By the time he made it to the parking lot John had already switched gears – he had his game face on.

An hour later, when his partner hit the lights and siren and pushed their police car to the limit, John spoke into the radio when assigned a priority one domestic call in an area not unlike where he lived.

“Ten four, we’re only a few blocks out.”

————

Gunpowder.  Strong and fresh.

Other than the cries of a young child there was silence.  There was no time to wait.

John signalled to his partner and the two men buttonhooked through the open doorway.

————

Blood and brain matter were speckled across the wall.  The smell of copper hung on everything, heavy and wet.  The crying child was sitting on the floor next to the body of a woman, a widening pool of blood engulfing them both.

Sweeping his arms with the arc of his gun and trying to take in everything at once, John’s gaze stutter-stepped on a man sitting on the couch. He was very much alive, the proof of which was the chattering of metal on teeth as the muzzle of a gun the man had stuffed into his mouth trembled with the decision on whether or not he should pull the trigger.  The man’s eyes were huge and tears slipped down his cheeks.  He shook his head slowly from side to side, a faint keening from his chest making the hairs on the back of John’s neck stiffen.

————

Police! Drop the gun!

For several moments John hung in the tenuous balance between saviour and enforcer. Having never trained as a negotiator John suspected he was about to get a crash course on the subject.

Drop the gun!

All he got in response was a cement stare.  The man had quieted and was watching him. It was unnerving.  Seeing the man had no intention of putting the gun down, John switched his approach without even realizing it.

Let us get to your baby, make sure she’s okay.

The man looked at John, looked to the body on the floor, and then back to John.  The man’s lips pulled back in a grimace but the muzzle stayed rooted firmly in his mouth. Slowly, he nodded.

Thank you, we just want to make sure she’s okay.  Please, put the gun down.

Under John’s watch his partner made a wide berth around the man and towards the toddler. The child’s face screwed up into a scream, her chubby cheeks red with the stress of sitting beside her dead mother.  John’s partner used one hand to scoop her up into the crook of his elbow, and then he shielded her with his body as he retreated back out of the room.

She’s okay, she’s going to be fine.  But I really need you to put the gun down, okay?

Time slowed.  John gave himself over to the line of tension between himself and the gunman, telling the man he was there for him, feeling like a broken record for the number of times he told the man to put the gun down.  What did real negotiators say?  Did they have a cheater book of subjects to broach when faced with a person seemingly intent on blowing their brains out?  John saw the man’s thumb in the trigger guard and wondered how sensitive the trigger was.  And just above that, the man’s eyes pleaded with him to make everything go back to the way it was.  Sorry man, it’s much too late for that, is what John thought.

It’s okay, everything is going to work out, is what he said.

Moments ticked by.  A touch on John’s arm let him know he had other officers there to help, but his attention was on the man in front of him.

The man finally wrenched the gun from his mouth, badly cutting his lip.  Not once did he point it at John or the other officers; John would have shot him if he had.  The man wailed; he was sorry, so sorry, he hadn’t meant to kill her, he had only meant to scare her, he couldn’t live without her, now he should do everyone a favour and kill himself.

It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to, just put the gun down, please.

Finally, the man did.  The gun made a hollow sound on the coffee table and the man fell back into the couch cushions, his entire body spent with the reek of defeat.

John couldn’t hear what else the man was saying over the rushing sound of his own heartbeat but he murmured words of reassurance to give himself the second he needed to snatch the gun up and place him into handcuffs.  Later, John’s arms would ache from holding his own gun up, but for now, John had the strength of a bull and he half-walked, half-carried the despondant man past the body of his wife.

————

Outside, John helped place the man on an ambulance gurney.  A short distance away his partner was checking on the little girl but John could not bring himself to look at her, to make her loss more real.  It was sad enough without actually seeing the little girl’s blond curls and seeing the shadow of her mother. John watched other officers escort the man away and then his thoughts turned to his own wife and the friends still at the barbeque.  He knew they wouldn’t believe him if were he to call and tell them what had happened in the last hour and a half, and he was sure they wouldn’t really comprehend how much this call changed everything.

How he would never be able to rid himself of the sight of the man calling his dead wife’s name even as her blood congealed on the carpet at his feet, her hair in a halo around her destroyed face.  The little girl sitting in the pool of blood, her diaper soaked through, a handful of her mothers shirt in her tiny fist as she screamed her fear into the air.

How reality seemed to slip for a moment – he had cherished the softness of his wife’s hair against the back of his hand when he leaned in for a kiss, not knowing that an hour later he would be negotiating with another husband who had shot his own wife in the face.

John took a moment and took several deep breaths to keep from becoming overwhelmed. Then he walked over to where his partner was waiting at their police car and the two of them leaned back against the trunk.

Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

Years later, I’m not sure media outlets intentionally getting it wrong.  Yes, sometimes media coverage of a significant police-involved event is either inaccurate, unfair or biased (depending on the source – there are a few nay-sayers who take advantage of every situation to cry foul), but other times the media is forced to run with what little they have because the police have released little to no information.

When police say “No comment” or “We’re unable to answer your questions at this point” it means police cannot talk about what has happened – usually for several reasons, the most important of which is the integrity of the investigation.

I’ve been involved in an incident or two that has ended up with media coverage – what officer hasn’t?  Being the person I am, I then watched the news and read the papers.  Most of the time news coverage is a basic report on facts released by the VPD Media Section, but a few times I’ve gotten really upset/angry when coverage is not accurate or because one of the nay-sayers is able hold court while police have to refrain from commenting.

Take, for instance, news coverage when there has been a homicide involving the high risk arrest of the suspect.  For the sake of this post we’ll use the example of a fictional homicide.  Newspaper coverage might read something like this:

Vancouver police arrested a man late last night after responding to a shots fired call in the Kitsilano area.  A 35 year old man was taken into custody after the body of a 33 year old woman was found inside a home on W. 7th Ave.  A two year old child was also located inside the home, uninjured, and is currently in the care of the Ministry.  Police are not releasing the names of the parties involved, but according to neighbours the man and woman were in a common-law relationship.

If on television the story might be accompanied by video of the street and/or house and an interview with a neighbour.  Once the clip is finished or the newspaper folded and placed in the recycling bin the story is most often not even thought about until the next news clip is broadcast or the next paper is delivered.

But for those involved in the case the incident becomes all-consuming.  Police, other emergency responders such as EHS and the Fire Department, witnesses, family members, friends and loved ones – everyone has an invested interest in the case.  When I say loved ones I’m not only talking about the loved ones of the victims and suspects, but those of first responders as well.

If you read the above ‘news release’ you might spend a few moments wondering about the people involved and placate yourself with the notion that something similar would not happen in your neighbourhood.  And I’m willing to bet that an hour later the incident would have slipped from your mind.

Now I want you to give it a second thought.  This time think about what the officers responding to the call had to go through.  Think about what they saw, what they said, what they had to do to uphold the law and ensure peace and security.  Think about the absolute worst thing a human could do to another human and then times that by ten.  We humans are a nasty bunch when we want to be, and the nature of police work brings officers into contact with monsters everyday.

It’s a reality.  There is so much story behind what is in the news, and it is the story that changes lives for those who respond to the call.

Tomorrow, I’m going to give you an inside look into the ‘homicide’ reported on above.  All I ask is you take note of what is mentioned in the news and what took place from the police officer’s point of view.  Similar in basic facts?  Yes.

But that’s where the similarity ends.

My partner hit the lights and rocketed our police car towards the call, as did units from all over the district. I didn’t bother telling dispatch to put us on the call as her updates were rapid machine-gun fire. She would know we were going.

We were still a few blocks away when other units arrived at the scene and gave chase on foot after the running suspect. I braced one foot against the sidewall and the other against the door as my partner tried to beat the devil by slaloming through stopped traffic. In a series of quick broadcasts, officers had the suspect at gunpoint and were yelling for the suspect to drop the knife. 

The following few silent moments were an eternity. The kind of silent moments were everything hangs in a balance, waiting to be tipped either way. The kind of silent moments where, as a responding officer or a dispatcher not able to see what’s happening, your mind turns to the worst possible scenario. Was the suspect going to charge the officers and force them to shoot? Or would the suspect drop the knife and surrender? As we pulled into the block the next broadcast let us know the scale had tipped in favour of the suspect’s life. 

“One in custody,” an officer’s voice came over the air.

My partner didn’t miss a beat. He cranked the steering wheel, sending our car into a tight, tire-squealing turn towards the house where the call had originated from.

When we pulled up we saw a neighbor standing on the grass between two homes. His face was ashen and he looked to be in shock when he raised his arm and pointed at the house closest to us. It’s the little things you notice at times like these and the man’s half un-tucked shirt and disheveled hair were a clear indication that all was not right. He was a man I took to always be presentable and in control, and for him to have run his hands through his hair forcing it into little spikes that stuck up all over his head was a bad sign. 

My partner ran to contain the front door as I ran to the man and peppered him with questions. How many suspects? He didn’t know. How many victims? Just one. Where? Inside, the bedroom. Is he alive? I don’t know, he said, tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. I touched his arm, told him we would do everything to help his friend, and left him standing there, alone. 

I came up behind my partner and placed my hand on his shoulder. His body was tense, as tight as a spring and when he glanced at me I knew he saw the same readiness. We were joined by a third officer; my partner and I nodded at the new comer, a Sergeant, and he nodded back. A moment later our plan was set and the three of us made entry into the home.

The only sounds were a soft squeak from my shoe on the linoleum and the slow inhale/exhale as we three became one, moving together through the eerily silent house. Pointing directions, not a word uttered, we crossed the floor in a line, then button-hooked through a doorway and crept down a hallway. Each room was quiet. Too quiet. Only a few scattered papers in the immaculate home gave a hint to what had happened.

Then, in a glimpse, we found him. 

He wasn’t gone, not yet. His neck was warm when I pressed my fingers up under the angle of his jaw, the faint gurgling from his blood-filled mouth as his body went through the motions of trying to gasp for just one more breath. 

He was dying. A person doesn’t turn that particular shade of gray unless their soul is in the process of going on to some other place. But in those final moments, as I rolled him onto his side and cleared his airway, I took his hand and talked fiercely into his ear, hoping beyond hope that a part of him could hear me and know he wasn’t alone as he made the journey.

“It’s the police. We’re here. You’re safe now, I’m not going to leave you.”

The Sergeant motioned for me to stay with him and I nodded, training my gun on the now empty doorway as he and my partner continued to clear the house. 

I let go of the man’s hand and felt my way back up to his neck. This time, only silence. My chest hitched, I swallowed, took a deep breath. Taking his hand again in mine, I straightened my back and leaned further over his inert form to keep watch. 

Minutes went by. From below, the sounds of breaking wood as my partner and the Sergeant kicked in a locked door. Then quiet. Nothing, until a thumbs-up hand appeared in the doorway. My partner, letting me know the house was clear and that he was back. I must have looked a bit like a wild thing, because his look of concern was palatable.

“He’s gone,” I said, patting the man’s chest.

“It’s okay, we did everything we could. Let the the paramedics and Fire do their thing,” he said, coming to my side and ushering me out of the room.

We stepped out of the way as medical personnel filled the tiny room. I had to turn away, unable to watch as the man’s limp form was slung onto the floor, as tubes and needles were inserted, as machines were hooked up.

That’s when I turned off the emotions. I still had a job to do. Needed to make a crime scene sketch, seal off the house, write my evidence. It wasn’t until later, back at the station, that I noticed a small smear of blood on my sleeve.  My partner saw me sitting there, staring at it.

“It sucks, doesn’t it?” he said.

“Yeah, it does.”

“He was going to die.  There wasn’t anything we could have done.  You know that, don’t you?” he asked.

I nodded.

“We did okay, Sandra,” he said, “Sometimes that has to be enough.”

I nodded again, knowing he was right.

• Fri., Feb 6th – a 26 year old gang associate was gunned down and killed in the parking lot of a busy Langley mall in front of a multitude of innocent bystanders.
• Sun., Feb 8th – a 28 year old man was shot and injured in the 2000 block West Broadway in Vancouver.  He has remained uncooperative with police.
• Wed., Feb 11th, 0400 hrs - A car and a truck played a dangerous game of cat and mouse as they chased one another around the gas pumps of a Langley gas station, firing rounds from semi-automatic weapons at one another.  It really is a miracle they didn’t blow the entire block sky high.  There was some amazing surveillance video of the incident that has since been seized as evidence.  The truck was later found abandoned and bullet-riddled.
• Wed., Feb 11th, 1800 hrs – a 23 year old man was shot and killed inside a residence in Vancouver in what appears to be a targeted hit.
• Thurs., Feb 12th – Four people were taken into police custody after shots were fired outside a residence in Burnaby. 
• I get the feeling I may have forgotten about at least one shooting, but there have been so many I’ve lost track…

Several of the recent shootings have taken place in very public locations.  I echo the thoughts of other law enforcement officers when I say we are very concerned about the level of violence, and the threat these incidents pose to members of the public. 

Checking for gang members isn’t something I normally do in my off-duty time, but last weekend, as I stepped out of my personal vehicle at a local market, I took a few moments to look around and make sure the ‘coast was clear’ before heading in to do my shopping. And I’m not the only one making these checks – other officers I’ve talked to have been doing the same, so you know it’s a concern when we’re thinking about this when not actively working.

Other news from in and around Vancouver:

• In a senseless tragedy, Dr. Aneez Mohamed, 31, and his fiance, Chanelle Morgan, 25, were struck and killed as they were walking on W 4th Ave near the entrance to Granville Island late in the evening of February 7th.  The driver of the suspect vehicle struck the couple from behind, then crashed the vehicle and fled the scene on foot, leaving two teenage passengers in the vehicle.  He was tracked down and apprehended by a police dog.  Kurtis William Rock, 18,  is charged with two counts of dangerous driving causing death, two counts of impaired driving causing death, failure to stop at the scene of an accident causing bodily harm, theft over $5000 and possession of stolen property over $5000.

Dr. Aneez Mohamed & Chanelle Morgan

• The Vancouver Police Department issued a Public Warning on a High Risk Offender.  “Stafford Marvel Lake poses a risk of significant harm to the safety of adult women” - for full details and photographs of Lake, please see the VPD Media Releases Page dated 2009.02.12.

Blogging News:

• Michael Cox, a 53 year old Vancouver area bus driver, says he was fired after publishing a blog detailing his experiences as a bus driver.  Union CAW111, which represents bus drivers, confirmed it was the blog, Short Turns, and its content that triggered Cox’s dismissal, who at the time was a probationary (new) employee.  It appears Cox was critical of the Coast Mountain Bus Company’s service plans during the recent snow storms. Lesson learned, I guess.  “The Internet is forever.” 

That’s it for this week.  To all of you working this weekend, be safe.  To everyone else, have a good weekend, and see you on Monday.

Benjamin Banky

 First. locally, there was the Christmas party shooting in Vancouver.  The owner of the business where the incident took place, forty year old Benjamin Banky, was killed by an ex-employee during the staff Christmas Party.  The suspect was arrested after a tense standoff with police, and no one else was physically injured.  The incident is still under investigation, so I cannot comment further than to say my condolences go out to Mr. Banky’s family.

K9 Carson & Sgt. Scott Dunn

 On the same day, in Giles County, Tennessee, Police Service Dog Carson was accidentally shot and killed while searching a building during a break and enter.  I say ‘accidental’ as it was an officer from another agency who shot Carson.  How tragic for everyone involved.  Even though this incident is not local, as a police dog handler, I have to mention it.  My thoughts are with Carson’s handler, Sgt. Scott Dunn, as he mourns the loss of his partner.  RIP K9 Carson.

On a more positive note, the Vancouver Police Department released the results of ‘Project Oldtimer’, where two officers went undercover and posed as senior citizens in areas of the Downtown Eastside where robberies on seniors were becoming more frequent and increasingly violent.  Kudos to Inspector Tim Laidler and Sgt. Toby Hinton for volunteering for this dangerous assignment.  The full story can be read on the VPD website – there’s even a video produced by the Odd Squad that shows the makeover Hinton got at the hands of some very talented special effects artists.  Great job guys & gals!  Kudos are also due for Cst. Christiane Prevost and the other officers involved in making ‘Project Oldtimer’ a success.

I spent many years working in the Downtown Eastside, and it’s a good thing these officer’s have done.  Hopefully their actions make the streets a little safer for the more vulnerable residence who call the DTES home.

That’s all for this week, everyone.  Have a good weekend!

Sandra