by Lee Butcher
“Get her gun!” Chino yelled at Paula, while motioning toward Lois.
Paula grabbed Lois’s 9mm Glock and raced after him as Chino fled back to the Crossings.
Kokojan saw Lois lying in the parking lot and realized that Chino had shot a police officer. He was wondering what to do when Officer Veronica “Ronnie” Hills arrived to help Lois. She ordered Kokojan to get into his car, close the windows, shut the doors, and stay there. Kokojan gladly obliged. He couldn’t help thinking that if he hadn’t forgotten the receipt for his cell phone and gone back to his apartment, the whole thing might not have happened.
Bingle didn’t see Marrero chasing Chino. When he ran into the parking lot, he saw a policeman on the ground. He ran to help and saw that it was Lois. While he was checking her, he heard gunfire from inside the complex and bullets whizzed past him. Ronnie arrived and took up a position over her fallen comrade.
“Stay with her,” Bingle said, and ran in a crouch to take up a position in one of the breezeways. He fired several shots back at Chino, who was still on the second-story landing. Dozens of police officers were on the scene now. Orders were being shouted, radios were crackling, and guns were at the ready as the police secured their positions. Bingle remained at his position, after the shooting stopped, and waited for the tactical response team (TRT) to arrive.
Scudder heard the first burst of gunfire that Chino fired at Lois. He was on the other side of the complex and ran to help when he saw her go down. Chino fired another volley, this time at him, and Scudder heard bullets flying past him and striking the pavement. One of the bullets grazed his right thigh. A few inches either way and he could have been killed.
The police officer hadn’t seen Chino fire at him. “I didn’t even see him before he started shooting,” he said later. “He ambushed her and then he ambushed me.” He scrambled to take up a position to contain the suspect and thought, Hold still, so I can kill you, you son of a bitch.
For a moment he had a clear view of both suspects and fired his revolver. He clearly saw the man grab the woman in a hammerlock and use her as a human shield. Then they disappeared.
John “J. T.” Martin piloted the police helicopter that churned noisily overhead. He was flying solo, which was not the most efficient way to conduct a search by air. Martin and three other police officers were on duty in the aviation division when the call came to search for two suspects in a robbery that had taken place at the Bank of America. Martin was the only person available to fly; flight supervisor Jeff Fife and Officers Randy Miller and James Williams were with some other policemen at a steak house a block away, celebrating Fife’s birthday.
Ideally, a search helicopter requires at least one spotter, who can devote undivided attention to looking at what’s happening on the ground. The Tampa Police Department had no clear-cut policy to govern this situation. Martin debated the issue and decided that one pair of eyes from the air was better than none.
Once in the air, Martin had his hands full. He monitored the radio dispatches and communicated with air traffic controllers while flying at low altitudes. He could see the activity on the ground when he circled above the Crossings apartments. He saw the confrontation between Officer Marrero and the fugitives. And he saw her pitch face-forward onto the hard pavement.
Laura Kent was in her apartment at the Crossings, waiting for a friend with whom she was going shopping. Laura, a pretty blonde in her twenties, had gone outside to her balcony because it was such a pretty day. She enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine, even though the scenery didn’t exactly take her breath away. There were just a few cars in the parking lot. She could hear the distant whooping and hollering of people having fun at the community swimming pool.
The scene suddenly exploded into violence. A police helicopter circled low overhead and Laura knew that meant trouble; the police were looking for someone. She heard sirens wail. Then she saw a young man and woman in the parking lot. The man had a gun that looked like a military weapon. She recognized him as the maintenance woman’s son. She saw a police officer chasing him. As if in a nightmare, she saw the man spin around and fire almost point-blank at the police officer. The woman dropped to the pavement and the young couple turned to sprint toward her apartment building. Laura telephoned 911.
When the operator answered, Laura was almost hysterical. She said, “There’s an officer down right in front of my house.”
“Hold on! Hold on,” the operator responded.
“Somebody shot her right in front of me,” Laura said “She’s laying on the floor. I think she was shot in the head or something.”
“Are you sure?” the 911 dispatcher pressed.
Laura began to cry. “I’m sure. She’s on the [pavement] at the Crossings apartments at Kennedy and Church. She’s bleeding all over the place.”
“Was she shot?” The dispatcher didn’t understand yet that the police officer was female. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I don’t even think she’s alive.”
“We have ambulances on the way,” the dispatcher told her. “Did you see the people that shot him?”
“They ran back into their house. I don’t know which apartment.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. There’s cops everywhere and she’s laying on the floor. I think she’s dead. Oh, my God.”
Laura could hardly hold the phone and it was hard to speak.
“Okay. Listen, honey, it’s okay, okay? We have other police officers on the way and we have an ambulance coming,” the operator consoled.
“I don’t think she’s alive. I think she’s dead.”
“She’s fine, she’s fine,” the dispatcher said, trying to soothe Laura. “She’s not gonna be dead, okay?”
“She’s not even moving. Oh, my God . . . they ran next door to me . . . oh, my God!”
“It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“Oh, my God.”
“She’s not gonna be dead, okay?”
Laura’s hands shook. “She’s dead.”
“She’s fine. Don’t say that.”
“Oh, my God. She’s not moving . . . and all these cops are running around. I don’t know. Yeah, I don’t think she’s alive because they’re all crying. A couple of cops are crying . . . oh, my God.”
Her son toddled up to her and asked, “Mommy, Mommy. What’s wrong, Mommy?”
Laura comforted her child. “I was outside waiting for someone to come home and saw these cops chasing this guy,” Laura said. “I never saw this guy do anything like that before. They’re covering her.”
“They’re covering him?” the 911 dispatcher asked.
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not your fault,” the dispatcher said. “It’s okay. I’m here. Even if I don’t say anything, okay? Stay on the line.”
“Oh, my God. I looked outside,” Laura said. “I’m waiting for someone to come home.”
“He’s not going to be dead, okay?”
“She’s not even moving.”
“He’s going to be fine, okay?”
“I think she’s dead.” Laura paused a moment. “She’s stopped moving. She’s just lying there.”
“Oh! Is it a male or female officer?” the operator inquired.
“Female. I think she’s dying. She’s dead.”
“No, she’s fine, okay? Don’t say that. I need you to stay inside your house,” the dispatcher said. “Tell me what you see.”
“She’s not moving. I don’t know.”
The dispatcher told her to go inside and write down everything she saw.
“Okay,” she said. “Today is just not a very good day.”
Sherry Ann Williams, a student at Hillsborough Community College, heard a helicopter and went out on the patio to check. She saw the helicopter and then heard gunshots. She hurried back inside and hunkered down on the floor.
She heard her doorknob rattle as if someone were trying to get in. There
were several heavy thumps against the door and wall. A window shattered. Sherry called 911 Emergency.
“Somebody’s firing at my door,” she said.
“Somebody’s what?” the 911 dispatcher asked.
“Gunshots at my door.”
“All right. Do you live on Cleveland?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, ma’am, you need to stay in the house. They’re chasing somebody from a bank robbery . . . wait . . . I’ll talk to you in a minute, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Are you in the apartment by yourself?” the operator questioned.
“Yes.”
“Can you see anything?”
“No, I’m not looking. I’m on the floor, but there are shots still being fired.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Sherry said. “It hit the door I was leaning against.”
“Don’t lean against the door where they’re shooting bullets, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m in—”
“Go in your closet.”
“Okay. All right. Bye.”
Sherry hung up and the telephone rang almost immediately. It was the 911 dispatcher.
“Don’t hang up on me, okay? I need you to tell me what you see.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Okay. Are they still firing?” the dispatcher asked.
“No. I hear some sirens, like an ambulance.”
“Okay. Can you look out the window without getting hurt?”
“No,” Sherry said. “My blinds are open. Let me . . . hold on . . . let me crawl over there and see if anybody’s out front. I got to the bedroom. Let me look out the . . . see if I can see out the bottom of the blinds in the bedroom. Hold on.” Sherry peeked outside. “I don’t see anything but some joggers down Cleveland.”
“Okay. You stay in your house, ma’am, and if you wanna know what’s happening, just call me back, okay? Don’t go outside.”
“Okay, ’cause I know it hit my back kitchen door, ’cause I was leaning against it.”
“Okay, but don’t go outside,” the operator urged.
“Okay, I won’t.”
Sherry hung up, but called back again a few minutes later.
“I’m at the Cleveland address where the bank robber was,” she said. “Have they caught him yet?”
“Ma’am, I’m not sure. We haven’t been informed of anything at this time.”
“Oh, okay. They said they’d call me back if they—”
“What is your name? Hold on a second.” A pause. “Is it Donna?”
“I’m the one they shot my door out,” Sherry replied.
“Okay, ma’am. We don’t have any information yet. . . .”
“Oh, my God.”
“Still trying to find out. But we want you to stay inside and not come out, okay?”
“Oh yeah. I know that. Yeah, it was my door.”
“Okay.”
“I see the bullet hole, so . . .”
“We might have Detective Holland coming to see you.”
Sherry hung up, not knowing whether or not a fugitive gunman was still on the loose.
Minutes earlier, Horst Gunther Albrecht was backing his car out of a driveway on the east side of Lindell Honda, where he worked, when he saw Officer Lois Marrero running on Church, near the Crossings apartments, with a gun in her hand. He braked to avoid hitting her as she ran directly behind his car. Albrecht heard Lois yelling, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying.
She continued to yell at someone inside the apartment’s parking lot, but Albrecht didn’t see anyone there. He saw Lois take cover behind a van, and then he saw that she was shouting at two men and a woman on the west side of the parking lot. He heard her give what sounded like a command. Albrecht noted the positions of the people: the two men were on the driver’s side of the car, facing west, and the female was on the passenger side. Lois was on the same side of the car as the other woman. They were within yards of one another. Albrecht heard Lois shout again, and after about thirty seconds, she walked toward the suspects with her gun in her hand.
Meanwhile, the men seemed to be trying to get the car door open. Albrecht saw the police officer run six feet or so from the right rear of the same car. One of the men raised a submachine gun, holding the gun with both hands, and fired at least four times. The bullets struck Lois and she dropped facedown on the asphalt. The other woman and one of the men ran back into the apartment complex, while the second man stayed under the car, where he had dived when the gunshots were fired.
When Lois approached Chino, Paula, and Kokojan, she held her gun, but she was not pointing it at them.
“Don’t move!” she said. “Put down your weapon.”
There was no response, so she spoke again. “Put down your weapon or I’ll shoot.”
Her eyes met those of the female suspect. Then she saw one of the male suspects raise the MAC-11 and fire. She gasped in pain, shock, and surprise, then fell forward.
Chapter 4
Paula tucked Lois’s gun in the waistband of her shorts and ran with Chino toward the stairs leading to the second floor. He had a crazed look on his face, and she was scared. Gunfire seemed to sound from all around her. Chino turned and fired from the mezzanine, releasing a fusillade of bullets in two different directions. He fired more bursts from the second floor. Paula didn’t remember climbing the stairs, only that they were on the second floor.
Officer Metzgar came under fire as soon as he pulled up to the Crossings apartments. At least one round slammed into the car door on the driver’s side. Metzgar dived for cover and drew his gun. Scanning the area, he saw the shooter run into the breezeway, where the stairs were located. Then he saw Lois lying facedown on the pavement. He crouched and ran across the open parking lot, exposing himself to fire, to get to her. Metzgar leaped over Lois and ran toward Chino, but the gunman disappeared.
Metzgar hurried back to Lois and saw that she had bled extensively. He knew it was a massive wound, just by seeing the blood.
Officer Hill came to where Lois lay and Metzgar told her to stay with her; then he ran to take up a position. The police were intent on keeping the suspects contained in the apartment area. Hill knelt on one knee beside Lois, holding her gun in both hands, her eyes scanning the area. The danger of her situation was apparent: she was in the parking lot with no cover, an easy target for a shooter. She was scared to the marrow, but she held her ground.
She had heard heavy gunfire when she drove up to the apartment complex. There was a body on the pavement, but it seemed inconceivable to her that one of her comrades had fallen. As she worked her way closer, Hill recognized that the victim was Lois, who had once been her supervisor. During the chase Hill had passed Lois’s cruiser twice, and she had been one of the officers who discovered the abandoned SUV. She had rushed to the Crossings when the radio informed her that there was a foot chase in progress.
As Hill knelt beside Lois, she heard more gunfire. She couldn’t tell where the shooter was. She didn’t know if he would come at her from the right or the left. Whatever direction the shooter might attack, she was out in the open. She was more frightened than she ever had been in her life.
Nevertheless, Hill, who had been on the force for ten years, was not about to abandon Lois. She started to pray, “Thy will be done, Lord. I can never leave her here alone.”
It seemed ironic that Hill was standing guard over a woman who had previously protected and guided her through the rough patches she encountered when she was new to the force. She remembered Lois as a woman bursting with energy, who was vibrant, laughing, and full of goodwill. It was a heartbreaking contrast to the woman who lay crumpled on the hard pavement in a pool of her own blood.
She relied on her faith and her training to stay calm, to keep her vigil. She knew that if it was her lying there, Lois would not leave her side. Neither would any other officer on the force. They would be there until the end.
Fearful, in the open, and with
bullets being fired, Hill continued to pray for the courage she needed. At last, the shooting stopped, and Officers Metzgar and Scudder came back to where Hill and Lois were. Scudder checked Lois for a pulse and couldn’t find one.
The three officers knew that Lois was dead, but they didn’t want to believe it. Maybe the paramedics would work a miracle and save her, but they believed she was gone. Hill continued to pray that God’s will be done, and that all would be well.
An emergency ambulance with emergency medical technicians (EMTs) arrived on the scene within minutes of the shooting. The EMTs applied appropriate emergency measures, and speedily put Lois on a gurney, loaded it into the ambulance, and sped toward Tampa General Hospital’s (TGH) emergency room (ER).
A skilled trauma unit was already being assembled at TGH. Lewis Flint, medical director for the TGH trauma center, was the first person who reported to the ER. He had left surgery just a few minutes earlier. Colleen Jaffrey, chief trauma resident, was in the cafeteria when the call came in. She immediately went to the ER. The trauma team included an anesthesiologist, radiologist, three trauma residents, five nurses, a physician’s assistant, and David Oman, chief of emergency medicine.
TGH’s trauma center had years of experience in treating gunshot wounds. As a regional trauma center, it treated shooting victims from a heavily populated geographic area. Police officers were regular visitors because they often accompanied shooting victims or people who suffered other traumatic injuries. The staff was on a friendly basis with the police, and some families were so close that they attended social functions together. Waiting for a police officer with a serious shooting injury had a jarring emotional effect.
Paramedics had tried furiously to save Lois; now the trauma team would try to work its magic. But this time, there was no rabbit to pull out of the hat. Doctors pronounced Lois dead at 11:55 A.M., but said she was most likely dead on arrival (DOA). She was the first Tampa policewoman to be killed in the line of duty.
