by Alan Russell
Going out in public on behalf of the LAPD earned me brownie points. Early on I had thought to parlay those points into a detective’s job at Robbery-Homicide, but ultimately I was given something even better. Sirius and I work our special cases and have autonomy unheard of in the department. Of course, no job is perfect. At least once a month Chief Ehrlich expects Sirius and me to do a PR appearance on behalf of the department, what I call the “Dog and Phony Show.”
At our appearances I never mention the Weatherman or what happened in the fire. I know those questions will come in the Q&A afterward. I am usually able to quickly dispense with the more common inquiries, offering up pat answers that don’t require thought. My brief talk centers around police work and community outreach. The real star of the show is Sirius. We’ve developed a routine that shows a trained K-9 in action, along with a few tricks of our own that we’ve developed. It’s perfect for my ham of a partner. His performance might not be French poodle cute, with music and conga lines of dancing canines, but it’s a fun routine. Best of all, Sirius does most of the work and gets just about all of the attention. That’s how I like it.
Our scheduled appearance at The Corner School wasn’t on orders of the Office of the Chief of Police (COP), but had been arranged by me. In a looser atmosphere I was hoping to hear things about the Reluctant Hero that I might not otherwise.
We arrived at the school half an hour early and were cleared to proceed by a security guard. The presence of security was something new to the school since the shooting. I was directed to check in at the administrative offices, and after doing so was offered a tour.
Dawn Barry was the assistant principal of the school, and identified herself as “Doctor Dawn.” Apparently our visit fell under Dr. Dawn’s purview. She was small and blond. My mother, I am sure, would have described her as “spunky,” but my mother is one of the last people in North America who uses the word “spunky.” Dr. Dawn was our tour guide.
Because my Reluctant Hero case was on life support, I took the tour as an opportunity to ask lots of questions about the shooting. My goal for the morning was to shake branches and hope something might drop.
The first stop on the tour was the school garden, where both Sirius and I sampled some snow peas, lettuce, and green beans.
Between mouthfuls I said, “You can tell the children that you witnessed police officers eating their vegetables.”
“You can be sure I’ll do that,” said a laughing Dr. Dawn.
“Maybe you ought to take some pictures,” I said. “People would believe Sirius ate his vegetables; they’ll need proof that I did.”
Dr. Dawn snapped some photos with her phone. As we posed and she clicked away, I asked, “How are the students doing?”
I didn’t need to add the words “post-shooting.”
“There’s a lot of lingering anxiety,” said Dr. Dawn. “We have daily talk sessions where we encourage the students to express what they’re feeling. And for those reluctant to talk, we have also been doing a lot of journaling.”
“I imagine those journals have been revealing.”
“They’ve told us a lot of things,” she said, “but mostly we’ve learned the children are still afraid.”
“What do they say about the Reluctant Hero?”
“Some of the children are convinced he was a spirit or an angel. They say that explains how he disappeared.”
“Maybe they’re right. No one has come forward yet. Did you get a good look at him?”
She shook her head. “At the time I was mostly in shock. What I remember more than anything is how I tried to keep my own fears in check long enough to herd some children behind me. That’s what had my attention just as everything was happening.”
“I kind of expected the Reluctant Hero would turn out to be a dad just too shy to come forward.”
“I pride myself on knowing the parents of our students,” Dr. Dawn said. “And I am sure I never saw this man before.”
“Is that how it was with all the children?”
“Pretty much.”
“Pretty much?”
“One or two of the kids thought the Reluctant Hero was the father of one of our third-graders, but he only had a passing resemblance to him.”
“I think I heard about that,” I said, although I definitely hadn’t heard about it. I threw out a common name, hoping to get her to respond. “That was Mark’s dad, wasn’t it?”
My stab in the dark proved to be close enough. “Matthew,” she said, “Matthew Pullman.”
I acted as if the name were familiar to me. “And you’ve personally seen Matthew’s father?”
She nodded. “He isn’t our Reluctant Hero. Mr. Pullman is heavier and less . . .” It took her a moment to find the word for which she was searching: “. . . vigorous.”
“Will Matthew be attending our group session?” I asked.
The school’s administration had arranged for a group of students from each of the grades to meet with me and Sirius after our presentation.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
“If at all possible, I’d like him there.”
“I’ll have that arranged,” said Dr. Dawn, and she paused to make a note of it. I was glad she didn’t ask me why I wanted him there.
Even the best elementary school in the world doesn’t have that much for tour guides to work with. We walked down a long hallway with art projects on display and spent time in an unoccupied science lab looking at the student science exhibits. Class was in session, but those students we encountered went wide-eyed when they spotted Sirius.
Our last stop was the playground where the assembly was going to be convened. There were two classes doing physical education; one was on the blacktop, the other on the field. The blacktop group was playing a game where they were trying to keep a few beach balls aloft; the students on the grass were lined up, head to feet, handing off balls over their heads without looking.
“We’ve tried to move away from traditional games like basketball and dodgeball,” she said. “In these games there are no winners and losers, and the children need to act cooperatively.”
“Any of the kids die of boredom yet?” I asked.
“PE might not be as exciting to the athletes, but with this setup there are fewer children dreading it. Our games preclude the trauma of being picked last for a team or the pressure of being the scapegoat when a team loses.”
“In elementary school my favorite part of the day was PE, but I went to one of those unenlightened schools where we kept score and tried to kill the opposing team.”
“Did you like school, Detective?”
“I took my role there very seriously.”
“And what role was that?”
“Class clown,” I said.
A bell rang—apparently school bells have not yet been deemed traumatic—and students began to assemble outside. Sirius knew the students were there to see him and posed accordingly.
“It’s a police dog,” I heard a lot of the kids say.
The makeshift stage was roped off so that I wouldn’t worry about too many grasping hands trying to pet Sirius. I wasn’t worried about my partner, but didn’t want him to have to deal with the crunch of kids. Sirius is particularly gentle with little ones. If you raise them right from the time they are young, they’re no threat. I am talking about children, of course.
Dr. Dawn introduced the two of us. Usually Sirius and I get our names linked with the Weatherman during any introduction, but thankfully there was no mention of Ellis Haines. If the kids were lucky, they had never heard of him. The children had already had their own encounter with crazy and didn’t need to learn about another nut job.
After Dr. Dawn passed the baton to me—that is, the handheld microphone—we shook hands. She forgot to extend that courtesy to Sirius, who called her on it by extending a paw as she walked
by. All the children called out to Dr. Dawn, and she did an about-face and returned to shake with Sirius. That had all the kids buzzing.
Almost all eyes were on Sirius as I began my talk. I told the children that unfortunately bad things sometimes happened to good people, and to good kids, but I reminded them that there were a lot more good people in the world than bad people, people like the Reluctant Hero and their parents and their teachers. I told them that it was okay to be afraid, but that there were many people ready to help, such as firefighters, social workers, school staff, and the police. I commended them for responding so well during their own emergency. And then to lighten up the mood, I told the kids it was important to have a good diet, which should include fruit and vegetables.
“Do you think Sirius likes fruit and veggies?” I asked.
“No,” shouted most of the kids. I was heartened by their skepticism.
“Well, he does. Today we were snacking in your school garden. Dr. Dawn even took pictures.”
The kids demanded proof and then squealed with laughter at the pictures of Sirius sucking down green beans like he would strands of spaghetti. My partner loves to pose for pictures.
“Do you like fruit and vegetables?” I asked.
My question got a mixed reaction. “Well, they’re good for kids and dogs. Sirius eats them every day. His favorite fruits are apples, bananas, cantaloupe, and mango, and his favorite vegetables are steamed carrots, broccoli, and pumpkin.”
The kids thought my partner’s diet was pretty funny and started yelling out their favorite fruits and vegetables.
“There are some fruits and vegetables you should never give to dogs,” I warned, and then named some of the chief culprits like onions, garlic, avocados, grapes, and raisins.
Small but serious heads nodded back.
“Do any of you have dogs?”
If the teachers were hoping to keep their charges quiet, it was now a lost cause. All sorts of names and breeds were shouted out.
“Make sure you keep chocolate, candy, and gum out of the reach of your dogs. Those can be poisonous. You wouldn’t want them to get sick, would you?”
“No!” they all chorused.
“That’s real important to remember, and I know you will. Okay, now we get to the good part of my talk because it’s time to introduce my partner. The two of us have worked together for five years, and I couldn’t ask for a better friend or partner. Give a nice welcome to Sirius!”
Sirius bounded over to me. “High five,” I said, and he raised his paw high. In my lowest voice I said, “Low five,” and he raised his paw just a little. “Shake,” I said, and he shook. And then I said, “Shake your booty.” His tail wagging had the crowd cheering.
“Some of you might have recognized the name Sirius,” I said. “My partner was named after the brightest star in the night sky. That bright star is called Sirius, which is also known as the Dog Star.
“My Sirius is a working dog,” I said. “All sorts of breeds of dogs are used in countless ways. They herd and protect and guide. And because dogs have such a keen sense of smell, they are used to sniff out all sorts of things ranging from bedbugs to truffles.
“A dog’s sense of smell is more than a thousand times better than a human’s, and in some dog breeds their sense of smell is millions of times better. That’s why dogs are so good at tracking, or detecting all kinds of scents.”
I called for Dr. Dawn to join us and asked if she wouldn’t mind taking a walk and hiding Sirius’s Frisbees along her route. As she set out, I told Sirius, “No peeking,” and he responded by burying his eyes in his paws. Judging by the reaction of the kids, Sirius should have won the Oscar.
When I sent Sirius to find his discs, he rounded them up in record time. His reward was getting a few minutes of disc play where his every catch was loudly cheered by the children.
It was nice to hear the laughter and see kids being kids. I hoped they’d be lucky and never have to encounter violence again. At the end of our presentation, Sirius and I were ushered into the teachers’ dining room, where we met with the student representatives, a few teachers, and Dr. Dawn. The kids were looking all around; there really wasn’t much to see, but they seemed tickled to be allowed into the teachers’ clubroom.
“We won’t be here for long,” I promised. “I am sorry all of you had a frightening experience, but the LAPD hopes we can learn from what happened so we’ll be able to better deal with trouble in the future.”
I asked the children to introduce themselves and took note of Matthew Pullman. He was maybe nine years old and carried himself like a jock, a look accentuated by his L.A. Lakers garb. After their introductions, I asked the children to tell me what they had seen and experienced when the intruder came to their school. Before long the Reluctant Hero became a topic. There was agreement as to the direction he came running from, but not so much agreement as to what he looked like.
The gunman had appeared at The Corner School shortly after eleven thirty. First lunch had just begun, which meant first-, second-, and third-graders were eating. Second lunch was for the older children. Because it was a pleasant day, everyone was outside. The children who had brought their lunch were already seated; those who hadn’t brought lunch were waiting in line to get it.
Matthew Pullman told me he was one of those who had brought his lunch and had been outside with his friends. Because of that, they were among those who had been the closest to the gunman.
I tried to get more of the story but went about it in a roundabout way by taking note of what Matthew was wearing.
“You like the Lakers?” I asked.
He gave an enthusiastic nod.
“What about the Clippers?”
“They stink,” he said.
A few of his neighbors disagreed. Despite playing basketball in the same arena and same city, L.A. fans are adamant about favoring one team over the other.
“What do you think of your PE classes here at school?” I asked.
Even with Dr. Dawn present, Matthew signaled thumbs down.
“I know the intruder appeared just after first lunch started,” I said, “but I’m wondering if anyone noticed him before he trespassed on the school grounds.”
One of the boys sitting next to Matthew raised his hand, and after learning his name was Jacob, I asked, “What did you see?”
“I saw a man walking back and forth along the fence.”
The fence in question separated the playing fields from the street.
“Was there anything in particular that made you notice this man?”
The boy scrunched up his mouth before saying, “He looked angry.”
“And when did you notice him?”
“During gym class,” he said.
“What time was that?”
Matthew answered instead of Jacob: “Right before lunch.”
“Both of you had PE right before lunch?”
The boys nodded.
On my drive to El Segundo, I discussed what I had learned at The Corner School. Sirius is a great sounding board. He’s a careful listener and allows me to go off on tangents without interrupting.
“The shooter and the Reluctant Hero were both seen coming from the same direction,” I said. “Fewer than fifteen seconds separated their appearances. If Jacob was right, and the shooter was acting strange, my guess is that the Reluctant Hero observed this—which would explain how quickly he was on the scene. But what it doesn’t explain is why he was at The Corner School in the first place.”
I considered the time sequence. “Gym class started at 10:40, and concluded at 11:25. Our witness says the shooter was pacing outside the school fence during that time. At approximately 11:32 shots were fired. No more than fifteen seconds after those first shots were fired the shooter was tackled and no longer a threat. If the Reluctant Hero was watching the suspect and reacted
that quickly, he had to be parked near the school. No one noticed him, though—at least not on that day.”
The freeway traffic was stop and go, which allowed me time to do a drumroll on the steering wheel.
“We know why the shooter was there. He was having a psychotic episode, and his voices were telling him the children were demons. But why was the Reluctant Hero parked there?”
It’s a suspicious world, and being a cop made me that much more suspicious. Sometimes in order to catch bad people, you have to think like one. Could the Reluctant Hero be a pedophile? That would explain why he hadn’t come forward. If he were a convicted pedophile, he would be banned from being anywhere near a school. Watching students would have been grounds for his arrest.
Perhaps he was a pedophile who hadn’t acted on his urges. If that were the case, he still would have wanted to leave without being questioned. His shame might have made him run away. A life of quiet desperation might be better than having his desires exposed.
“No,” I said. “My gut tells me that’s not what we’re looking at.”
The only problem is that my gut wasn’t telling me what we were looking at.
“Let’s assume the Reluctant Hero was there to watch the gym class. Both of us know those games the kids play are not exactly spectator sports.”
Sirius draped his head over my shoulder. He concurred with my speculation.
“If he didn’t care about the game, his interest must have been in one of the children. But why would you be surreptitiously watching a kid?”
I did another steering-wheel drumroll.
“He could be an estranged parent. It might be his spouse has sole custody over the child. And maybe there’s a restraining order keeping him away. If it was a rancorous divorce, it’s possible he’s been out of his child’s life for years.”
