Read Online Copp On Ice, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online
Authors: Don Pendleton
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seems to point toward the use of excessive force—and then it's even more difficult. If you have an officer wounded in the fracas, then the scales automatically tip toward the cops. If not, then there is always the question of judgment and intent on the part of the officers involved in the shooting.
No reasonable person would expect a cop to shoot only when shot at; that is never the issue. An old maxim at police academies says that "he who shoots first, shoots last," and that is often the case in real situations. But an officer is supposed to be capable of exercising split-second judgment, to know in that split-second if his own life is or is not in danger, and to shoot only if it is. That is what all the training is about, and that is why we have shooting reviews every time an officer's gun is discharged. There are, unfortunately, some overly fearful cops who shoot reflexively in a confrontation which they perceive as dangerous, and sometimes it turns out that the victim was not even armed. More unfortunately—and much more rarely, I hope—there are still cops in this land who are willing and eager to shoot upon the slightest provocation, and who take the greatest satisfaction in doing so.
I offer all of this so it's clear that all of these thoughts were in my mind that morning in Brighton at the scene of the latest shooting. I knew it had been a "shooting chase" that produced the result because I had been running with my windows down and had heard the gunfire live as well as via the radio. I had also heard one officer report via radio during the chase that he was receiving gunfire, as a caution to the intercepting unit, and a variety of weapons were recovered from the burned-out vehicle.
But there was no damage to any of the police vehicles nor any other evidence that bullets had moved in both directions during the incident. By the time I had arrived within eyeball range it was all over. All I saw was the suspects seated upright in the crashed remains of the burning vehicle, neither resisting or struggling to get clear before the gas tank exploded, six gloating officers standing well clear with weapons still raised and ready—and I could not erase from my mind the feeling that those guys would have been giving one another victorious "high fives" if I had not been there.
The victims were burned beyond any attempt at recognition and it was some time before the wreckage had cooled enough for anything more than a cursory examination. The patrolmen involved were relieved on the spot and sent back to the PD to write their reports and prepare for a shooting review. The haggard looking homicide chief, Ramirez, took over at the scene. It had been quite a night for him. I hung around until the bodies were transported, then went to my office and crashed on the couch until eight o'clock, slept maybe two hours as my purchase on the oncoming day, showered and put on fresh clothing and had breakfast at a nearby McDonald's while going over a copy of the dispatcher's log for the night.
Saturdays are normally quiet at any PD, same as any other offices with a forty-hour work week. Brighton was no exception, even at such a strained time. I finished breakfast before nine and was going through the files in my office when a pleasingly attractive woman of about forty placed herself in my open doorway and greeted me. "Chief Copp?"
Dark hair cut close and curly, trim body, dressed casually in knee-length shorts and a clingy jersey blouse, sneakers—very pretty with intelligent eyes and expectant lips. "I'm Marilyn DiAngelo, your secretary."
I gave her a quick up and down, smiled, and replied, "Even on Saturday?"
"Do you need me? I just stopped by to..."
"How'd you know?"
"Grapevine." She had a very nice smile. "You're the talk of the town."
"Already?"
"Sounds like you had a crazy night."
"You heard about that
No reasonable person would expect a cop to shoot only when shot at; that is never the issue. An old maxim at police academies says that "he who shoots first, shoots last," and that is often the case in real situations. But an officer is supposed to be capable of exercising split-second judgment, to know in that split-second if his own life is or is not in danger, and to shoot only if it is. That is what all the training is about, and that is why we have shooting reviews every time an officer's gun is discharged. There are, unfortunately, some overly fearful cops who shoot reflexively in a confrontation which they perceive as dangerous, and sometimes it turns out that the victim was not even armed. More unfortunately—and much more rarely, I hope—there are still cops in this land who are willing and eager to shoot upon the slightest provocation, and who take the greatest satisfaction in doing so.
I offer all of this so it's clear that all of these thoughts were in my mind that morning in Brighton at the scene of the latest shooting. I knew it had been a "shooting chase" that produced the result because I had been running with my windows down and had heard the gunfire live as well as via the radio. I had also heard one officer report via radio during the chase that he was receiving gunfire, as a caution to the intercepting unit, and a variety of weapons were recovered from the burned-out vehicle.
But there was no damage to any of the police vehicles nor any other evidence that bullets had moved in both directions during the incident. By the time I had arrived within eyeball range it was all over. All I saw was the suspects seated upright in the crashed remains of the burning vehicle, neither resisting or struggling to get clear before the gas tank exploded, six gloating officers standing well clear with weapons still raised and ready—and I could not erase from my mind the feeling that those guys would have been giving one another victorious "high fives" if I had not been there.
The victims were burned beyond any attempt at recognition and it was some time before the wreckage had cooled enough for anything more than a cursory examination. The patrolmen involved were relieved on the spot and sent back to the PD to write their reports and prepare for a shooting review. The haggard looking homicide chief, Ramirez, took over at the scene. It had been quite a night for him. I hung around until the bodies were transported, then went to my office and crashed on the couch until eight o'clock, slept maybe two hours as my purchase on the oncoming day, showered and put on fresh clothing and had breakfast at a nearby McDonald's while going over a copy of the dispatcher's log for the night.
Saturdays are normally quiet at any PD, same as any other offices with a forty-hour work week. Brighton was no exception, even at such a strained time. I finished breakfast before nine and was going through the files in my office when a pleasingly attractive woman of about forty placed herself in my open doorway and greeted me. "Chief Copp?"
Dark hair cut close and curly, trim body, dressed casually in knee-length shorts and a clingy jersey blouse, sneakers—very pretty with intelligent eyes and expectant lips. "I'm Marilyn DiAngelo, your secretary."
I gave her a quick up and down, smiled, and replied, "Even on Saturday?"
"Do you need me? I just stopped by to..."
"How'd you know?"
"Grapevine." She had a very nice smile. "You're the talk of the town."
"Already?"
"Sounds like you had a crazy night."
"You heard about that
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