The two searched for half an hour with Blitz on the tracking line. The dog didn’t seem to pick up anything, and Bob decided to let him off the lead for a free search. All the while, he kept in radio contact with the helicopter overhead.
When Blitz ducked into a clump of bushes, Bob thought he was off for a toilet break. When the dog didn’t come back, Bob followed in the direction he had taken. But Blitz was nowhere to be seen. Bob stopped searching for the prisoner, and started searching for his police dog instead.
‘Got anything?’ came the call from the helicopter observer.
‘Negative,’ Bob hedged. He didn’t want to admit that he’d lost his dog. He hoped that his colleagues in the helicopter wouldn’t notice the handler–dog team was a dog short.
Over half an hour later, Blitz emerged from the bushes with an odd look on his face. He barked a very hoarse bark and gave Bob a look that seemed to say: ‘Are you an idiot?’
Bob put his pooch back on the lead, and minutes later they came across the escapee dressed in prison garb.
It was an awkward moment. ‘Um. Did the dog find you already?’ Bob asked.
‘Yeah,’ said the prisoner.
Bob’s eyes swept the crook – no bite marks. No blood. Blitz obviously hadn’t bitten him. ‘So, what did he do?’ Bob asked.
‘He just stood there and made this croaking noise,’ said the prisoner, looking warily at the police dog. ‘I was too scared to move.’
It turned out that Blitz had found the escapee as soon as he’d vanished, and had spent the last half-hour croaking for Bob to come and make the arrest. When he hadn’t arrived, Blitz had left the prisoner to go retrieve his recalcitrant handler.
One time Blitz caught eight people at once, and then caught another crook on the same day. A group of young thugs were robbing teenagers of their wallets and phones. They would bail them up on the street and threaten them with knives. After one such incident, where a young woman had been robbed of a pink purse, Blitz picked up a track and led Bob to a group of units. The dog made a beeline up the driveway and over to a bin that was full of purses, including the pink one that had just been stolen.
A group of eight big guys came out of one of the units. Blitz barked his head off and did his best to look dangerous. Bob bluffed them with the dog and made them all sit down and wait for backup to arrive. As soon as the locals took over, Bob and Blitz hit the road again.
At their next job – a break-in – dog and handler were on their own because the band of thieves would tie up the local cops for hours. The homeowner explained that he had disturbed a crook who had broken into his house. Some bottles of scotch had been taken. Out on the street, Bob cast his dog on the tracking line. At the same moment, a man rode past on a bike and Blitz showed some interest in him. As the man rode over a bump, Bob heard the sound of bottles clinking in the man’s backpack.
‘Stop!’ yelled Bob. The man didn’t.
Bob released Blitz and watched in fascination as the dog ran up behind the cyclist, launched into the air and knocked the man off his bike. Blitz had not been trained to take down people on bikes; he had also never heard of Newton’s laws of motion or studied physics, but in a split second the dog figured that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Thus, a flying 40-kilogram German shepherd slamming into a rapidly pedalling crook is going to send the said crook crashing into the road.
Blitz’s tally for the day – nine arrests.
A police dog’s life isn’t all beer and skittles – or water and kibble, as the case may be. Even though they excitedly pursue the work, catching crooks can be a dangerous business. Bob and Blitz were called to a job in Dandenong, where there had been a smash-and-grab from a local store. They tracked the offenders to the front yard of a house that had a huge glass window. The two offenders were behind the window. ‘Don’t move!’ yelled Bob, but the offenders took off anyway, escaping out the back.
They chased the crooks down a laneway, and one offender was a little slower than the other. Blitz ignored the first guy, turning to Bob as if to say: ‘You get that one, and I’ll get the one further on.’
Bob grabbed the slower one and watched as his dog flew off after the other guy. As Bob struggled to cuff the first crook, he saw the second crook scaling a fence with Blitz hot on his heels.
Under the combined weight of the crook and his police dog pursuer, the fence partially collapsed, and the two disappeared over the other side. Though Bob was busy with the first crook, he could hear Blitz yelping; it sounded like the crook was really laying into him. As soon as Bob cuffed the first crook to the fence, he took off after his dog.
Bob never knew what the crook had done to Blitz in the struggle; all he had heard was his dog yelping in pain. But regardless of what the crook had done to him, Blitz had held on – just like he was trained to do. Only after the guy was subdued and cuffed did Bob call Blitz off. He hadn’t bitten the man badly. That was the beauty of Blitz; he always seemed to bite enough to subdue, but not badly enough to cause a lot of injury.
Bob checked Blitz for damage, but while the dog seemed a little tender in places, he was otherwise okay. Then backup arrived to take the two crooks into custody. The house with the big glass window was completely full of stolen property, mostly from Aussie Disposals. Blitz and Bob had taken down two very good crooks.
The next day, Blitz was sunning himself at home on the back lawn when Bob’s son ran across the yard to pat the dog. As the boy got closer, Blitz growled at him. It was the first time the dog had ever growled at a member of the family. Bob reckoned that it was as if Blitz was trying to say: ‘I’ve had a hard day; I’m hurt and sore and I need some space.’
The next day, the dog was fine.
Another time, Bob feared for Blitz’s safety on the way to a job. Bob was driving to an urgent call and went through an intersection – lights flashing and siren blaring. A car coming from the opposite direction didn’t notice the police vehicle, and smashed straight into them, sending the Dog Squad station wagon spinning across the intersection. Bob was slammed against the door with such force that he would later notice the brand of his Smith & Wesson firearm bruised into his arm.
Bob manoeuvred himself out of the vehicle and limped around to the back of the station wagon, where there was an eerie silence. He struggled to open the back door to get to his dog, but it was wedged shut. A man from a nearby house ran to fetch a crowbar. As Bob tore at the back door to open it, he noticed an incredibly foul odour coming from the back of the car. It was almost chemical in nature. Bob couldn’t understand what it could be.
Finally they prised the back door open, and Bob expected the worst. The silence and the foul stench had well and truly set the shaken handler on edge. With trepidation Bob undid the latch on Blitz’s cage, and there was Blitz – sitting calmly, looking at Bob.
Bob made him jump down out of the car so he could get a good look at him. He felt around him for lumps and bumps or blood – but there was nothing. The dog seemed fine. When he inspected the back of the car, Bob could see that Blitz had crashed through the panel dividing the back cage into two. That seemed to have cushioned the impact.
Both dog and handler were in shock. Bob had to go to hospital to be examined, but not before another handler arrived at the scene to take Blitz. Bob later discussed the strange odour with his boss at the squad. The boss reckoned the odour was a fear response from Blitz, some sort of fight or flight chemical reaction. Whatever it was, Bob hoped he would never smell it again.
The next time Bob went to load Blitz in a police vehicle, the dog jumped straight back in – no hesitation. That was what a good police dog did.
Bob and Blitz attended the scene of a factory break-in near Merri Creek, where a security guard had been assaulted with a crowbar. The bloodied and battered security guard told how he was attacked and bashed around the head with the crowbar before he managed to fire a shot at the offender, who then ran off.
‘Did you see where he went?’ a
sked Bob.
The security guard shook his head. ‘I didn’t see him go. He might still be in here.’
Bob scanned the cavernous factory space. The guy could be anywhere.
‘I think I might have hit him,’ said the security guard. ‘When I shot at him, I think I might have hit him.’
This news made the disappearance of the offender ominous. If he had been shot, time was of the essence. But if the security guard had been mistaken, Bob knew he was searching for a guy who was armed with a crowbar and prepared to use it.
Bob clipped the lead on Blitz and the two began an intensive search of the factory. While the dog sniffed around enthusiastically, he failed to pick up a scent. Outside the factory, Blitz immediately picked up a track and Bob followed his dog along the creek, past some grassy bushland. After almost a kilometre, Blitz disappeared into a bush. There was a rustling sound, followed by a scuffling sound. Bob pulled on the lead and retrieved his dog, but Blitz had a man attached to him – attached because Blitz had taken hold of the man’s trousers and was trying to drag him out.
For a moment, Bob was thrown. He had been expecting a younger offender, but the man Blitz had found was older, with grey hair and beard. He looked more like a homeless person than a vicious, violent burglar. Not only that, but the man also seemed pretty cool for someone who had just been involved in a shooting.
‘What are you doing in the bushes?’ Bob asked warily.
The man stood up and shrugged. ‘I was chased by some kids. They had a knife. I was hiding in here.’ He turned back and pointed to the clump of bushes.
Bob didn’t believe him; there was something a little too nonchalant about the man, and his story was implausible. Even so, the dog handler hesitated. This man in his fifties was an unlikely suspect. Maybe he was just a homeless person who had been taking a nap under the bushes. There was only one way to find out: ‘Pull your shirt up,’ said Bob.
‘Why?’ said the man, feigning incredulity.
‘Just because.’ The dog handler shrugged.
The man pulled up his top and Bob spotted a bullet wound in his stomach. He looked at the man’s back and saw an obvious exit wound. ‘You’ve been shot!’
‘What . . .?’ The man’s face drained of blood, and he turned white as he looked down at his own stomach. Bob had never seen the blood drain from someone’s face so quickly. ‘I don’t feel so good . . .’ said the man. Then he swooned to the ground.
Bob radioed for an ambulance and stayed with the man as they waited for medical help. Blitz kept up an excited bark, which made conversation a little difficult. That was probably for the best, because any conversation that Bob was inclined to have would begin with: ‘So you got shot while you were beating up a security guard . . .’
By the time the ambulance officers came down to the creek bank, the man had gone into shock. After he was patched up and identified by police, it turned out he was a good old crook who was responsible for a lot of burglaries in the area.
The case that will forever make Bob Carter shake his head in wonder occurred at a two-storey terrace house in Carlton. Police had been called by the woman who lived in the house; she had a particular psychotic condition where she would do something life-threatening to herself, call the police, and then hide somewhere in the house. The local cops had played this cat and mouse game of Russian roulette before, and each time the woman would get more inventive with her hiding places.
When Bob and Blitz got to the scene, the tension was palpable. The woman’s life was in danger and the police had looked in all of her past hiding places, such as wall and cupboard cavities, but they had found no trace of her.
Now it was Blitz’s turn. Although he trusted his dog, Bob was worried. He knew that if they couldn’t find the woman, she would die. Having someone’s life in your hands is the kind of burden that weighs heavily on any police officer.
Bob and Blitz made their way through the first floor of the house, but the dog didn’t seem to pick up on anything. Bob’s hopes were raised when Blitz started barking and pulling on his lead – but he’d just found a cat that he wanted to chase. After coming up empty in the bedrooms upstairs, Bob and Blitz headed for the kitchen on the ground floor. There was a step down into the kitchen, and near the step was a rubbish bin. Blitz showed a lot of interest in the bin, and began sniffing the area enthusiastically. Bob thought it was the bin that Blitz was interested in, so he pulled on the lead. ‘Come on,’ said Bob.
But Blitz wouldn’t move. He kept sniffing, and indicated that he’d found something. Only problem was, Bob couldn’t see what it was that his dog had found. There was only the rubbish bin – too small to be a hiding place – sitting on floorboards that seemed pretty solid.
But Blitz was very insistent. There was something under the floorboards. Or someone.
‘Bugger this,’ said Darren, another handler who’d joined the search. He grabbed a screwdriver and prised up the floorboard under the step where Blitz was sniffing.
Using their torches to illuminate the space beneath the floor, the two dog handlers were able to spot some hair. ‘That’s her!’ said Bob.
Waiting firefighters came in and wrenched up more floorboards. They found the badly wounded woman lying next to a cordless drill. It seemed that she had dug out a space under the floorboards and fitted it with a makeshift coffin fashioned out of cardboard. She had cut her wrists, and then repositioned the boards and screwed them into place from underneath.
The woman was taken off to hospital and survived due to Blitz’s diligence. What Bob found most incredible about that job was that without a tracker dog they never would have found the woman that day, and she would have died. No normal police search would have involved prising up nailed-down floorboards. Bob learnt a lesson from the case: never underestimate the lengths someone will go to in the throes of a psychotic episode.
❖
Life in the Dog Squad wasn’t all drama; there were always lighter moments. One time Blitz accidentally caught a crook. In the days before GPS navigators told you where to go, Bob was notorious for getting lost on the way to jobs; he would often have to stop and check the street directory to find out where he was. On one job, a crook had escaped through a park and Bob was called to see if Blitz could pick up a scent. He’d received a description of the offender over the radio, including a description of the clothes he was wearing.
When Bob arrived at the park, he found no other police cars around. He checked the street directory and realised that he was at the wrong park. As far as he could figure from the map, the park he was supposed to be at was a couple of kilometres away. Taking advantage of the pit-stop, Bob let Blitz out of the car. The dog had been cooped up for a while and would need to relieve himself. ‘Be quick!’ said Bob.
Blitz disappeared into some nearby bushes to do his business in private. The next thing Bob heard was a scream. He ran over to investigate, and found his dog snapping and snarling at a man who closely resembled the guy they had been sent to look for.
It seemed he was at the right park after all, even if it wasn’t the one he was supposed to be at. When he radioed in his catch, none of the uniform cops could believe that he had caught the crook before he’d even arrived at the job. ‘It was nothing,’ said Bob modestly.
It wasn’t the only time that Blitz’s dog business got in the way of his police business. He once pooped right in the middle of Myer. Another time, Bob and Blitz were called to the very fancy Toorak home of a high-profile wealthy businessman. There had been an abduction attempt on the family, and as soon as it was reported the house was swarming with police. Bob led Blitz on the tracking line through the most amazing garden the handler had ever seen. The showpiece garden was maintained by a live-in gardener and there wasn’t a twig out of place – until Blitz leapt through a hedge and left a German shepherd-sized hole in it.
Then Blitz disappeared into another section of the garden. His movement tripped the sensor lights and illuminated the whole perfect lawn like i
t was midday. The lawn was overlooked by a huge living room window and it was in this room that the detectives were interviewing the family. All of them had a ringside seat to Blitz, hunched in the universal dog position for pooping. At least the police dog had the grace to look a little guilty.
The unofficial motto of dog handlers is ‘Trust your dog’. Sometimes this trust has to come at times when everyone else is doubting. Bob and Blitz were called to a factory burglary in Moorabbin, where a crook had pulled a knife on some uniform police at the scene and had then run off.
As soon as Blitz got there and had a sniff around, he began barking at the roof. Overhead, the police helicopter swept its powerful light across the roof of the factory. ‘Negative,’ reported the air-wing observer. ‘There’s no one on the roof.’
But Blitz was like a dog possessed, yelping and barking at the roof of the factory. A policewoman at the scene gestured to the frenzied hound. ‘Is he a junior dog?’ she said.
‘No, he’s not,’ said Bob, a little insulted. Bob knew that Blitz didn’t react like that without reason. To vindicate his dog, he climbed onto a pile of pallets leaning against the factory, and then he leapt onto a steel gantry, which gave him a different view of the roof. And there, clinging on at the side, was the crook. Once he saw Bob, he scrambled and leapt across the roof, disappearing over the other side. Bob braced himself for the dull thud that was sure to splatter the crook on the ground, but his look of horror turned to surprise as the man landed on his feet and took off running.
Instead of disappearing into the distance, the guy ran back into the factory. A uniformed officer managed to spray him with a dose of capsicum spray. But the guy was like a greased pig; he managed to evade the police and shimmied up onto another roof. This time, he was brought down with the help of the fire brigade.
The Dog Squad Page 13
