|Report (standard:action, 1168 words)|
|Author: Phred||Added: Dec 18 2007||Views/Reads: 1858/1051||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A police officer, just off duty, makes out a report.|
REPORT The sleet had been falling against the windows of the village offices all night with a light but steady hiss. In her blue uniform and with her long black hair rolled into a bun, Officer Mary Mueller of the Saline Crossing , Nebraska Police sat at a desk in the bland green day room (it had been painted this color because someone felt that bland green was very soothing and would help defuse an agitated drunk. Whoever came up with THAT had not faced very many agitated drunks, she thought), a cup of hot, strong, and black coffee next to her (why should she buy fancy stuff that nobody could pronounce at sixteen times the price), filling out her first incident report. An incident report is a report that she has to complete for every major incident of each eight-hour shift. There were are three officers on duty, one per shift (Emergency Services 9-1-1 was taken in the county seat, Pleasant Valley, and radioed to the officer on duty; the Antelope County Sheriff backed up the officer on duty if necessary); she had just gone off duty and had two incidents to report. Even though it was sleeting outside, she was anxious to leave the warm room crowded with desks and chairs, file cabinets, weapons lockers, and the other paraphernalia of officialdom. She wanted to see Leroy that day partly because her class in sociology (which she was taking as she needed a college degree in order to work for Scottsbluff (at 75 miles away, the nearest city with a decent police department)) was going rather badly and he could help with a few of the questions. She was only carrying a B+ average, which was not good enough for her. But as he was a day worker, getting together took planning. After filling in all the identity blanks of the first report (name of officer, location, date of incident, etc), she began the narrative section. “At 0212 (2:12AM), Dispatch radioed that the residents around Twelfth and Locust Streets were being bothered by someone in a dark blue or black Ford. License number was unknown. It was allegedly squealing tires and racing around corners in that area. No resident was getting sleep, a very important commodity in an agriculturally based community. “I investigated. A young Caucasian male in a jean jacket, light tan shirt, denim trousers was driving a ten-year-old black Ford sedan (not reported stolen) erratically. He was at least six feet tall, black hair, light green eyes, no distinguishing marks, no National Crime Information Center watches or warrants. “After stopping the vehicle and determining that the only ordinances that were being violated were the ordinances against noise pollution, I gave the driver a choice. I could either escort him to the village limits or I could escort him to jail. The trip to the village limits went uneventfully.” Satisfied with the first report, she turned to the second, more difficult report. Again, she filled out the identifying data, and, after thinking over the incident in question and consulting her notes, wrote, “At 0315 (3:15 AM), Dispatch asked me to check on Deputy William Watson, who had been sent to the Haven Apartments at 825 Pawnee Street to serve a warrant. When I arrived there, the first-floor apartment's door was ajar. Deputy Watson was lying on the ground, and there appeared to be blood on his shirt and trousers. A female (approximately five feet, seven inches tall, slender, wearing jeans and a red shirt) stepped to the door, holding what I took to be a high-powered hunting rifle. I screamed at her to put it down, but she raised it, so I put two rounds into the doorway (I was NOT aiming at the doorway). She moved back into the apartment and shut the door. “I took this opportunity to drag Deputy Watson to the relative safety of my car. Ice crunched under his body as I moved it. I checked him over; the wounds were fairly serious, so I told him he would be up and about in no time (neither of us believed it). I then radioed Dispatch and apprised them of the situation. I could not tend to Deputy Watson, evacuate the three-story apartment complex, and establish a perimeter at the same time, so I worked on Deputy Watson (his wife and three children were more important, I thought). I put some bandages tightly on him to stop the bleeding, and then put his feet on my tire jack as he was going into shock. I kept an eye on the door of the apartment; the suspect did not leave the apartment. Click here to read the rest of this story (52 more lines)
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