Monday, 14 April 2008

Twelve men good and true

I'm put out. I was looking forward to my last shift for 4 days and I receive a phone call. "Tyler, you're warned for Crown Court on Monday 10am court 10." Oh great, first time I've had all my rest days for months and they've been robbed, I don't even remember the case.

I know one thing, I wasn't an arresting officer - why are they doing this to me? I know there's a reason but I don't care to think about it. So the few days off disappear and I trundle down to the local Crown Court. I'm sifting through the file looking for my statement so I can remember what the hell I'm here for. As I do I see the pictures of the victim - beaten to a pulp for twenty quid - an elderly man who'll never be able to see his grandchildren because of the brutal attack. And I see the CCTV pictures of the snarling, cunning suspects after they wrecked this guys life, running onto commit further offences in a horrible early morning crime spree.

That's what I'm here for, in my ridiculously itchy and hot number ones

For the victim.

I speak to the Criminal Protection Service and they say the shits have pleaded guilty for a lesser offence after much persuasion even though the evidence is so overwhelming it would only be a show trial if they went not-guilty. The victim who is now blind wants to proceed for closure, the CPS don't want to because there's risk with sending this to trial.

I wait for hours, nervous because I want to do what is right.

The pleas for the lesser offence are accepted. At least I get my second day off. I don't think the victim feels the same...

Medical issues

Just your bog standard saturday night duty, twelve hours where anything can happen. When I used to drive into work I'd put on something uplifting to gear me up for these famously violent and busy nights - usually Muse did the trick.

Tonight though nothings going on. I have some tea and am not dragged out halfway through with a burnt throat - strange. My colleague and I do some targetted patrolling and decide to stop for a bite to eat while we can. We're sent a few non-urgent jobs that can wait til later and I scoff down my chicken nuggets.

"Can we have a unit please, 46 Letsby Avenue, stabbing at the location, victim is not conscious, not breathing"
A huge list of call signs 'put up' for it and we end up screaming down the main road with blue lights bouncing off the road signs in a very noisy convoy. We're second on scene along with about 5 other units, there's two ambulances outside the address and an FRU. The unit already in the address hasn't updated us - this is usually a bad sign because it means they're either too busy dealing with something major or they're in trouble. Anyway, we poke our heads in and everyone's looking rather relaxed - except the poor bloke who's missing half his face and swearing in Polish. At least he's conscious AND breathing - we're looking at slightly less than a murder here so we shoot off to an RTC.

Car vs Motorcycle - I try and go to these being a motorcyclist myself I like to help out. The man's not badly injured but the units on scene have ambulances and debris in the road and they need someone to direct traffic. Hi-Viz on and I'm there for a good half hour directing traffic with a colleague. Some people completely ignore me, some don't even see me despite the bright yellow reflective jacket. Turns out the rider was going along the main road when a car decided it didn't have to give way or look and took him out. It reminded me that no matter who's fault it is if you're on the bike - it's gonna hurt.

After this we grab some proper food and on the way past a youth club there's a large group standing outside. My colleague says to me "It's gonna kick off there tonight"

We sit down and dig in - half way through my kebab we get a call to said youth club - stabbing at the location so we drop our half eaten grub and race down there. We can't find the victim so my unit decide to do an area search while we leave another car at scene.

Beep-beep-beep the emergency button on someone else's radio is activated. I know the whole borough is all ears. We hear something garbled about a gunshot and race to our colleague. On approach we see them and the ambulances all blue lighting it away. They must be okay then. The armed response turn up in good time and find a teenager outside with a entry and exit wound in his shoulder. He gets taken to the local hospital while everyone looks for the gunman but the description could be anyone. I meet the victim at the hospital and to my surprise he hasn't lost consciousness. The paramedic who was with him has done a very good job and asked every question I would have and hands the information over to me. Well done that man. So I start a log noting everyone who visits him - I only allow family in.

I overhear the doctors speaking and they say the bullets missed every bone, every blood vessel and every nerve on its way in and out. This guy is truly lucky.

I sat there in the resus department and looked at the 5 beds. Three of the beds were occupied by people I had dealt with that evening. The Polish chap, the motorcyclist and now the wounded teenager. I don't think that's happened to me before!

It was a manic night - but I got off on time.... which was nice

Sunday, 6 April 2008


Not much going on in the UKPS at the moment so a lack of posts. I could tell you about the numerous domestics I've been to but they're all the same. They're all a rich mixture of Stella Artois, childishness, false allegations and different proportions.

As it was snowing today not much was going on except me being very careful driving the car around the greasy roads. "Ping" one of the weekend arrest enquiries for Mr S.Callywag who has breached his tagged curfew cos he's been out on the lash arrives on the box... Still, its Sunday and everyone else is getting similar incidents sent through so I decide to show willing. I arrive at the address and climb out of the car with snow covering my goretex.

I knock on the door quite hard and hear a "just a minute". I'm not concerned at the delay its early on a Sunday morning and he's hardly wanted for murder. The door opens and the mother greets me, she asks what he's done now - I tell her and she rolls her eyes. Typical nonchalant mother of the underclass, I think.

Wakey wakey mister
Mr S "But its Sunday morning"
ST "I know and I've been up since 5"
Mr S "You're gonna nick me aren't you"
ST "Yup!"

I do that bit and since I know he's just woken up and there are no windows in the toilet I let him use it. He knows he's going to be in til court the next morning and has a sly cigarette in there, I would! I speak to his mother who is now crying - less nonchalant, I think.

I ask her what's wrong and she says he's out of control, he's been inside a lot (even though he's only a juvenile so its a YOI*) and smokes weed constantly, he has ADHD, he drinks and gets nicked all the time (really?!). He bullies and belittles her and she can't believe he's her son. The sob story rolls off like water off a duck's back.

Then she says "You know it's my birthday today? You coming here and taking him away is the best present I've had so far..."

It saddened me how genuinely she meant the last comment. It also shattered my stereotype I'd had when I knocked on the door earlier. Of the mother... not the toerag.


P.S I promise I'll try and post more