Cop Out - The End Of My Brilliant Career In The NZ Police (The Laughing Policeman)

by Glenn Wood

  My colleagues and I were armed robbers who had just hijacked a security van full of cash. We were spotted while making our getaway and chased around the streets of Palmerston North. This gave the Armed Offenders Squad an excuse to race around the suburbs with their lights flashing. Once they’d had enough of that we were to hole up in a huge abandoned three bedroom house just out of town. I was looking forward to the exercise as we were given the day off work and got to play with guns. I dressed in my best armed robber gear, borrowing a ski mask from one of my friends. Thus prepared, I showed up at the appointed time and place and proceeded to get tooled up. I was given a .38 pistol and a handful of blank rounds. The sergeant grilled me on their use. I told him to chill out. Sure, I didn’t have a great history with pistols but I only had blanks to shoot. What harm could I do? He didn’t look encouraged by my assurances but settled for giving me a steely glare and telling me not to mess up.

  I nodded eagerly and fed blank rounds into the gun. For those of you not familiar with blanks, here’s a brief description. They are the same size and shape as real bullets except they just go bang and don’t kill you. There, now you know as much as I did.

  We three baddies piled into the security van and sped off. We were given a ten minute head start for good measure. I wasn’t allowed to drive and was thrown in the back of the van with Andrew. Undeterred, I was determined to make the most of the situation and when one of the Armed Offenders cars caught up with us I decided to teach them a lesson. I put on my ski mask and told my partner to hang tightly onto the side of the van. I instructed him to unlatch the rear doors. I secured myself in the middle of the van, took a one handed grip on the grill that separated the driver from our compartment and drew my gun. I nodded and both doors flew open flooding the rear of the van with light, temporarily blinding me. My vision cleared quickly and I aimed my pistol at the windshield of the car behind us and opened fire. The cops tailing us got a hell of a shock. The driver automatically stamped on the brakes, the tyres smoking as the car locked up. I punched the air in triumph and nearly fell out the back door. I don’t know how they do this sort of stunt in movies because it’s not easy staying upright in the rear of a moving van. Andrew was having a similar problem as he was also holding on with just one hand. Determined not to miss out on the fun, he had also drawn his pistol and was blazing away out the back of the van with gay abandon. We were having such a good time that it took a couple of minutes to notice our location. We were blasting away in one of Palmerston North’s busiest shopping centres. Shoppers were scattering all around us as they witnessed several masked men open fire on a police car from the back of a security van.

  We learned later that the police switch board had been flooded with calls. Bill (our driver) realised what we were up to and screamed for us to close the doors. This sounded easy but wasn’t and we experienced some precarious moments attempting to secure them. Andrew and I knew we’d get into trouble but we were pumped up and didn’t care. Bill gave us a minor blast, telling us not to do it again and then relented saying he would have loved to have seen the faces of the cops we had shot at. I think he was secretly impressed by our ingenuity.

  We arrived at the safe house without any further incidents and parked the van around the back, leaping quickly out and making our way inside. The building was amazing. It was like a deserted mansion. A huge split-level wooden place with large tree lined grounds. It must have been something in its day. But there was no time for sightseeing; we had a job to do. We knew it was only a matter of time before the AOS had the house surrounded so we devised a cunning plan of attack. Actually, Bill devised a cunning plan of attack and we did as we were told. It was a plan of two halves. The first involved running around the house taking pot shots out of the windows to keep the squad members on their toes. Once they were all in position plan B would begin.

  Bill asked me to walk outside holding Andrew as a hostage and say that I would kill him if anyone tried to stop me. I could do that. Once I had their attention I was to make my way along the side of the house to the armoured car and drive off.

  Brilliant, I thought, marvelling at Bill’s ability to remain safely inside while we took all the risks. I didn’t know it yet but Bill knew exactly what he was doing.

  The first part of the plan went well. I walked out of the front door shielding my body with Andrews while holding the pistol to his back and bellowed out my demands. There was no reply. I couldn’t see anyone, which I found disconcerting. I waved my gun around to show them I meant business then began edging my way around to the rear of the house. When I was half way along, two Armed Offenders peeped out from the side of a garage and yelled for me to freeze. Two shots rang out from directly over my head. It gave me a huge fright and I wondered what was going on. I glanced at the cops who had recently had me in their sights. One was slumped against the garage door, his gun hanging limply from his hand. The other was sitting dejectedly on the grass, swearing profusely.

  I worked out what had happened. Bill had gone up to the second story of the house and had been sneaking along the balcony following our movements, waiting for the AOS to break cover. The moment they’d done so, he took them out. The clever bastard was using us for bait!

  Sod this for a laugh, I thought. I jammed my pistol in Andrew’s ear and made a run for the van. I heard yells from the AOS guys but ignored them and leapt into the armoured car.

  I’d like to see them stop me now, I thought smugly as I turned on the ignition and began backing out of the drive. An AOS officer ran up to the van and bashed on the window, yelling at me to stop. I poked my tongue out at him. He was ranting about me not being able to go anywhere and was quite upset. I stopped reversing so I could hear what he was saying. He explained that they had immobilised the vehicle when they first arrived. I said they hadn’t done a very good job because it was going fine. He gave me an exasperated look and said they’d only ‘pretended’ to immobilise the van. I knew what he’d meant the first time but was annoyed because our only method of escape had been closed off. I parked the van and hauled Andrew out, making a run back toward the front of the house.

  Bloody Bill, I thought. He’d have known they’d knobble the van so his plan wasn’t for us to escape it was to draw the AOS into his line of fire.

  Wish I’d thought of it.

  I was nearly onto the porch when a voice yelled out from behind a tree: 'You are surrounded and in my sights, drop your weapon now.' It was my sergeant’s voice. I noticed he was staying well under cover. He must have heard about Bill’s ploy.

  There was no way I was giving in, especially to Sergeant Nelson, so I rammed the barrel of my gun into Andrew’s forehead and yelled: 'Back off pigs, come any closer and I’ll blow his brains out.' I was pleased with myself. I thought I sounded very convincing. I guess the AOS must have thought so as well because several of them yelled at me in frantic tones: 'Jesus Glenn, be careful with that gun.'

  'Lower your weapon. Now.’ My sergeant again.

  A shot rang out.

  'You’ve been shot, now drop your gun.'

  I did as I was told and began to argue. There was no way they could have shot me as I was jumping around and they would have hit my hostage. I was about to call for a referee when my sergeant broke cover and ran toward me. He looked furious. He grabbed the pistol out of my hand and said, 'What the fuck were you doing?'

  I began to explain Bill’s plan but he cut me short.

  'I don’t care about that, he exploded. 'Why were you holding the gun to his head?' He pointed to Andrew who was looking as confused as I was. 'You could have killed him.'

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  He was fuming. 'Your gun is loaded with blanks right?'

  I nodded dimly.

  'Yeah, well, a blank isn’t like a cap pistol. When you fire the gun, there is enough gunpowder in the shell to eject the cartridge out of the barrel, which means that up to a distance of about two metres it is as deadly as a real bullet.'

&
nbsp; He walked to a nearby tree and fired the pistol into it at point blank range. When he stepped back Andrew and I could see the cartridge firmly imbedded in the bark. I felt sick.

  The sergeant slapped the gun back in my hand.

  ‘So, if you’d accidentally pulled the trigger while you were leaping about with the barrel at his head, you’d have blown his brains all over the front porch.'

  I grimaced at this all too vivid description and looked over at Andrew. He’d gone a funny shade of green.

  I explained that I hadn’t been aware of this and was told I bloody well should have been. It wasn’t really my fault but there was no telling Sergeant Nelson that. Once he’d decided I was to blame there was no shifting him. I was told to sit under the tree (the one with the blank round sticking out of it) until the exercise was over. I felt like I was back in school and had been told to stand in the corner with a dunce cap on my head.

  Bill held out for a bit longer, killing a few more AOS members until they got sick of being shot and threw a tear gas container at him. He got out of the house before it went off but ran straight into the arms of the surviving members of the squad.

  So, to summarise. A lot of the AOS squad got capped, the police switchboard was flooded with panicked calls, no-one was gassed and I nearly killed Andrew. Not the most successful exercise they’d ever had.

  I knew that somehow my part in it would come back to haunt me.

  You Don’t Hit Cops

  Constable Hit in Dispute. That was the headline in the Palmerston North daily paper. As soon as it appeared I received a flood of phone calls asking if it was me. I answered in the affirmative, resigning myself to recounting the story time and time again. It was galling that as soon as anything remotely stupid happened in the Palmerston North area, everyone automatically assumed it was me. Even more annoying that they were right.

  Sergeant Nelson was away on leave for a month and our section had been taken over by a very experienced officer, a detective sergeant in the CIB named Terry Cawfee. I suspect Sergeant Nelson had warned him about me because I ended up spending a suspiciously large amount of time under his direct supervision. Storm clouds were gathering over my career. I had been in the police for a year and a half and my honeymoon period was over. At the end of two years I would be due for permanent appointment and the jury was still out. Actually, the jury had already made up their minds but I was blissfully unaware of the movement against me.

  I viewed Detective Sergeant (DS) Cawfee’s temporary assignment as an opportunity to redeem myself. I’d always got on fairly well with him even though we had seldom worked together. However, the playing field was about as level as billiard table with three legs. My reputation preceded me and there wasn’t a cop in the station who wasn’t aware of my propensity for disaster.

  Despite this, DS Cawfee was treating me fairly and made a point of helping me with my police work. He’d provided useful suggestions on the practical aspects of my approach, encouraging me to take the lead in the incidents we attended. This boosted my confidence but I still felt on shaky ground when talking to serious offenders. I was good at interviewing witnesses and victims but was a dismal failure with suspects. They sensed my inexperience and exploited it. I had a hell of a job getting the miserable bastards to say anything at all, let alone confess to their crimes.

  DS Cawfee noticed I was struggling and taught me some interrogation methods used by the CIB. There was that old favourite, good cop/bad cop (or in my case good cop/incompetent cop) and many other sneaky ways of breaking down the suspect until they ‘coughed’. It was most interesting but I thought some of his stories were far-fetched. I remember hearing of one incident that was alleged to have happened in our very own station. An extremely experienced detective was interviewing a suspect in a murder case. He was certain the guy had done the crime but the suspect was refusing to talk. After several hours of intense interrogation with no result the detective stormed out. He returned half an hour later dressed in scuba diving gear - wet suit, mask, snorkel and fins - carrying a large frozen trout in his hand. Without saying a word he walked up to the suspect and whacked him in the face with the fish, knocking the guy off his chair. Then he walked out of the room. When he returned he didn’t mention the incident and carried on with the interview as if nothing had happened. The suspect, convinced that the cop was dangerously unhinged, gave a full confession. He made no attempt to recant or claim duress because he was sure no-one would believe his story.

  I don’t know if this actually happened but I’d like to think it did. Apparently telephone books don’t leave a mark either, just in case you were wondering. I should qualify these stories by saying that in the entire time I was in the police I saw no evidence of corruption and very few cases of excessive use of power (with the exception of the Springbok tour). In most of the cases where I did see it, it was necessary. There is an element of the population who will never respond to reason or show respect for the rights of others. I’m talking about career criminals and just plain bad bastards, animals who are incapable of pity or remorse who continuously inflict pain and suffering upon everyone they come into contact with. These people (and I use the term loosely) give no quarter and expect none; any show of compassion is viewed as weakness and is immediately exploited. Often the only thing they responded to is force. I’m not condoning this. I am simply saying how it is.

  I’d like to say it was a hardened criminal that gave me a smack in the jaw. It wasn’t. It was a drugged-out loser.

  DS Cawfee, a detective constable (DC) and I were on patrol one evening when we received a call to attend a fracas in a nearby street. I like a good fracas as much as the next fellow and we rushed to the scene. Upon arrival we saw a small gathering of people on the footpath watching a man and a woman in the middle of the road going for it hammer and tongs. She was a tarty girl in her late twenties and he was a wild looking bloke of approximately the same age. He held her by the hair and was pulling on it as she swung wild slaps at his face. I ran between them and shoved them apart. DS Cawfee and the DC grabbed her as I held the guy off with a push and an out-stretched arm. The guy was really fired up: his pupils were dilated and his faced flushed; he was yelling at me and pushing against the palm of my hand.

  'She ripped me off, man, she ripped me off!' he screamed.

  I pushed him further away from her and told him to calm down. As soon as I shoved him he moved to the side and began circling back towards her. I blocked his path and held him off. As soon as I did this, he stared deep into my eyes and I could tell he was both enraged and off his face. A dangerous combination.

  I knew I had become the focus of his fury and I noticed him clenching and unclenching his fists.

  Jesus, I thought, he’s going to have a go at me in a minute.

  I looked him square in the eye and hissed: 'Don’t even think about it. It’s not worth it.' I was much bigger than he was and he appeared to calm down, dropping his fists.

  Having eased the tension somewhat (or so I thought) I turned my head for a second to see what was happening with the woman. As soon as I looked away he stepped towards me and struck me once, hard on the side of the jaw. I stumbled backwards, surprised and stunned by the speed of his punch. My ears were ringing and my vision swam but I didn’t fall to the ground. I shook my head to clear the numbness and bring the world back into focus, astounded by the stupidity of his actions.

  The instant I was hit the DC was on the guy, grabbing him in a headlock and bending him double. I watched, feeling oddly removed from the situation, as the DC smashed his fist into the offender’s head, punctuating the blows with the words 'You don’t (smack) hit (biff) cops (wallop)'.

  He threw the guy roughly to the ground and pushed his head into the concrete as DS Cawfee slapped handcuffs on his wrists. My companions looked over at me and asked if I was all right. I said I was and walked to where the offender was lying moaning on the ground. I could see the two detectives expected me to retaliate in some way and frankly, I
was furious at being hit, so I dropped my knee onto the guy’s handcuffed hands, clicking the cuffs up tightly until they bit deeply into his wrists. He let out a yell but didn’t complain too loudly, aware of the precarious situation he’d got himself into.

  It’s worth remembering the advice the DC gave the drugged-out man while punching his head. If you are ever having dealings with the police and are tempted to give one of them a slapping, don’t. No matter how justified you feel or how much you are provoked, it’s not worth it. The police look after their own and if you have hurt an officer then you will get that pain back tenfold. Maybe not immediately but it will happen. I often hear people bleating about being beaten up in the cells by the cops. What they don’t tell you is the events that led to the alleged beating. If they’ve been belted, it will normally have stemmed from their own violent or threatening behaviour towards police.

  Back to me. I wasn’t feeling well. My jaw was aching and I felt woozy so I sat in the police car while the Ds finished dealing with the situation. The woman was a prostitute who had performed services for the guy to the best of her ability but he hadn’t been satisfied. Claiming that the customer is always right he refused payment. She was understandably upset by this and the situation deteriorated. Her argument was that his lack of performance came, not from her lack of skill, but from the fact that he was high on grass. All this became irrelevant when he hit me because he was now facing the much more serious charge of assaulting a policeman.