Page Fifty - Away on His Toes (Copcast #165)

There are so many reasons why people become police officers, probably as many reasons as there are officers. Beyond the reasons for joining though, there are the unexpected reasons for staying. For instance there is the heart-stopping moment of excitement when a call comes over the radio for units to assist with a call to 'suspects on premises'. Those calls often seem to come in when everyone is in for refs and the canteen is packed. After the briefest of pauses during which you could hear a pin drop, there is usually absolute pandemonium.

Resembling a scene from a World War Two film, set in a fighter squadron ready room, everyone suddenly scrambles for the doors, grabbing their kit on the run. Once outside, bodies will hurl themselves into every available vehicle and no one cares who is supposed to drive; if you end up in the driver's seat, then you drive.

One late Turn, George and his team were in for dinner when just such a call came through followed by the mad dash outside. George found himself squeezed into the back seat of a Panda with three other lads. Now a Panda is a small patrol car, what would be called a sub-compact in the US and squeezing four fully grown adult males and their kit inside is something close to impossible. Still, they made it and with Mack behind the wheel, the little car even managed to start moving, under protest. Mack was originally from Glasgow in Scotland and his thick Glaswegian accent was perfectly suited to the tirade of threats and curses that he hurled against the Panda as he urged it to accelerate out of the rear yard and through the back gates. Once outside he threw the steering wheel hard to the left ... and slammed the car head on into the front of the armoured police public order carrier that was now parked on the roadside. It hadn't been there earlier and Mack hadn't expected to find it just outside the gates to the yard.

There was dazed silence for a moment and then Mack's door suddenly burst open and he was out of the car, running as fast as he could along the street. The handful of passers-by stopped and stared at the uniformed police officer, the front of his white shirt stained red from blood that flowed from a cut to his forehead, running away from a marked police car. The three officers left in the car could only watch in dumb amazement.

Mack was almost out of sight when he eventually slowed, then stopped before turning reluctantly back to the crashed car and his colleagues. Once he got back to the others, George grabbed him by the collar and hissed in his ear "What the bloody hell were you thinking mate?"

Mack looked embarrassed as he quietly explained, "Mate, you know I grew up on a council estate outside of Glasgow don't you? Well it was a bit of a rough old spot and we couldn't afford a car, so I didn't exactly have driving lessons until I joined the Army. You see, if you ever managed to get hold of a car to drive it wasn't likely to be yours so if you ever crashed it was best to run away from it as fast as you could before the police arrived."

"Okay," said George, "but that still doesn't explain why you just made off on your toes, away from a pranged police car."

"Ah well," replied Mack touching his still bleeding forehead. "When I banged my nut just now on the wheel, I was confused for a moment and I kind of panicked I simply reverted to old instincts. You know, crashed car, run like hell."

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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 Five - Not Linford Christie (Copcast #160)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Page Thirty Five - Escaped Prisoner (Copcast #150)

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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Page 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 Fifteen - More Fencing (Copcast #130)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Page Fourteen - Ninja Reflexes (Copcast #129)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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Page Eight - Burglar Captured (Copcast #123)

George fears he’s getting on in years and his memory isn't what it used to be. He struggles with the names of people he’s seen around the nick for years and often finds himself having conversations with people who clearly know him and his family yet can’t recollect exactly how he knows them. George blames his badger-like greying side burns, years of shift work, not enough rest days and the constant onslaught of work. What is really worrying is that he can still recognise a burglar from 50 yards away in the dark with his back to him and even give you his date of birth. This can pay dividends when on patrol much to the jealousy of other police officers. He doesn't profess to be an expert 'thief taker' but he does know a ‘scrote’ when he sees one.

The other evening a call came in, “burglars making off from a scene”. Everyone turned out, burglars were always hot potatoes and everyone likes the sport of catching the little … scamps. The force chopper lifted-off, while a dog unit had to forgo refs and high tailed it in from across the other side of the division. There were about six local units scouring the streets and trying to establish pinch points, etc.

Reports came in that the males had split up and the informant was following one of them. Along with his trusty probationer, George was one of those six cars. They carried out an area search, it was dark and it was raining, his vehicle spotlights illuminated side alleys and the living rooms of residents oblivious to the chaos unfurling around them. Now, although he had lived and worked in the town for some years, this particular area was not one George was too familiar with and his probationer lived 39 miles away and had zero local knowledge. There was a map book in the car but of course the page they needed was missing and the radio was far too busy for them to admit they were lost and ask for directions. Don’t even ask about anything technical like SatNav.

There was another update, "Suspect is now walking towards Leicester Road down Jones Close”. George looked at the probationer and she could clearly see the "Where the hell is that?” look on his face. In desperation they turned into a side street and travelled about fifty yards before realising that the road was closed. Reluctantly they started to reverse then suddenly saw the road sign 'Jones Close'. George looked up in time to see two figures in the distance walking towards him. Brilliant they hadn't seen him.

Reversing quickly he parked up at the bottom of Jones Close where they got out and a few seconds later a male appeared, "Hello Mikey" said George. He had instantly recognised him from briefing and had even nicked him before. Mikey stopped, looked at George and said, "Alright, it’s a fair cop, you may as well nick me, I’m in breach of my curfew". George smiled at him just as another male walked around the corner. It was the informant who pointed at Mikey and gives them the thumbs up. George turned to Mikey, "Actually Mikey, my colleague here has something to say to you" his probationer then arrested him for burglary. He resigned himself to the handcuffs being placed on him. He had been running for about 25 minutes, which is hard work for a heroin user and he was grateful for a rest in a nice warm car followed by a police cell. Mikey was presented to custody, his clothing seized, finger prints and photographs taken before being put to bed all cosy in a cell. He ended up being charged and remanded in custody all weekend to appear at court. A good arrest is still a good arrest even if it’s completely by fluke and they were more than happy to take the glory.

George did make a mental note to spend more time in that part of the town to try and gain some better local knowledge of the area while spending more time on his DS, playing 'Brain Training'.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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