It's a dead night, a prowling night, a night of driving of slow circles on the side streets and avenues of the Villages.
Nothing is moving. The radio is quiet.
I wander along the business district of the South Village when dispatch calls.
"7David4, Seven ago, a caller saw a motorcyclist in the ditch at 32/Temerity."
The location is a problem.
The man could be on the street, but they are curbed and guttered and have no ditches.
Temerity crosses an old rail line converted into bike trail at the bottom of a ravine 65 feet below. The trail has few entrances and a wall of blackberries enclose either side of the gully.
The path is unlit.
Without the caller to point out the spot, I could look for an hour and find nothing.
I pick up the caller at her home. She is pale and panicked, but agrees to assist me.
"Head to the gate at the end of 28th."
I point the car and go.
Fortunately, I have park keys. Few officers do. One fits the lock.
I leave the gate open for others to follow and drive in.
The path is black. I flip on my spot light, takedowns, and alleys. It's still dark.
I drive under the bridge. We don't see anything.
"We've gone to far."
I back up.
The trail is a few feet wider than my car.
Fifteen feet west of the bridge, she says, "Stop. There he is. "
I exit the car and look.
I see him. He's in a ditch, in ten inches of water, dressed all in black. Only his face distinguishes him from his surroundings.
It is a wonder the woman spotted him from the trail.
He's bleeding from his nose, his eyes, and ears. His ankles are at opposing ninety degrees angles. His shins have collapsed and compacted into his knees.
He's breathing, but his eyes are rolling back into his head.
I call for medical, Code 3. Fire is going to have to hike in. I hope the ambulance can fit through the small gate.
I don't touch him. As long as he is breathing, I'll only make matters worse.
Sir, It's the police. Can you tell me what happened?
He moans.
His eyes spasm and shrink back into his skull. He tries to sit up.
"Sir, relax, medical is on the way. Can you tell me what happened?"
He tries to sit up again.
"Sir, lay down. Medical is on the way."
He slumps down. I leave him alone. I don't want him moving, so I look for the crash.
There's no bike, no helmet.
I scan the pucker brush. Nothing.
His shoes are still on, so it is not a hit and run.
The sidewalk on the bridge is only on the east side.
It looks like a jumper.
It takes five minutes for Fire to arrive. The ambulance takes ten. They have to back in.
They look around.
"Where's the patient?"
I shine the beam from my Mag-Lite on the man.
When they leave, a call comes in. A psychiatric patient left his group home on a pass and failed to return.
The description matches.
I punch the name in the box.
It's him.
Wow. Lucky (?) find.
Posted by: Ed Skinner | January 05, 2014 at 01:55 PM