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 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 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 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 Five - Care in the Community (Copcast #120)

For some years in the UK there has been a policy to introduce people suffering mental health issues back into the community and remove them from institutions, so that they can lead more normal lives than they would if they were shut away in a hospital. The system relies on selecting the patients who will benefit from living in the community and providing them with appropriate support in the form of accomodation, visiting healthcare workers and properly prescribed treatment. Unfortunately, there are times when insufficient resources are available or patients refuse to be treated and it is then that the police that are called upon to deal with them.

Anyone who questions whether this system of 'care in the community' works need only spend a Night Duty with the officers on a response relief. They don't blame anyone, they often just feel they're the wrong tool to use.

George comes into contact with those suffering from mental health problems on a fairly frequent basis. Take last night, he attended a call from someone stating that they are receiving 'disgusting' text messages. The controller stated that the caller was 'rambling' and 'not making much sense'. George told his probationer that he knew the address was an apartment complex where the Social Services placed patients who were being treated 'in the community' and told her to be alert.

Upon arrival they were let in to the address by Steven. Steven was in his mid forties, heavily built, about 6 foot tall and a skin head covered in tattoos. George made a quick scan of the room and his eyes were immediately drawn to a set of kitchen knives on the floor next to the TV. He made eye contact with his probationer, trying to draw her attention to the same. She got the message.

The conversation went something like:

"What's going on Steven?"

"It's them dirty bastards, sending me text messages about me mum"
"Have you still got them on your phone Steven?"
"Deleted them. Didn't want to look at them. They get me angry"
"Okay … what do you want us to do?"
"Stop them sending me them texts"
"Who is it? Do you know who's sending them?"
"No ... I just told you …. I deleted them. Take my phone and catch them"
"Okay Steven but if we take your phone, there's no evidence on it"
"Catch them or I'll use my knives. I'll stab anyone coming through my door"

At this point, the mood changed from 'slightly concerned' to 'absolutely bricking' it. George looked at the probationer and using a Jedi mind trick urged her to get closer to the door. This didn't work. Steven then stood up and walked towards the TV (and the knives). George grabbed the probationer by the arm and pulled her towards the door. Steven stopped and looked at them.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Leaving" replied George.

Steven began to throw things around his room as they dived out the door. "Leaving?" he shouted. "What are you going to do about my texts?". George muttered something about calling police again when he got another one, or calling into the police station then scuttled down the stairs followed by a torrent of abuse, not all of it directed at him or anyone in particular.

They got outside and made rapid updates to Control and had warning markers placed on the address. Then they hightailed it out of there and began the long process of liaising with Social Services and the Mental Health Practitioners to ensure a long term solution to Steven's problems

It is force policy to now wear ballistic vests at all times outside the police station. For once George was glad he adhered to force orders.

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Page Two - Sudden Death (Copcast #117)

Okay, picture the scene, it was New Years Eve and police had received a call to a 'concern for welfare'. A known drug user hadn't been seen by his family for three weeks and despite living in the same town, they had not bothered to call at the address over Christmas. George was asked to check it out accompanied by a 19-year-old probationer with less than five weeks street experience.

Upon arrival they could see that the window to the front of the kitchen was slightly open and walking up to it got a waft of that smell that no one forgets. Not looking good for the missing drug user so far.

They knocked on the door and called out "Anybody in? It's the police". No answer. They could hear the TV, so someone had been or was still in there and they knocked again, louder. "Come on mate, open the door, we just want to check you are ok". They knew by then that he must be dead and probably had been for some time. His body would be behind the front door somewhere and the heating was probably on as it was below freezing outside. Preparing himself for the worst, George then called up the station on his radio "Um, Control, we’re on scene, TV and lights are on, there is a suspicious smell coming from the window, it doesn't look good. I'm going to force entry".

They had to inform the Control Room that they were going to force entry in case the missing drug user was just a really heavy sleeper and having put the door in, causing damage to it in the process, he was then able to sue the police. That probably wasn't going to be a problem here though.

George called up for a 'Rammit' or 'Enforcer' otherwise known as a 'big red key' that needs to be held in two hands.

The probationer, clearly being driven on adrenaline and keen to see her first corpse, pushed the door and it swung open. Not locked, perhaps he should have checked before calling for the big red lump of metal. Hmmm, the smell was particularly potent, a quick search found the missing individual on his back in the bedroom, completely naked. He had been gone a while, it really wasn't very pretty and he was a funny shade of green, the probationer's enthusiasm started to ebb, but she was not perturbed. George told her to look around to see if there was anything suspicious. "What about him" she replied. He told her that the man was dead and he wasn't going anywhere just yet and anyway, the back windows were also open and the rear patio was unlocked. The place was on the top floor of an apartment block with no access to the rear but they called up the inspector anyway, just to cover their … prospects. The guv’nor turned up, walked about with his clipboard and declared that there were no suspicious circumstances. The deceased was insulin dependant and had no food or meds in the apartment, chances are he had a fix and returned to his apartment and then had a 'hypo', putting him in a coma never to wake up.

The ambulance crew turned up and attached sensors to the body to look for signs of life. A ridiculous spectacle, given his condition, but they had to do it 'by the book' too in order to declare death 'properly'. George felt like shouting "He's dead, dead I tell you" but didn't, they all knew the score.

The inspector then told them to check the back of the body 'just in case'. Yeah okay, they now knew he was playing games with them. If they rolled the body over, given his condition some of him was not going to move with the rest of him. There was no sign of blood anywhere, no weapon and no sign of a struggle. If there was anything suspicious about this death, then only the coroner was going to find it. Then the probationer said, in front of the inspector "shall we get on and search him then?" Great, everyone else left, knowing what is coming next. They took a lungful of clean air then helped each other with a quick roll of the late drug user. The probationer started to gag as she took a too-close-a-look at what was left of the corpse's back (she obviously breathed in). The body was placed back on the floor and George exited very quickly so he could start to breath again.

A very good learning point for the probationer, one she will never forget that's for sure! The undertakers eventually arrived wearing full oversuits and carrying a triple body bag. One of them shook the probationer’s hand on the way out, telling her she was very brave and she’d done remarkably well for her first dead body. George has to agree; at only 19 she is made of stern stuff and he suspects she will go on to great things.

All in all a very sad affair, no-one to check on him and left to die alone in squalor around the Christmas period. Makes you pretty thankful for what you've got. George was certainly more thankful when celebrating the New Year later that day.

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