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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Page Eighteen - Musical Cars (Copcast #133)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George ran off down the path followed by his probationer.

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

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

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

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

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

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Page Seventeen - US Letter (Copcast #132)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Page Sixteen - Early Turn Battering (Copcast #131)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Page Fifteen - More Fencing (Copcast #130)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Page Fourteen - Ninja Reflexes (Copcast #129)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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