Chapter Nine - Angry Brain Hungry Face
Dallas, Texas (Six years earlier) Jake only had less than two years on the job and had only been paired up with his K9 partner for a couple of months. It was rare for such a young officer to be accepted into the K9 unit as a handler. This role was typically one filled by officers who were much more seasoned and experienced, in the primes of their careers.
In their short time together, man and man’s best friend became precisely that. Best friends. Jake and Roscoe were inseparable. They trained together with regularity, with Jake and other K9 officers using seized dope for training purposes. The handlers would hide seized baggies of cocaine, marijuana, heroin, and meth in various locations to test their dogs’ sense of scent. Sometimes they hid the dope in undercover cars in a parking lot. Other times they stowed the drugs inside pieces of furniture scattered throughout their training facility.
When Roscoe and the other dogs located the drugs, they gave whatever alert they had been trained to give. Some just sat still; others scratched at or snorted around the area they sensed that the drugs were in. Roscoe had a particularly keen sense of smell, not only for narcotics but for crime in general. He was always alert for activity and gifted in his first impressions of people, seemingly able to sniff out not only those committing criminal acts but those even with bad intentions.
The handlers and K9s also practiced their tracking skills. It was essential for them to be able to pick up the scent of a missing person or suspect of a crime at one location and then follow that scent in order to pinpoint the person’s current location.
Upon the K9 finding the drugs or tracking down their target, whether it be in training or in real time police work, they were rewarded with their own personal toy. Some dogs liked to chew on a plastic hose, others preferred their favorite tennis ball thrown their way. But it was always their handler giving the dog the reward and no one else. It was a pact shared and honored between these teammates.
On a cold winter November Dallas morning, Jake and Roscoe were patrolling the mean streets of a southwest Dallas neighborhood called Oak Cliff. There were hardly any calls for service coming in due to the temperatures. Some of the other officers on the shift were trying to keep busy with self-initiated activities such as performing traffic stops and / or patrolling commercial storefronts to prevent crimes.
It was about 3:00 a.m. when Jake finished assisting a stranded motorist with a flat tire and decided to stop somewhere to take a short ten-minute break. After he warmed up, he and Roscoe could park the squad somewhere dark and set out on foot in the nearby business complex to try to catch some burglars in the act.
Frequently around this time of morning and in this part of town, burglars were known to smash out the front windows of closed offices and steal the computers and monitors to sell for drug money.
Jake pulled his black and white police SUV into the parking lot of the 7-Eleven store at Jefferson and Davis. He parked the vehicle, leaving it locked but running so the heater would keep Roscoe warm in his back-seat area cage.
As Jake walked toward the convenience store, he was eagerly anticipating a nice hot cup of dark roast coffee. But he soon realized he had not marked out on the radio to advise the dispatcher of his location. He realized that if he were to get into some shit storm and need assistance, no one would know where he was.
But before Jake could key up the mike on his portable radio on his duty belt, he heard what sounded like a male’s voice yelling from around the corner, “Give me all the fuckin’ money, bitch!”
The numbed, weary lawman gripped the handle of his now unholstered Glock. He cautiously peered around the corner of the wooden six-foot fence that separated the 7-Eleven from a Whataburger restaurant directly behind it. Jake found himself about fifty feet away from the drive thru lane at the rear of the burger joint. There was not a single car or customer in sight.
Upon a closer look, Hathaway noticed a masked bandit who had the front half of his upper body completely inside the drive-thru window. This skinny black-garbed perp was holding a large ten-inch-bladed steel kitchen knife and was pointing at the head of the Whataburger employee - a shaken teenage girl who realized this job was not worth the minimum wage she was earning.
Jake advanced about thirty feet without being noticed and took cover behind the wide concrete base of a large metal streetlight pole in the same parking lot.
“Drop the weapon!” Jake yelled at the violent criminal, who suddenly became aware of the police presence.
The disguised man quickly backed himself out of the Whataburger drive-thru window and took off running north through a trashy, unlit alley. Without hesitation, Jake took off on foot after the fleeing felon. He keyed up his portable radio as he ran and somewhat excitedly reported, “this is 437. I’m in foot pursuit, headed north through the back alley.”
The dispatcher was quick to respond, saying, “I copy, 437. What is your location?” Preoccupied with the situation, Jake did not respond with his location. He instead reached into his pocket for his key fob, hoping to electronically open the rear door of the police squad car to release Roscoe from the vehicle.
But before he could push the button on the fob, it flew out of Jake’s cold, numb hand and dropped to the ground, out of his reach and hidden from his view.
“Motherfucker!” he thought to himself, for he knew now that his K9 partner Roscoe would be unable to help him.
Jake soon lost sight of the perpetrator in the darkness and he stopped running, slowing his pace to a walk so he could search the area methodically rather than running blindly into a hiding and waiting armed suspect.
Jake knew he had called for the cavalry to assist him, and he began to wonder what was taking everyone so long to get to him. For in the heat of the moment, Jake still did not realize he had never properly checked out with an accurate address or landmark.
Jake had left his flashlight behind, charging it in the vehicle so it would have been fully charged when he was attempting to apprehend burglars in the act, after his coffee break.
He held his weapon close to his body in a ready, ‘Sul’ position so that the suspect would not be able to grab onto his extended arm to take the weapon away. Jake began to hear sirens echoing through the Cliff, and he knew that his comrades were looking for him. It was just a matter of time until they located his parked vehicle at the 7-Eleven and set up a perimeter from there to locate him and the scumbag.
Jake stealthily made his way through the alley, slowly and carefully searching behind trash cans and propped-up wooden pallets. He made a valiant effort to use the darkness to his advantage, but his location was quickly compromised when his police radio blared out: “437- what is your location?”
As if on cue, the desperate criminal now knew exactly where his pursuer was located and leapt out from within a slimy, garbage filled dumpster. He crushed the officer’s skull in with a swift blow to the head from a cold steel black tire iron.
Sgt. Hathaway collapsed to the refuse covered tar alley surface, his head draining thick blood through its newly sustained gash. Jake awoke seconds later to feel a tugging at his holster as his assailant was attempting to rip his duty weapon from its holster. The wounded officer knew that just because he was down, he was not out of the game. If he were to succumb to these circumstances, he surely would be killed.
Jake rolled over onto his weapon side to throw the criminal off him and to keep from being disarmed. The frantic hoodlum was thrown off balance and tried to get steady on his feet when Jake jumped up into a fighting stance and began pummeling the dirtbag with a variety of punches to the face and throat.
The criminal descended to his hands and knees, unable to see through his swollen bloodfilled eyes and spitting out blood through freshly loosened teeth.
Jake took time to mark out properly with the dispatcher and within seconds he heard the once distant sirens suddenly growing nearer.
Jake was standing over his arrestee, about to place a set of steel hand
cuffs on him, when a white, older-model Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme raced up the alley straight toward Jake. Hathaway dove out of the center of the alley, and the car slammed on its brakes to a skidding sideways stop. Another concealed, black garbed subject then stepped from the driver’s side of the vehicle and pointed a large black .45 semi-automatic handgun at Jake.
“You never should haveleft the donut shop, pig! Now you’re gonna die!” Jake had nowhere to go from here. He was not close enough to dive behind any form of cover nor even anything to offer concealment. Jake knew his chances of being able to reach this man before he could fire off a shot were very slim.
Suddenly, as if appearing from out of nowhere, 75 pounds of Belgian Malinois muscle leaped toward the perp. Roscoe’s open mouth closed onto the right hand of the thug, causing him to release his grip and drop the pistol onto the ground.
Roscoe continued chomping on the hand until the bad guy began kicking at Roscoe’s head with steeltoed boots. Roscoe dove at the criminal’s face and neck, biting with an unseen ferocity and tearing away chunks of meaty flesh. Sirens and squad cars were now raining on top of Jake and Roscoe as their partners had located their comrade. They collected the trash (metaphor for bad guy), and Jake was transported to the hospital for the large gash on the front right top side of his head, which would later result in a very large and noticeable scar.
Jake never was able to arrive at an explanation as to how Roscoe found his way out of the locked police truck. Perhaps i t was through some miracle from God or from Jake’s guardian angel, but somehow the door was ajar,and Jake’s life was saved by his best friend and partner, K9 Officer Roscoe.
Chapter Ten - Dead to Rights
Earle Cabell Federal Building and U.S. District Court, Downtown Dallas (Present Day) As the conclusion to this marathon-like trial drew nearer, Jake was finding it difficult to remain focused and attentive to the court proceedings. Although his body was still sitting in (and shackled to) the same chair that it had been over a span of the last three weeks, his mind was wandering. Hallucinations became the norm, and Jake was metaphysically bouncing around from one place to another.
Were these symptoms of his PTSD, or was it just a safe place for his mind to travel to in order to avoid the lies and travesty that he was facing? Or perhaps it was a combination of these conditions.
Prosecutor Ferron addressed the judge, but Jake, in his state of insanity, was instantly mentally teleported to another earlier time and place. He found himself sitting in a reclining easy chair in his parent’s Rhode Island living room, watching the cartoon trial scene from Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” movie.
Suddenly Judge Parker became more alive than Memorex. He slammed his wooden gavel down onto his large oak desktop: “Defendant!!! Mr. Hathaway!!!! Are you awake over there??! “Sir, do you realize what is happening here??? Defense attorneys - please be sure that your client isn’t daydreaming over there - he needs to be cognizant of these procedures. The jury has informed me that they have arrived at a verdict.”
The jury members were slowly escorted back into the courtroom.
Judge: “Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” Jurors: “Yes, we have.” Judge: “Does the foreman have the verdict form?”
Jury Foreman: “Yes, I do. In the United States District Court for the District of Texas, Criminal
Action No. 2011-TX78, United States of America vs. Jacob ‘Jake’ Hathaway. We, the jury,
upon our oaths unanimously find as follows:
“Count 1, first-degree murder of Holly Ann Smith-Hathaway, guilty.
“Count 2, first-degree murder of Richard Alan Hathaway, guilty.
“Count 3, kidnapping of Carson Hathaway, guilty.”
Judge: “Sir, was this and is this the jury's verdict?”
Jury Foreman: “Yes”. Judge: “Members of the jury, you have determined by your verdict that the evidence established the guilt of Jake Hathaway on these charges beyond a reasonable doubt of crimes for which death is a possible punishment. We will reconvene tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. for the sentencing phase.”
Jake’s head began to spin, he felt light -headed and sweated profusely. His mind raced, filling with thoughts and feelings of a wide range of emotions to include shock, disbelief, and sorrow.
Shock : because he knew that he took pride in always trying to be a stand-up guy, a class act, a Christian. He was once a dedicated soldier who fought against some of the worst evils in the world with love for his country and with so much pride in being a United States Marine that he could hardly refrain from showing it.
Jake would never hurt so much as a mosquito that didn’t bite him in the butt first and drain out a drop or two of blood. Now if someone had it coming - messing with him or his family, victimizing some innocent person who was unable to protect themselves - or, God forbid, they took any type of enemy action to attack his country - that was another story...
Disbelief : the way the prosecutors for the State failed to openly disclose facts about the case that revealed the truth - that Jake truly was defending himself against people who changed somehow and were not human any longer.
The hair on their heads was straggly and thin and missing in spots. Skin from their heads to feet appeared to be rotting and falling off, smelling of a combination of decay and compost. Their eyes had no warmth or humanity behind them - the pupils dilated and black, appearing in size and color much like small circles hole-punched from a sheet of black construction paper.
The teeth were yellow, also decaying, and blood drenched, with a stench coming from the creatures’ mouths that could only be described as what might emerge from below the floor drains of an unregulated slaughterhouse. The fingernails were unkempt, long, claw-like and yellow, and the toenails were probably the same, but the bare feet were so covered with caked-on blood and other body waste that the nails were not very visible.
Both were slow, dragging and shuffling their feet and moving lethargically as if half dead. They had no emotion, no expressions, nothing whatsoever that hinted these were living people.
These were obviously not Holly and Rich - or even humans for that matter. And it did not take someone who knew them personally to realize this. Sorrow : Not only for Holly and Rich, but also for Holly’s parents and Jake’s own parents. Charles and Clara Hathaway had not only lost their youngest son Rich to whatever it was that turned him into that creature, they had now lost their oldest son. Not only had he been found guilty of two murders, he was about to be sentenced to either life in prison or death.
Jake agonized over how Rich and Holly’s children Austin and Baby Cars on would be affected. With both parents taken away from them, and their Uncle Jake accused of killing themtheir lives would never be the same.
Thank God Austin wasn’t there at the birthday party to witness the horrible scene. Luckily Carson will have been too young during the incident to remember the events of that tragic, fateful day.
Earle Cabell Federal Building and U.S. District Court, Downtown Dallas
In open court the following day - 9:00 a.m. Prosecutor Ferron: “Since their introduction of the death penalty, Texas has always required the jury to decide whether to impose the death penalty in a specific case. Once each side has pleaded its case, the jury must answer two questions to determine whether a person will or will not be sentenced to death:
The first question is whether there exists a probability that the defendant would commit criminal acts of violence that would constitute a continuing threat to society. ‘Society’ in this instance includes both inside and outside of prison; thus, a defendant who would constitute a threat to people inside of prison, such as correctional officers or other inmates, is eligible for the death penalty.
The second question is whether, taking into consideration the circumstances of the offense, the defendant's character and background, and the personal moral culpability of the defendant, there exists enough mitigating circumstances to warrant a sentence of life imprisonment rather than a death
sentence.”
The jury was escorted out of the courtroom and into the jury room to deliberate these two questions posed of them which would ultimately decide the fate of Jake. At approximately 10:30 a.m., the jury indicated they had decided and were led back into the main courtroom.
Judge Parker: “Members of the jury, have you reached a decision on this defendant’s punishment?”
Jury: “Yes, we have your honor.”
Judge: “Before we proceed, I want to caution everyone here that there must be no audible or visible reaction to the punishment when it is read. When the jury returns, the punishment decision will be handed to me and I will read it. Now, any person violating this order will be removed from the courtroom. Mr. Foreman, please hand me the jury’s punishment verdict form.”
At this point, Jake was midway through his latest prayer, still outfitted in his striped pajamas with his torso covered by a bulletproof flak jacket and shackles that bound his ankles together. His head lowered, hands clasped together with fingers interwoven, eyes closed. Jake was pleading with God, begging that this nightmare would end abruptly, and he would awaken to find himself in his bed beside his sparkling love, Amanda.
Amanda was present watching the proceedings as she had been every day. She was seated on a bench just twenty feet behind Jake and the defense team’s table. Dressed in a black Cardigan sweater and black long flowing dress with conservative flat-bottomed shoes, Amanda sat staring at the back of Jake’s head.
She hoped the love of her life would turn around and take a glimpse in her direction so that she could get another look at his face. Amanda hoped to capture such an image to store in her memory files. This could possibly be one of the last opportunities she may ever have to see Jake again outside of a prison cell.
Beside Amanda sat Jake’s best friend and former police pa rtner, Mack McElroy. Mack sat staring straight ahead at the proceedings but really wasn’t very in tune to what was being imparted. For he had a couple of different emotions he was debating within his head, much like the scales of justice teetering slightly from one side to the next. He was attempting to decipher which one he should be feeling at this juncture.
Wicked Awake Page 8
