D&C 2.12 Officer Down

Officer down! 11-99 ( Officer need assistance. )

I was driving on a relaxed mode; having busted the pervert who killed his wife with a paper cutter. The bastard cut her up in all the vital areas, punctured her lungs and heart, and even did more heinous acts that he was ranked as homicidal. I called him pervert for his acts; he used up a dozen blades. Then the call came in when I was turning the corner to picked up Jenny. I radioed in my action, and pulled over at the kerb. Jenny saw my expression and nodded. She had been a police officer wife long enough not to complaint then. I sped off and heard on the radio the next radio call; 10-53 Man down. I reached there after the other uniformed cars have arrived; we are family in the Precinct, and calls warrant us driving recklessly towards the scene. I joined Frank at the scene.

"We got a cop killer." Frank placed it out to me in the plain manner which was why he was made Sargeant. He had been in the force longer than me, and managed to draw a stern face in all cases. Unless we touched his family.

"Third one in the month." That threw out Frank's emotion. He slammed his fist on the car bonnet. I got another officer to pulled him away. Dan had just arrived, and walked past me to the patrol car. He leaned in and saw the dead officer. He did what was needed while I waited. I collected the witnesses statement and it did not added up much.

'I saw the patrol car pulled over and then there was this person in an overcoat talking to the officer. Suddenly on the other side of the car, another person pulled up and shot the officer. They both ran and that was it I saw.'

'I saw the officer talking to the hooker and then she shot him. He probably never pay."

"I saw the dude walked up and shot him. That's all. Can I have the twenty now?'

No reliable witnesses, and no suspects. I looked around and saw a notepad on the pavement. I picked it up. It was a standard pad with no names but there were some writing inside. It was all about economics. I asked one of the officers to bagged it.

The next morning was Hell, with the Commissioner running his rail tracks over us on the runaway train of his, asking us to get the murderer(s) ASAP. He was getting his butt chewed by the networks. I left for the morgue where I reckon he won't laid his tracks over dead bodies.

".45 caliber. Not many of that now with the 9mm more popular, but there are guns which fired .45." I remembered the M1911 I got from one vet who was on my side of the family. None of Jenny's ever fought in any war, they only do family war dances. That gun fired the .45 and darned good.

"The .45 ACP cartridge is a very popular caliber due to its low velocity and fantastic stopping power. This caliber is associated most with the Colt M1911, logically, as ACP literally means 'Automatic Colt Pistol'. However, there are many more guns and variations on the M1911 that are chambered in .45 ACP. The Glock 30, Taurus, H&K, Ruger, and Jericho." Dan was reciting off his enlarged brain inside his inflamed egoist head.

"Jericho? I never heard of that gun." I asked him.

"Baby Eagle, it was named, next to its big cousin, Desert Eagle. Different manufacturer, but equally powerful. It chambered 9mm, .40, .41 and .45. The last one only allowed ten rounds." There was Dan with his wiki-dan. "I had one from a relative of Jenny from Montana. He bought it and gave it to me as birthday present. He said living in the city can be dangerous. Jenny threw the gun into the river the next day. Never seen it since."

Relatives that gives you a gun ought to be commended with the Medal of Valor. Its takes courage to give your relative the gun lest they don't used it to shoot you. Mine excluded; we been sharing guns for nine generations since our forefathers shot at the English for calling us rebels.

Dan offered to checked the ballistics and revert to me. I left him for Di Angelo.

"Frank, during out time, we lost officers too." Di Angelo was trying to calm down Frank.

"Di Angelo, that one was special. He was good at his job. I was asking him to try for Detective; get a career out of the work he was doing. He was to signed up and now he's on Dan table."

"Hey, there is nothing wrong with my table." Dan just walked in. "There are no soft spots but a stiff needed a stiff surface."

Frank walked off in disgust. Dan looked at the departing Sargeant and then back at me.

"What did I say? I was just batting in a joke." Dan started quipping that no one likes his jokes anymore. I was not keen to intervened and let him deal with Di Angelo who served him bad coffee that day. I was rescued by the portable. I got my break from the notepad; it was the notes from nearby night college.

"Detective, is my student in any trouble?" The dean asked me when I stepped into the office of the night college. "We have screened all our students."

I placated him on there was only student whom I was keen on as a potential witness. He offered to check with the notebook when the students come into class. I left it at that and went back to my Precinct. The Commissioner had removed the rails tracks but his poster was plastered on the wall for the dart tryout. He won't last the day where the darts were orally fixated on.

Dan called me to said he matched the gun.

"It was a print from a murder of a police officer five years ago." I remembered the case; Jacobs Gane was gun downed by a punk on the street during his walking beat at the Music Festival. The shooter was apprehended and the gun found. He served time and was still in prison waiting for his final breathe. The gun was in Evidence Room or destroyed after certain years. They are sent to the incinerators for their final disposal. I checked with the Evidence Room and confirmed that the gun was disposed of two years ago. It was not incinerated but sent to scrap yards for disposal.

"They send it to the countries that needed these metals to make other iron parts."

I ran a check on the scrap yard dealer and found that the place was still operational. I paid them a visit.

"Yeah, we got the guns here. But the firing pins are all removed. We dismantled them and then crushed them up. Then we stored them in the bins for shipment." Peter Gant was very helpful; he even showed me how my Glock would looked like after its being crushed. It looked a pile of shit.

So how did the gun made it back to the streets? I had one expert on it.

Archie Bunker was his nicknamed although he looked like De Vito. He was a known felon for guns selling and rental. I had him at the alley with the Desert Eagle under his left armpit facing up.

"Gee, Jimmy. I been cleaned for months now. Since someone gave me the new kneecap." Archie was given the new walking stick when he sold the guns to the wrong party. But he told me something new.

"There were rumors that the cop killer you are looking for ain't from us. Its from your end."

I went back and drew up the records of the officers that died that month. They had clean records, and held no major records of any bust, plus they all graduated in different years. I could not see the coincidences. Then I saw the Commissioner poster.

I found the silver lining in the cloud.

They were all playing darts for the Precinct. They did not win but they were marginally better than the previous team. I drew up the previous team profile. Three of them were in the team; one reserve. Two had retired and one became the coach. His name was Sargeant Frank.

"Yeah, I coached them. I did them fine, but they lack the match experiences." I confronted Frank. "Among the three, Charlie was good. So was Steve and Clarke."

"Were there others?" I asked him. Frank' reply was amusing.

"Sure, more than I could count. Look at the poster. All of them scored on his big ass." Frank placed it bluntly. "But not all could get his prick."

There was two darts on the prick with half a dozen neared it. I took the two darts to Forensics.

One was Frank, and the other was Stephen Wang; second generation migrant with a love for darts. I got Stephen in my room.

"Did you do it?" I asked him bluntly. "You got one minute to answer. If no replies, the case goes to IA."

Every officer hates Internal Affairs. He denied everything. I was left with no choice. I gave my case to the Commissioner. I then walked back to my desk. No one likes another officer to sniffed for IA. I was given the cool treatment. I did some checks on Stephen Wang. He missed the mark when he lost to Charley, but he was never anywhere seen as a threat. They never spoke for sometime but then things cooled off.

Something was missing.

It was Di Angelo who gave me the tip.

"You knew Micheal Stane." I nodded; Evidence Room Supes before he retired last month. He was placed there as he was into racings and anything that gives him the odds. The Commissioner placed him there as he was desk bound, but he was also placed to release the scraps.

Damned!

I went back to Peter Gant. He denied everything thrown at him, but he could not denied that he was seen in the gambling tables with Micheal. He said Micheal still played the high stakes.

"He even played at the Darts Competition. It was 5-1 that your team would win. New kids on the block lost it at the Finals. Micheal lost money on it."

I reported to the Internal Affairs and cleared off Stephen Wang, but I lost his friendship. Micheal was picked up and then he laid it out when Internal Affairs opened a can of worms on his bank statement. Micheal did not shoot them. He fingered them out to other bookies who hired the shooters but they used the same gun that was given by Micheal. He got second degree homicide.

The bookies got freed on lack of evidence.

We never found the shooters.

Peter Gant was terminated as the scrap dealer, and I got more cold shoulders.

Frank recruited me to play dart; "that way they know the odds of wining is 1-10". He never knew I was the college individual champion.

"Di Angelo, why did you place so much sugar in my coffee?" I hollered out.

"Sorry, I forgot. The hands mist had slipped when I poured the sugar in." I banished Di Angelo for two weeks, but soon after I was back. I missed his hot dog.

"Di Angelo, why are there extra mustards on my dog?" I answered myself. "Your hands slipped, I know."

Footnote:

"When a police officer is killed, it's not an agency that loses an officer, it's an entire nation." -Chris Cosgriff, ODMP Founder  Read more: http://www.odmp.org/search/year#ixzz2dJzl312t