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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Page Thirty Two - Not a Catwalk (Copcast #147)

It cannot be denied that there are some people that find police officers in their uniforms a powerfully appealing image to behold. It is also true that there are some officers who are so enamoured of how well they look in all their kit that they walk around like fashion models on a catwalk.

In his role as tutor constable, George has become used to many students coming onto the unit fully equipped with new gadgets and kit that they have paid for out of their own pocket. Admittedly some of it is useful, like a decent torch or fixed penalty ticket folder, but some of it is not so useful like a key holder that stops your keys from jangling or a PAC tag clip that also doubles as an effective ligature if you get into a rumble. The job provides new recruits with enough kit to start them off, all of it at the most economical price. Things like handcuff holders where the seams split and baton holders that lose your ASP in a foot chase. In short the job knows it will need to replace these items on a regular basis, because police officers will break them.

George will confess to having a number of items bought & paid for by him, including an adjustable cuff holder (for a leftie), a leather MAT belt and a decent adjustable baton holder. He is also the proud owner of a Garrity LED torch that he purchased in Walmart three years ago for $5.00 (including tax) whilst on vacation in Florida. It is still going strong and it sits nicely in a job issue baton holder. In addition to all this he owns a TAC vest to carry it all and has his POLSA 'Gucci' kit safely stored in his locker. All of George’s kit is engraved with his collar number as, hard to believe though it may be, there are some light fingered individuals out there who seem to think that re-assigning someone else’s kit is 'fair game' if it isn’t nailed down. George himself feels that they should have their fingers cut off, he bought his kit for practical reasons, it lasts and he relies on it.

Whenever a new bunch of students arrive on the Training Unit the Sergeant ceremoniously strips them of their newly bought kit, when and only when they are released onto shift they allowed to wear their non-job issue stuff and then only with their new Sergeant’s approval. One new student however recently took exception to this, declaring that he would use both his two new torches as the job ones were, in his words, 'sh***'. George shrugged and said “Okay Jason, whatever”.

One of Jason’s new torches was an LED light that clipped onto his stab vest. It was very good at its job, Jason could write tickets in the dark (as opposed to writing them out in a dry, warm police car) and made him look a bit like Robocop. George quietly wondered how long it would stay attached to Jason’s stab vest though. He didn't have to wait long to find out, a few days later they attended an officer assistance call, two officers were struggling with a drunken male whilst his mates were trying to set him free. Jason jumped into the fray, pushing them back and giving them warnings to move on. One lad had to be pushed more than the others and the officers all ended up piling on top of him leading to a short scuffle. The drunken lads were nicked for drunk & disorderly, the van arrived and both were taken away.

George checked on Jason and pointed out that only the back of his LED torch was still attached to his stab vest. A look of horror fell across his face and he started to look frantically for the rest of it in the dark. He produced his other equally expensive LED torch that apparently harnessed the power of seven suns, to aid his search for the first LED light, only to find it had a cracked case and refused to work.

George lent him his. Jason found the missing light under a bench some 20 feet away, the lens destroyed and the clip cracked; apparently it had been trodden on during the scuffle. With some angst Jason threw George’s $5.00 (including tax) torch back at him and his vest torch in the nearest bin. Teddy and pram parted company in spectacular style as the former was tossed in a far corner with extreme prejudice. Of course Jason’s experience is one George now shares with all new students and happily unlike him, most of them get the message.

 

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Page Thirty One - Be Vewy, Vewy Qwiet (Copcast #146)

"Unit to deal please, suspects on, 14 Richmond street".

Suspects on. Those two words in a radio message, guaranteed to make all police officers ears twitch. The thrill of the chase, you can't beat it. George called up “Mike14, show me en-route, ETA three minutes". He flicked the blues on and floored the accelerator pedal. The Ford Focus diesel clattered into life, the two tones wailing at the rush hour traffic. His probationer held onto the FM handle, a look of fear and a mad grin spreading across his face, his first blue light run, hopefully memorable for all the right reasons.

The traffic parted in front of them and they had a clear path, in his mirror George could see two other units behind them in the distance, neither were response drivers and they were doing their best to make way through the traffic. He could also hear a dog unit call up, offering their services and realised they were after his quarry, but he was absolutely determined that no one was going to get to his prey before him. They arrived on scene in just under the three minutes, the dog unit arrived immediately after. The informant was clearly upset. "I arrived home and I noticed my kitchen door was open, I think I saw someone run out of the back. My laptop was dropped on the back step".

The dog unit was deployed and quickly picked up a scent. Just behind the burgled house was a row of three partly built houses and the dog was now very excited, barking and circling around close to one of them.

"Police dog! Come out or the dog comes in!" shouted the dog handler, there was no reply from inside the unfinished building. The dog unit went in and came back out five minutes later, "No trace on the ground floor, I can't get the dog up to the first floor because the staircase isn’t finished". George went in and could see that the loft hatch was hanging down. They then had a brief discussion about deploying the dog by shoving it up the unfinished stairs, "Not a chance, too risky, the dog could get hurt" said the dog handler.

George and his probationer, who was now dragging a Dragon Lamp a Public Order shield and a NATO helmet behind him, climbed up to the next floor and then heard a noise from the loft. By now other units had arrived and one of them came back with a stepladder. Being the biggest and most experienced everyone decided George was going up first. If Billy burglar was up there, the sight of him dressed up as Darth Vader with baton, NATO helmet and shield might make him think twice about playing up.

Again they called "Police dog! Come out or the dog comes up!" Still no response so George squeezed through the hatch and gingerly searched the loft with the Dragon Lamp. Nothing. He shouted again, this time he saw the loft insulation twitch in a corner. George crept over toward where he saw the movement feeling rather like Elmer Fudd, the words “Stay vewy vewy qwiet” going over and over in his head he went. He heard his probationer struggling through the loft hatch, following behind him. He gave the insulation a prod with his baton and felt something hard. A firmer prod and something squealed. Got him, “dat sqwewy wabbid” in the form of 'Billy Burglar' was unceremoniously hauled up by his tee shirt. No older than 15 years, covered in dust and fiber from the loft insulation he was directed to the loft hatch where he was arrested by George for burglary before anybody else could say the magic words.

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Page Thirty - RTC Witnessed (Copcast #145)

It was a Sunday Early Turn and George was looking forward to taking things easy, after all nothing ever happens on a Sunday morning does it? Even better since there were more than enough drivers on duty that day he had been posted as the operator on the RT Car as a treat. The RT Car is the pursuit car on the Division and its name refers to the days when the police in the UK were just beginning to embrace the new fangled communication technology, RT stands for Radio Telephone.

So George was sitting back and relaxing while his driver Donald steered the Radio Telephone Car out of the back yard of the police station and made their way onto the High Street. No sooner had they turned on to the main road than they found themselves staring at the back of a queue of traffic held up for roadworks.

George grinned as he slouched even further down in his seat, realising the day was getting easier by the minute, not only was there little to do but they wouldn't be getting anywhere quickly to do it either. There was little to see other than the small van in front of them.

There were a few pedestrians around and although there was a hold up the traffic was still quite light, it was Sunday after all. George watched as a young woman stepped off the kerb on their nearside and walked in front of the staionary police car on her way across the road. Suddenly he caught a flicker of movement ahead and everything seemed to slow down, a car on the other side of the road was speeding very rapidly toward them. The woman hadn't noticed the car and the car driver obviously hadn't seen the woman.

George shouted at the top of his lungs in slow motion for the woman to stop, already knowing it was too late and that nothing he could do would stop what was about to happen. He watched in horrified fascination as the woman stepped in front of the speeding car, he heard the shrill squeal of tyres skidding and saw the smoke boil off them as the driver finally saw the pedestrian and struggled to avoid hitting her.

It was no use. Even as George and Donald threw open their doors and bundled out of the car, the woman was struck by the other car, her body was thrown ten feet into the air and the car passed directly under her before smashing into a series of cast iron bollards in the roadside. The woman's body was flung another ten feet along the road before it landed in a tangled heap near the gutter.

Everything returned to normal speed as George and Donald reached the woman and were astonished to find she was unconcious and still breathing. The scene was cordoned, help arrived, the air ambulance flew the woman into a hospital in the City Centre for Intensive Care and slowly the story emerged. Apparently the young man driving of the now mangled sports car had been trying to change channels on the radio and hadn't even been looking at the road as he sped through the High Street.

The most remarkable thing about the entire incident didn't happen until days later. The woman who had looked like such a terrible mangled mess after being hit by a speeding car and thrown so far through the air, remained in a coma for over a week. After about ten days she regained conciousness and apart from a loss of memory covering the entire accident she only had a couple of minor fractures and a few bruises. She made a full recovery.

George remembers the incident because it was one of those occasions when he was completely helpless and unable to control a situation. As a police officer he has grown very much accustomed to being in charge of a situation at any given time and having things happen the way he wants them to. This was one of those times when neither he nor anyone else could do anything but accept the role of spectator and sit back and watch until events had taken their course.

This is an experience that George will be glad never to have to repeat.

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Page Twenty Nine - Drunken Son (Copcast #144)

A call was despatched from the control room, the caller stating that her son, who was drunk, violent and refusing to leave, had assaulted her. Mike 2 the RT Car and Mike 21 the Response Car accepted the call. Mike 21 was crewed by George and his enthusiastic young probationer Sam and neither of them wanted to be beaten to the call by the Radio Telephone Car.

George and Sam arrived first, almost running to the door to ring the bell, “I’ve been here before,” George said. A short while later a very drunk female answered the door with a large Alsatian dog.

“Hello love, can we come in?” asked George, “and can you put the dog away somewhere?”

“Dunt wurrry aaabout herrr,” replied the female in a spectacularly slurred voice, “sheees a pussy cat.”

“She looks like a dog to me love,” said George. The crew of Mike 2 had also arrived by now and everyone entered the flat, the dog was put in the front room whilst the female stated that her son had beaten her up, fallen asleep in her bed and then wet it, nice!

The woman eventually admitted she wasn't hurt and that her son hadn't attacked her but she still wanted him out of there. She was then persuaded to go in the front room with the Alsatian. The police officers went into the bedroom and found a rather large, snoring male, who was apparently as drunk as a skunk, in the woman's bed just as she had said and indeed it stank of fresh urine. They gallantly tried to rouse him but he was out cold so Sam, donning rubber gloves, pinched his ear lobe hard, trying to get a response.

“Eff off” grunted the male.

“Don’t say that to me” growled Sam, pinching him again, harder.

“Eff off!” shouted the male.

“I’ll whoop your ass in a minute” said Sam. Then after another pinch the male rolled over and saw the petite female officer leaning over him.

“Oh, shoarry offfeeshur” said the male. He then sat up and by this time it was established that he lived at another address just up the road, so he was asked politely to get dressed and he’d be escorted to his flat. As he was wandering aimlessly about the room Sam faced him and said “Okay mate lets go.”

“I yam looking fer my hearin’ ayyds,” slurrred the male turning around.

Noticing them on the bedside table Sam pointed at them saying “There over there mate.” The male ignored her walking away.

“Oi, mate there over there” shouted Sam pointing franticly. Sam then remembered that the man was deaf and couldn’t hear her and was also suffering badly from the effects of the Toilet Duck that he’d probably been drinking. George said that he’d let the woman know what was going on. As he entered the living room, without announcing himself, the woman let loose an incredibly loud scream. Turning to the the woman's son Sam the probationer said “Don’t worry mate, he has that effect on all women.”

The crew of the Mike 2 took this opportunity to look at each other and turn toward the door, beating a hasty retreat to allow George and Sam to clear up yet another family dispute in minutes that had probably taken years to develop.

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Page Twenty Eight - Sgt TC's Story (Copcast #143)

Welcome to this special edition of George’s Pocketbook, where our colleagues around the world take time to share their experiences of what being a Law Enforcement Officer means to them, where they work. The incidents portrayed are real but where necessary, names and places have been changed in order to protect the innocent, the not so innocent and the plain stupid.

~

Sergeant TC has a war story to tell that others may enjoy, I have my doubts however about the individual at the centre this story and suspect that the good Sergeant may be being a little modest about how deeply he is involved. Oh and Sarge, I know I should apologise for the theme song I gave you but I'm afraid I just couldn't resist.

Where Sergeant TC used to work as a despatcher they had a city councilman who was reputed to be, among other things, a drunk and he somehow always seemed to get on the police radio to report things as he was going home. He would report the most mundane things like a traffic light not working etc. All the councilman in that city had police radios in their cars and this particular councilman was given the callsign "Car Ocean 11" to use on the air.

He became a real pain for the dispatchers but like with many other things they just put up with him. As time went by however an anonymous cop on the radio began to pretend he was the councilman and get on the radio sounding like a drunk for fun. This was before the times that your radio ID could be identified.

The anonymous cop, sounding drunk would say things like, "Ocean 11", wait a few seconds and then say, "Oh never mind" (sounding rather intoxicated). The other officers would all get a laugh out of it.

One night our anonymous cop got on the air and said, "Ocean 11" and dispatch answered. A few seconds went by and he said, "Ocean 11 ah ... if youuu get aaaa ... callllll on aaa man down at 13th and Broadway ..." then there was silence for a few seconds. The dispatcher called over and over "Ocean 11, Ocean 11", with no answer. Then the prankster cop came back on the air and said, "Ooocean 11 ah ... neverrrr mind... I got up"

One cold winter night with almost no traffic on the radio the same cop came on the air and just said, "I'm going crazzzzyyyy!" The dispatcher answered back, "Car calling? Car calling?" There was silence for several minutes and then a repeat on the radio, "I'm going Craaaaazzzy!" and dispatcher answered again, "Car calling? Car calling? " with once again no answer.

After about the fourth time he yet again said "I'm going crazzzzyyyy!" and the dispatcher, sounding very mad, asked again, in a mean tone, "Car Calling identify yourself!" A few more seconds went by and the cop come back on the air and said "I'm not THAT crazy!"

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Page Twenty Seven - Kung Fu Panda (Copcast #142)

Years ago a lot of effort was put into teaching new police officers a variety of holds, grabs and takedowns. Some of these holds were so complex that a degree in human anatomy was required to implement them, as was a fair degree of luck when trying to apply them to your quarry. George still remembers those late nights in the gym at Training School, practising an array of thumb-locks, arm holds and handcuff takedowns prior to the practical assessments the next day.

There is no doubt that some of these skills have proved to be effective during his service but he still has to suppress a grin when he sees two or three bobbies piled on top of a struggling prisoner. He’s not laughing at them, it's just that the reality of restraining someone is to get them on the floor at the earliest opportunity and to keep the sharp bitey bits from your soft fleshy parts and he’s never a textbook thumb lock.

The most effective way to implement this is to execute a front or rear leg sweep followed by the ‘Kung Fu Panda’ static restraint method otherwise described as sitting on the suspect. Once this method of restraint has been applied, the prisoner can be handcuffed, limb strapped and will be firmly under no illusion that he had been detained. There is little room for complex thumb locks in this real world, so much so that someone at the Training School has finally realised this and most of those holds are no longer taught.

Recently George was on duty with a probationer, Sam was a mere slip of a girl and just 19 years old but loved to get ‘stuck in’. It was late evening and they were called to a disturbance in the street. Reports were coming in of a male trying to attack vehicles with a tree branch in the middle of the road.

Sure enough upon arrival they saw a number of cars trying to turn around and a man screaming at the top of his voice. "I want to ascend" he was shouting, along with threats to kill himself. George and Sam ran over to the man who had fortunately discarded his hefty tree branch by leaving it on the roof of a stationary vehicle, it's driver clearly intent on not getting out.

George grabbed hold of the man by his collar and started to drag him to the side of the road, as there were far too many moving vehicles in it for his liking. Reasoning with him was not an option.

His probationer was trying to force the man’s right arm up his back to gain control, but this wasn't working. They eventually dragged him to side of the police car where George forced him against the boot. He was shouting at him to calm down, but the man responded by throwing a punch George’s way, which he successfully dodged.

With size and sanity on his side George executed a text-book-perfect front leg sweep taking the violent and disturbed man to the floor. He struggled and kept shouting to be let go, so that he could 'ascend' to a higher place. The only place to go in George’s mind was a cell or a Secure Psychiatric Assessment Unit.

The man continued to struggle then tried spit at Sam. The only way to deal with this guy was to get his face closer to the pavement, which meant George having to place his full body weight on the thrashing prisoner whilst holding him in a half nelson. This gave his probationer an opportunity to secure him in limb restraints. A few minutes later the male, successfully subdued and restrained, was helped into the rear of a caged van that took him to hospital having been detained under the Mental Health Act.

The whole incident had only lasted a few minutes but both George and his probationer were exhausted. It just goes to show that when it all kicks off the rules and ju-jitsu type nose holds go out the window.

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Page Twenty Six - Cat Minge (Copcast #141)

George and his old mate Mark were posted as the Early Turn van crew and as even more of a rarity George was posted as the operator and not the driver. The banter between the two was usually fairly predictable, Mark would be baiting George over his stocky build and George in return usually found some way to mock Mark's bald and shaved head.

The two friends had been working on the the same team together for years but didn't often get a chance to work together and the supersticious among their team-mates preferred things that way. You see, George and Mark had a reputation for being grief-magnets, that is to say when they worked together then the shift was not going to go well and somewhere along the way the wheel was going to come off.

Fairly soon after parade and that all-important first coffee of the shift, it seemed as if the worst might come true. The first call the van was assigned to was a sudden death. Never the most pleasant of taksings to be given, it became evident immediately after their arrival that this was going to be even less pleasant than normal.

The recently deceased turned out to be the the local cat-lady and they had been called by her 44 year old son who had found her when he came to see her for his weekly visit. Every town has a cat-lady and this one followed all the stereotypes faithfully. Her house was over run by around twenty-five cats, all of whom appeared to be shedding fur with abandon and none of whom appeared to ever leave the house for any reason, especially to use the toilet. The house was filthy, there were unwashed dishes all over the kitchen and the whole place reeked of stale cat urine.

The cats themselves were undernourished, dishevelled and neurotic, there didn't seem to be a single healthy specimen among them and they somehow managed to be everywhere at once. They were sprawled over shelves and tables, seats and cushions and particularly on every space on the floor where either George or Mark tried to set foot.

While they made arrangements for the coroner and the undertaker to attend and deal with the body of the old lady, Mark made sure that the RSPCA (the main UK animal welfare organisation) was informed. Within the hour a lady RSPCA Inspector turned up to attend to the cats. She identified one that had the worst open wounds and decided that that one was her priority and removed it from Cat City. Mark almost ran out of the with with her then returned to the van where George was waiting and desperately gulping some fresh air into his lungs.

“How many is she taking?” asked George.
“Just one for now. She’ll be sorting the rest tomorrow. She’s worried about that one. It’s got open wounds and minge,” said Mark.
“Minge?” queried George.
“Yeah! A skin disease that animals get,” Mark confirmed.
“You mean mange, you fool” said George.
“Oh yeah,” said Mark, “I wondered why she was looking at me a bit funny when I started going on about minge.”
“You might get away with that Mark,” said George, “so long as you called them cats and not pussies.”

Eventually they both returned to the police station, scratching themselves vigorously. Whether it was because they had attracted cats fleas through their prolonged contact to that house filled with mange ridden cats or whether it was just the thought of the fleas they did not know, but Inspector Brigstock was on hand to give advice to the pair on how to eradicate cat fleas.

While he was doing so, Mark was scratching the top of his shining and smoothly shaved scalp. It was then that Mr Brigstock pointed out that fleas lived in hairy or furry places and not on bare, hairless skin.

“But Guv!” cried George, “Mark’s ones are wearing ice skates. Look!”

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Page Twenty Five - Trojan Alarm (Copcast Episode 140)

The Area Car Mike 1 and a response car Mike 21 crewed by George and his latest probationer had taken a call to a Personal Attack Alarm that had been set off at a house in a large suburban residential area. As the two cars flew through early evening traffic with blue lights flashing and their sirens playing different tunes to each other, so that other drivers would realise there were two cars running, not just one, the crews were receiving updates.

One such update sent chills through both crews, the address was a listed Operation Trident location, the occupants were somehow at risk from attackers with firearms, A Trojan Armed Response Unit was already tasked and running to join them as were the Duty Officer, Inspector Brigstock and a skipper to act as scene controller.

The Area Car and Response Cars arrived on scene having run silent for the last quarter of a mile and the crews deployed to create a discrete cordon and to keep the house under observation without being seen. After a few minutes, during which George had realised he was watching the wrong house and finally crawled into a position to see the right one, the Trojans arrived followed soon after by the inspector and sergeant along with a dog van and a couple of other Response Cars.

At the rendezvous point Inspector Brigstock eyed the unusually all-female Trojan team as they swaggered over toward him, “I take it you're armed then?” he muttered. It was the turn of the armed response officers to look at the Duty Officer in less enthusiastically, although to their credit they refrained from voicing an answer.

After a swift briefing during which they were filled in with the latest intelligence on the address that the Control Room had managed to gather together for them, everyone was deployed. A Trojan assisted by a pair of local officers were able to get into the back garden unseen and cover the rear of the house while the remainder gathered at the front door. The area was kept secure with road closures out of sight of the house.

Eventually everyone was in place and ready, the front door was opened with the aid of the Enforcer Ram and the entry team flooded through the door, securing each room as they went, quickly reaching the kitchen where they found … two CID Detectives sitting at the table with the occupier enjoying a nice cup of tea.

Apparently the Personal Attack Alarm had been playing up and the two detectives had come down to check it, not realising they had set it off during their fiddling. The guv'nor launched into a lecture about the use of Personal Radios and the value of actually turning them on so that their users could be aware of what was happening around them in the outside world and possibly even preventing situations like this one. After which everyone, including George trooped back out of the house for a debrief back at the station.

Sadly the day's catalogue of disasters was not yet complete for George, as the queue of officers returning to their cars turned the corner of the house, most of them noticed the enormous puddle in the road beside the kerb left by the previous night's rain. George didn't. Caught in his own little world for a moment he failed to notice the car that drove through the deepest part of the puddle just as he walked past it. He did not miss the curtain of water that the car created, nor did the water miss him.

George stood stunned, drenched literally from head to foot while his colleagues including Inspector Brigstock gathered around him. Standing in a spreading pool of water he turned to his guv'nor with arms stretched wide, seemingly trying to invoke some kind of divine intervention and cried, “I don’t believe it!”

It took several minutes for Mr Brigstock to stagger to his car, despite the assistance of his Sergeant. The two were laughing so hard they actually looked like a pair of drunks on their way home from an evening of drunken revelry. In fact it was several minutes before either of them were able to stop laughing long enough for the tears in their eyes to clear and allow them to drive from the scene.

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Page Twenty Four - Gentleman Bikers (Copcast #139)

George had a new operator in the car with him and they were halfway through an extremely uneventful Night Duty, so much so that George was having difficulty keeping his eyes open and his eyelids felt like they were made of lead. What he desperately needed was something to concentrate on that would focus his mind. Just then the answer to his prayers appeared in front of him.

As he drove across a deserted flyover he noticed a solo motorcycle ahead of him and as he slowly gained on it he saw that the rider appeared to be having difficulty in keeping his machine travelling in a straight line. Even closer now he realised that there was a pillion on the bike and that this was the cause of its instability, the pillion's legs were flapping on either side of the rider.

George lit the blue strobes and alternately flashing headlights on his patrol car indicating to the motorcyclist that they should pull over and stop, the flickering blue light bouncing off all the buildings nearby rapidly had the rider's attention and the bike soon stopped. George and his operator emerged from the car and approached the bike rider and the passenger. They were two gentlemen, the pillion apparently inexperienced in the arcane arts of remaining on the back of an inherently unstable machine.

George spoke to the pillion passenger while his operator led the rider a few paces away, positioning the two so that they faced away from each other while George and his colleague could maintain eye contact. While he ran some checks on the two men and their motorcycle, his operator was able to ascertain that they had travelled a few hundred miles from the north of England in search of the rider's ex-boyfriend who lived somewhere to the south of where they had been stopped. The length of the journey and the condition of the bike, a very battered old Kawasaki GT550, reminded him of a line from Star Wars, when Princess Leia caught her first glimpse of the Millennium Falcon, “You came in that? You're braver than I thought”.

Completely unaware of this conversation and satisfied that his checks had revealed nothing untoward about the two motorcyclists, George stepped over to the rider and said “Because of the way you were riding I think you may have been drinking and because we’ve had to stop you, I’m going to ask you to take a breath test. Have you ever blown before?”

The rider, who had been quite taken with George, trying to watch him over his shoulder throughout the stop with an expression something akin to adoration, brightened up and smiled. “Oh yes! Once or twice.”

George still didn’t realise what he had said and looked a little confused but continued anyway. “Okay, I want you to take a deep breath and put you lips round this for me then give me a good long blow until I say stop”.

“With pleasure …” breathed the rider, his previous mission now apparently completely forgotten.

As George held the ESD, and Electronic Screening Device or roadside breath test, for the man to blow into, the man placed his hands around George's, cupping them. The expression on George's face made it evident to his smirking operator that he was beginning to understand parts of the situation that he had thus far been unaware of. The crimson blush that rose from his collar to colour his cheeks seemed to aggravate the pillion who stood to one side with a decidedly sulky expression across his face.

The breath test was negative and the two bike riders were wished safely on their way, then George and his operator returned to their car. George sat silently looking out of the windscreen at the motorcycle's tail-light as it disappeared into the distance. Finally he started the car, set it in gear and without turning said, “I don’t want to hear about this ever again,” before releasing the clutch and driving off.

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Page Twenty Three - Compost Bin Arrested (Copcast #138)

It was a busy Late Turn and George eventually found time to get to the canteen for a sandwich and a cup of tea. If he was honest he would have had to admit that he was having trouble getting back into the swing of things after just getting back from a two week holiday with the family. He was only partially paying attention to the paperwork he was working through and kept finding himself looking up to the TV screen.

They were showing a comedy film called Wild Hogs and just then the character played by William H Macy in cycling shorts was sitting in Starbucks talking to his Apple computer which was pretty much ignoring him. For some reason the scene brought an image of Morgan to his mind causing him to laugh aloud. He suddenly stopped when he looked around and realised that everyone else in the canteen had stopped talking and was staring at him.

His blushes were saved at that moment when a call was broadcast on their personal radios “Any unit to assist please, suspects on premises now” followed by an address only a few minutes from the police station. Almost as one, everyone in the canteen wearing a uniform stood and ran toward the doors, fighting over each other to be heard on the radio and assigned to the call.

As George reached the yard he saw four cars ahead of him making for the rear gates, he shook his head and told himself he needed to get with it. As he drove to the call he and his operator listened to updates from the units that had reached the scene ahead of them. Two suspects wearing dark hooded tops had been seen running away from a house that they had apparently been disturbed while breaking into. They're wearing hoodies thought George, they must be up to no good. One of the suspects had been found and caught but he wasn't saying anything about where his accomplace was.

It was already dark and the search wasn't going well, too many police boots had trampled the ground in their enthusiasm to find the outstanding offender and so the two dog units that had turned up were finding no useful tracks anywhere. The Control Room decided they needed the Air Support Unit and were able to assign India 99 to assist the search. The officers on the ground pulled back and established a cordon around several streets in the neighbourhood hoping their quary was still inside it.

After a few more minutes the helicopter was overhead and circling the area. George had spent some time with the ASU a while back and he knew they were now establishing the search area and systematically guiding an Infra-Red TV camera over it in a grid pattern. To the officers on the ground it seemed to take an age before the India 99 called them on the radio and asked for the two officers stood together between two patrol cars to identify themselves. Everyone looked around but it was George that realised they meant him and his operator so he immediately waved.

“Turn to your left and walk forward” directed the operator on India 99, we've detected a strong heat source in a garden near you”. George did as he was told, he and his operator followed directions that took them over a six foot fence and through a dense hedge. Eventually they were in a large back garden looking across a moonlit lawn toward thick bushes around a pair of trees.

“The heat source is behind the two trees ahead of you, good luck”. George and his operator looked at each other and grinned, George signalled they should split up and approach from opposite sides. As the sounds of their colleagues making their way to join them filled his ears, George made his way slowly round the bushes toward the trees, careful to make as little noise as possible.

“You are directly in front of the heat source now,” called India 99. George saw a dark shape in front of him and his operator beyond. “You're mine me old mate” shouted George as he threw himself at the dark shape before his operator could get his hands on it. He managed an almost perfect tackle, striking low with his shoulder as he flung his arms around his target … which didn't move.

In the light of the torches being held by his colleagues who had now joined him to help with his prisoner, George was finally able to see that he had arrested a compost bin.

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Page Twenty Two - Mack the Dog (Copcast #137)

It was late on a Friday night when George and a couple of his colleagues were in the custody office looking pleased with themselves while George’s latest probationer was booking in his prisoner. The man had been seen looking suspicious on a street corner near the centre of town late in the evening, hanging around near a couple of clubs and acting furtively. The two units had approached him from opposite directions thinking he was either looking to follow and rob drunken revellers as they left the clubs or possibly looking to sell drugs to them.

Sure enough, when they turned him over and went through his pockets they found a dozen or so wraps of an off-white powdery crystalline substance that led the officers to believe that the man was in possession of drugs with the intent to supply them – in other words, they’d found themselves a street dealer.

Given the circumstances it didn’t take George long to persuade Inspector Brigstock to authorise a Section 18 PACE search of the prisoner’s home to find further drugs or anything connected to the distribution of drugs. George and the others gathered in the canteen for a few minutes to go over their plan for the search. “I know what’ll be a good idea” said George, “Let’s see if there’s a drugs dog available to give us a hand”.

Now this may seem a little obvious but in reality, finding an available drugs dog is a bit like finding rocking-horse droppings, there aren’t many of them. The dogs also tend to be rather overworked as well which cause problems with their effectiveness, but it was worth a shot anyway.

They were in luck, the Control Room told them they’d managed to get Kilo Nine assigned to them and they would meet them at the address.

George and his colleagues arrived at the address at the same time as Kilo Nine, the dog van. After the introductions had been made and the plan of action gone over a final time, they let themselves into the flat led by the dog handler Doug and his drug search dog, a spaniel called Mack.

Mack was a blur of activity, in and out of cupboards and cubbyholes, poking his snout in almost every nook and cranny imaginable. George turned to Doug and said “That’s one seriously enthusiastic dog you’ve got there, how come we haven’t had you out with us before?” Doug looked a little uncomfortable as he hesitated a moment before replying “Well yes, he is enthusiastic and while he’s concentrating on the job there isn’t a better dog. The trouble is that Mack’s a little easily distracted, if he sees something shiny he’ll be off and you won’t get him back for ages. I reckon we’ve overworked him and he’s probably snorted too many drugs.”

At that moment, as if to prove Doug’s point, Mack accidentally knocked the stereo, switching it on and filling the room a pounding dance track. Mack suddenly stopped and stared at the television standing near the window before throwing himself at it and attempting to perform a sex act on it while howling at the ceiling.

The occupier of the flat was apparently in the middle of redecorating and there were a number of large cans of paint around the room. Mack suddenly began racing around the room in a frenzy, knocking over a couple of the paint cans and spilling their contents on the floor which he immediately started rolling around him, turning his coat a pretty shade of lilac.

Finally he dashed off towards the bathroom and shoved his head down the toilet and began to drink he water noisily from the bowl. Doug was blushing furiously by now, obviously intensely embarrassed by being shown up so badly by his dog and he turned to George as he moved forward to clip Mack’s lead back on his collar, “Do you see what I mean? It’s at times like these that I’m really tempted to just pull that flush on him.”

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Page Twenty One - Sgt Pearson's Last Day (Copcast #136)

Welcome to this special edition of George’s Pocketbook, where our colleagues around the world take time to share their experiences of what being a Law Enforcement Officer means to them, where they work. The incidents portrayed are real but where necessary, names and places have been changed in order to protect the innocent, the not so innocent and the plain stupid.

~

Michael Pearson is retired living in Utah. He was a Sergeant on the Tacoma School Police force in Washington State and finished off his law enforcement career as a Lieutenant at the Utah State Penitentiary.

A recent story on Copcast about a stolen police car had this old cop reminiscing about the good old days, specifically his last day as an officer for the Tacoma School Police force back in the ‘70s.

Early that morning the radio began with reports of a Escaped Prisoner in Seattle who had managed to scale down from the roof of the King County Jail and find an unattended police cruiser with its engine running in the parking lot below. It later transpired that the Sheriff had left the car there for a moment as he dashed inside to grab his smokes. The suspect jumped into the police cruiser and began what turned into a high-speed pursuit down Interstate 5.

The continuing reports stated the fugitive had passed through the towns of Renton, Midway, Fife, and Lakewood and was nearing Tacoma. All the towns along the way had assisted in the chase. Sergeant Pearson, as he was then, and his partner listened with curiosity to the updates as they exited the Winchell's Donut Shop. To the surprise of the two men, they witnessed the suspect speed down the highway in front of them followed by the amazing sight of what looked like as many as 100 police vehicles in pursuit.

Getting caught up in the excitement of the moment they both jumped into their own Cheyenne pickup to join in on the fun. They managed to work their way through the line of pursuing vehicles although they had a couple of close calls on the way where they were almost sideswiped by other vehicles that were just as eager to be involved.

In the end they were close enough to witness the stolen cruiser finally get contained with a vehicle in front and another behind before being eased off the side of the road against a chain link fence. Unfortunately there was a third vehicle against the driver’s door, which meant there was a slight delay in getting to the occupant. Because there were so many vehicles stopped so close to each other, they all had to be patiently moved back one at a time before they finally managed to get access to the escaped prisoner.

Michael and his partner jumped out of the pickup and ran towards the Suspect and assisted in apprehending and securing, the kicking and screaming man then shoving him into the back of a squad car. It took six officers to finally subdue the escaped prisoner.

Once the Suspect was safely tucked away Michael took a gander at his surroundings. He’ll never forget the scene before him; the impressive display of cooperation between several jurisdictions was quite a sight to behold. There were Cops from different towns all mingling together laughing, shaking hands and patting each other on the back and talking excitedly. It made him proud to be a Police Officer that day.

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Page Twenty - The FM Button (Copcast #135)

In the UK, police personal radios have a little orange button. It sits on top far, far away from the working end of the radio, the keypad. The purpose of this button is to get help pronto, on blues and twos from wherever and whomever possible. Hold the button down for a few seconds and everyone in your division is alerted to your peril by a loud intermittent bleeping noise that cuts in over all transmissions.

Everyone can hear you, whether its screams of fear or shouts of ‘Get back!’, normally followed by various expletives. In training you are taught to shout ‘location location location’ but no-one ever does. In essence this is the modern day equivalent of the police whistle and is, fortunately, rarely used. Most of the time they are accidental activations; normally CID officers leaning on it whilst stretching for their coffee cup or over zealous PCSO’s who are following someone ‘of interest’.

The noise from the activation immediately grabs your attention and there is usually a slight pause before the officer calls up to say sorry for leaning on it. George has happily been to precious few real activations, probably only about ten in his entire career, although as you may remember he has had cause to use the little orange button himself.

Not everybody is entirely comfortable with the whole ‘FM’ button thing, recently for example George was in the station half monitoring radio traffic, half trying to complete a court file. He was with his skipper talking about almost anything but work when all of a sudden they heard the words “10-9 officer assistance”. It was spoken fairly quietly, the officer a little out of breath but sounding calm and no orange button activation. The radio traffic fell silent as dozens of police officers listened intently. Was this a joke, had they misheard the transmission? No, ‘10-9’ is what hey used before they had the new radios and you had to literally shout to get assistance and not rely on technology. The caller was a dog unit and he was in trouble.

George and the skipper stared at each other for a micro second then bolted towards the door where they saw a great sight, at least half a dozen response cars with lights activated all scrambling to get out of the rear yard. They jumped in a station van at the rear of the convoy and headed towards the last known location of the dog unit and arrived within a few minutes to find a house completely surrounded by at least twenty police officers. George went to the front of the house for no reason other than that the back garden was full of coppers and he felt like a spare part. He saw a man trying to fight about five officers in the hallway.

He lost and was dragged out, handcuffed and limb strapped. He certainly wasn’t very happy, there was a lot of confusion and an awful lot of blood. George took an arm and helped place the struggling prisoner into his waiting caged van destined for the hospital.

It became clear that the dog handler had stopped this chap following reports of a domestic incident at the address. As the dog handler started to check him out, the suspect made off on foot and the officer gave chase but lost him in some foliage around the corner. The suspect then jumped on the police officer from the foliage and started to pummel him to make good his escape. The dog handler used the only thing he had in his reach to defend himself, his ASP Baton and used the handle of the baton to strike the suspect over the head several times causing a three inch cut on top of his head. Hence all the blood.

The suspect then ran off, that’s when the dog handler called for assistance and the world and his brother turned out for him which must have been very reassuring.

With the suspect safely restrained everyone returned to the police station as the suspect was at hospital getting treatment for the head injury with three of the biggest, meanest officers to guard him.

A while later there was another call for assistance and George drove the van back to the hospital where he found the prisoner had decided he hadn't had enough fighting for one day and started to play up whilst being sutured. He had to be further restrained by the officers at scene during which the head wound was inadvertently reopened. More blood.

Thankfully the dog handler had only received minor injuries, his stab vest taking the brunt of the punches. If he'd deployed his dog things might have been very different but, as so often happens in this job, events happened so quickly he never had a chance to. Afterwards he openly admitted to forgetting his radio even had the orange ‘FM’ button but fortunately he had the presence of mind to say where he was immediately prior to the assault. A valuable lesson learned that day for everybody.

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Page Nineteen - Mr Angry and the Kids (Copcast Episode 134)

George has little tolerance for anti social behaviour. There is no doubt in his mind that anti social behaviour stems from poor parenting, a complete lack of respect for anyone and anything, social deprivation, being victims of crime themselves and sheer boredom. This isn't an exhaustive list and he realises he may be stereo-typing your typical bored teenager, or 'chav' as they can be affectionately known.

Last week his perceptions were changed a little, things are not always as they appear and although he prides himself on having an open mind, George isn't afraid to admit when he is caught by surprise.

George was tasked to attend a nuisance youth call where kids were kicking a ball about in an estate car park. Nothing new in this, he's been to this particular housing estate many times in the past and George could imagine the scene, an elderly resident being threatened and abused by a bunch of yobbish louts with no respect for their elders. Upon arrival he saw a bunch of kids, aged between 7 and 11 and one of the younger ones was crying, his left ear looked red and swollen.

George grabbed one of the older lads and asked him what was going on, he told George that an old guy had come out of an address and called them all sorts of names and then when one of the kids told him to go away and leave them alone because the were only playing a bit of football, the old man came out and grabbed the young lad then clipped him around the ear.

A resident who was getting shopping out if his car then came over and confirmed the same story. George established that they were not 'working together' and decided to knock on the door of the old man to get the other side of the tale.

The old lad was about 72, stooped and clearly angry. George asked his name and clarified that this was also the original informant and the reason he had been called there. He barked and swore at George during his attempts to establish what had happened. He then said that if he was 20 years younger he would clip all their ears and kick George's arse too. He told him that he had had enough of the kids screaming and laughing outside his house and that he had also written to the local council on at least 3 occasions to have the swing park moved further away from his address because he couldn't stand the noise. George was a little taken aback at being told the old guy wanted to kick his arse and asked him why he felt so angry toward him but he just told George to eff off.

Mr Angry refused to calm down and continued to throw abuse at George and the kids. The mum of crying boy had now turned up and also wanted Mr Angry's blood while George was still trying to cope with his perceptions being turned upside-down. Here was a yobbish lout of an elderly man showing no tolerance for those younger than him including the police and showering them with abuse. For his own safety as much as anything else, Mr Angry was arrested for disorderly behaviour and on suspicion of assault occassioning actual bodily harm on the minor.

When they arrived at the police station, Mr Angry tried to fight George and two other burly coppers. He lost but not before he was taken down to a cell. A PNC check later revealed that our Mr Angry had served 15 years for armed robbery some years ago and had also been served an ASBO (that's an Anti-Social Behaviour Order) not to enter certain areas where youths congregate (parks etc) as he had been arrested for assault against a minor only a year before.

It turns out that Mr Angry made the 'nuisance youth' call after he had assaulted the lad in an attempt to cover himself. Perhaps leopards never do change their spots even if they aren't immediately obvious and perhaps preconceptions should be treated with caution.

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