Chapter 2 - I was Better but I Got Over It
Chapter 2
I was Better but I Got Over it
At times we would get the occasional request to assist another jurisdiction searching for a robbery fugitive. Such was the case this day when we got a call from the New York City Police Department.
It was July and it was freakin' hot. I answered the phone about 9 o'clock that morning in the Robbery-Homicide Office and spoke with the detective supervisor from NYC. He needed help in locating a fugitive wanted on a probation violation for robbery. It wasn't exactly routine, but not anything we wouldn't handle either. I took the name down and, much to my surprise, they actually had an address they thought he might be at. The address was in public housing in our poorest community. The area was a haven for every kind of degenerate mingled in with some very nice, but very financially trapped people in this cultural den of iniquity.
I assembled my team of detectives, notified the patrol division, and created a hasty plan to approach and search this address. I had a good description of my man, his name, and as much history on him as I could get from the detective that briefed me over the phone. The most important piece of information I can ever have in a manhunt is to know what my prey is capable of; and yes, I said prey. I don't hunt rabbit, squirrel, or bear. I hunt men. If you ever hunt a man, you'll soon lose the desire to hunt anything else. There is no more dangerous predator in the world than man. Man is unpredictable, intelligent, wiley, and capable of the most heinous acts with the least motivation. I would rather appreciate the beauty of a deer than kill one these days. Truth be told, I like them better than most people.
The briefing comprised a aerial map of the apartment building and complex, three patrol officers that were sent to assist, and my team of detectives. I began the briefing with the telephone call and the reason for the mission. Then an overview of the man we were searching for. I drilled the detective on the phone earlier for all the information I could get on this guy. I wanted to know his work history, family ties, criminal history, and the whole story on why he was running. I knew he was convicted of Robbery, but just what was his M.O.; how did he do it? Did he use a gun? Did he beat his prey? In other words, just how violent is he? How much resistance should I expect, and what kind? Unfortunately the detective just didn't have the answers to a lot of these questions. When that happens you try to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. Murphy's laws of combat, Rule 10, says it best: "No plan survives the first initial contact." Still, we do what we can. I made assignments that placed two uniform officers at the back door with a shield and a shotgun. The third was to be at the front door with my detectives and me to provide a uniform presence (many people who fire on officers at an entry point will later claim they didn't know they were police. The uniform presence helps with that defense). The Robbery Unit detectives would stack at the front door while I provided cover with a shotgun behind a nearby oak tree for the front windows overhead. I had hard copies of the NCIC hit from the computer which would serve as my probable cause for arrest should we find this guy. We didn't have enough "Probable Cause" to obtain a Search Warrant, so this was going to be strictly a "Knock and Talk" operation. Not the most ideal since you lose the element of surprise when you knock... nonetheless.. we knocked.
The apartment was a two story, three bedroom with living room and kitchen downstairs and bedrooms upstairs. The staircase was just inside the entrance to the apartment on the left side of the door. This was low income housing and these apartments weren't the best made. The windows were single pane glass, mostly double windows. The front door was hollow pressed wood, and the exterior, vinyl. They were hastily made of the cheapest materials and not designed to last a long time. They were public housing designed for the poorest of people, made by the cheapest bidder.
The team moved quietly across the parking lot to the corner of the building, then formed their stack as they moved quickly and deliberately to the door. Knocks turned into bangs and shouts as time passed and nobody came to the door. I've learned that in these situations the squeaky wheel usually gets the oil. In other words, I can last longer knocking on that door than the person inside can last hiding or avoiding me. While that may not always pan out, it works more times than not when I think someone's inside. People by nature have a fight or flight instinct. When they think their hiding place has been compromised they'll try something else, even if that's to answer the door and become an actor. That's the response when someone at the door just won't go away.
We knocked for what seemed like an eternity, but in actuality was more probably like 10 minutes. We could hear movement in the apartment.. actually, more like feel it though the thin exterior walls and door. I steadied the shotgun at the upstairs double window overlooking the team. The longer this situation played out the more nervous I was getting. So was the team. They took turns moving around in the stack so that each took a turn at knocking, while another steadied the shield across the lower window protecting the contact team.
As the Robbery Unit Sergeant I had more experience than most men in my team, save one.. Renard Miller. Renard was a strapping man; fit, strong, intelligent, and proper. He was every bit of my height at 6'2 and outweighed me at over 215 pounds. His suits were tailor made and he was the kind of man that would tell the truth in the face of certain disaster; the kind I admired and relied upon. Renard and I had many talks. Some about current issues, some about leadership philosophy, others about religion. He was a Christian.. like me. We were all warriors.. just some more fierce than others. Renard was a Christian, and my friend.
Russ Sawyer was also a Christian. I knew his children, where they went to school, his wife, and much about his life. Mike Poole was a true investigator when he wanted to be. His weakness was that he didn't know when to shut up. He was hysterically funny, and used humor to break uncomfortable silence and nervous tension; sometimes to his detriment. There was one occasion at a Crimes Meeting when one particular Deputy Chief instructed me to never, ever, give Mike Poole the microphone again. I passed on the memo.. and we all had a hard laugh.
The door suddenly opened and a black male with dread locks stood in the doorway... not the description we had been given, but I saw the team rush into the foyer and the male fall against the steps. As the team cleared the doorway I safed the shotgun and moved to the covered overhang at the door. I needed to see what we had. The team had him pinned to the stairs and were holding on him with cover going up the stairs and into the living room. I instructed a clear team into the downstairs and stayed at the door providing long gun coverage to both teams. With the downstairs cleared, the male was handcuffed and moved to a couch as the clear team posted on the stairs with the shield. We identified the male and attempted to gain intelligence on the suspect we were looking for in the house. He wouldn't give us anything except his name; mistake number one. We got an NCIC hit for a probation violation out of New York; coincidentally, the same city that our target was wanted out of. Unfortunately for him, I don't believe in coincidences. There was no doubt in my mind that this guy was either OUR guy, or was traveling WITH our guy! This is how probable cause is born.
We grilled him for several minutes in the living room as our cover team held on the stairs. We still had a shield team out back comprised of two patrol officers and a detective, so I felt pretty secure at that point. We weren't; however, getting anywhere with this guy. He didn't deny he knew him, but wouldn't tell us anything. Sometimes it's what people don't say that speaks volumes. He wasn't a good actor. He shut down and just looked straight ahead with utter contempt for us. That told me two things: he knew the guy, and he was probably here somewhere. Since we had cleared the downstairs, we were going up.
The stairs were narrow. Just big enough for the shield bearer and controller; pistols only. There was a hallway at the top of the stairs that opened up back toward the front of the apartment. I was useless with the shotgun at the bottom and had to wait until they cleared the upstairs landing and reached a safe stopping point. The shield bearer held at the entrance to the bathroom at the top of the stairs while the controller cleared that room alone; small room, just big enough for one man to clear. They called me up as the shield team held on the rest of the hallway doors. I quickly moved up the stairs and into the bathroom behind them, holding long gun coverage down the hall as they then moved into the bedroom to the immediate left rear. The second bedroom door to the left was closed; however the bedroom door at the end of the hallway was wide open. That was my immediate threat, and that's where the .50 caliber rifled slug in my shotgun was heading if this went bad. I held on that open door for what seemed like an eternity. The team systematically cleared that room, then moved to the next bedroom to its immediate left; clearing in a clockwise fashion. The environment typically dictates how to clear. We look for layout, how doors open, which doors are closed and which are already open to determine how to move and where our stress is. Only one team moves at a time. The other covers. As the team moved into that second bedroom and closed the door behind them, I called for another cover man to move up the stairs to give me some support. The detective bolted up the stairs, quickly moving in behind me in the bathroom and taking a high cover position over my shoulder as I knelt with the shotgun. His presence gave me a much needed break. Holding that shotgun at point shoulder is taxing, no matter how good of shape you're in. Even so, I was fixed on that open door at the end of the hall. It was the biggest danger we still had as the clear team continued to do their thing. The bedroom door to my left opened and a detective inside shouted "coming out." I raised my shotgun once again to provide them cover as they moved in the hall and prepared to traverse the short distance through my field of fire. As they moved across my path I lowered my shotgun and told all other units to hold their positions as we finished this clear. Moments seemed like hours as the team entered that last bedroom, closed the door behind them, and completed their clear. I completely expected to hear "suspect at gunpoint" or "in custody." They emerged with an "all clear", but the hair was still standing up on the back of my neck. I asked out loud "what did we miss?" and shouted instructions to "do it again"; this time using a different set of detectives. I don't care how good you are, you can always make a mistake. The second team moved through the upstairs in the same pattern as the first with the same result, "all clear." "Bullshit" I yelled. "Check all the secondaries! He's here, we're just missing him. Where's the attic?"
After several minutes of looking for an attic access, we found a small rabbit hole in the first bedroom closet over the top shelf. But who in the world could get in there? The entrance was a mere 15 inches by 15 inches. It appeared completely sealed with no evidence of entry. But wait.... As I looked closely I saw a crack in the ceiling near the closet in that bedroom. Upon closer inspection I saw a single piece of attic insulation on jacket hanging in the closet. Gotcha you bastard. Your buddy did a bang up job of cleaning up behind you, but not quite good enough. Our pressure at the door caused him to over look just this one minute detail. But it was enough!
I called for a K-9 only to be told that there wasn't one available; great, just great! There wasn't enough information for us to call a full blown tactical callout, and they're the only ones allowed to use tear gas. Even though I was a tactical team leader, my resources here were minimal. "Who's going up?" I asked. Renard was 6'3 and over 220. Russell was 6'0 and nearly 280. I am 6'2, 195. That makes me the little guy in this stack. I knew this outcome before I spoke the words.
I stripped my jacket and tie and rolled up my shirt sleeves. Yes, we're still wearing suits in an antiquated policing culture chasing bad guys hiding in attics. The jackleg making these decisions doesn't even see this side of police work anymore and rests on the public perception of what investigators should look like. The shelf was narrow, only 10 inches or so above the clothes hanging on the rack in the closet. It was in the upper left corner of the closet and missed by our initial clear of the first upstairs room. I called for someone to bring me a chair from the downstairs kitchen and placed it in front of the closet. Then, with everyone in the room at the ready, I shoved the plywood cover hard with the barrel of my shotgun. It was a tight fit, but otherwise pushed up and over out of the way easier than I thought it would. It was broad daylight and bright in that upstairs apartment bedroom, but that attic was dark. Even with the flashlights from our Raid Vests we couldn't see more than a couple of feet into that attic. I stood on the chair and using my flashlight and pistol tried to clear as much as I could before I absolutely had to stick my head up through that hole. It was useless, I couldn't see didley. Ok, phase 2. Renard and Russ lifted me up and held me just shy of the entrance so I could get a better idea of the clear. Since we were in the back of the apartment, the attic opened up more toward the front. If I could clear everything to my rear first, then I would have a safe wall at the rear to start from. I took quick peeks with the flashlight and finally thought I had seen enough to know that the wall to the rear was clear and nobody was standing up in the attic ready to take a shot at me. It certainly didn't mean they weren't laying down prepared to do the same thing. I gave a thumbs up and with a sudden push I was thrust up into the attic and was sitting on the rafter at the entry. I quickly scanned with flashlight and pistol as my eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. There was faint light coming in from the sophets at the front and rear of the attic which helped me see somewhat. I scampered to my feet, located my rear safe wall and quickly cleared behind me again, then took a couple of steps backward to move out of the light and into the shadows. I needed equal footing with whoever was up here with me; and I knew somebody was.
I scanned the darkness looking for anything out of place, and there it was; a single tennis shoe sticking straight up out of the glass insulation about 15 feet to my left front near the brick firewall separating this apartment from the next. "Get up... Police Officer!.. stand up and show me your hands." The male didn't move. "Stand up and show me your hands" I shouted again, cueing my team that I had a suspect at gunpoint. As I repeated my order the dark shadow slowly arose from the insulation. He had been laying between the rafters on the ceiling sheetrock. It was only his even weight distribution that had kept him from falling through into the front bedroom, but as he came to his feet he straddled the rafters facing me. He was my size and he was sizing me up.
"Show me your hands!.. I won't ask you again!" His left hand pulled up his sweat pants from the rear while his right hand moved underneath his hip length tee shirt towards the front. "Show me your hands now or I'll shoot!" I increased the tension on the trigger of my Smith and Wesson .45, moving to nearly five pounds down on the ten pound trigger pull. "You're gonna have to shoot me", he said matter of factly. There was no way I was going to give up my advantage by allowing him the opportunity to draw a pistol from his waistband and attempt to quick draw me. I had made up my mind and my finger began the last of the pull on that long trigger. I fully expected the recoil and muzzle blast as he jumped straight up from the rafters he was standing on, locked his heels together and came down between them punching a three foot hole in the ceiling in the front bedroom. I completely lost sight of him but heard the rush of my crew to his new position. I heard Mike yell "let me see your hands!" I'm sure there was an expletive in there too. Simultaneously, the world beneath me erupted. The shotgun Mike carried on a sling against his body became the object of physical negotiation between the two beneath me. I moved quickly to the hole to gain a vantage spot but was driven back when Mike's shotgun fired, sending a .50 caliber slug up between my legs and out the roof. Glass crashed, all went quiet. I ran for the rabbit hole.
I tucked and dropped my feet throught the attic entrance I'd come up through, only this time it felt smaller than before. My opposing end hit the upper shelf just as my not-so-tightly tucked arms tried to negotiate the same area, taking off all the skin down both elbows and forearms. The shelf cracked and collapsed beneath my weight as I rode the hanging clothing to the floor. Still holding my pistol in my right hand it's a wonder I didn't shoot myself. I hit the ground running back toward the front bedroom where I heard the rest of the team. As I breached that door I will never forget the wonder that beheld me. A chain of detectives standing inside the room facing a double window that was obviously no longer there, holding one another by the beltline. I made my way to the front of this chain and saw our suspect, supine and inverted, dangling outside the second story window with his feet tucked tightly underneath Mike's arms. I leaned out the window to see that his arms were hanging loosely with his tee shirt above his head. He wasn't moving, but the short wall beneath the window was giving way, and the team was anchoring itself in true team fashion. I looked for a gunshot wound but didn't see one on his bare chest. I asked the general question "is he dead", only to get the most memorable answer from Renard, "no Sarge, it's all good." ALL GOOD? ALL GOOOD? Are you kidding me? Renard didn't mean anything by it, except they had him.. and Mike, and he wasn't going anywhere.
I immediately got on the radio and called for additional units to respond to the front of the apartment and notified our dispatcher that we had a subject hanging out of the window and needed the Fire Department to assist. I bolted down the stairs to the front lawn where I was able to reach up and secure a set of handcuffs on the suspects wrists, then tethered them to myself. There was no way I was going to let this guy escape if or when he realized that he was only seven feet off the ground and could kick out of Mike's grasp if he wanted to. For some lucky reason this rocket scientist was feining unconsciousness. Trust me, I've seen enough dead and unconscious people to easily tell the difference. Time kept passing and I called back to communications to find out where our Fire Truck was. It was here that I learned that Communications had contacted the Homicide Unit and told them that we had a hanging victim. Homicide had told them to disregard the Fire Department until they got there. In the mean time all the neighborhood thugs, tenants, and reporter wannabe's came out of the woodwork and were gathering around the apartment. When I finally realized what had happened I corrected Communications and got the Fire Department back enroute. As if I didn't have anything else to deal with. Mike's still holding this 190 lb robbery fugitive who had challeged me in the attic, then charged his shotgun in an attempt to escape the apartment. There is no predicting what this man might do next. So far he's still lucky to be alive, and we're lucky he hasn't hurt one of us. But luck's only as good as training and skills. In the meantime we're still babysitting his partner downstairs and my resources just went from plenty to needs improvement.
Finally, the Fire Department arrived. I gave them a very quick briefing on the situation. My darkest fear was that he would use the Fire Department's attempt to rescue his sorry carcass as an opportunity to escape; or even worse get one of the fire guys hurt. They don't get paid for that and I have an obligation to protect them when I can. Still, the guys moved a ladder up underneath the suspect and propped it against the building just under the collapsing window. A backboard was then moved up the ladder and underneath the suspect's back to provide a stable platform for the Fire Fighters to bring him down on. They secured him with straps, had Mike slowly release him and help control the transfer of his weight, then brought him down the ladder and placed him on a waiting gurney. Fortunately for us he continued to pretend he was injured during this most dangerous transition period. I was ready with a pair of leg shackles and ratcheted them down and double locked them. It was too late for him now. He missed his window of escape.. punn intended. He was ours.
Later, in speaking with Mike and the other detectives I learned that when he punched out of the attic and came down in that front bedroom, Mike was waiting for him. With his shotgun at point shoulder, Mike gave the same commands I did, only to the have the suspect immediately charge him. Seeing that both the suspect's hands were empty as he recovered from the fall, Mike realized he couldn't shoot. He did the only thing he could. Moving his shotgun to port arms, he used it to push the suspect backwards into the wall, which in the struggle, then became the window as he waited for help from the other team members. Unfortunately, the window gave way with the weight of the suspect just as the team arrived to assist. This whole thing was unfolding at lightening speed. Meanwhile, when the suspect and Mike collided, the shotgun discharged. Mike's only fault was that he didn't "safe" the shotgun before contacting the suspect with it; difficult to blame him though, this guy was nuts and it all happened fast.
The apartment manager came to the apartment to survey the damage. The brass from Headquarters all came to see as well. The Fire Department was still on the scene as was our Forensic Unit and Internal Affairs Division. Then there was the press. A seasoned reporter with several years of experience was talking to the residents in the parking lot. I really paid no attention to her. I've always worked above board, used the press to my advantage when I was looking for people or trying to divert crime, so this was really no strange event for me. The aftermath is always the same. What hurt was the on-line article I read two hours later. A single resident agreed to be interviewed by this television reporter. As in every newscast you might see in an aftermath, they found the biggest idiot in the village to talk to. I read with complete disbelief about how the police were hanging this man out of a window in an attempt to interrogate him; how this was typical behavior for the police in that area; and how somebody should do something because this is shameful. I printed the article and bolted upstairs to our Public Information Office where I slammed it down on the desk. I was so angry I could hardly speak; but as angry as I was, I was also so very hurt by it. Most people may not understand that. The fact is, you either will or you won't. It would only devalue the emotion if I tried to explain it here. I made sure Lou knew how I felt about it. As a retired police officer himself I knew fully well he did. This, and the fact that he called her supervisor personally, gave me a little satisfaction that the truth was told. I've only recently talked to this reporter in any context again. You see, when trust is lost with Police Officers, it's lost forever. I may now talk to her, but I will never do an interview with her again. I forgive her for what she did to us that day as an agency and personally; however, I won't forget. Her journalistic credibility was gone like the wind in one on-line article that accused my team of abuse and criminal misconduct without the facts.
We never found a gun. I don't know if this guy was just crazy or if he really had a death wish. If he'd stuck around in that attic another second before punching out it would have had quite a different conclusion. I read so many articles and hear so many news stories about officers shooting unarmed suspects. We've even had instances where our officers have done the same thing. Are there regrets? Some may say we should have them, or they might have them. But that's exactly the wrong approach. The exact worse case scenario is not that I would have shot an unarmed man, it's ...what if I had waited just a second too long to decide whether he had that gun or not before firing? What if he did have that gun and I didn't fire? My social contract with the community that I protect requires that I weigh those factors. He was given every chance to show me his hands. He was ordered, even begged to comply. He chose a different path. I don't know if he's alive or dead today. His decision making skills would tend to bet against his longevity.
A shooting investigation was initiated by Internal Affairs as a result of Mike's shotgun discharge. That's normal, although Mike lost his shotgun to Evidence for a month or two. Thank God that slug didn't find it's mark in the attic. What a mess that would have made to clean up. You see how the rule of unintended consequences plays out? Our suspect prompted me to shoot him. Gave me cause to shoot him. But I wanted to see some proof that there was a "real" threat before I pulled my trigger. He didn't want me to know he didn't have a gun. In fact, he wanted me to believe whole heartedly that he did have one. My delay in shooting created a chain of events that nearly led to my own death just as surely as if I had given him the first shot in that attic.
In 2007, just a couple of years after this incident, one of my Tactical Officers shot and killed a man who was holding a cell phone behind his back and telling the officer he was going to shoot him. When the man moved his hand quickly from behind him in that dimly lit room, and pointed the cell phone at the officer simultaneously lunging at him, the officer fired, and kept firing until this man was down and stopped moving. This tragic set of circumstances led to the introduction of Taser Technology to our department. Unfortunately, detectives don't get Tasers, only patrol. Detectives wear suits and live in bubbled investigative worlds where they don't come into contact with real bad guys in a first responder setting. At some point we have to evolve to meet the real world.
J.W. Boswell
Copyright 2014, 2015
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