It’s the witching hour, quarter past. ‘Kato and I catch a late call, an incomplete 911: open line, voice mail on re-ring.
On scene, a block away, ‘kato sits blacked out in his prowler, grumblin’. The Night car’s disappeared. He needs to be off on time. His brother’s arriving at the airport on a late flight.
Dutch’ll show. He’s either pickin’ up his partner or he’s having car problems.
We walk in.
The street’s dark. The only light is from the target house.
Creepin’ up, we can hear shouting.
The front door’s open. The screen door’s shut.
We sneak up the stairs, peek in from the porch.
I see an older woman holding a knife to her bloody wrist. She starts to cut, bouncing the blade against her skin.
Her adult son, sleeved in prison tatts, lunges for her hands.
Enough looking. Time to act.
I open the screen door, step inside, announce my presence with a loud, Howdy!
Then, I spot the dog, head taller than my belt, charging me. I have ten feet. I’m about to be bit.
“Don’t Shoot!” Yells an old man, rising from a couch, farther back in the room.
The tail’s out, not up. It’s not growling. I wait a half beat.
The dog’s a crotch hound. He likes me.
Relieved, I look for the next threat: the woman. She’s tossed the knife. It’s on the floor next to the fireplace.
Everyone in the room’s drunk. The odor is palatable.
We separate them. ‘Kato takes the son outside. I talk to mom and step-dad.
Mom’s erratic and energetic She says her son and step-dad have been beefing all night. Step-Dad wants the son out. He’s thirty, old enough to live on his own.
Mom says, “I can’t live without the men I love, so I went into my room with the rifle.”
My eyes search her face, the room. There’s a 30.06 round on the floor.
Where’s the rifle now?
“It’s upstairs. locked up.”
What did you do with the rifle?
“I put the barrel to the back of my head and fired.”
You were trying to kill yourself?
“Yes. There’s a hole in the middle of the bedroom ceiling. Go look.”
Her husband’s nodding.
Her bedroom’s the next in the house. The door’s open. The light’s on. There’s a fresh bullet hole in the center of the ceiling.
Her husband yells, “I want my step-son arrested!”
For?
“Assault! He hit me in the face with the butt of the rifle!”
He’s bleeding from his face and fingers.
His wife shouts him down, “It was an accident! My husband and my son were trying to take the gun from me. My son accidentally struck my husband in the face wrenching the gun away!”
The old man yells, “That’s a damned lie!”
‘Kato walks back into the house.
“The sons says they’re all drunk and beefing, other than that nothing happened.”
Did he tell you the about the part with the rifle?
“What rifle?”
The one they fought over after she tried to shoot herself in the head.
“You’re kidding me?”
Nope. Come look.
He looks.
“What the.....
I feel movement, turn, and see the woman running to the stairs where the rifles are kept.
She’s going for the guns!
We run, intercepting her on the stairs to the second floor.
‘Kato barks, “What do you think you’re doing?”
She says. “I’m getting the rifle!”
“We’re not letting you anywhere near the guns.”
I nod.
We need to hook her up. She’s a danger to herself and everybody else.
‘Kato says, “Agreed.”
He handcuffs her. I help as the woman starts to struggle and scream.
‘Kato take her to his car.
Out front, the son is waiting with the sergeant. Dutch, from nights, has just arrived.
The sons begs, “Arrest me! It’s my fault! I’m the one on parole. I did the assault. I fired the rifle!”
In what room?
“I don’t know. I’m too drunk to tell.”
He’s lying.
Hey Dutch, I’m going to go talk to the step-dad, will you watch the son?
“Sure.”
Sir, did your wife try to shoot herself with the rifle?
“Yes!”
What happened to your face?
“I told ya. He hit me. I cut my fingers taking away the rifle from my wife. I was holding her down when my step-son picked up the rifle and butt stroked me in the face.”
And the mark on your face?
“Is where he hit me from the rifle.”
Where’s the rifle now?
“He ran and hid it upstairs.”
I update Dutch.
He arrests the son for DV. The son’s on supervision for four armed robberies. He’s an ex-con in possession. He’s violated his parole.
The step-dad gives us permission to search the premises and property.
I find the rifle in the back yard, the spent casing still in the bolt. The barrel is filled with dirt. The son threw it out the second story window.
‘Kato takes the woman to the hospital on a hold.
Dutch takes the son to jail.
I help Forensics photo the scene and spend hours with the other two officers writing.
