Page Forty Six - Wanda Isn't a Fish (Copcast #161)

At ninja skills training, sorry Defensive Skills or Officer Safety Training, they bang on about using tactical communications, officer approach and stance, the conflict resolution model, how your behaviour affects others, the reactionary gap, etc. All very valid and if you want to avoid getting the odd punch on the nose then it's worthwhile paying attention. The biggest problem George often encounters however is being crewed up with a probie who's been watching too many episodes of Street Wars or Police Interceptors and is a little 'punchy'. It's quite often these younger ones who prefer wearing the uniform to actually getting stuck into the paperwork. On a Friday Night Duty you can almost feel the testosterone brewing in the office prior to jumping on a carrier.

Recently they were on the Public Order Carrier on a Friday night and were called to reports of a female making off from a criminal damage at a pub. Clearly she didn't like the cocktails and had demonstrated her frustration by throwing a bar stool at a window. The fact it was a female made George sit up and listen. Fighting girls is not one of his favourite past-times; they kick, scratch, spit, bite and have a natural ability to target the soft, fleshy, sensitive parts that men need to procreate. They also have their own soft fleshy parts that men can get themselves into trouble for touching, even inadvertently.

A further description came in of a white female, chubby build, shoulder length curly hair wearing a short white miniskirt. "Sounds like Wanda" he muttered to the five probies on the bus, who were oblivious to the information and were hypnotised by the two tones with mad grins on their faces. Wanda is a known troublemaker in the town, she has numerous public order offences to her name and will generally fight most coppers if they get hands on with her. George relayed this information to the probies and they all nodded in unison. They soon found Wanda kicking a telephone box, the probies jumped out and approached her while George secured the carrier.

Five probies now surrounded Wanda who was beginning to show signs akin to that of a cornered rat. "This is going to go very wrong" George sighed as he approached. At that point Wanda tried to push herself away and one of the probies grabbed her by the wrists. He was now less than one foot away from her face and shouted "Get ba-" as Wanda head-butted him to the ground. To their credit the probies jumped on Wanda and wrestled her to the floor, various probies spilled out from the mêlée only to jump back in. George jumped in, holding Wanda's head to ground with his left knee whilst his right knee sat on her rib cage, pinning her to the floor, right hand trying to hold onto her flaying right arm.

"Cuffs!" he shouted. One went on but the other wouldn't go near the other hand. Wanda was snarling by now and trying to bite and one of the probies used another set of handcuffs and joined them in front of Wanda. "Brilliant, now she's got a weapon" thought George. He ordered the probationers to cuff her to the rear before Wanda was eventually placed in limb restraints and carried into the back of a caged van, still swearing, still fighting. George looked at the battered probationers who were now all very dishevelled, the one who had been head-butted was nursing his forehead. It wasn't a major injury, and it surprised him more than anything else, still he needed checking out by paramedics.

It turns out that Wanda had sworn at one of the probies, who had then sworn back at her. Wanda in her drunken state didn't like being cornered or being sworn at and had tried to get away. This resulted in said probationer getting head-butted and Wanda being taken to the floor by six police officers in full view of the general public and CCTV. Public perception? Use of force? Approach & stance? Tac comms? All of their very recent defensive skills training was put to the test and no one had passed. A lot of valuable lessons were learned by the probationers at that job, one of them had a painful reminder for a week afterwards.

George too learned a valuable lesson get out of the bloody carrier first. 

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Page forty Five - Not Linford Christie (Copcast #160)

George hates foot chases. Aside from the obvious that it knackers you out if it goes on for more than five minutes, you also have to contend with street furniture, mums with buggies, jeering youths and cars that absolutely and categorically will not stop to let you pass. The bad guys are normally half George's age, light on their feet and wearing Nike air trainers whereas he's wearing a stab vest, belt kit and running in size 10 steel toecap army boots.

He only has a dozen years left in the job, so tripping over a bollard and smashing his pelvis on a kerbstone is not high on his agenda. He's seen it happen and you can take his word it isn't pretty or funny, especially if it's one of your colleagues. For this reason one of the first things he asks any new probationer is "what are you like at running?" Most eager ones tell him they are trained to an Olympian standard. That's that sorted then, they chase on foot and George'll back them up in the car. Well that's the plan at least but it never quite works out that way.

The other day George and a probationer were taking a statement from a shop owner when the CCTV Control Room called up to say they had a wanted person on camera, not far from otheir location. Various units called up, two PCSO's had eyeball on him but were holding off and an unmarked unit were coming in from the top end of town. George looked at his probationer who was in the middle of his statement and told him it was okay, other units were nearby they'd get him. Best finish the statement.

A few minutes later CCTV called up again, the suspect was moving off on his bicycle. The PCSO's were told to hang back for health and safety reasons and the unmarked unit still some minutes away. There was no one else nearer so George told his probationer that they would try to sneak up on the suspect as this lad had warning markers for escaping. As soon as they got to the door of the shop they spotted him - and he spotted them. In fact he was staring right at them. A second's pause and George shouted "Right, get 'im!" The probationer launched himself out of the shop, the bad guy started to make off on his bike, the lad made it to the road and was gaining momentum fast.

The probbie stepped up a gear and chased the suspect on his bike up a busy main road, car drivers stopped in awe and passers-by just stared. Why does that never happen for George? He was like a gazelle and was catching up with the cyclist fast; George on the other hand was way behind calling for back up in between gasping for breath. The lad seemed to be getting away when all of a sudden two plain clothes officers jumped on him, or rather he cycled into their arms. The probationer was on him in seconds, slapping handcuffs onto the protesting teenager before George caught up, clearly worse for wear and puffing like a steam engine. After a few minutes recovery he asked his probationer what he had arrested him for, other than making a police officer run.

"What me? I haven't arrested him for anything yet" was the answer.

"Best nick him for something then" was George's reply and eventually the words were said once they'd remembered what offence the lad was wanted for.

After the foot pursuit up a busy main road, members of the public took their time to take the mickey out of George once the bad guy was driven away by another unit. He thanked everyone for their kind comments, given that he hadn't even warmed up he thought he had done rather well and besides he was extremely proud of his probationer at that point. That was his third arrest in the one day.  His probationer later received an email from the controller stating she was impressed; George on the other hand, got a message of commiserations.

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Page Forty Four - Operator's Duties (Copcast #159)

The Radio Telephone or R/T Car tends to be the flagship on a Borough and the crew of the car are therefore looked upon to provide the lead in pretty much any day to day incidents that don’t need a supervisor. The driver of the R/T Car is also the most highly qualified driver on the Borough having attended and passed the four week Advanced Driving Course including pursuit management. As such, the ‘Driver’ is usually the oldest and most experienced PC on the team.

Obviously this means that it is an honour, no a privilege for a lowly probationary constable to be allowed to act as the Radio Operator on the R/T Car. There is however a price to be paid for such a privilege. The Operator must ensure that the car is cleaned both inside and out, fit to be seen in public.

The Operator must carry out the car’s Daily Inspection, making sure that all the fluids are correctly filled, the wipers work, the warning equipment including blue lights and sirens work, the tyres must be inflated to the correct pressure and have no damage or visible sign of wear. The headlights, sidelights, tail-lights, brake-lights, reversing lights and indicator lights must all be working and bulbs replaced if needs be.

Finally the Operator must ensure that the Driver has a cup of coffee, with milk and one sugar, before he is expected to move the R/T Car from the rear yard of the police station.

One of George’s probationers, John, was posted to the exulted duty of Radio Operator on the R/T Car for a gruelling four weeks and had just about come to grips with all the responsibilities. On his final day however, disaster struck.

He had done all the checks and washed and polished the car to a dazzling shine before trudging wearily upstairs to make his driver’s coffee before sitting obediently and politely listening for about an hour to all the stories about how the job used to be on the old days.

Eventually John and his driver made their way downstairs and climbed into the R/T car, the driver inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. Nothing. He took the key out again and reinserted it and turned it, but there was silence, not even a click of a relay. The driver turned to John and looked at him a moment before asking “When you checked the lights, did you turn them off afterward?”

John was horror-struck, his eyes widened in panic as he leapt out of the car and frantically opened the bonnet to check the engine was still there. It was but it was dead. He immediately called the Control Room on his personal radio asking that they call for a Traffic Unit to see if any jump leads were available. Sadly, due to Health and Safety restrictions, banning the untrained use of jump leads, none were available.

Next he turned to his driver and, almost pleading, said “I’ll push you. You can bump start it, can’t you?”

His driver, now slightly amused by John’s desperation to make the most of his last day’s posting to the R/T Car, was tempted to let him try pushing the car. A tiny shred of decency stopped him and forced him to point out to John that the R/T Car is the only car on the Division’s fleet with an automatic gear box, you can’t bump start it.

Utterly frantic now, John was almost running in circles around the car when he suddenly stopped and cried, “I’ve got it,” before disappearing back into the police station then moments later reappearing in the yard and tearing off through the gate towards the nearby petrol station. A few minutes had passed when John returned with a triumphant grin plastered on his face, in his hands he carried his trophy, a set of jump leads. The young officer was so intent on spending every possible moment in the Big Car that he had bought a set of leads out of his own pocket and was now hooking them to his own car to restart the R/T Car.

When George was later told the story he paused a moment before replying “When was the last time you were so keen to get out there and do your job that you did something like that?”

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Page Forty Three - Not a Disaster Movie (Copcast #158)

The snowy weather may have reduced most of the UK to a post apocalyptic state but the movie 'The Day After Tomorrow' doesn't even come close to reflecting the effects. Who could imagine it, snow ... on a workday? The schools were all closed, milk was turning sour in the farms because the tankers couldn't get through and anyone living more than five miles from their place of work was guaranteed a day off. Except for anyone employed by the emergency services of course. Families still have domestics, shoplifters still try their luck, drug dealers still push their gear to finance the pit bull terrier and a brand new 50" plasma screen TV. It never stops and as a result the police and other emergency services still have to find some way of getting into work.

For George it wasn't too difficult though. Thermal underwear, a beanie hat, two pairs of socks and an iPod got him through an hour's hike to his police station. At the station the Inspector had decided that only emergencies were to be attended to reduce the risk of police officers denting the cars, getting them stuck or, even worse, denting somebody else. Imagine the paperwork. So given that emergencies were being covered by one solitary 4x4 unit, everyone else was told to get walking. They donned their full compliment of wet weather gear and set off for a nine hour shift in blizzard conditions.

Now George didn't mind, it was something different and as long as you are suitably attired the weather isn't a problem. What is a problem is having to drag yourself up a hillside street by using a handy garden fence because the pavement under your feet is slick with ice, then being met at the top by the local scum-a-razzi armed with ice balls and looking for some wooden-top fodder.

George and his colleague put up a brave fight, even though they were ill-prepared, he only lost his beat helmet once, and they managed to beat the kids slowly back towards their own turf. It is entirely possible that this was only because one of the hooligans knew he'd been recognised by George. George laughed like a drain, his sides and face were hurting from so much tomfoolery. His laughter stopped however, when he heard the local CCTV operator having to give the Control Room a commentary of the location details and status updates on the snowball-fueled disturbance in the street, between fits of giggles.

George had to admit it was him on the radio, the CCTV operator had been placed in an awkward position as he knew who George was and could only pretend he didn't recognise him for so long. Upon his return to the police station an hour later George was met with jeers and a round of applause from his team. The governor on the other hand had clearly had a sense of humour bypass. There was a very uncomfortable meeting in the Inspector's office, without coffee, but George's face still ached from the laughing and somehow the effects of the dressing down didn't last as long as the giggles.

Unprofessional? 'Fraid so ... fun? Absolutely!

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Page Forty Two - Best Defence (Copcast #157)

In this crazy world where it is perceived that the bad guys get more rights than some victims,George is always at his happiest when he feels he's got 'one over' on a defence solicitor. Like most police officers who interview their own prisoners he views the defence brief as a necessary evil. Given that the UK Criminal Justice System is deemed as one of the fairest in the world and a model that even the US built theirs on, he accepts them for what they are.

How they sleep at night however is beyond his comprehension but then he might guess that someone has to do it or the system wouldn't work. For the most part defence solicitors know how to play the system and are reasonably well behaved. Like everyone George has had a few stroppy ones who have decided that his line of questioning  was inappropriate. He has even had occasions where a solicitor has hijacked the interview, answering questions on behalf of the prisoner. That's no problem though, he just stopped the tapes and ejected the wayward brief from his interview.

Anyway there's a line drawn in the sand as far as George is concerned, a clear one and some of them decide to try and cross it.

Take new years eve. As a result of a routine traffic stop George arrested a disqualified driver for taking a motor vehicle without owners consent or TWOC. Also known as Taking and Driving or TDA to some among you. The prisoner coughed to it at the roadside, and then again at the custody desk. He didn't want a solicitor so George decided on a quick taped interview because he'd admitted his wrong-doing twice already and he could have him charged and released from custody in very short order

Prior to and during interview he was offered the services of a legal representative, which he declined and then he sang like a canary, admitting to both offences while being tape recorded. On the way back to the custody desk with his prisoner George bumped into Jan, a duty solicitor who was there on another job. She recognised George's prisoner, obviously not a good thing for the prisoner, and asked if they had been into interview already. The prisoner replied 'yes' and that he was 'bang to rights' which he was.

At this point the duty brief erupted like a banshee, she shouted at the prisoner and then turned her attention to George, accusing him of tricking her client, being unethical and unprofessional. Of course George reminded her that she was in a police custody office and who she was speaking to. He also pointed out that if she continued to shout in the custody area, causing a disturbance, she would be removed.

Jan wasn't happy with this at all and demanded to speak to the Inspector. Fortunately he was already in custody carrying out prisoner reviews and had heard the entire commotion. He took Jan to one side and reminded her of the process, a prisoner had just as much right to not be advised by her or any other legal representative as they did to get it. Just as the police could not force the prisoner to give up the right to independent legal advice, she could not force him to take it. Her erstwhile client had been offered legal advice on three separate occasions and she should wind her neck in.

Nice one guv, good to have the support of the boss. George went home a happy bobby and looking forward to his next encounter with Jan. 


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Page Forty One - I Know Kung Fu (Copcast #156)

It was a cold sunny day in town; George and his probationer were in the middle of a routine vehicle stop-check when a report of a road rage incident, involving threats and a weapon of some description, came in from not far away from their position. A female driver had been threatened with what appeared to be a baseball bat, or large stick, by another road user following a verbal argument over parking.

The local CCTV operators had been alerted and were scanning the town for the offending vehicle. After a few minutes a vehicle matching the description was spotted queuing to get into a town centre car park. George called up, allocating his call sign to the incident, as did a number of other units. Then CCTV called up on the radio "Control, the vehicle has one male occupant. We can see into the vehicle and can see what looks like a long stick on the back seat".

George asked the Control Room for clarification. He was told again that apparently it was some kind of stick. He was then informed that given the lack of information and no positive sighting of a bladed weapon, Armed Response Vehicles or ARV's would not be attending the incident. This was the Control Room Inspector's assessment from 30 miles away in a nice toasty office. Thanks for that, thought George.

"Received Control, We’ll just have to see what we’ve got when we get there then." Thirty seconds later and they we were calling up to be shown on scene as another unit pulled in next to the suspect vehicle. George approached the driver’s door and something about the cold expression of the man behind the wheel, along with the information in the call, had his instincts jumping. He drew his CS spray and pointing it at the driver through the open window he instructed him turn off the vehicle. The driver glared at George, then at the three other police officers with him. Without saying a word he turned off the engine and got out. He leaned towards George who stepped back and held the CS up toward his face. Under his breath the man muttered "I know Kung Fu, me." This made George step back another pace, while thinking 'What? Who is this guy? Does he think he’s Neo from the Matrix?'

Trying to hold his nerve George replied "Well, jolly good for you sir, but you’d better be pretty good. You see, me and my three mates here have all got batons and CS spray and we’re more than willing to use them to protect ourselves, if you fancy a go." The man simply looked at George then smiled.

One of the other officers chanced a quick look into the back of the car and blanched as he told the others that he could see what appeared to be a samurai sword and nun-chucks. The smiling man was subsequently arrested for possession of offensive weapons and a public order offence. He remained quiet and was carefully handcuffed and very closely watched by the arresting officers. In custody he refused to give his name or answer the questions posed by the custody sergeant. He was strip searched and placed in cell for safety. He never protested once.

Whilst booking the weapons into property George’s curiosity got the better of him. He decided to see if the sword was real and not imitation, like many are. It cut through a sheet of heavy paper like a hot knife through butter.  Makes you thankful for stab vests and gut feelings doesn't it?

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Page Forty - Dipped Copper (Copcast #155)

It was mid-December when George’s team celebrated Christmas together by gathering at a pub before going on to a restaurant. They chose one of the small rural towns on the edge of their constabulary where there was a pleasant little inn only two or three doors away from the local police station.

The mood of the team was extremely buoyant, not only were they celebrating the beginning of the festive season and looking forward to all the excesses and fun of Christmas with their families, but also a recent successful operation. As the result of hours of scanning CCTV recordings, surveillance operations, statement taking and an enormous amount of written work, the team had managed to arrest, charge and convict a prolific local pickpocket. The sentence had been announced that day and the dipper had begun a custodial term that would see him behind bars through Christmas and well into the New Year.

Everyone was in high spirits and congratulating themselves on their eagle-eyed detective prowess and boasting about their highly developed policing skills, when their Duty Officer, Inspector Brigstock, joined them. Mr Brigstock was keen to show off his latest acquisition that he told everyone was an early Christmas to himself, a brand new iPhone which at that time had finally just been released in the UK. Having spent several minutes guiding his audience through the myriad of functions available on the device while being at great pains to prove to the assembled team that he wasn’t the technological dullard that many had accused him of being in the past.

Following the demonstration the drinking began in earnest then on to the meal where the gathering continued to revel in their recent success. Some of George’s colleagues went so far as to suggest that any thieves around the Kenton area would think twice before daring to pick anyone’s pockets while the top team were on the plot. After three or four hours consuming copious amounts of food and beer, George and a couple of the others decided it was time to make their way to their respective homes.

“Hold on boys,” cried Inspector Brigstock, laughing aloud, “I’ll call a cab for you on my new iPhone, wait while I find the blessed thing.” He then fumbled through his pockets, then patted them down, then searched his pockets again, a look of dismay spreading over his face.

“Bloody hell, it’s been nicked. Some bugger’s picked my pockets and had my blasted phone away,” he howled. There was silence from the team.

George had to bite on his tongue to prevent him from making the obvious comment that had just entered his thoughts, despite the disruptive effects of the alcohol he had consumed. He realised the irony of the situation, that not only had his Senior Officer been the victim of a pickpocket but also that he had been surrounded by police officers that had been congratulating themselves for their thief-taking abilities and only two doors away from a police station.

 

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Page Thirty Nine - Santa's in Trouble (Copcast #154)

Once upon a time, long, long ago, police officers used to decorate their vehicles with tinsel and lights at Christmas in keeping with the festive spirit of the season. Sadly, for a variety of reasons, this is a practice that hasn’t been allowed by senior officers for a very long time.

Back in the early days of George’s career there was an R/T Driver on his team called Tim. He was over six foot six inches tall and weighed in at a magnificent 20 stone, or 280 pounds for those of you outside the UK, who went by the name of Tiny. In those days, George’s team worked a four-week shift pattern that included a full week of Night Duties, which meant that they worked Night Duty on Christmas Eve for six years on the trot. Tiny saw this as an opportunity to spread a little festive cheer and so each year he paraded for Night Duty dressed as Santa Claus complete with hooded red robes and breeches, spit-shined black boots and an enormous white beard. His generous girth meant that he had no need for any additional padding under his tunic to create the jolly persona of Saint Nicholas.

He thought that on what should be the happiest and most peaceful night of the year, his appearance would help bring a little light and possibly a smile to anyone that had been unfortunate enough to find themselves the victim of a crime. After parade he would climb into his R/T Car accompanied by his radio operator who often joined in with the celebrations by dressing as one of Santa’s elves. The car would then drive majestically out of the rear yard, bedecked with tinsel and mistletoe and begin its patrol.

One year, as luck would have it, Tiny and his operator responded to a ‘suspects on premises’ call at about 2am and after a short stand-off, they took two teenage lads into custody on suspicion of burglary. George arrived with the van just in time to see Santa Claus, resplendent in red robe and flowing white beard, stroll out of the premises with a handcuffed burglar tucked under one arm and dragging the second behind him by his collar. Tiny heaved the two thieves into the back of the van and slammed the door on them before picking up his elf and returning to the police station where the booked the failed thieves in.

A few days later the instruction was handed down from the Divisional Commander through the Duty Officer that all police vehicles would be stripped of Christmas decorations and that in future uniformed police officers would not wear any form of costume while on duty at any time of year. A member of the public had complained to the Division about a police officer dressed on duty as Father Christmas that had upset his two children. Apparently the family had been driving home in the early hours of Christmas morning and had passed the scene of the burglary. The two young children in the back of the car had been confused and reduced to tears after seeing Santa Claus dragging the two struggling prisoners out of the house, surrounded by police cars and blue flashing lights.

They didn’t understand why he was helping the police when by rights he should have been flying around the world delivering presents from his reindeer drawn sleigh.

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Page Thirty Eight - Watching the Detectives (Copcast #153)

George thought to himself “If I were ever to write this as a story, no one would believe me. They’d say I made it up”.

The day had started so well, his team was in early and was all in plain clothes and the covert radios were all working, that in itself was a minor miracle. The unmarked cars had all been arranged and parked in the yard and the battered old plumber’s van with the dark windows was out in the street. George had given the briefing, grateful that one of his team mates was so handy with Powerpoint and it had been so complete there hadn’t been any questions. Everyone knew what they were supposed to do and where they were going to do it.

The mission was actually fairly simple, Billy the burglar had been released from prison two weeks earlier and since then wouldn’t you know it, burglaries had sprung up all over the area. An operation had been planned and authority for Directed Surveillance had been authorised without any hesitation at all, another minor miracle. All they had to do was to plot up around Billy’s home covering every likely route out and, as soon as he emerged, follow him. As soon as he did something naughty like climb up a drainpipe of a house that wasn’t his, the team would be all over him and he’d be arrested for an attempted burglary. If all went well he’d also put his hands up to most of the recent spate of break-ins as well and George’s team would be able to add a list of Clear-Ups to their tally.

All that would remain would be to agree on a suitable venue for the medal presentation ceremonies.

Even though it was still early, the sun hadn’t even begun to lighten the horizon, George and the team were in good spirits. The unmarked vehicles were crewed and driven away in ones and twos then finally the rusty old plumber’s van lumbered off with George at the wheel. As everyone called in one after the other to say they were in position, George turned the heavy van into Billy’s street, the only thing that could go wrong now would be that he wouldn’t be able to park within sight of Billy’s front door and so not be able to see him leave.

George’s jaw dropped as he pulled to a halt in front of the young lad wearing a day-glo vest. Behind him there were dozens of people milling around under the bright glare of powerful floodlights. Television cameras on trolleys rolled along the pavement and thick power cables crisscrossed the road.

“Sorry mate,” called up the lad in yellow vest, “We’re filming an episode of The Beat and it’s going to take all day I’m afraid. You’ll have to find another route around.” George looked up again and realised that there were at least a dozen people wearing police uniforms wandering around and there were three marked police vehicles. The TV Company was recording an episode of their weekly Police drama series outside the front door of the area’s most prolific burglar.

Realising that the team was more likely to be able to carry out covert surveillance of the street if they went back to the police station and changed into their uniforms and brought back a couple of marked response cars, George sighed and picked up the radio.

Keying the tansmit button he said “Listen up everyone, you’re not going to believe this, but ...”

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Page Thirty Seven - The Old Dog (Copcast #152)

It is true to say that most of us become a little complacent about the work we do and the things we deal with. As we become more familiar with them it’s easy to forget how difficult others may find tasks that we take for granted.

George had just arrived back in the rear yard of the police station having collected a stray dog that had been roaming the streets nearby. He’d had little trouble getting the dog into the caged section of the van although this may in part have been because it was raining and the van was warm and dry. Standing at the rear of the van with his hand on the handle of the cage door he was reassessing the dog, in particular the size of its teeth, which it seemed keen to display in an angry snarl aimed at George.

“Best get the experts,” grinned George as he grabbed the radio and asked the Control Room to put a call in for the Dog Section to attend. Fifteen minutes later, and just before breakfast, the dog van arrived and two burly dog handlers emerged from it.

“What’s up here ladies, are you having trouble getting a little pooch out of your van and over to the kennel?” one of them laughed. George smiled and said “He’s a bit of a handful and I haven’t got a lead let alone one of those nice poles with the noose other end like you guys carry in your vans.”

“Rubbish, it’s only a dog and even my old mum could get him out of there,” said the dog handler, “You just need to know how to handle them, don’t let him think you’re afraid of him and he’ll be as good as gold. Have you never seen the Dog Whisperer?” He produced an ordinary leather collar and lead and opened the rear door of the van. George made himself comfortable, leaning against the side of a car he folded his arms and watched with a smile.

The bull terrier inside the van threw itself noisily at the fortunately still closed inner cage door. It snarled and barked viciously at the dog handler as it attempted to tear its way through the cage mesh. The dog handler stepped back hastily, almost tripping over the lead. He stood staring at the dog for a few seconds, his mouth opening and closing silently before finally turning back to his own van, mumbling “I think I’ll go get the pole for this one.”

Returning a minute later with a noose on the end of a long pole, the dog handler and his colleague eventually snared the dog and managed to get it out of the back of the van. The dog promptly dragged the dog handler across the yard as it attempted to latch its teeth into any one of the police officers that had turned out to watch the display of canine control. The dog was eventually secured in the kennel to a round of applause and the dog handlers slipped quietly back into their van, apparently planning to find another canteen to have their breakfast. They left behind them a yard filled with laughter from the officers on George’s team. George had tears rolling down his cheeks and he held his sides as he laughed with the rest of them, happy that for once it wasn’t him that was cause of everyone’s amusement.

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Page Thirty Six - Silver Haired Fox (Copcast #151)

George remembers quite vividly his days of being tutored on shift. It was a great time for him, his first foray into real police work. As a very 'wet behind the ears' probationer, he experienced confrontation on an unprecendented scale, had a taste of man's inhumanity to man and witnessed the social degradation that goes hand in hand with some of the more colorful characters police officers meet in their daily work lives. And he loved it.

His tutor was a silver haired, old school copper called Bill. George had no idea how old he was, only that he was 'more than likely' in his early forties although the lines on his face no doubt belied his real age. George knew he had been around since the miners' strike and that he had seen the big changes in the criminal justice system as well as policing in the UK change forever. Bill had been a beat officer all his working life, spent some time as schools liasion officer before becoming a tutor. He used to 'swing the lamp', furnishing George with tales, most of them touched with some wisdom in an effort to highlight where he had perhaps gone wrong or needed some development. Bill was old school. His younger shift colleagues regarded him as a 'dinosaur' and 'out of touch' but he had more policing skills in his left small finger than most of them could muster collectively.

George had the upmost respect for Bill and his time with him has stayed with him. He taught him patience and how to use his communication skills to their full advantage. "Who wants to fight when we can just talk?" Bill used to say. George has witnessed first hand this silver fox outsmart drunks and druggies more than once, even talking them into handcuffs. At 6'2" Bill was no lightweight and could handle himself and he often said he wanted to go home after a shift, not casualty.

Some years later George finds himself in Bill's boots, he's tutoring and for the most part he loves it. He meets the young guns and forms bonds with them, he's genuinely interested in seeing how they develop and likes to be the one to give them their handshake when they reach confirmation. It means a lot to him.

So, what about Bill? Well he's still about, his silver hair is now white and he has a little desk job that keeps him off the front line. He and George do catch up every now and then and a little while ago he came up to George's office and asked to speak to him.

"George" he said, "I haven't got much use for this now, I would like you to have it". Bill handed him a small silver key, it was well worn and a bit bent at the end. "It's a key to all the park gates in the area" he muttered. It was a special moment, George didn't know how long Bill had had it or even if it still worked but he took it and thanked him. Of all the probationers Bill had taught George felt touched that he had chosen him to pass it to. Perhaps it is because Bill saw a lot of himself in George, or perhaps just that he was now a tutor. George really didn't know.

For the record the key doesn't work. George tried it one night after a group of lads had decamped from a stolen vehicle and made off over the railings into a park. He didn't curse Bill, he knew it probably wouldn't work given that the council change the locks on all the park gates every 5 years. He just placed it back onto his key chain and when his probationer asked why he wanted to keep it, because it clearly didnt work he replied "It's more than just a key", before pulling himself up over the fence. "Besides" he continued, "I need to hand it down to someone at some point. I've just got to find the right person."

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Page Thirty Five - Escaped Prisoner (Copcast #150)

The rear yard at George’s police station is not only the parking area for all the police vehicles but is also the entrance to the Custody Offices so the whole place is surrounded by a twenty foot high wall topped with razor wire and only accessible through an electric gate operated from the Control Room. Because of the security, George and his team tend to relax once they reach the yard.

One Night Duty recently saw George driving the van with a new probationer as his operator. They had just collected a young man on behalf of the crew of the dog van after they arrested him for being drunk and possibly having assaulted another man. Having arrived in the rear yard, and realising there was a fairly long queue of prisoners waiting ahead of them, the dog van crew asked George and his operator to watch their prisoner for them while they dealt with some of the initial paperwork.

They also told George that their prisoner seemed to be behaving himself now and that he could be allowed to sit in the rear of the caged van with the door open, with handcuffs still on, to get some air. George raised an eyebrow in surprise but did as he was asked, but he did settle back and lean against the back door of the van to keep watch on the prisoner.

Suddenly the young man dived out of the van past George, jumped onto a car parked by the back wall ran onto its roof then dived headfirst over the wall. George stared dumbly for a second, he had never seen anything like it, before grabbing his radio and calling for all available units to help him find the running man.

George was furious with himself and was relieved to hear that the Air Support Unit was nearby and able to help in the search. It wasn’t too long before they spotted the prisoner’s hiding place on the infra-red cameras and directed the searching units in. The man had found a nice dark goods loading bay to hide in so the dog van deployed their dog to find him. Once cornered the man still refused to co-operate until he was blinded by the CS spray that was used on him. He was led to the railings that everyone had climbed over to reach the loading bay and then realised the gates were locked. During a brief discussion about how they were going to guide the prisoner over the railings, the young man took matters into his own hands. Despite being cuffed and blinded by CS he managed to vault the railings, landing perfectly on his feet at the back of the waiting van.

George shook his head in grudging awe, while the dog van crew struggled to get their dog back over the railings again. George turned to his operator and said “I guess that’s two things to remember, don’t ever underestimate anyone and don’t take security for granted, even at the nick.” He also promised silently to get back down to the gym very, very soon.

 

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Page Thirty Four - Bump in the Night (Copcast #149)

The weekend seems to start on Thursday evening, at least as far as the drinking public is concerned. From Thursday Night Duty through until Sunday Early Turn most uniform patrol officers can expect to be dealing with their fair share of drunken revellers and the problems that go with them.

There is always the usual smattering of fights with the injured joining those that have over-imbibed down at the Casualty Department of local hospital. There will also be a number of rubbish bins thrown through the glass panels of bus shelters and passengers throwing up their kebabs in mini-cabs. Amidst all this carnage at about 2am one Friday morning, George and his operator were driving very slowly through the pedestrian area of the Town Centre Shopping Precinct. They were on a regular tour looking for anyone that may have drunk too much in the local bars and clubs and collapsed, presenting opportunist thieves with an irresistible and unconscious target.

“What’s that?” asked George as his headlights picked up movement on the ground ahead of him. Something very pale was reflecting in the glare of the lights as it bobbed up and down vigorously pretty much in the middle of the pedestrian area. A face suddenly appeared in the lights, then another and it quickly emerged that a young and almost naked woman was sitting astride a young man who was lying flat on his back on the ground directly beneath a CCTV camera mounted on a tall pole.

Flicking the car’s blue lights on for a second so that the couple would know who they were, George stopped the car. He and his operator walked toward the couple who were now standing and struggling to gather their clothes. Taking the position that, as driver, he got the choice of whom he was going to speak to, George beckoned the woman over to him. Clutching the man’s jacket around her in a vain attempt to regain some modesty, she had difficulty suppressing a fit of giggles as she explained herself and gave George her details.

While he checked her identity with the Control Room over the radio, the woman explained that she had just finished work and it had suddenly seemed like a good idea to embark on an intimate romp with her boyfriend in a deserted public place. She also complained that she didn’t see how they were doing any harm.

Before letting the two go on their way, George pointed out the obvious, that the mostly naked young woman would have appeared to be an open invitation to any of the drunken males on their way home, especially those that had failed to pick a partner during the night’s drinking and dancing. He pointed out that he could just as easily have been attending the scene of her gang rape as having simply interrupted the couple and sent them on their way.

About a week later, George’s team met at a local bar after an Early Turn to celebrate the transfer of one of their colleagues. When George’s turn came to buy a round of drinks he asked the barmaid why he recognised her. She blushed a furious shade of red and then George remembered. “I’m really sorry,” he said, “I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on!”

 

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Page Thirty Three - Title (Copcast #148)

It was dark, about 2am and the strobing blue lights were flickering off houses and hedgerows accompanied by the yelp of sirens as George’s Response Car barreled along the road, he was concentrating so intently on his driving that his eyes felt like they were out on stalks. Ahead of him was his colleague Jock in another Response Car but unlike George’s car, this one was letting out a long eerie wail and its headlights were flashing alternately.

They were playing different tunes on their sirens as they ran in formation so that any other road users would have more warning that there were two cars and not one, it is every Response Driver’s nightmare being the follow car and having someone pull out in front of them, not expecting a second vehicle to be there.

Hence George’s intense concentration.

They had both answered a call from the Control Room at around the same time, it was an Emergency or ‘I-Call’ to a woman who was being beaten by her husband. She had managed to lock herself into a bedroom but her husband was trying to break down the door and apparently she had sounded hysterical on the phone. As Jock and George had driven toward the call from different parts of their ground they had converged on the single direct road to the tiny village the call had came from, several miles out into the sparsely populated, rural area of the county with little or no street-lighting.

There was a pair of red tail-lights in the distance and almost nothing else to see apart from a line of traffic islands with a lit bollard on each, to keep traffic travelling in opposite directions from colliding. The road was almost dead straight but it rose and fell in a series of dips as the two Police vehicles gained on the red tail-lights of the other car. The car appeared to be slowing and George saw Jock’s car pull out onto the offside and commit itself to an overtake.

“Oh dear” said George, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly standing up. He began to brake heavily as he realised that the car wasn’t slowing down enough to allow Jock to regain the nearside before he reached the traffic island. He was either going to have to brake hard and come back in behind the other car or stay offside past the traffic island.

Jock went offside of the bollard, just as a pair of headlights appeared out of the dip ahead of them. Jock’s car hit the oncoming vehicle head on. George fought his own car as he stood on the brakes, and it snaked and weaved to a standstill on smoking tyres, just short of the combined wreckage of two cars mangled into one tangled heap of metal. George’s heart was in his mouth as he and his operator clambered out and ran over to the cars, past glass, metal and wheels lying in the road. “Oh god, no” he kept repeating out loud before remembering to call in the incident on the radio. Then unbelievably Jock and his operator were standing with him, covered in white powder from the airbags, and helping the other driver out of what was left of his car. The car that Jock was trying to overtake never stopped.

Fortunately another unit was able to take the call to the woman being beaten by her husband while the rest of the team helped clear up the mess of Jock’s collision. The young lad innocently driving the car that Jock crashed into was admirably compensated with a replacement. Jock meantime became one of the loudest supporters of the message that it is far better to arrive safely a few seconds later than to not arrive at all. You’re no use to anyone if your incapacitated or dead.

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