-up” at the same time that Bob sprayed the suspect dead centre of the chest just below the throat. 'Good shot' thought George, 'looks like he emptied the canister on that one' and waited for the big man to drop.

He didn't. George shouted at the top of his voice and ran at the man who was now advancing on Bob trying to wrap a big lump of wood around his head. George whacked the man's leg with all his strength behind the Asp but rather than crash to the ground the man swung the wood at George's head and connected across his forehead. George now realised there were two men and they both attacking both Bobs, worse still he couldn't breathe. He'd got so close to the assailant that he was now suffering CS contamination.

At this point everything turned into a free-for-all, George is not a small lad and Bob's about the same size but at one point George realised he was fighting alone because while he'd been whacking seven bells out of every available inch of the guy, he'd managed to toss Bob over a garden fence. Then Bob was back and all three of them were rolling over the bonnet of a parked car. At some point a valient member of the public leapt into the fight to help Bob and George but by that time neither of them could see anything because of the CS. By the time the rest of their team arrived they were completely blind and struggling to breathe, unlike their suspect.

By all accounts it only took their colleagues a couple of minutes to reach them and the big guy was buried under a heap of uniforms, but it felt like an eternity to George and he was sure he had been fighting for his life. Apparently a couple of the drivers managed previously unheard of speeds in their efforts to save them and both Bob and George were eternally grateful. The two lads were dragged off to hospital and seen by Sister who treated them for CS contamination. As the effects of he CS began to wear off it was clear that George was still seeing double and was decidedly unsteady on his feet.

During the next few days at home recovering from concussion, George was able to reflect on the episode and realised he was as guilty as everyone else in taking things for granted. Early Turn in the middle of the week can be just as hairy as any other time and more importantly, it doesn't matter what weapons and equipment you carry, sometimes it just isn't going to be enough.

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Page Fifteen - More Fencing (Copcast #130)

The Early Turn crew of Mike 21, the response car, was George and Tone; who had put on a uniform to help the response team to put out enough crews that morning. You may remember Tone from a few pages back in George's Pocketbook, he fell foul of a garden fence while out hunting burglars on a covert posting with George. To be truthful Tone was a little reluctant when he was posted as George's partner for the day after his last experience of working with him, but he shrugged and got in the car without a word.

Patrolling along a quiet residential backstreet their peaceful drive was suddenly interupted when a young man wearing a hoodie appeared from the alley between a pair of houses and stared at the patrol car with an expression somethwhat like a rabbit caught in a pair of headlights. Just as suddenly the man was gone, running back into the alley.

George and Tone looked at each other and without a word both burst out of the car, George remembering to take the key and lock it while Tone called for more units on his radio. The two lumbered after the fleeing suspect without a clue what he may have done wrong but intent on finding out all the same.

Other members of the team were arriving and spreading out in the search leaving George and Tone to recover their breath and make their way along a little alleyway where they managed get on top of a garden fence to give themselves a lovely bit of 'eyeball' over the gardens. The new arrivals were progressively searching the gardens to flush the little tinker out into the arms of officers waiting at the other end of the gardens. George and Tone rejoined the hunt but unfortunately Tone was by now panting for breath and sweating profusely and some of those fences were more than three feet high.

With the grace of a distressed giraffe, Tone climbed onto a garden table which was sadly not built like a climbing frame and was promptly transformed into a pile of timber. Fortunately one of their colleagues managed to reassemble the table as Tone and George clambered over the protesting fence. One table down and several fences later the suspect was spotted. Tone by now was determined to lay hands on the culprit that had caused him so much distress and was almost salivating at the prospect of arresting the elusive prey.

Seeing the hooded figure over the fence in the next garden, Tone demanded he stop and put his hands on top of the fence where he finally applied his handcuffs and told the man he was under arrest on suspicion of … erm, oh burglary will do. George was watching Tone with an amused expression on his face as he cautioned his prisoner and then it dawned on Tone; his handcuffed prisoner was on the other side of the fence to where Tone was standing holding the cuffs, how were they going to get on the same side of the fence as each other?

Luckily for Tone, the rest of the team began to gather and after searching the garden where the prisoner was standing with his arms on top of the fence, they recovered a small bag of stolen items that were later traced back to a house that Tone's prisoner had just burgled. With the help of the team, Tone and his prisoner were escorted round to the front of the houses and reunited, George drove the pair back to the police station where Tone took great delight in booking his burglar into custody.

George meanwhile had dragged the duty officer, Inspector Brigstock into the custody office so that he could authorise a Section 18 search of the prisoner's home.

“What do we have here then?” Asked Mr Brigstock as he watched the prisoner's property being listed.

“Oh, those are sim-cards from mobile phones sir” replied George.

Mr Brigstock turned and glared at George, “Officer Saint, I have had occasion to warn you before, please be reminded that I am not a complete technophobe”, he blasted. “I know about computers and the internets and I am aware of what a mobile phone is”.

Turning to the custody officer, Inspector Brigstock demanded “Did you know these were sim-cards used in mobile phones, sergeant?”

“Erm, yes sir” replied the custody officer as he looked up from his papers, “but only because prisoners have brought them in with them from time to time.

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Page Fourteen - Ninja Reflexes (Copcast #129)

George aches today. He’s just crawled out of bed to discover his legs don't want to work and that pretty much everything from the neck down is running about 30 seconds behind. Why?

Well, yesterday they were tasked to implement the summer drink-driving campaign. It’s the same every year; the summer months mean increased alcohol consumption earlier in the day and therefore more chances for the police to catch the scourge of UK roads, the drink-driver.

In the UK police have the power to stop any moving vehicle to check the driver’s driving documents and the drink drive campaign is used to get the message over to anyone who is stopped. For the most part, drivers welcome this small inconvenience but there are the odd few that take a real exception to getting stopped. In George's experience these are the ones who normally have something to hide.

After about three hours stopping vehicles, George decided to go a little further afield. All of the drivers he had stopped so far had been receptive to the campaign. Those with minor traffic violations (brake lights not working, no seat belts) were given tickets and breathalysed. No drink drivers here, so he went deeper into the countryside.

It didn't take him long; his attention was drawn to a sports coupe clearly not keeping to the speed limit in the country lanes. George made ground on it, it was pushing 55 in a 30 but he was struggling to keep it in view. Then a tractor pulled out and the car had to slow down, George caught up with it and pulled it over. He could not get past the tractor so had no choice.

You can tell a lot from how someone gets out of a car. Their stance and their attitude give a lot of information. George’s personal radar was on full and he could sense that he was going to have his hands full. Fortunately he was not alone, his probationer was fired up and could sense the same. He seemed to pick up on George’s wariness as they approached the driver. As it turned out, a fat lot of good that did.

"Hello sir, do you know why we’ve stopped you?” George asked.

"Um, I think I was going a little fast around that last bend officer" he replied.

The driver was leaning against his car, he was a little unsteady on his feet, his speech was slurred and his eyes were glazed. ‘Bingo’, George thought.

"Okay, this is how it is. I suspect you have been drinking so I require you to provide a specimen of breath,” he instructed.

The driver complied, the test was performed and the result was negative. George stared blankly at the readout, which displayed zero. 'Drugs' he thought. As he was thinking this, the driver pushed his colleague who was caught unawares and fell on his ass. George tried to grab the driver but he turned and ran towards the field next to them. Cursing his slow reactions he gave chase, shouting for the man to stop. He didn't and kept running leaping over a hedgerow into the next field. The field was uneven and George was blowing like a steam engine, the going was tough and he could hear his probationer calling up for assistance but he didn't know the name of the road where they had stopped the car. Then George had a stroke of luck, the driver slipped and hit the dirt, as he struggled to get to his feet George launched himself at him.

Being an ex-rugby player (a tight head prop) he tackled him midriff and heard the air expel from the driver and there was a satisfying crunch. 230 lbs of equipment-laden copper was now on top of the man who had now started to cry. The driver made a last effort to fight George off, but by now his colleague had caught up and they cuffed him, arresting him for failing to stop and on suspicion of driving under the influence of drugs.

A search of the prisoner revealed three wraps of crack, so he was nicked for possession and a subsequent search of the car revealed a set of 'knun chucks' under the passenger seat, so he was nicked for that too. Add resisting arrest and he had a full house. The driver cried all the way back to the police station, apparently he was worried about what his 3 year old would think of him in years to come.

 

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Page Thirteen - Shed Theft (Copcast #128)

George was in an extremely good mood; on the way to work he had stopped at the Post Office to collect a package he had been waiting for from Amazon. He got changed in the locker room in record time and could hardly wait for parade to be over so that he could carry his prize into the canteen where he carefully opened the heavy cardboard packaging.

After taking a sip of his coffee to calm his nerves he lifted the rare and currently out-of-print copy of a hardback book and examined the cover, the title proclaimed boldly "How To Become A Sex God", with the subtitle "The secrets of being irresistible to women" printed in tight lettering beneath it. The image of a broadly smiling man with an impossible mop of white hair and the author's name 'Morgan Wright' dominated the remaining space on the front cover.

George held his breath as he handled the book with reverence and slowly opened the front cover to see the chapter list. He chuckled as he read:

'Chapter One - You Need An English Accent'

At that moment his reverie was interrupted by the sound of his personal radio squawking into life and the control room assigning him to report a possible shed burglary. George acknowledged the call and collected his probationer on the way to the back yard where their car was waiting for them.

On the journey to the call, George’s probationer sat nervously fidgeting wondering why his driver seemed so distracted and didn’t appear to be trying to avoid the fallen branches in their path. He had no idea that George’s mind was on the book. The previous twenty-four hours had seen some of the heaviest storms seen in that part of the country for some years and the gale-force winds had left debris everywhere including the roads.

Eventually they arrived at the address they had been sent to and George mercifully began to pay attention to his surroundings. After being met at the door by the householder they asked him to explain what had happened. They were led through the house into the rear garden where a large garden shed stood at the far end with a large pile of neatly cut timber stacked next to it. Oddly, the shed had no roof.

“It’s unbelievable” exclaimed their informant, “these animals will steal anything these days.”

“Apparently your shed has been burgled, can you tell me what happened?” asked George.

“Well, last time I checked it was a couple of days ago and everything was fine, nothing missing or anything. I came out this morning and found it stolen, gone.”

“What has actually been taken from the shed sir?” asked George.

The man looked blankly at George “Why, the roof of course, can’t you see? They’ve broken into my garden and stolen the roof off my shed, what sort of person does that? To add insult to injury the left two huge wooden panels in my garden, made a right mess it did and it took me forever to cut it all up and pile it up there”.

George stepped closer to the neat stack of timber that the man was indicating and prodded it with his boot. He looked thoughtful for a moment then turned to the caller.

“Can you tell me, was the roof constructed from tongue and groove planking with a dark grey roofing felt covering it?”

“Yes officer, how did you know?”

“It’s my professional opinion sir, that there has been no offence committed here, in fact I think this is a clear case of storm damage. All that wood that you cut and gathered up still has the roofing felt attached to it, you’ve made a very impressive stack of spare timber out of your own roof that was torn off your shed during the storms.

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Page Twelve - Shoplifter (Copcast #127)

Last Wednesday George had a day of running around from job to job, until he eventually settled on taking a statement for a street robbery. Actually it was not so much George but more his shiny new probationer, who was just two weeks out of training school. After a patiently exhausting three hours of coaching and guiding his colleague in obtaining a witness statement he decided that he needed something to drink.

They were due off duty in an hour and had to pass the 24 hour supermarket on the way back to the police station, so a quick visit to the store for a much-needed orange juice seemed appropriate and in order. Here was the first schoolboy error. As they walked into the foyer a member of the security staff approached them and advised them that they had just watched, via CCTV and covert staff, two 'ne'er do wells' walk into the rest rooms with a mobile phone held aloft their heads in order to circumnavigate the store alarm system. One of them was armed with a very long screwdriver as the mobile phone was held in a security case.

With a heavy heart George told the store security people that they would wait outside, in order for the suspects to complete the offence by walking outside the store without paying for the property. He also updated control and told them where he was in case things got hairy. After about five minutes the security guard approached him and told him that the pair had left the rest rooms without the phone and were now walking about the store. A member of staff had recovered the phone.

No problem, George briefed the probationer that he would be arresting one of the pair for attempted theft, going equipped to steal and causing criminal damage to the packaging on the phone. A few minutes later, the pair walked outside where George stopped the male and his probationer spoke to the female. The male was drunk but happy to be searched, George found a pair of pliers in his pocket and a bloody great screwdriver up his sleeve. He then told the probationer to say the magic words, which he did without any problems.

Then it went a bit wrong.

George’s man decided that being handcuffed was not on his agenda. He managed to get them on after a brief bit of pushing and shoving, eventually controlling the male by the bar in the middle of the handcuffs. This led to a bout of potty mouth from the male who called George, in no particular order and with random interjected expletives: a nazi, a fascist, gay, a pig, etc.

No problem, water off a duck’s back for George who told the prisoner to behave and stop being so naughty. Unfortunately as he was doing this, the man decided that he was now embarrassed at being nicked and tried to run into the car park with George still holding on to the handcuffs. A twist of the cuffs to apply a little bit of compliance pressure and he was stopped in his tracks but then he decided to turn and run at George, head down. George jumped on him, along with another unit that had arrived so there were three police officers on top of a fighting male with the general public strolling by. They eventually got him in Velcro limb restraint straps and called up for a caged van. The male was then taken into custody, with his trousers around his ankles, handcuffed to the rear and wearing limb restraints around his knees.

In custody the prisoner calmed down and requested a cup of water. As he gave him the drink it dawned on George that about an hour previously he had gone to the store for a drink, which he still hadn’t had. After all the paperwork was done they got off about four hours late, much to the dismay of George’s wife.

Next time, George will either find the smallest corner shop in town before going off duty, or take a bloody drink with him.

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Page Eleven - CID Rowing Team (Copcast #126)

It is a running joke in most nicks that the detectives in the Criminal Investigation Department or CID are not fighting the same war on crime as the wooden tops are and that they regularly try to row themselves out of taking on work. The reality is they are fighting the same battle but in different ways, the uniformed response officers deal with the here and now, running from one call to the next while the detectives handle everything that needs more in depth investigation and usually have a huge heap of outstanding cases to cope with.

Last week however George had a run in with CID. It wasn't pleasant and left him feeling a little heavy in heart and disillusioned with his colleagues in suits.

He attended a street robbery where a 78 year old woman was standing at a bus stop when a young lad grabbed her handbag off her shoulder. The old girl was made of stern stuff and tried to pull it back so the young lad then had to fight for the handbag. He tugged, she fell, he ran. The thief was grabbed by a member of the public who had witnessed the incident, but he got away after assaulting the good samaritan.

A robbery in the UK is defined as a theft where force was used or threatened against anyone at the time of the theft and in order to carry out the theft, but not just to escape.

After a search of the area was carried out the suspect was picked up by another unit while George took care of the victim who was suffering from a sore and swollen knee and thumb. He took her home since it was nearby and organised for an ambulance crew to see her and they in turn took her to hospital to check out the possible fractures. While they waited for the ambulance to arrive George had taken details of the incident and got the lady's statement along with some initial photos of her injuries. He also made sure by radio that CID knew about the robbery.

Back at the police station the evidence was added to the prisoner handover package for CID then just as he was going off duty a detective approached him in the locker room.

"Are you sure this is a robbery?" asked the detective, "Yes. Force was used to steal the bag" replied George.

"Was the force used on the bag strap or victim?"

The conversation continued as a heated argument over the definition of robbery and whether this case should be investigated by CID as a robbery or by uniform as a theft. The grey area was whether the thief had used force to snatch the bag or if he had used it against the victim to make her release the bag. The detective also complained that a number of initial enquiries at the scene hadn't been carried out by the uniformed officers and that the victim's statement wasn't very good, to which George retorted that he had advised them at the time, by radio, which they are supposed to monitor constantly and they could easily have aranged those things without leaving their office.

George left for home, very angry, he felt CID were trying to duck out of investigating a case that warranted their attention, just because they were already overburdened with work.

The following day George's skipper called him into his office and he guessed he was going to be 're-educated'. To George's surprise he wasn't, the skipper agreed with the sentiment but not the way he had spoken to CID and reminded him that they are under a huge amount of pressure themselves even if it doesn't involve tearing about answering calls day after day. He was warned to have more respect and not to let his emotions get the better of him. George grinned and took it on the chin, suspecting that the suits and lids will never see eye to eye.

The suspect was bailed for further enquiries and there is a chance he will be charged with robbery when he returns in a month's time while the victim is recovering at home with bruising but no fractures. So all in all a good job in the end … right?

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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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Page Seven - Parking Ticket (Copcast #122)

George went into work yesterday to see a female colleague somewhat miffed and perturbed. This was unusual given that she was one of the few officers in the nick that always had a positive attitude to work even at 7.05 on an early turn.

"What's up?" George asked.

"Got a bastard complaint" she replied without looking up from her emails.

No way, George couldn't imagine a scenario where she would get a complaint for anything, she was such a nice and considerate person. She eventually explained that someone had put in an official complaint against her and a colleague. As most officers know the vast majority of complaints against them are for being 'rude' to members of the public. Most of the time these complaints are malicious and unfounded, however there are of course exceptions when police officers have been rude. George had to admit he'd been a little curt with someone if he thought they were (A) lying, (B) obstructive or (C) both. He know's it's not right but there are times when some people just won't pay attention otherwise.

It turned out that his colleague was called to a detained shoplifter in a very large out of town supermarket. Security had detained a male and he had started to play up, so police were required on the 'hurry up'. Upon arrival, said supermarket car park was rammed full, no spaces anywhere. Given the circumstances and the urgency of the call (the male was trying to get out of holding room and being held down by staff) George's colleague spotted a parking space near the entrance. You can imagine her thoughts now 'Ideal, get the car close, don't want to drag a prisoner across the car park'. So she parked up and ran in with her partner. They did the business, cuffed the prisoner and took him out to the car since by then he was compliant.

Cue three weeks later to yesterday. The Inspector at the local police station had received a complaint from a member of the public who stated that a police car had been abandoned in a disabled parking bay for ten minutes, meaning he could not park. The Inspector looked into the incident and could see that parking in the disabled bay on this occassion was justified. He explained this to the member of the public who admitted that he had seen two officers escorting a prisoner out of the premises to the car, however he still felt that those officers should be spoken to with regards to their lack of consideration.

The Inspector apologised and promised that he would. An informal resolution at it's best although it is still recorded on her personal record. The Inspector contacted the officer by email and reminded her in future to only park in a disabled bay if it absolutely unavoidable.

George's colleague was understandably annoyed over this, but he told her not to take it to heart. She had made a decision at the time that was justified. She was answering an emergency call, a shoplifter was violent and possibly assaulting a member of staff. She had travelled three miles to the store on blues and twos in an effort to get to the incident before anyone got seriously hurt and she had chosen to park at the nearest point to store for the sake of officer and public safety.

Now, thanks to a member of the public who felt it was more important for a police officer to not park in a disabled parking space George's colleague had been chastised by email by an Inspector, she was now a demoralised and very grumpy partner.

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Page Six - Juvenile Domestic Caution (Copcast #121)

George criminalised a teenager this week and he doesn't feel great about it. His Sergeant, his inspector and all his colleagues agree that the action taken was 'ridiculous but inevitable'.

Picture this; a 17 year old girl left home to find her way in life. A little young perhaps, but she was fed up with her controlling mother who refused to let her grow up. She arranged to stay at her aunt's and just needed a few things from her mother's place so along with a friend, she attended her mum's house only to find that her mum had locked her out and had dumped all of her clothes, CD's and personal possesions. The girl lost the plot and kicked the front door and made various threats, mum panicked and called the police.

George attended and spoke to all parties concerned and discovered that the girl just wanted her stuff but mum wanted her to come home under her terms. No one had been injured, nothing had been damaged, there had just been a lot of shouting and tears. Anyway a domestic violence form was completed and the girl heeded words of advice given to her to go away and contact her mother when she is calmer.

Mum then poured out all her woes to George explaining that she doesn't want to make a complaint as she doesn't want to 'criminalise' her daughter who has never been in trouble before. George suggested she leave things at that for the time being and wait until everyone had calmed down before speaking to her daughter again. George returned to the police station to finalise the ream of resulting paperwork.

The next day George received an email; 'Mum now wants to make a complaint, she has spoken to her father who thinks that arresting the girl would do her good'.

'Ps the incident has been crimed as section 4a of the Public Order Act'.

Brilliant. Now that meant George had to return and obtain a statement and carry out house to house enquiries etc. First things first, he spoke to the mother to find out exactly what was going on. Mum told George that since her phone call to the police station she'd had yet another change of heart and no longer wanted to prosecute her daughter. Sighing inwardly George informed her that in order to get the incident classed as 'no offence' he would need a brief statement from her, stating that she no longer wanted to prosecute because that would irrepairably destroy their already strained relationship and she wasn't under any duress, etc. Having obtained this he submitted the crime report as 'no offence', with a full screed as to why a prosecution wasn't in the public interest.

Three days later the crime report was bounced back with a note from the Crime Management Office stating 'the crime report has been rejected, you have to deal with this matter positively as per policy'. George spoke to his Sergeant who referred him to the Inspector who in turn said it was crazy but they had no choice but to arrest the girl and put her through the criminal justice system. It's police policy to prosecute any apparent offender in a case of domestic violence regardless of whether the victim wants them prosecuted.

So against the wishes of the 'victim', George invited the girl into the police station on a voluntary basis and interviewed her under caution then issued her a reprimand after she fully admitted what had happened. Although George didn't arrest her the reprimmand is recorded as a conviction and she had her DNA and fingerprints taken. The girl wants to work with children but that isn't going to happen for a while because the reprimand will show up on a Criminal Records check.

George isn't happy because criminalising teenagers for being just a bit gobby isn't what I joined up for. All in all a completely unrewarding experience which has further reinforced his belief that common sense is a difficult quality to find today.

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Page Five - Care in the Community (Copcast #120)

For some years in the UK there has been a policy to introduce people suffering mental health issues back into the community and remove them from institutions, so that they can lead more normal lives than they would if they were shut away in a hospital. The system relies on selecting the patients who will benefit from living in the community and providing them with appropriate support in the form of accomodation, visiting healthcare workers and properly prescribed treatment. Unfortunately, there are times when insufficient resources are available or patients refuse to be treated and it is then that the police that are called upon to deal with them.

Anyone who questions whether this system of 'care in the community' works need only spend a Night Duty with the officers on a response relief. They don't blame anyone, they often just feel they're the wrong tool to use.

George comes into contact with those suffering from mental health problems on a fairly frequent basis. Take last night, he attended a call from someone stating that they are receiving 'disgusting' text messages. The controller stated that the caller was 'rambling' and 'not making much sense'. George told his probationer that he knew the address was an apartment complex where the Social Services placed patients who were being treated 'in the community' and told her to be alert.

Upon arrival they were let in to the address by Steven. Steven was in his mid forties, heavily built, about 6 foot tall and a skin head covered in tattoos. George made a quick scan of the room and his eyes were immediately drawn to a set of kitchen knives on the floor next to the TV. He made eye contact with his probationer, trying to draw her attention to the same. She got the message.

The conversation went something like:

"What's going on Steven?"

"It's them dirty bastards, sending me text messages about me mum"
"Have you still got them on your phone Steven?"
"Deleted them. Didn't want to look at them. They get me angry"
"Okay … what do you want us to do?"
"Stop them sending me them texts"
"Who is it? Do you know who's sending them?"
"No ... I just told you …. I deleted them. Take my phone and catch them"
"Okay Steven but if we take your phone, there's no evidence on it"
"Catch them or I'll use my knives. I'll stab anyone coming through my door"

At this point, the mood changed from 'slightly concerned' to 'absolutely bricking' it. George looked at the probationer and using a Jedi mind trick urged her to get closer to the door. This didn't work. Steven then stood up and walked towards the TV (and the knives). George grabbed the probationer by the arm and pulled her towards the door. Steven stopped and looked at them.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Leaving" replied George.

Steven began to throw things around his room as they dived out the door. "Leaving?" he shouted. "What are you going to do about my texts?". George muttered something about calling police again when he got another one, or calling into the police station then scuttled down the stairs followed by a torrent of abuse, not all of it directed at him or anyone in particular.

They got outside and made rapid updates to Control and had warning markers placed on the address. Then they hightailed it out of there and began the long process of liaising with Social Services and the Mental Health Practitioners to ensure a long term solution to Steven's problems

It is force policy to now wear ballistic vests at all times outside the police station. For once George was glad he adhered to force orders.

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Page Four - Hot Fuzz Re-Enacted (Copcast #119)

A town on the outskirts of George's division had been hit by burglaries all with a similar M.O. - access through the rear; a tidy search; games consoles and small electrical equipment being taken; and all at a similar time of day.

He was given an unmarked car, a spreadsheet detailing the crime hot-spots and a partner from the burglary squad, Tony who had about 22 years of service and would find it hard running to the toilet let alone after a rather limber 15 year old youth who can shimmy over fences like a cat. Their brief was to drive around the hot-spots and 'stop check' anyone who looked like they are up to no good. They were also informed by the Duty Officer that if they actually arrested someone on suspicion of burglary then the Command Team would love them.

About halfway through the shift, Tone was spotting from the passenger side of the vehicle and the only stops they'd had were a paperboy and a couple of youths on their way into school. It was turning into a long day.

As the car turned into an estate, George spotted two youths wearing dark hoodies walk down an alley that cut through a row of terraced houses. Now in George's book if they were wearing hoodies, particularly dark ones, the only thing that was missing was a confession. He shouted at Tone “There!” at the same time pointing towards the direction of the alleyway. Both youths were now out of sight.

“Whah?” replied Tone, his conversation with himself about detections suddenly cut short.

“Two white lads wearing hoodies, down that alley" barked George. Tone said they were probably just more kids on there way to school but George told him that something didn’t feel right. Tone groaned as George then came up with a cunning plan. “You go down the alley, I'll drive to the other side and make my way round to you”. Surprisingly Tone got out of the vehicle, brushed off the sandwich crumbs and made his way to the alleyway while George scooted off to the far end of the block of terraced houses.

At this point George was thinking of bringing in more units, perhaps a dog van to secure the area and even maybe the force helicopter, he wanted to shout into the radio "Suspects on" or "Suspects making off" but remembered that these kids hadn’t actually done anything yet and he really didn’t want to get too much of a ribbing if it was all for nothing.

George got out of the car and made his way to the right hand side of the block trying to raise Tone on the radio but there was no answer. He had no idea if he had the youths, or if he was lying in a crumpled heap having been happy slapped. George climbed a 6 foot garden fence and peered over the top, “Tone” he hissed. Nothing.

A couple of minutes of searching passed and then he heard an almighty racket accompanied by the top of Tone’s head appearing over the fence about 100 yards away. A triumphant Tone got to the top of the fence and gave a big grin and a thumbs up looking pretty pleased with himself, he obviously hadn’t done anything quite so physical for a while.

There was a loud crack, a yelp and a howl and lots of wood being thrown up in the air. Thinking Tone had been assaulted George ran to his location and found him nursing the back of his leg and a split in his trousers. The fence was wrecked, it obviously couldn't take much weight, particularly Tone’s. After checking out the properties, establishing that all was in order he helped a limping and cursing Tone get to their unmarked Vauxhall Vectra.

During the drive back Tony was very quiet and almost grumpy, George felt awkward and a little guilty. Tony now had to face the embarrassment of walking into the police station with a split pair of trousers and George didn't relish the thought of writing a duty report justifying the fence damage to the Inspector who would no doubt want an inquisition into how the damage occurred.

On the way back to the police station they spotted the two lads again, this time in company with their mums and en-route to the local junior school. Oh the excitement and glamour of plain clothes work.

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