Page Thirty Three - Title (Copcast #148)

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

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

Hence George’s intense concentration.

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

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

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

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

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

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Page Twenty Nine - Drunken Son (Copcast #144)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eff off” grunted the male.

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

“Eff off!” shouted the male.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Page Twenty - 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 Nine - Intelligence Unused (Copcast #124)

uA unit to deal please, 21 Sainsbury Avenue, concern for welfare, it’s graded as an emergency call" the radio crackled. George told his probationer to offer up for it since it seemed like a fairly straightforward job and something else for his portfolio. The probationer gave their call sign and they were assigned and committed. Whilst en-route George asked his probationer to obtain more details whilst he navigated through the traffic on blues and twos.

The update came through, "Child Abuse Team has had a call from a neighbour of number 21 who wishes to remain anonymous. States the 13 year old boy is being assaulted". The probationer asked if there were any previous calls to the address or warning markers. “Only a couple of domestics”, replied the controller.

They arrived and informed control then walked to the door. Listening to the door they heard nothing, no shouting or crying. They knocked and heard movement inside; "Who the eff is it?" came the reply. "Police!" George shouted.

The door opened and there stood a man with long wild blonde hair, no shirt and his chest covered in self-harm marks. His torso positively rippled with muscle. George’s heart sank; it was Charlie Lane, local drug dealer and general pain in the neck. Charlie had PNC warning markers for (and in no particular order): Mental Health, Suicidal, Weapons, Firearms, Drugs, Violent towards Police, Escaper, Cage Fighter and all round Grade-A psycho with little regard for the chief constable and his band of merry men.

The radio crackled again, "Is that someone going to 21 Sainsbury Avenue? That’s Charlie Lane’s address" called a concerned colleague. "He’s got warning markers you know". George thanked the officer and silently cursed the controller for doing such a poor job with the intelligence. Charlie wanted to know what they wanted. The probationer, completely oblivious to the radio traffic, tried talking to Charlie who wasn't listening; he just wanted them to foxtrot oscar.

George said to Charlie "Look, we’ve been called to check the welfare of a young lad living here, there are reports he’s been assaulted. We need to check him out". Charlie replied "Eff off" and tried to shut the door but somehow and without any conscious effort, George’s right foot had found its way in the door, stopping it from shutting. Charlie looked down at him and he felt his stomach tighten. "What the eff are you doing?" he demanded. Actually he said much more than that, but you get the drift.

"Whoa, easy tiger, let me check the kids and the we’ll go ". Charlie told them that with the help of the police all but one of his kids had been taken into care only two days previously. George thought “Nice work control, that little nugget of intel should have come from you, not him”. Eventually they persuaded Charlie to let them see the remaining lad, muttering something about a section 17 power of entry to preserve life. Charlie actually growled and called for his son, who came to the door, Charlie kissed him on the side of the head. They chatted to the lad and checked him for any signs of injury; he seemed fine and wandered off, at which point Charlie then lost it. He was very keen to show how much he worked out and asked if they wanted to come in and check the rest of the house, just for fun. They politely declined and left.

They reported to the Inspector and informed him that it appeared to be a malicious call from a neighbour, intent on causing Charlie and the police problems. George had checked the son and he appeared fine. The Inspector agreed with how they’d dealt with the incident.

George chalked this incident up as a perfect example of not only the importance of gathering intelligence, but also how dangerous it can be to not pass it on to the people that need it. In some cases it can literally be a matter of life or death.

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Page Six - Juvenile Domestic Caution (Copcast #121)

George criminalised a teenager this week and he doesn't feel great about it. His Sergeant, his inspector and all his colleagues agree that the action taken was 'ridiculous but inevitable'.

Picture this; a 17 year old girl left home to find her way in life. A little young perhaps, but she was fed up with her controlling mother who refused to let her grow up. She arranged to stay at her aunt's and just needed a few things from her mother's place so along with a friend, she attended her mum's house only to find that her mum had locked her out and had dumped all of her clothes, CD's and personal possesions. The girl lost the plot and kicked the front door and made various threats, mum panicked and called the police.

George attended and spoke to all parties concerned and discovered that the girl just wanted her stuff but mum wanted her to come home under her terms. No one had been injured, nothing had been damaged, there had just been a lot of shouting and tears. Anyway a domestic violence form was completed and the girl heeded words of advice given to her to go away and contact her mother when she is calmer.

Mum then poured out all her woes to George explaining that she doesn't want to make a complaint as she doesn't want to 'criminalise' her daughter who has never been in trouble before. George suggested she leave things at that for the time being and wait until everyone had calmed down before speaking to her daughter again. George returned to the police station to finalise the ream of resulting paperwork.

The next day George received an email; 'Mum now wants to make a complaint, she has spoken to her father who thinks that arresting the girl would do her good'.

'Ps the incident has been crimed as section 4a of the Public Order Act'.

Brilliant. Now that meant George had to return and obtain a statement and carry out house to house enquiries etc. First things first, he spoke to the mother to find out exactly what was going on. Mum told George that since her phone call to the police station she'd had yet another change of heart and no longer wanted to prosecute her daughter. Sighing inwardly George informed her that in order to get the incident classed as 'no offence' he would need a brief statement from her, stating that she no longer wanted to prosecute because that would irrepairably destroy their already strained relationship and she wasn't under any duress, etc. Having obtained this he submitted the crime report as 'no offence', with a full screed as to why a prosecution wasn't in the public interest.

Three days later the crime report was bounced back with a note from the Crime Management Office stating 'the crime report has been rejected, you have to deal with this matter positively as per policy'. George spoke to his Sergeant who referred him to the Inspector who in turn said it was crazy but they had no choice but to arrest the girl and put her through the criminal justice system. It's police policy to prosecute any apparent offender in a case of domestic violence regardless of whether the victim wants them prosecuted.

So against the wishes of the 'victim', George invited the girl into the police station on a voluntary basis and interviewed her under caution then issued her a reprimand after she fully admitted what had happened. Although George didn't arrest her the reprimmand is recorded as a conviction and she had her DNA and fingerprints taken. The girl wants to work with children but that isn't going to happen for a while because the reprimand will show up on a Criminal Records check.

George isn't happy because criminalising teenagers for being just a bit gobby isn't what I joined up for. All in all a completely unrewarding experience which has further reinforced his belief that common sense is a difficult quality to find today.

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