Page Forty Eight - Left Hanging (Copcast #163)

The New year is a strange time, for some people it is a celebration of hope while for others it can be a time of hope for better times to come. For a few though, the New year is a reminder of how bad things can be and a time of loneliness and misery. Through all this there are a very small number of people who can be found working the night away, doing everything they can to keep the rest of us safe; these are the police patrols, ambulance crews, hospital staff and firefighters.

One New Year's night will stay in George's memory for all the worst reasons. He was posted with an old team-mate called Jack, a deeply caring individual who wore his heart on his sleeve and George loved working with him for just that reason. Jack would literally do anything for anyone, whether that was an old and trusted friend or a stranger who was in need.

George and Jack responded to countless calls to alcohol related disturbances, fights, injuries and disputes, as did the rest of their team, over the next four hours. By three in the morning they were exhausted, they hadn't had a break and the emergency calls were still rolling in. 

"Will this ever slow down?" asked George, not expecting an answer, as yet another call came through. They were tasked to check the welfare of a man who had apparently threatened to kill himself. The man lived locally but had called his family who still lived in the north of England, he was very depressed and he told them he was going to hang himself. His family were obviously distraught and rang their local police who passed the details of the call to George's area, all of which took time.

By the time Jack and George reached the address, it was more than half an hour after the original call was made. The two officers hammered on the door and shouted through the letterbox but there was no answer from within. The lights were on inside but no sign of life. Then Jack noticed a stool lying on its side at the bottom of the stairs and told George. George didn't say a word as he kicked the door in, the lock shot off down the passageway. Sure enough looking up to the top of the stairs, just as they had expected, they saw a pair of feet hanging about twelve inches above the top step.

Staring slack jawed in disappointment for a moment, George began to go through the list of what the detectives in CID would want done, the first would be for the ligature knot to be preserved. Then in unison he and Jack shouted "The hell with it" and ran up the stairs. George lifted the man's weight while Jack slashed at the chord with a pocket knife before easing the man's body to the floor. They could see now that he had lashed a rope to a rafter above the open loft hatch, tied a noose around his neck while standing on the stool then kicked the stool down the stairs.

George tore at the chord around the man's neck where it had sunk into his flesh, while Jack was giving him chest compressions. Suddenly the noose came free and George was able to get a breath into the man before calling for help on his radio. There were no ambulances anywhere, they were on their own.

Now an ambulance in the UK has an extremely distinctive engine sound and at that moment they heard that sound going past outside. Jack looked up at George, then took off down the stairs and out the front door without uttering a word. George went back to artificially resuscitating the body in the house on his own. It felt like he had been alone for hours when suddenly he was joined by an ambulance crew and Jack. The paramedics took over and found the man had a very weak pulse, he was alive and they quickly had him loaded into the ambulance on his way to hospital.

Once they left Jack apologised for leaving George but explained that he had heard the ambulance and decided he was going to stop it, he hadn't had time to explain what he was going to do. He had to chase the ambulance up the road on foot for a good quarter of a mile before they realised he was behind them and stopped. They had then had to wait another minute before he could speak after his mad sprint.

The hospital casualty staff worked hard on the man before transferring him to the Intensive Care Ward, after a couple of weeks the man was physically recovered and released from hospital.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Page Forty - Dipped Copper (Copcast #155)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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Page Thirty 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 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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